the runner possesses a wonderful lack of respect for things

“It’s not that the Irish are cynical. It’s rather that they have a wonderful lack of respect for everything and everybody.”

–Brendan Behan

Of all the quotes I’ve ever opened a blog post with, this one captures me the most. I do not know if others would call it wonderful, but my lack of respect knows no boundaries. Culturally, my lack of respect could be because I came of age in the 1970s, with the end of Viet Nam, the Watergate debacle, the gas crisis, The Iran Hostage affair, the collapse of the steel industry, the first collapse of the auto industry, I could go on. It seemed injustice was everywhere and the ones who were trusted the most were the ones committing the biggest betrayals. The “if it feels good do it” seventies gave way to the “greed is good” eighties where the disillusioned from the cultural revolution switched philosophies from “love thy neighbor” to “everyman for himself.”

Sociologically, it could be because I grew up in a household where sarcasm and cynicism were the coin of the realm. You needed a cutting wit to survive dinner at my house. Spiritually, it could be because, try as I might, I could not find it in me to believe. I wanted to believe, I really did, but the more I saw…

Anyway, most likely, it’s just who I am. I’m Irish, at least half, compliments of a Protestant father who converted to Catholicism so he could marry my mother. I went to Catholic school, where I learned I was a sinner and that, at the end of the world, all the souls would be brought together before the throne of God, and our lives would be played out for everyone to see, and God would judge us, and decide if we were to spend eternity in Heaven or Hell. The story from the nun was meant to frighten us into behaving, but it had the opposite effect on me. I grew up in the seventies, the golden age of American realism in film, television, music, and books. I sided with the underdog. I identified with the anti-hero. I didn’t believe in happy endings (at least not those that weren’t part of a joke about going to a massage parlor).

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A few weeks back, I attended a conference at the University of Pennsylvania. The keynote speaker, the morning of the second day, was Yolanda Sealey-Ruiz. Sealey-Ruiz gave a wonderful talk on the difference between noticing the world around us and actually seeing it. Part of her talk included a brief interlude for an interactive activity. We were given a piece of paper with two circles on it. The circles overlapped each other by one third. On the left-hand side of the page, “How folks see me” was typed at the edge of the circle. On the opposite side, “What I want folks to notice” was typed on the edge of the other circle. In the center, where the circles overlapped there was a question mark. Sealey-Ruiz asked us to take a moment and fill in a few words or phrases that answered the questions on the outside of either circle–How folks see me, and What I want folks to notice. Then we were to come together in groups of three to discuss.

I was with two lovely people. One, a young woman, just out of grad school and beginning her career as a teacher. The other, was older than me, her career coming to an end. The two ladies read what was on their sheet and, I did the same when it was my turn. When the young lady finished reading hers, the older woman immediately asked her to say the first thought that came to her mind. The young girl obliged. When the older woman read us what was on her sheet, the young girl returned the question in kind. When I went, the older woman immediately asked the same thing of me. And this is what I said, unplanned: “Well, I’ve always been anti-authority, even with people I like and agree with. It’s why when I became a middle-manager my self-loathing reached an all-time high.”

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the runner better work on his form

Yesterday was our annual Symposium for Teaching and Learning with Technology. I attended several informative sessions, two of which I want to share in this post. The first was a session featuring two kineseology professors who were using motion capture software to analyze movement in their physical education courses, volleyball, soccer, ultimate frisbee, etc. The software is called Dartfish, dartfish.com, and costs around seven hundred dollars. However, they also sell an app, with limited features, for $4.99.

The profs would record the kids in the gym and then use the software to analyze their form, range of motion and body position, frame-by-frame as they moved through each activity. They would then show the kids where their form was good and where it broke down. For running, I thought the app might be good for capturing form. In doing research for my dissertation, I came across a journal article stating the 90% of amateur runners could be expected to experience a debilitating injury of some type over a given five-year span of time. (Forgive me for not having the source at the moment, but currently the floor of my study is covered with journal articles. When I come across it, I’ll post it). These injuries tend to be caused by poor form, not having the proper footwear, and overuse and include bursitis, plantar fasciitis, achilles tendon injuries, etc.

Anyone out there use Dartfish or some other motion capture app to study their running form? If so, drop me a line, please.

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An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

William Butler Yeats

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

I love this Yeats poem. Actually, it’s harder to find one of his I don’t love than it is to find one I love. What touches me about this poem is the motivation behind the Airman joining the fight. It wasn’t for a cause he believed in. It wasn’t to defend those he loved or strike at those he hated. It was the thought that there was nothing all that better in his past that would give him pause; nor could he see a future with any promise. All-in-all, what was the difference? I get that. Sometimes more than I like or care to admit.

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the runner believes in purposeful suffering

The other session I want to talk about was on using a technique called digital storytelling as part of a course project. In this case it was used in a course on spirituality and culture identity. The instructor played three videos, one she made and two others she selected from the ones her students made. I knew I liked this instructor when she said she does not ask her students to do anything she would not do herself. The instructor’s video was about a pilgrimage she made in honor of her father at Cosán na Naomh, County Kerry, Ireland. The pilgrimage is a 22-mile walk up-and down the Cosán na Naomh mountain trail. She talked about the difficulty of the walk, both physically and spiritually, and how she turned to various religious teachings, Buddhist, Catholic, and Celtic, to help her get through the walk.

The second film was from a student who’s father turned her on to running as a young girl. The film told her story of growing from a child to a woman and how running played such a critical role in her journey. The third film was by another student who juxtaposed  the events of 9/11 with his personal experience of meeting an Afghan boyscout on a school trip to the United Nations.

Each film was poignant and moving in its own way, but what struck me the most was this one common thread that weaved through all of them. This thread was the notion of purposeful suffering as a way of finding oneself and ones place in the universe. Running for me is an act of purposeful suffering. Running, for me, is all about finding out who I am, if I can take what life has to offer, and, ultimately, what’s the meaning of all this? I got the impression, from the three films the professor showed us, that each of the filmakers was also looking to find the meaning in the pain.

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Things seen while running:

• The first robin of the year
• Crocus, hyacinth, and daffodil stems peaking up from the ground
• A March snow still blanketing the lawns and melting off of parked cars
• First run around the golf course this year. It was slow, muddy, slippery, and lots of fun
• People taking advantage of the first warm weekend weather of the year to clean up debris gathered around their houses over the winter
• Longer days allow for evening runs

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The runner says hello

You say yes, I say no
You say stop and I say go go go, oh no
You say goodbye and I say hello
Hello hello
I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello
Hello hello
I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello
I say high, you say low
You say why and I say I don’t know, oh no
You say goodbye and I say hello

-Hello Goodbye, The Beatles

According to songfacts.com, “Paul McCartney wrote this for his friend Alistair Taylor, who was visiting McCartney, asked Paul one day how he wrote his many songs, and how he came up with his ideas. Paul took him into his dining room to give him a demonstration of his hand-carved harmonium. As an experiment, Paul asked Taylor to shout out the opposite of whatever he sang, such as black and white, yes and no, hello and goodbye, etc. From this, the song was born. John Lennon hated the song. He viewed it as an inconsequential song of McCartney’s, saying it was “three minutes of contradictions and meaningless juxtapositions.” What further infuriated Lennon was that his “I Am The Walrus,” was issued as the B-side to McCartney’s A-side “Hello Goodbye.” Shortly after this was released, McCartney explained, “The answer to everything is simple. It’s a song about everything and nothing. If you have black you have to have white. That’s the amazing thing about life.”"

I always dug this catchy pop tune. Personally, I always thought is was about the way Lennon and McCartney’s relationship was at the moment. McCartney wrote Hello Goodbye in 1967 and by then the rivalry as songwriters was in full bloom. Whomever dominated the song writing would control the direction of the band. As such, it was not uncommon for them to be on opposite sides of an issue regarding the direction of the band. Hence Hello Goodbye.

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the all-weather runner

It’s been the typical crazy mid-winter weather here in Pennsylvania. I’ve run in everything from shorts and a long-sleeve shirt to layers capped with a wool sweater. It almost hit fifty one day and I ran in single digits for several other days. I’ve run in rain, and snow, and bright sunshine. Sometimes all during the same run. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I enjoy the the feel and the challenge of running in all kinds of weather. And really, we’ve been pretty lucky as far as severe storms this season. For the most part, they’ve skirted by us on their way up to New York and New England. I’ve had several friends who’ve been hit hard by blizzards.

I prefer running in my Reebok RealFlex shoes when there’s snow and ice on the ground. I really like the way the shoe grips the ground. I find I don’t feel as sure-footed running in the Newton Gravity in these conditions. Actually, I prefer the RealFlex to the Gravity overall. They  have a fairly flat sole with not much of a rise in the front. A good fit for someone like me who has flat feet and has a heel-to-toe foot strike. I just cannot get used to the extra block of padding along the balls of the feet the Gravity has. I imagine it is nice for those who strike the ground with their front foot.

Something I’ve noticed is that no matter the shoe my running style is always heel-to-toe. I’ve been that way all my life. It’s what works for me. I wondered if my style would alter as I switched from shoes that are more constructed (Mizuno Wave Rider and Brooks Ghost) but really my form hasn’t altered much, if at all. My personal experience seems to be born out by science. A fellow running friend of mine, Pete Larson, recently posted a review of a study done comparing the form of runners when the run barefoot, wearing a minimalist shoe, or wearing a traditional running shoe. Their findings indicate not much difference in form when running in either type of shoe. The real difference is between running barefoot or wearing any running shoe. Pete’s an anatomy professor and he has a really good blog on the science of running. If you ever want to know about any make of running shoe, Pete’s blog, Runblogger, is the place to go. You can check out his review of the study here.

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Greenie Update. The little guy is hanging in there. He’s used up about four or five lives

the runner’s 5th iPod nano named the green miler

but he refuses to surrender and go to my iPod Nano graveyard. He no longer works with my Nike+ so I time my runs using the stopwatch feature and use DailyMile maps to determine the distance. Occasionally, he’ll get a little temperamental on a run and have to say the name of every song out loud. Or sometimes he like to make the music fade out then boot back up. These acts can be a bit annoying but he usually gets tired of it after awhile and just lets the music play. At eighteen months he’s my longest surviving device. Hopefully, we’ll have many more runs together before he finally decides to join his brethren in the photo box I keep in my study.

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the runner is so close

I’ve been away these last few weeks, sequestered really, holed up in my study pounding out drafts of the manuscript that would become my dissertation. It’s in the hands of my committee now. I find out their verdict when my final defense takes place later this month. If all goes well I will become the second member of my family to earn a degree from Penn State. The journey has taken longer than expected, mostly due to my own failings and self-sabotage but the end is near. I’ve run twenty-six miles and now only the last three hundred and eighty-five yards remain. Ask any marathoner, they are the longest yards you’ll ever run. Over the next week I have the honor of presenting my dissertation findings at an ethnography conference at the University of Pennsylvania, in my hometown of Philadelphia and then during my final defense here at Penn State. If everything goes well I will graduate in the spring. And that means the next marathon I run will be the first where I run bearing the title of doctor before my name.

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the runner after the job is done

Sunday long run. It was cold today, with period wind gusts strong enough to stop you in your tracks. I was stiff and achy. Not sure if I’m coming down with something. More than likely is just the stress and toll of working non-stop on my dissertation manuscript. I’ve been so focused on that I haven’t been working out at all these last two weeks. I’ve only been taking breaks to run. I’ve been getting out four times a week but for not as many miles as I normally would.

I was hoping for at least ten and ended up with just a bit over when all was said and done. My insides started rumbling about 6.5 miles in and for awhile there I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t going to be a puke run. I was sluggish and my legs felt like lead the entire time but this really took the wind out of me. I continued on up Blanchard turning into Crawford and then Gregory before looping back. By the time I made it through the front door I headed straight for the bathroom where I promptly lost my breakfast and then some. Some runs are just like that.

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I came across a really interesting character in the New York Times Magazine the other day. His name is Napoleon Chagnon and he is an anthropologist who spent part of his career at Penn State. Dr. Chagnon made his career studying the Ya̧nomamö, a people who populate the jungle spreading over Venezuela and Brazil. From the article I gather Dr. Chagnon lived a life of adventure much like Indiana Jones–if only he spoke Jovitos–part academic and part adventurer. He also seems to be a galvanizing figure in anthropology–you either loved him and his methods or your hated him and them. From the little I know of Chagnon, I lean toward the former. I checked out his monograph on the Ya̧nomamö from the university library and plan to read the new book about his life when it comes out next month.

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 Things seen while running:

• A kid walking on campus, texting, with his fly down. He was wearing red, white, and blue spotted boxer shorts.
• A battery-powered toothbrush on the lawn in front of a house on Blanchard St.
• When it snows the Burger King across the street from the high school will plow the drive through but won’t shovel their sidewalk. Do they know their clientele or what?
• A teenager picked up his little brother from the pre-school by Gregory St. What was cool was he did it by pulling him in a red wagon.
• A Gatorade bottle on top of the stone cemetery fence at the intersection of Crawford and Spring. Guess someone inside needed electrolytes.
• An old Ford, perhaps a Model T, in the driveway of a house on Hughes. Maybe they’re going to restore it.
• They’re re-siding a house on Beaver.
• A little further up the street a red & silver pick-up truck is using an Amazon gift box as a driver’s side window.
• A purple ski glove, left hand, on the grass in front of the nursing home on Howard.
• A mother and her young daughter coming out of the Presbyterian church on Allegheny. They were dressed very appropriate and stylish for the services.

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the runner making magic

“Magic
Sandra’s seen a leprechaun,
Eddie touched a troll,
Laurie danced with witches once,
Charlie found some goblins gold.
Donald heard a mermaid sing,
Susy spied an elf,
But all the magic I have known
I’ve had to make myself.”
― Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends

I dig this riff by Shel Silverstein. I especially like his sentiment in the last two lines, “But all the magic I have known/I’ve had to make myself.” It speaks to me on many levels–as a runner, as a writer, as a humanist. And as the piss-poor agnostic that I am

You see, I do want to believe in magic but I also gotta believe that if it’s going to happen for me it’s going to have to come from me. That’s the beauty of running. It’s pragmatic but it’s also a gateway to the supernatural. The discipline it takes to run both enslaves and liberates. And there are times when it’s magical. And it’s a self-made magic and there’s none better.

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Sunday afternoon was a pleasant time for a run. I needed only minimal gear for warmth. I actually crossed paths with a neighbor who was out running in shorts. That’s the kind of day it was. The temperature was in the upper thirties and the sun was out and the air was still. Perfect conditions for a winter’s run.

I’m not training for anything at the moment so I set out to do about seven miles. This would give me plenty of time to get back and cleaned up before football started. Most of the sidewalks and roads are clear enough now where I don’t need to worry about slipping on ice or getting plowed by a driver determined to squeeze through a tight space. No joke, last week after the snow I was almost taken out by the driver of the paratransit bus. Guess he figured he had room for one more

Generally speaking though the drivers have been kind so far. I think it’s the time of year. We’re still coming off the holidays and people are still celebrating. There’s the football playoffs on television and high school wrestling is going on. Wrestling is huge in these parts. There’s snow on the ground and lots of outdoor activities–skiing and snowboarding. So, there’s plenty to do and people haven’t grown weary of winter and being cold and wet for days on end. By March all goodwill will have worn thin and tempers and patience will have grown short. But today…I’ll take it.

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the superstitious runner

This week’s column on The Good Men Project is about runners and our superstitions. The article traces the cultural roots of superstition to the practices of magic and religion as laid out by Sir James Frazer in The Golden Bough. Frazer asserts that what we identify as religion today rose out of our ancestors practice of magic. Frazer identifies two primary principles in the practice of magic: The Law of Similarity–or like produces like–and the Law of Contact–where an object associated with a person retains some influence over that person. From these rose our rituals and taboos which eventually turned into religious practice. It should be noted that one man’s magic is another man’s religion and oftentimes the differences are defined culturally–where the outside culture tends to downgrade the practices of those whom they consider inferior. Savage was the proper term a century ago and savages practiced magic while the civilized had religion. But in reality, we’re all drinking from the same psychological well.

Superstition is a belief in otherworldly causes for events. According to Frazer, superstitions generally serve two purposes:  “Do this and this will happen” or “Do this in order that so and so may happen (positive magic) or “Do not do this, lest so and so should happen” (negative magic). Athletes in general, and runners in particular for the purposes of the column, are a superstitious lot. In the article I’ll cover several superstitious practices that were shared with me by other runners. I hope you’ll like it.

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My goal is to run 4 days per week on average (208 runs for the year).

Week 1/52

• 5 runs (M,T,W,Th,Su)
• 28 miles (7,5,5,3,8)
• YTD: 5/208; 28 miles
• Pace to goal: +1

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the time traveling runner

So I’m driving to the market this morning and I’m listening to Sirius 7, the seventies station on Sirius radio. Sunday morning’s are great because they replay the old Casey Kasem Weekly Top 40 Countdown programs. It’s quite the trip back in time because they match, as close as they can the current week to the week way back when. It just so happens that this week they replayed the broadcast from January 3, 1976. This was a special program because instead of counting down the top 40 songs for the week Casey was counting down the top 100 songs for the previous year, November 74 to November 75 for the purposes of Billboard’s tracking. This show was actually the second half of a two-parter and I happened to be in the car for songs 16-13 on the countdown.

Man, back in January of 1976 I was in my first year at a new school having transferred from St. Josaphat’s to St. Dominic’s. I was in the sixth grade. It was America’s two-hundredth birthday and I was living in Philadelphia, the cradle of liberty. My Philadelphia Flyers were two-time defending Stanley Cup Champions and gearing up to take on the Soviet Red Army team. The winter olympics in Innsbruck Austria were a month away. Franz Klamer would complete one of the most incredible downhill skiing runs ever seen and a young Dorothy Hamill would win gold in figure skating and inspire a haircut that all the girls in the neighborhood, including my sister, would sport.

Here are the top 25 songs. Click on the link to see the entire list.

25: LOVE WON’T LET ME WAIT – MAJOR HARRIS
24: WHY CAN’T WE BE FRIENDS -  WAR
23: LADY MARMALADE – LABELLE
22: THE HUSTLE – VAN McCOY
21: PICK UP THE PIECES – AVERAGE WHITE BAND
20: AT 17 – JANIS IAN
19: HE DON’T LOVE YOU LIKE I DO – TONY ORLANDO & DAWN
18: HEY, WON’T YOU PLAY, ANOTHER SOMEBODY DONE SOMEBODY WRONG SONG – B.J. THOMAS
17: BALL-ROOM BLITZ – SWEET
16: BLACK WATER – DOOBIE BROTHERS
15: KUNG-FU FIGHTING – CARL DOUGLAS
14: LOVING YOU – MINNIE RIPERTON
13: BEST OF MY LOVE – EAGLES
12: JIVE TALKIN’ – BEE GEES
11: THANK GOD I’M A COUNTRY BOY – JOHN DENVER
10: ONE OF THESE NIGHTS – EAGLES
9: LAUGHTER IN THE RAIN – NEIL SEDAKA
8: FAME – DAVID BOWIE
7: SHINING STAR – EARTH, WIND & FIRE
6: SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL – GRAND FUNK
5: MY EYES ADORED YOU – FRANKIE VALLI
4: BEFORE THE NEXT TEARDROP FALLS – FREDDIE FENDER
3: PHILADELPHIA FREEDOM – ELTON JOHN
2: RHINESTONE COWBOY – GLEN CAMPBELL
1: LOVE WILL KEEP US TOGETHER – THE CAPTAIN & TENNILLE

Source: Old Radio Shows http://www.oldradioshows.com/at100/1975.html

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 My goal is to workout 3 days per week on average (156 workouts for the year)

Week 1/52

• 3 workouts (M,T,Th)
• YTD: 3/156
• Pace to goal: On pace

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 Things seen while running:

• A smashed up Rubbermaid trashcan lid on Hume St.
• The physical plant team refinishing the gym floor in Rec Hall.
• Lots of broken down snowmen
• Lots and lots of boxes that once held Christmas gifts now curbside waiting for the recycling truck.
• Little kids with sleds and boards.

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the runner establishing dominion

“You will never have a greater or lesser dominion than that over yourself…the height of a man’s success is gauged by his self-mastery; the depth of his failure by his self-abandonment. …And this law is the expression of eternal justice. He who cannot establish dominion over himself will have no dominion over others.”
― Leonardo da Vinci

I have one resolution for 2013: To make self-discipline my new vice. For me, 2013 is going to be about giving it all I got regardless of my mood or how I’m feeling or what the task is before me or if anyone is watching or will notice. I’m going to embrace the challenge of the hard. I’m going to pursue self-control the same way a hedonist pursues pleasures of the senses. I will learn to not only despise my mediocrity and loathe my laziness but to use them as motivation to get better.

I’ve set several goals for myself this year: I want to run a marathon in the spring and in the fall. I may perhaps try and push the distance further for one of these events. See, I’ve set a long term goal for myself–I wan to run a 50 mile ultra marathon in 2014. The year I turn fifty. Fifty-for-fifty just has a nice symmetry to it. Don’t you think? Fifty miles (80.46k) will be almost double the distance I’ve run so far unless you count the time I got lost running a trail marathon in Delaware and ended up running 30 by accident So to help myself get ready I think it’d be a good idea to run an entry level ultra (31m/50k) this year.

Second, I want to write and publish more. This is a three-pronged goal because I want to write more here on Body in Motion, I want to continue writing a weekly column for The Good Men Project, and, I’d like to publish something else, perhaps an article somewhere, or a short story, something. I’ve got notes all over and ideas floating around and I’m hoping I can take one and grown it into something more.

Finally, and most importantly, I want to complete my dissertation. I’m in the writing phase and got my eye on a spring graduation. If you didn’t know, I’m exploring our notions of identity and community in the age of the social web. To do this I’m looking at my running community and how we navigate our lives in a blended world where professional and familial relationships intertwine with friendships and our passion for running. There are so many great connections between distance running and life, love, religion, and mythology just to name a few that I think I’ve stumbled upon a lifetime’s worth of work. When all is said and done I hope to work in an anthropology department at a university somewhere.

As is always the case with me, my pursuits, both personal and professional are all about searching for the meaning of it all. So I’ll continue to use my running and  my writing to explore what makes us human.

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I’ll be leaning on three books to assist me this year: Psycho-Cybernetics: A New Way to Get More Out of Life by Dr. Maxwell Maltz, Relentless Forward Progess: A Guide to Running Ultramarathons by Bryon Powell, and Eat to Live: The Amazing Nutrient-Rich Program for Fast and Sustained Weigh Loss by Dr. Joel Fuhrman. Psycho-Cybernetics to aid in my mental discipline. Relentless Forward Progress for a training guide. And, Eat to Live for my nutritional discipline. I’ll talk a little about each next.

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the runner acting as if he were behind

“If you wish to be out front, then act as if you were behind.”
― Lao Tzu

Every once in awhile I’ll come across something that helps me dig a little deeper into myself and by doing so I dig myself out of whatever’s got me down this time. It’s usually a book, as was the case this time. The book is Psycho-Cybernetics by Dr. Maxwell Maltz and it was recommended to me by my own physician, Dr. P. Dr. Maltz was a plastic surgeon who recognized through the course of his practice the importance of self-image for leading a happy, productive life. Maltz saw that changing a person’s face did not always lead to change in their demeanor or how they approached life. Maltz incorporated psychological treatment into his repertoire, sometimes “fixing” a person without surgery. In the book, Dr. Maltz explains the principle of psycho-cybernetics and how you can use it to improve your outlook on life, and by extension improve your life. The book was published in 1960 yet it is not dated. In fact, it’s still incredibly relevant today.

I write more about psycho-cybernetics and how I plan to incorporate its practices into my regimen over on my latest column for The Good Men Project. It’s called Never Stop Living. Please check it out and let me know what you think.

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the workingman runner

“We must do our work for its own sake, not for fortune or attention or applause.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles 

I’ve been fortunate this year as far as writing goes. Subscriptions to my blog have taken off and I also started writing a weekly column for The Good Men Project. The truth is, I’ve always loved writing and would write even if nobody was reading. Just like running, writing is a way for me to make sense of things. I’d continue to do both, run and write, even if I never ran another event or published another word. But, I have to say, it is wonderful to know you are being read, that, for the most part, people like what you’re writing. Thank you

To help manage things I created a Facebook page called Man on the Run. I hope to use this page to keep everyone updated on my writings and I’d also like to use it for a place for us to interact. Please check it out, maybe ‘Like’ it, and keep in touch. Here’s the address: http://www.facebook.com/runnerwriter

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the dreamer

“Have your dream…What you need now more than anything is discipline. Cast off mere words. Words turn into stone. (from Thailand)”
― Haruki Murakami, After the quake 

Relentless Forward Progress was recommended to me by two ultra-marathoners whom I admire and really, really like (Lauren & Kelly you know who you are ) At its heart, the book is a how-to training guide for ultra running. It’s full of practical advice for training to run an ultra as well as strategic advice for the actual event. I really like that it spends a lot of time discussing trail running–from gear, to training, to strategic approaches. Trail running is a skill I’m lacking in. To date all of my training and all of my marathons, save one, have been done on the road. I’m looking forward to diving into the book and developing a plan of my own. I’ve also starting gazing, rather cautiously mind you, at several sites that list various ultra events. I’ll keep you posted as I update my race calendar for the year.

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Speaking of my new Facebook page…I’m writing an article around the theme of runners and their superstitions or rituals. For example, whenever I leave my house for a run I touch Goliath, the ceramic gargoyle that stands guard by the front step. Intellectually, I know there is no cause and effect but I just feel that if I touch him I’ll have a good run.

Do you have any rituals or superstitions you employ when running, either training runs or events? I’d love to hear about them for an article I’m working on. Drop me a line here. Thanks!

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the flagellate runner

“Self-respect is the root of discipline: The sense of dignity grows with the ability to say no to oneself.”
― Abraham Joshua Heschel

I’ve always had a love-love relationship with food. I never hated anything I ate. I hated myself for eating it. But I know if I’m going to achieve my 50-at-50 goal I’ll need to eat differently. Specifically, I need to learn to eat for nutrition as opposed to eating for comfort.

In looking at my eating habits I noticed I tend to go off the good food wagon for three reasons: stress, self-loathing, or reward. And when I eat for any of these reasons, believe me, I’m not eating vegetables. But I’m getting better and determined as all hell to get there. This past week I’ve incorporated large amounts of fresh vegetable and fruit into my diet in the form of huge salads for lunch.

It’s not that I don’t like healthy food. It’s just that it wasn’t necessarily the way I was raised to eat food. I grew up in the typical American family which meant eating the typical American diet. A habit I carried over into my adult life. Well, to get where I want to go I need to create a new habit, a new way of eating.

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silly runner thinks he has class. really he’s just a cock

“Class is an aura of confidence that is being sure without being cocky. Class has nothing to do with money. Class never runs scared. It is self-discipline and self-knowledge. It’s the sure-footedness that comes with having proved you can meet life. ”
― Ann Landers

I came across this quote from Ann Landers when looking for quotes on self-discipline. I dig the sentiment she’s expressing. Class is knowing who you are and being comfortable enough in your own skin to be what the situation calls for. If someone puts a baby in front of you, you act silly. The same goes for a puppy. It’s knowing when someone needs help and knowing when that means leaving them alone. For runners that means letting someone carry on now matter how miserable their struggle appears. That’s the battle we’re in it for. You’ll know if someone really needs you on a run. Class is all about being that right person at the right time. It’s not about being phony. You can bowl the insincere out quick enough. Class is genuine because it’s practiced. Class is as much about what you do when nobody’s around. Class is pride in oneself. It’s a learned behavior that’s at it’s most sublime when carried off with understatement. The classiest acts are the ones no one else knows about. Class is about doing good.

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I received a letter from my cousin Carrie. It was in with her Christmas card. In the letter she thanked me for the story I write about her grandfather, my uncle (see Eulogy for Uncle John over at GMP) and shared one of her own.

After my Aunt Lil passed Uncle John when to live with his daughter and her family. Carrie was the second child of three. Well when she was a teenager she and her friend would sneak into my uncle’s room and take some of the quarters he used to keep in a jar there. Years later and feeling guilty she when to him and confessed her crime. “Oh that,” Uncle John said, “I knew about that so I made sure there was always enough quarters there.” That’s class.

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Goals for 2013:

•  Run 4 days per week on average (208 runs)
• Workout 3 days per week on average (156 workouts)
• Run two marathons (with perhaps one being an ultra, 50k)

Let’s be well everybody. Let’s rock it.

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the runner–will he be able to rise?

“That we cannot rise equal to situations when we are in them–that is the tragedy of life.”

- Henry Miller

I came across this quote from Miller while doing research for my column this week. It seems particularly apropos given the events of this past week. There are no words to describe what happened. It goes beyond words.

In trying to comprehend what happened last Thursday I found myself thinking of Achilles and the tremendous grief he felt over the death of his dearest friend, Patroclus, during the Trojan war.  It was a grief he, in part, brought on himself. It was also brought on by circumstances beyond his control. The gods can be capricious and fickle. It turned out to be the way into things. Here is an excerpt from tomorrow’s piece:

“Achilles is first a foremost a warrior. Yet, his pride, the greatest of all Greek sins, keeps him from doing what he is supposed to do. As a result, he chooses not to fight yet he cannot leave the battlefield. He is the fish trapped by the current. This refusal to take action costs the life of his dearest friend. And it is the death of Patroclus that causes Achilles to rejoin the battle, not for Agamemnon, nor for the honor of the Greeks, but for himself.”

Those school children rose to the situation. So did the teachers. And the administrators. And the responders. I’m an agnostic, a poor one but one nonetheless, but may they be in Heaven, may they run through the Elysian Fields.

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the runner stepping back in time

My Sunday long run turned out better than I thought. It was overcast, the world seemed bare, the sky the color of slate, and just as solid. It was like stepping into a deserted set of play, left as it was on closing night some fifty-odd years ago. There was a light mist which turned into a fine steady rain. It rained those thin drops. The kind that feel like needles into the skin. My body was sore and felt as old as the world I was seeing. Climbing Howard I was surprised there wasn’t more traffic it being this close to Christmas but I guess people feel they still have enough time. After all, there is one more shopping weekend left. The church parking lots were fuller than usual, a combination of the time of the year and the events of last Thursday no doubt. Everyone could use with a little more prayer about now. Even this agnostic.

Running is how I pray.

My body loosened up after I made the climb up Howard, past the library, past the cemetery, the nursing home, the beagle who always runs along with me inside his fence, the florist and then the apartments until I complete the climb and turn onto McAllister. It was then, at mile six, when I felt the blood return to my quads in a flush, I knew I’d complete the run I set out to do.

And I run.

Down Bishop St. along the sidewalk past the homes and another cemetery until I turn up Blanchard and begin another climb. The angle is steeper and I run up on the front of my feet. My heels never touch the ground at the steepest point. I pass the house where a family sits out on the porch on summer nights. They always give me a big wave when I pass. But today the chairs stand empty. Oddly enough, even the old man’s Hover Round sits empty. I wonder if he has an indoor chair. I finish this part of the climb when I turn down Crawford Lane, passed Hyde Park where the Pee Wee football team plays. Crawford is little more than an alley and I run through a mix of house fronts and backyards. Crawford ends at Allegheny by another cemetery, a small one surrounded by a stone wall. The cemetery sits below eye level and I wonder how many people know it’s there. I turn and make my way back to Blanchard and I climb a little more.

And I run.

Up Blanchard to Gregory St. where I turn into the cul-de-sac where my friend Tico lives and then back down Blanchard to Humes to Hughes and emerging on Bishop a block short of the high school. It’s a point of heart in the run. I could turn off at McAllister and make my way home or continue up Bishop to Parkview adding two-plus miles to my run. I planned on running them so I don’t look twice and continue on up passed the school. Across the street is a gold mine of a Burger King and the empty shell where the old Weis Market was until it moved to a larger, modern complex a few miles up the road toward Zion.

And I run.

Bishop until I turn off at Parkview and begin the final loop towards home. High St. is full of homes and the homes are decorated for the season. As I approach McAllister and the turn toward home I mull the idea of continuing on a little further. I got it in me today but decide against it in the end. There are other things waiting to be done. So down McAllister to Howard, which turns into Jacksonville and the development where I live.

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One of the benefits of growing older, I’ve found, is the discovery of the power of having patience. Of holding back, waiting for the right moment, knowing that the moment may never come but also knowing that this is okay. It is better to keep something for the right moment than release it too soon and negating its meaning.

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Across the Street from Where I Lived

I wrote this back in November 2009. It’s from my old blog, five-4-six. It’s about a kid who was executed across the street from my parents house. His murder barely made the news and remains unsolved. 

“A young man was murdered across the street from the house where I lived. He was walking home late Saturday night. Two cars came. One man got out and shot him point blank in the head.

“We don’t know what he was guilty or innocent of. But we do know this. He was in somebody’s rock and roll band. He was somebody’s boyfriend. He was some mother’s son. And now he’s no more.”

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the graying runner

Over the last few weeks my runs have been a mixed blessing. I’ve been able to record some good times, getting closer to where I was before the injury, however, I’m not bouncing back from these runs as quickly as I’d like to be.

It’s been wonderful to feel my stride return. Several times my movement’s caught me off guard with how naturally they’d become. My pace is quickening and I’m gradually building back the lung capacity needed to run fast. I was thrilled when Monday I was able to go all out for 3.3 miles clocking in with a 6:56 per mile pace. I ran again Tuesday but had to take in much slower (8:33 per mile pace) but still quicker than I’d been averaging. But after that my legs were fatigued and I needed to take the next two days off.

A detriment to growing older is the loss of the ability to quickly bounce back. Thank goodness this is tempered with the wisdom to work around this.

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I mentioned in an earlier post that I got a new gig writing for the Good Men Project. It’s a weekly column published on Monday afternoon. The column is called Man on the Run and it’s about the myths we use to tell our story. So far I’ve written about cockfighters and poets, patricide, and original sin. There have also been some lighter pieces around the rock band I was in and how my dad used to quiz me on the gospel to see if I went to church. Tomorrow’s piece is on finding meaning in an tragedy so incomprehensible it defies explanation.

I hope you’ll check out the column and perhaps even bookmark or subscribe to it if you find it worth your while. I’d love to hear what you think of it.

click on the photo to link to my column on The Good Men Project

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Exerpt from Cockfighters and Poets

“You see Life and I have always had this uneasy truce. I think it’s because we understand each other. I know that Life is a cold and indifferent bitch that doesn’t give a damn one way or the other about my particular fate. Its sole purpose is to perpetuate itself. I’m not an optimist or a pessimist. Nor do I believe or disbelieve. I want to believe but I cannot put myself in the hands of something I can never in this life know is there. Instead I try to do my best in the hope that things will sort themselves out in the end. In my own way, I try to see through all the stage trappings, you know those things that build up around us and come in between us and what Life really is. I do this through running. And running. And running. Which brings me to forty-year old tales of cockfights on the other side of the world.”
Read more at http://goodmenproject.com/the-good-life/cockfighters-and-poets/#4dJJ8hYDseWuoO5X.99

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 Things seen while running:

• A man wearing a blue t-shirt, grey boxers, red socks, and brown crocs out to pick up the Sunday paper of the walk.
• A letter opener.
• The inflatable ornaments strewn across the lawns resemble giant used condoms discarded by the Titans after a good night.
• An unfinished television cabinet on the sidewalk in front of the Oakie’s place with no one around to claim it.
• The church parking lots are always a little more full this time of year, no matter the denomination.
• You can always tells when it’s Victorian Christmas in town because the town smells of horses and horse shit. It also adds an extra element of danger when crossing the street.
• Three little kids on Armour St., two girls and a boy, sang “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” to me as I ran by them.

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the runner getting his Bond on

“You only live twice. Once when you are born and once when you look death in the face.”

– Ian Fleming

 We say Skyfall last Saturday, the 23^rd installment in the James Bond movie franchise. 2012 marks the 50^th anniversary of the movie franchise based on the character created by Ian Fleming and it’s a real corker. I think it’s the best one of the three with Daniel Craig as Bond and that’s saying something for me because I really dug Casino Royale. All in all, I’ve liked the turn the franchise has taken in the three films since Craig came along. The movie character of Bond is grittier and haunted and flawed, which brings him more in-line with the character Fleming originally created. Craig has become my favorite Bond, supplanting Sean Connery. Skyfall has a deeper storyline to it than most Bond films—again a trait I’ve liked in the last three films—and without giving away any of the core elements there is one scene I’d like to talk about because it relates to life and the rites of passage we all go through.

The scene takes place in Bond’s ancestral home, named Skyfall. The home had not been lived in for years and had fallen into disrepair. The only person on the estate left when Bond and M arrive is the groundskeeper and the three of them must prepare for the impending arrival of the villain. During the preparations the groundskeeper shows M the how to open the door to a secret passageway that runs under the ground of the estate and can be used for escape. In telling the door M remarks how easy it could be to get lost down there to which the groundskeeper replies with the story of how young James hid down there for two days after the death of his parents. “He went in a boy,” says the groundskeeper, “but he came out a man.” That line immediately called to mind the quote Fleming used in the opening of You Only Live Twice because they both deal with the notion of death as a rite of passage. In the case of Skyfall it is the sudden loss of both parents and in You Only Live Twice it is staring your own mortality in the face.

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running out of days to run dressed like this

It’s been three weeks since the Marine Corps Marathon and my recovery training has been going well. I’ve had twenty-three, thirty-eight, and thirty-one mile run weeks. I’ve ran 4x a week each week including running 11 miles three times in one week. For all these runs I’ve alternated my Reebok RealFlex and Newton Gravity shoes; my Brooks Ghosts are collecting dust at the moment. I’ve got to admit I’ve grown fond of running in a less-structured shoe. I saw an advertisement for the Nike Cortes–the shoe that launched the running boom in the states–in the J. Crew catalogue and I’m tempted. They’re marketing them as a casual shoe and not a trainer but, if I get them I’m not saying I won’t take them out for a spin

The weather’s getting cooler, and some night’s are downright cold when I hit the pavement after work but I don’t mind. I’ll run in anything.

I took it easy today (11 miles/9:06 pace). My legs are a bit tired and I’d pushed them a bit on my runs earlier in the week while at Vanderbilt. Those runs were on the treadmill at the hotel gym so I opened it up a bit on the flat, forgiving surface.

Post marathon runs are nice because the mind can be relaxed. I’m not out to run a particular distance or a particular time. I’m just out there to enjoy the run. No pressure.  The time, when the training season is over, is a time to relax, runs are like a Sunday drive–a nice way to spend the day. I’ll be in this phase for the next few weeks during which time I’ll map out my pans for next year. I’m eyeing up a couple runs in the spring and one in the fall but this year I really want to focus on my overall approach. This means training body, mind, and soul. It means running, weights, cross-training, nutrition, and relaxation. I’ll keep you updated on my progress and what I find. I want 2013 to be my most holistic year to date.

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Please keep my friend Sue C. in your thoughts and prayers. She lost her mom this weekend. We went to the same grade school. Her brother and I were in the same grade and Sue was two grades back. We try and get together with the gang whenever I get back home.

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the runner writing randomly

Random piece from something I’m writing: The Day Mrs. Ryan Broke Up Our Rock and Roll Band

Mrs. Ryan always started drinkin’ early. It’s a fact. Ask anyone in the neighborhood. Wine was her drink and you could set your watch by how many empty bottles you counted in the kitchen trash. This made the Ryan’s house the perfect place to hangout in the summer. You see, Mrs. Ryan loved two things in life—her Gallo wine and her Electrolux  Model 1205 Canister Vacuum.  She worked them both hard but she loved them both more than anything else in the whole world and as long as we didn’t mess with either we had free reign to do what we please. That’s why we decided to make the Ryan’s house our home base the day we went into Rock and Roll.

It was August 1976 and the music world was in shambles. Rock had lost its way and bands like the Who and the Stones had been replaced on the charts by the likes of Kiss and Peter Framptom—Peter Fuckin’ Frampton and Frampton Comes Alive. Not to mention disco, don’t even get me started there. Rock was in trouble, Rock needed a savior and that’s what we intended to be. Five kids from Northeast Philly were going to be the heroes who saved Rock and Roll. That’s why, after a morning of careful deliberation we settled on a name—The Saviors.

We actually made a lot of progress that morning even through the distraction of Mrs. Ryan’s constant vacuuming. Besides the band name we also came up with the concept of our first album cover. Naturally it would feature the five of us looking cool. We would be standing in front of this lake of fire surrounded by volcanoes and rising out of the lake would be a cross that also was an electric guitar with lightning bolts shooting out the top. Mikey, our drummer and the only one of us with any musical experience, would be standing on the side of one volcano, bare chested, with both arms thrust into the air, his left hand giving the sign of the devil and his right giving the sign of God. There would be three chicks crawling up the volcano to his feet, a little homage to Zeppelin and the cover of Houses of the Holy. Toney would be hanging off the neck of the guitar-cross with one hand in the throws of an electric shock signifying the power of our music. Larry, the older of the Ryan twins by two minutes, would be swinging his guitar overhead, smashing a pile of skulls at his feet a homage to Pete Townsend and a sign of the creative differences already gripping the band. Petey the younger of the twins wanted to be smashing skulls too but Larry wanted to be doing his own thing so Petey decided he was going to be dressed like Elton John on the cover of Captain Fantastic. This pissed everyone else off because it had nothing to do with the album cover or who we were about—we were saving rock from people like Elton Friggin’ John for Christ sakes–but we had to let him do this because no one could come up with anything better. I decided that I would be coming out of the other volcano on the cover holding two album covers above my head, sort of the way the pictures at school showed Moses holding the tablets coming down from Mt. Sinai to show the Israelites. The guys objected to that as well but I argued that since I was to be the principle songwriter it only made sense. This led to another argument as to just who was going to write our songs. Apparently Larry and Mikey thought they were going to write the songs. In the end we agreed we’d do like the Beatles where Lennon and McCartney did most of the writing buy George got to write a few songs as well.  By this point it was lunchtime and creative tensions were high so we left it at that. We’d decide who was the John, Paul, and George in our band later.

Lunch in the summer was usually Fluffernutter or bologna sandwiches depending on whose house you ate at. Since we were on a roll we decided to make it a working lunch and so we planned our first tour over bologna and iced tea while Mrs. Ryan vacuumed around us in between drinks from her wine glass. We decided to make the Velvet Lounge our home base because of its location in a shopping mall right on the city line.  This would give us a reach into the city and the suburbs so we could build our fan base. Plus we could take the bus there from our neighborhood. Once word got out we’d be able to play other clubs throughout the city culminating with a gig at America’s Showplace, the Philadelphia Spectrum.  Larry and I almost came to blows when the discussion turned to pyrotechnics—he wanted a lot of explosions and I didn’t, I was about the music—and Mrs. Ryan chased us back outside because she could hear Bob Barker and The Price Is Right on the black and white sitting on the kitchen counter over our arguing.

I was already making plans to go solo as we worked out our stage alignment on the Ryan’s back patio. Besides who would stand there we also had to decide who would play what instrument. By now creative differences were really tearing the band apart. Mickey, Toney, Larry, and myself all thought we should be the lead singer. Mickey was voted out because he had to play the drums and no band that was going to save Rock and Roll was going to have a drummer for a lead vocalist. Who were we the fucking Eagles? In the end we decided to hold open auditions. We’d each take turns singing Baba O’Reilly and whoever had the best stage presence would get the lead. We tossed for it and Larry would get to go first.

Since we didn’t have any instruments we had to use the Ryan’s Boom Box for the actual music. For the first go round Larry would be Roger Daltry. Toney would be Pete Townsend. Mikey would be Keith Moon, Petey would be John Entwhistle, which made no frigging sense because he’d be dressed like Elton John, and I would be the guy playing keyboards, the one whose name nobody could think of. This insult really pissed me off and further convinced me that my destiny was a solo career, like the way Peter Frampton had to leave Mott The Hoople in order to make it big.

But then it all went down.

No sooner had we popped in the cassette of Who’s Next and hit play when Mrs. Ryan came bursting out the back door wielding the arm of the Electrolux 1205 like a flamethrower and dragging the canister behind her like a dog on a leash. She had switched the damn thing from suction to blast and blasted us with a lifetime’s worth of dust and debris from the house, sending us scattering onto the lawn like leaves in the wind and depriving the world of the greatest rock and roll band of all time.

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a new gig

I have a new writing gig writing a weekly column for The Good Men Project. My column is titled Man on the Run and is published every Monday. It’s about the myths that tell the story of what it’s like to be a man through the ages. It will be centered around the notion of what it meant to be a man through time. I’ll explore various myths, practices, cultures, and such from various places in time and relate them to what’s happening with and to men today. If you know me, you know I love myth and storytelling and I’m very excited to get the opportunity to explore this area more with others. I hope you’ll find the column interesting, educational, and fun to read. Please check it out, leave me a comment, and maybe share it on Facebook and Twitter. While you’re there check out the rest of the site. There’s some interesting stuff going on.

Read more at The Good Man Project: Man on the Run.

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Initiation rites where meant to lead the individual from one stage of life to the next. They generally mark a period of transition. For example puberty rites where meant to mark the passage of the world of children into the world of adults. Traditionally in both the East & West this was to help the person transfer from a state of mind of love/service of the self (a child’s view) to love/service of the community (the adult view). Here in the West, we’ve lost a lot of these rites of transition making it difficult to know when you’re supposed to shed one skin and take on another. We’ve also extended the period of childhood well beyond any other point in time with one of the effects being that we produce egocentric, and sometimes misogynistic, adults in greater quantity. We’re losing the idea of an adult being community focused rather than individual focused. We’ve created this cultural neurosis. (I think another topic for another post).

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The Original Selfie. A few weeks back I wrote about being a selfie–someone who

the original selfie

takes photos of themselves and posts them online. Well, much to my surprise I came across this article in the Huffington Post on possibly the founding father of selfies Australian General Thomas Baker.  The article states the photo was taken in 1918 and has the telltale selfie traits of a “subtle pout and sideways gaze.” So in honor of our founding father, the right Admiral Baker, go to your mirror, fire up the photo app on your phone, put on your best pout and sideways glance, and snap away. Oh, and post it online. It’s not a selfie until you make it public.

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Things seen while running:

• Liquid Band-Aids where have you been all my life?! My nips sing your praises!!
• The Cocker Spaniel pair at the end of Gregory St. are back. They’ve been out to greet me several times the past few weeks.
• A syringe on the berm on Jacksonville Rd.
• The Bellefonte H.S. cross-country team out for practice runs through the neighborhood.
• The sale sign in front of the house where the lady let me use her water hose has been gone but no one has moved in.
• There’s very few leaves remaining on the trees. They grin at me with the smile of an old man.
• I think Greenie is on life support. He won’t hold the volume and at random times, for no reason he goes silent.

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Playlist:

running November 2012

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Our Better Angels

“Semper Fidelis”

–The official motto of the United States Marine Corps since 1883

Semper Fidelis, or the shortened Semper Fi, is Latin for “always faithful.” The root meaning of the word is “full of faith” but it has since passed into the more commonly understood meaning of having a strong commitment to something or someone. The word faithful dives deep within the well of our values and draws upon our an honor-bound sense of loyalty to ones duty. It is the word that underpins the vows we take. It is a word of gravitas and one that should not be thrown around lightly.

For people such as the marines whom this marathon celebrates the ideal of being

More of our better angels

faithful speaks to a loyalty and committment that goes well beyond what most would considered required in life. Yet for these people it is the way of life. I couldn’t help but wonder and as moved among these men and women, some still boys and girls at least in age, how many of them could be gone tomorrow, shipped off to a far off place, trading in the water bottles they cheerfully passed out to us for the guns they would need to defend themselves and each other, not to mention us. How many of them had already seen combat? I marveled at how they they could do what they do and see what they see and still be there to serve us on our day with such unabashed joy. There was nothing jaded or phony found in their words or actions. It was genuine and I couldn’t help but love them a little bit more for it. For yesterday I had the opportunity to walk among our better angels and that can’t help but change you.

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On the Saturday afternoon before the marathon we visited an exhibit the National Geographic complex and took in the exhibit titled 1001 Inventions: Discover the Golden Age of Muslim Civilization. According to the site, the exhibit covers the period between the seventh and seventeenth centuries, 600 AD to 1600 AD when the Muslim empire

National Geographic Headquarters

stretched wing-to-wing from China to Spain. The exhibit is well-done showcasing the men and women who made wonderful contributions in the areas of medicine, mathematics, astronomy, architecture, etc. Each station had a large HD monitor featuring an actor in character portraying a prominent Muslim figure in a particular area. The screen is in constant motion as the actors try to get your attention. Think the moving portraits in Harry Potter and you get the idea of what I’m talking about.

The timing of the exhibit is great for the obvious reasons. In these times we forget it was the Muslim civilization that carried the torch of knowledge while Europe struggled through the Dark Ages, the thousand year period between the fall of Rome and the Renaissance. It was the Muslim peoples who carried on the work of the Romans, who were carrying forward the work of the Greeks, who were carrying on the work of the Egyptians. Without this link in the chain of knowledge we may never have had DaVinci, Michelangelo  Dante, or Shakespeare. We would not have seen the rise of humanistic thought and without that we have no Martin Luther and the Protestant Reformation. And without that we may not have had the next great period in the west, the Enlightenment and its interpretation of equality and social justice. And without that we have no founding fathers and no American revolution. Think of how much different life would be.

the runner looking back through time

In looking back through time through this 35mm lens, it seems that human beings as a whole, our civilization and our culture, is possible because one great civilization paves the way for the next with each building upon the accomplishments of its predecessor. And the cool thing about all this is that this is only one of the avenues of advancement. While this was the way things were going in the western half of the world over in the east we had the great advances made in China and India. So really, maybe it’s not links in a chain of knowledge but threads of string that twist together to form a strong rope of knowledge. It is the work of the past providing us with the strength we need to build the present so that we provide those in the future with what they need to carry on.

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As runners we’re also faithful. We’re faithful to the run. Faithful to the training. Faithful to getting up extra early or hitting the pavement in the dark of night so we can get our miles in uninterrupted and at peace. Faithful to the pain; faithful to the sacrifice; faithful to the truth and clarity it brings. We’re faithful to our goals because it brings everything else into line.

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It was really cool to see the many Muslim families attending the exhibit. I could tell some were of Arabian descent and some were of African descent. There were even a few of European-American descent but most of the Euro-Americans were people like Sue and I there to check out the exhibit. National Geographic was smart to make the exhibit so interactive. This kept the children interested by letting them touch and manipulate parts of each station. All the kids would play together, Muslim and non. They were having fun learning by play, the world of the adults not yet infringing upon them.

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I made sure to stick with the plan and run the race I trained for. As we walked from

To The Start

the Metro station to the start line you could see the sun rising over our capital city. The dawn air was cool and comfortable. Temps were in the fifties and hadn’t seen much fluctuation over night. The breeze was only slight, still only the soft feelers of Hurricane Sandy and what was to come. The atmosphere was charged with the nervous tension and excitement that is made by the runners and supporters milling about the grounds. The mix of people, some dead serious while others dress and act like jesters, couldn’t help but make me think of what it must have been like in Medieval times, or the court of King Arthur on tournament day. I breathed it all in as I thought these thoughts and I thought it was a good morning for a run.

This was the largest marathon I’d ever run in and several times the Marines needed to widen the corrals to accommodate all the runners. I got in the corral as close to the head of the 4:30 pace group as I could get but as more and more runners climbed in I found myself drifting further and further back. Ultimately, the corral got so full the pace group leader became a distant memory over the sea of bodies between us and it would take me until mile eight to catch up. But I was determined to run my race and not get caught up in the fool’s notion that I needed to catch up all at once. It was the first of several tactical decisions that helped me through the run.

mcm start

Instead of trying to maneuver through the crowd and make up ground at the start, I decided to take the reverse course and relax and wait for things to unfold. I focused on my breathing as we walked our way up the corral to the start line. It would still be a bit before the crowd dispersed enough for us to begin to run so I worked on releasing the tension in my muscles. In previous marathons I’d find myself caught up in the anxiety of being behind and the start and would waste too much energy needlessly trying to make up ground all at once. My muscles would tighten and my strides would be rigid, a sure way to bring on fatigue later. By today as I broke into a trot I was relaxed and loose.

A second tactical decision I made was not to waste energy needlessly. When you are used to running alone finding yourself bunched up with thousands of other runners can be a bit unnerving. I know that other years, especially when I was running for a BQ, all the bumping and jostling would bring out the negative aspects of the competitor in me. If someone bumped me or cut me off going by I’d make it a point to fire up and return the favor. Instead of keeping my focus on the greater goal I’d waste it on these minor skirmishes that meant nothing in the long run. But on this day I did the opposite. I paid no attention to any slight or rude behavior, real or imagined, sent my way. Instead, I’d assist those runners that were caught up behind a group they were trying to pass by sliding over and providing them an opening. My mind was of the thought that as long as I could keep my stride and run at my pace nothing else mattered and that if I could help someone out along the way I would. It was here that the visualization work I’d done before the marathon paid off. As part of my training leading up to the marathon I’d sit in my chair, close my eyes, and imagine these kinds of scenarios and how I wanted to react to them. I was surprised at how natural a previously unnatural response came to me as a result of doing this. I’m by no means proficient at visualizing scenarios but I saw enough of an impact that I’m going to keep practicing it.

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It’s no accident that these great civilizations pursued all paths of learning, from the spiritual to the scientific. In fact, there was a time, before the domain of science separated into its own discipline that science and religion were one in the same. It made sense because both were trying to explain the previously unexplainable. It was through the stories of myth that our fore-bearer’s were able explain things in a way that made sense and allowed them to function and grow. As civilization advanced we devised new ways of studying and explaining things. Most, if not all, people of science were also deeply religious and saw no conflict between their pursuit of knowledge and the blessings of the almighty. In fact, the pursuit of knowledge was considered honoring God because we were using the gifts given us. It was not uncommon for architects, physicians, writers, and scientists to also be holy men. In the western world after the fall of Rome it was the monks in the monasteries who kept the faint light of learning alive for the Christians.

There were natural tensions when scientific discoveries contradicted or supplanted religious doctrine, such as in the position of the earth in the center of the universe. But nothing that wasn’t ultimately reconcilable. Sure tensions grew between those who held a fundamentalist view of scripture and those who championed pure reason over faith as scientific discoveries challenged previously held notions of things but, on the whole, the vast majority of people were able to reconcile the differences between the domains. For most, science explained what was happening and how it was happening while religion explained the why. The analogy of the watch and the watchmaker works well here. If we think of the universe as a giant pocket watch, science through observation and experimentation can tell us how it works while religion through meditation and prayer tells us about the watchmaker. One could, and I argue still can, be faithful to both. It is when we start using one to explain the other that we get ourselves into trouble.

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Great civilizations pursue all branches of knowledge

Washington is a gorgeous city and, naturally, the marathon course took us through the highlights. But it is also a city of narrow streets and when you’re running with twenty-thousand other runners it’s difficult to take it all in. I had Little Greenie but never bothered putting in my ear buds. For this run you really needed to focus on your immediate surroundings. Even as we made our way past the halfway point we were still bunched up tight. Several times I saw people trip off the back heels of the runner in front of them and one time there was a full-blown wipe out where this guy went sprawling, hands out, onto the black top. Fortunately, he and the others he took down with him were able to continue. I almost wiped out as well. This was when I was going through an aid station where they were handing out orange slices. Runner would eat the pulp and drop the rind on the ground. Well, after awhile the ground became thick with orange peels making for treacherous footing. I did skid out when my my right foot landed square on one but I managed to keep my balance.

As we ran alongside the Potomac you could feel the breeze picking up. The air was a colder too and I wished I had the sweatshirt I discarded around mile seven back. But I turned my thoughts away from the cold and back toward the run.

This was my first marathon running in minimalist shoes, Reebok FlexRun. I must admit, I am fast becoming a fan of them. I like the way they move with my feet as I stride over the ground. I also like the way they allow me to grip the surface. I feel as if I have more control over how I maneuver through the terrain. Their minimalist structure and lightweight material make for a toe box the expands and contracts along with your foot as you stride. There’s no rubbing effect as your feet sweat which helps to alleviate blistering. I was nervous running twenty-six miles in them, up to then my longest run in them had been twelve miles, but my feet felt good the entire run. Where I noticed a difference was in which muscles in my legs fatigued. It seems the minimalist shoe designed to encourage forefoot striking works the quadricep muscles compared to a show designed for a heel-to-toe strike where I noticed fatigue in my hamstrings. So far I find the fatigue neither better nor worse just different but on the whole I am liking my stride better in the minimalist shoe.

Another tactic I used was in pain management. I didn’t bonk between miles eighteen

Admiral Byrd

and twenty, in fact I still feel good. It seems I’d run out of whatever reserves I had around mile twenty-three. It was then that the run became a mental one for me. I don’t know how it is for other runners but for me there is no gradual building up to the bonk. Instead it is a feeling of the bottom dropping out, where your body rebels and says enough and wants to stop. For me, this feeling of being empty happened around mile twenty-three. But instead of trying to ignore the pain this time I embraced it. I allowed myself to explore the pain using the strategy of association, which I wrote about last week.

What I did was this: Using my mind I entered every place I hurt and examined it. My quads burned so I explored how they burned. I discovered the pain wasn’t from the exertion of running but rather was the result of having little-to-nothing left to use to contribute to the act of running. I found the difference subtle yet profound. My legs were not hurting as a result of the act of running but rather they hurt because they had nothing left to give. The distinction is important. Because if it was the act that was causing the pain then the only relief would be to stop running. However, since the pain was because of what I had in me, I could deal with it and fight on. Which I did. I did have to stop and walk a couple of times but these stops were minimal and as I started running as soon as I felt the blood returning to my muscles. The result was the most complete marathon I’d run in quite sometime. My finish time of 4:33:27 was right in-line with what I had trained to run coming off the injury. I was pleased with my run.

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In the west it seems the relationship between science and religion had its terminal falling out with Darwin’s publication of the Origin Of The Species in 1859. Not since Galileo had firmly placed the sun at the center of the universe had the Church felt so threatened. It was one thing to accept that the planet we inhabit is not the center of the universe but it is quite another to accept that we came to be in our present state the same way as every other creature. It was here where the wires began to really cross. The late great paleo-biologist Stephen Jay Gould wrote an excellent short book on this topic titled Rocks of Ages in which he tries to rectify the animosity between the disciplines. Gould lays out the history detailing how and why things went wrong and the dangers of living in a society where one succeeds only with the total destruction of the other. I have to admit that the struggle between science and religion still going on in America today worries me greatly. I fear that if we cannot have both we are doomed to fall, as a culture, as a society, and as a country, victims of of our ignorance. Give me a scientist who has faith and a priest who can reason any day because science cannot answer moral questions just as religion can no longer answer why the world is round.

I think to advance as a people we must remain faithful to our past, not in the sense of returning to a certain point in it but in it’s spirit. The human animal has always been a seeker. I do not believe a Creator would grant us the faculties we have and not want us to use them to the best of our ability. To do God or science justice we must continue to do so for that is what we were made to do. We need to take our lead from those great civilizations that came before us where science and religion could not only co-exist, but flourish, and we’ll be all better for it. I really believe God has no problem with the theory of evolution so why should we?

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“Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,

Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:

And out of it, as Wind along the Waste

I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.”

–Omar Khayyam, Persian philosopher, scientist, poet

from The Rubaiyat, a collection of four line poems written 1120 AD

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An interesting article appeared in The Mail Online late last week on a new theory of the soul proposed by two quantum physicists. Dr Stuart Hameroff and Sir Roger Penrose studied near-death experiences and are proposing that the soul inhabiting and individual body is actually part of the fabric of the universe and when the body passes on the soul returns to the universe. This line of thought is nothing new. The religions of the east and west have long held the belief that we are part of something greater. What’s interesting here is these scientists are proposing a way of physically explaining the process. And so the world continues to turn.

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“Placed on this isthmus of a middle-state,

A being darkly wise and rudely great…

He hangs between; in doubt to act or rest;

In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast…

Created half to rise, and half to fall;

Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;

Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl’d;

The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!”

–Alexander Pope

Essay on Man, 1773-74

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The runner is just beginning

The Marine Corps Marathon was the first marathon, since my first, that I’ve run looking at it as the beginning of something rather than as an end result. Coming off the injury I used the MCM as a stepping off point, as the means toward something greater. When I started training my baseline running fitness was ten miles, I bonked after that, and by the time I ran the marathon seventeen weeks later I’d increased my baseline fitness to twenty-three miles. My plan is to keep building upon this. I learned I like running in minimalist shoes and will continue to do so. I bought a pair of Newton’s as the race expo and have ran in them a couple of times already. I discovered that visualization works and so I’ll keep working at it. I also plan to keep up my study and practice around the principles of psycho-cybernetics. Mostly I learned to fix my goal squarely in my mind and have faith that my plan and work will lead me there.

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“If you can take a thing like evolution and make it a crime to teach it in the public schools, tomorrow you can make it a crime to teach it in the private schools and the next year you can make it a crime to teach it to the hustings or in the church. At the next session you may ban books and the newspapers…Ignorance and fanaticism are ever busy and need feeding. Always feeding and gloating for more. Today it is the public school teachers; tomorrow the private. The next day preachers and lecturers, the magazines the books, the newspapers. After a while, Your Honor, it is the setting of man against man and creed against creed until with flying banners and beating drums we are marching backward to the glorious ages of the sixteenth century when bigots lighted fagots to burn the men who dared to bring any intelligence and enlightenment and culture to the human mind.”

–Clarence Darrow delivering his closing remarks,

The State of Tennessee v.  John Scopes

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Things seen while running:

• 23,515 runners getting the grand tour of our nation’s capital and finishing the marathon.
• Several wheelchair athletes. Whenever one came up from behind we’d clear a path up the middle of the road so he or she could push through.
• Twice I saw a runner pushing another participant in a racing stroller.
• A runner walking from the train to the start line with a prosthetic left leg.
• Marines manning the water and aid stations, working in tandem and cheering us on. There were so many “Thank you’s” passed back and forth between the runners and the marines.
• A sign urging people to vote Leon Swain for the DC Council position.
• A runner with calves the size of Florida grape fruits.

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Memories of Washington and MCM12

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The runner is not giving in

“Now if you are going to win any battle you have to do one thing. You have to make the mind run the body. Never let the body tell the mind what to do. The body will always give up. It is always tired morning, noon, and night. But the body is never tired if the mind is not tired. When you were younger the mind could make you dance all night, and the body was never tired. You’ve always got to make the mind take over and keep going.”

–General George S. Patton

On the recommendation of my physician, Dr. P, I’ve been knee-deep in my study of psycho-cybernetics these last few weeks. If you haven’t heard of it before, psycho-cybernetics is about developing the mind. It’s about developing a realistic and healthy self-image to prepare you to lead a more fulfilling life. It’s the most important book on psychology I’ve read since reading Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s Flow: The Psychology Of Optimal Experience thirteen years ago.

The term psycho-cybernetics was coined by the plastic surgeon, Maxwell Maltz back in the 1950s. It became part of the cultural milieu in 1960 when Maltz published what would become a foundational book in the field of modern psychology, referred to as positive psychology. Positive psychology was the natural response to the more traditional form of psycho analysis, laid down by Sigmund Frued, and practiced over the first half of the twentieth century. Early psychiatrists focused exclusively on the “defects of the mind”, called neurosis, in people who seemed to be living ordinary lives but were internally struggling with the meaning of it all. Neurosis means “invisible injury” and refers to many of the conditions that plague us today, anxiety, depression, compulsive behaviors, hysteria and the like. Today the term neurosis is no longer used and instead we use the term “anxiety disorders” to categorize these unseen illnesses. Through the first half of the century, psychiatry, like all medicine, was a reactive field for the most part focusing on treating a disease once the disease manifested itself. The idea of taking steps to prevent a disease from happening was radical and just beginning to take shape. This was due in large part to the scientific advances made in field like biology and chemistry that allowed us to see things in a way we never could before. Thus, for the first time in human history we could look at things from a microscopic level and ask, “is there anything we could do to stop this disease from happening?”

It didn’t take long for the notion of preventative care to spread from treating the body to treating the mind. Soon psychiatrists began to wonder about and explore the possibility of building a healthy mind from the start, with the idea then that there would be no room for weakness where neurosis could creep in. They asked, “What if we were trained to think positively, what if we helped an individual create a positive view of himself or herself from the start, could we prevent neurosis from happening in the first place?” Thus the field of positive psychology, including psycho-cybernetics, was born.

The term psycho-cybernetics is derived from the Greek words: psyche meaning mind and cybernetic meaning to steer or navigate. So in layman’s terms, Psycho-cybernetics is the directing or steering of one’s mind. Psycho-cybernetics is particularly concerned with the areas of the mind, both conscious and unconscious, that influence thought, behavior, and personality, those components of the mind that make up an individual’s image of himself. In his practice as a plastic surgeon Maltz noticed that post-surgery most patients saw an improved image of themselves, but not all of them. This observation led him to the insight that along with the outward physical improvement there must be an accompanying inward improvement, or improvement of the mental state, in order for the individual’s outlook on life to be changed.  Soon Maltz noticed that if he treated the patient’s inward perception of himself that sometimes surgery was unnecessary. That if the patient was able to change the image he held of himself or herself then his or her personality and behavior would invariably also change. And by doing this, he inevitably changed what was possible for him or her to accomplish. Quite an insight.

And it’s an insight that makes the above quote by Patton more profound because if the mind controls the body and the individual’s self-image directs the mind then the self-image ultimately determines how the body will perform. We runners often talk about running boiling down to a battle between the mind and the body. In fact, it is the runner who’s mind can will the body beyond its limitations who succeeds. This is true for all runners, from the elite who competes for championships to the one who’s just stepped out the door after thirty years on the couch and all of us in-between. Re-frame the self-image and you re-frame what is possible.

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Funny aside: If you want to know more about my relationship with Dr. P. check out “the runner goes to the doctor.”

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The time-traveling runner

My last “long” run before the marathon next week was an eight-miler on Saturday. I ended up doing nine just because. This was the first run since my twenty-miler two weeks ago that I wore my Ghosts and no my minimalist shoe. You can definitely feel the difference between the two. My body felt sluggish and the Ghosts felt heavy on my feet. It’s weird but in the last two weeks I’ve kind-a gotten used to running in my RealFlex shoes and things just felt different today. The first thing I noticed was that my stride was different. Just as it was when I first run in minimalist shoes it was when I switched back to a standard neutral shoe. My muscles fatigued in a different way. In particular my quads and my glutes felt as if they were working harder than they had been in the RealFlex. I also got a blister along the arch of my left foot today. I’ll have to continue keeping an eye on the differences in feel and performance between the shoes.

Other than the shoes, my body felt as if it were laboring the entire run. Rather than a spring in my step I felt as if I were running in a swimming pool. I was surprised by my 8:41 pace. But the day was beautiful and I’d spent the morning writing so I didn’t care how my body felt; the mind was going to enjoy the run. Pennsylvania is beautiful in the fall. The sun climbs only so high in the sky and the low light reflects off the leaves, which by now are crimson and pink, gold and yellow, brown and crunchy, it’s like looking at the world through a kaleidoscope as you’re making your way around town. Everything else, including the houses with their porches, the lawns and sidewalks, even the blacktop on the roads has this washed out appearance, like they’re the backdrop in a play waiting for that moment when the actors walk on stage and the lights focus upon them. I’m running and I feel as if I’m running in a short story written by Ray Bradbury.

I see kids riding their bicycles and I’m taken back to when I was a child on Lawrence St. riding bikes with Little Joe, Sally, Big Joe and his cousin Junior. We’re tearing up the neighborhood plowing through the piles of leves that have gathered up along the sidewalk. The memory is so clear I can see the stones in the concrete, all smooth from wear, and the busted seems overfilled with rubber caulking. You catch one at the right angle and you can pop a real good wheelie.

Big Joe and Junior were cousins. Both their families moved to North Philadelphia from Puerto Rico. We used to play Wake the Dead in Junior’s basement. That’s where you turn out the lights and call the names of your dead relatives to bring them back. I swear it partially worked once when we were calling some aunt of Junior’s who’d recently passed back in Puerto Rico. When we all saw two yellow-green dots, set apart like eyes, in the deepest, darkest corner of the basement and tore the hell upstairs. We went flying through the basement door, sprawling all over each other onto the kitchen floor and at the feet of Junior’s mom who was making dinner. When she heard what we did she threw a fit and grounded Junior and kicked us all out of the house. Junior told us later that his mom went down the basement and sprinkled holy water around just in case. I didn’t see any eyes during my run today but I did get a slight chill when the memory came up.

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“I cannot have survival as my only goal. That would be too boring. My goal is to come back in my best running form. It is good for me to have that goal; it will help me.”

–Ludmilla Enquist,

Russian-Swedish Olympian on being diagnosed with breast cancer in 1999

Enquist captures the difference between being alive and living. She also captures the psychological principle underpinning psycho-cybernetics which is the notion that man is a goal-striving animal and is happiest in the pursuit of some aim, a goal. All animals are goal driven, driven by the need to survive and multiply. But man also has a creative goal, something inside him that drives him to search for more. It is why we have civilization, and art, and science and medicine. It is why we climb mountains, explore the depths of the sea and travel into space. But being goal-driven is true for all of us and not just those we know through great works and famous deeds. Every man and woman is capable of reaching beyond themselves and realizing they are capable of creating and doing things we wouldn’t believe possible when we started out. We are at our best, and our happiest, when we are in pursuit of this kind of goal.

The key is to come to know these goals so well the become part of the self-image because the self-image, which exists in the unconscious, is what directs us. Maltz said, “The development of an adequate, realistic self-image will seem to imbue the individual with new capabilities, new talents and literally turn failure into success.” We must replace our negative self-image with a positive one. How do we do this? Maltz offers two ways: One is to recall past success often enough that they replace the memories of failure currently being used to define the self. The other way is to use mental imagery to build memories of future success. This practice is common among athletes who will play out an upcoming event over-and-over again in their mind, imaging every scenario and how they will react, so when the times comes they’ll be prepared. And the amazing thing is it works! It turns out the body, the nervous system, and the mind cannot tell the difference when recording a real or imagined experienced.

I’ve been using imagery to replace my self-image of a runner who fails to a runner who is successful. I’ve been conjuring up memories of successful runs, both in training and events, I’ve been remembering what they were like and how I felt going through them trying to make the recollection as vivid and as real as possible.  Hopefully then, when I think about my course of action, how I should train, what I should eat, how I should live, etc. all these things will come naturally into line and lead me down a path toward a richer, more rewarding running experience.

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Psyche and Cupid. In Greek mythology, Psyche represented the human soul. For the early Greeks the soul and the mind were one and resided in the heart. It wasn’t until later on when they began to separate mind and soul.  In the mythological tale, Psyche was a beautiful young girl. So beautiful in fact, people began worshipping Psyche for her beauty neglecting Venus, the goddess of beauty herself. Needless to say this turn of events didn’t sit well with Venus so she sent her son Cupid to use his arrow on Psyche so that she may fall in love with a grotesque monster. Unfortunately for Venus, when Cupid saw how beautiful Psyche was his arrow let slip and he pierced himself causing him to fall hopelessly in love with her. A match which Venus absolutely forbid.

Psyche was so beautiful her beauty intimidated the men of her town so much that none dared asked for her hand in marriage. Her father consulted the oracles who told him Psyche was destined to be wed to a monster and instructed him to leave her at the top of a mountain where Zephyrus, the god of the west wind, would carry her off to the palace of her betrothed.

And so this did take place. Now, Psyche’s monster-husband would only visit her at night when she could not see him. He was not mean or cruel but tender and caring and loved her very much. One day her sisters came to visit Psyche and seeing how well she lived they became jealous. They filled Psyche’s head with all sorts of stories convincing her that her husband did not love her and that his real plan was to fatten her up so he could eat her.

Well, one night full of doubt Psyche took a candle to her sleeping husband. And what did she find? She found that her husband was none other than Cupid. Well, eventually Venus got wind of things and forbade them to be with each other. She made Psyche have to prove her love by completing a series of trials that grew increasingly difficult each time. Even though Psyche completed them all Venus still refused to let them be together. Finally Cupid had had enough and he took his case to Zeus, the god of gods, for relief. Zeus ordered Venus to stop and allow Psyche and Cupid to live together. Which they did. Happily every after.

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The runner preparing for his toughest run yet

Success rests in having the courage and endurance and, above all, the will to become the person you are, however peculiar that may be.”

–George Sheehan

The thing I love most about running is that it’s challenging, both physically and mentally. That is asks so much. The act itself is simple, you lift one leg up in the air, extend it and fall forward. Repeat the process alternating each leg, pick up some speed and viola, you’re running. It’s simple and that’s what makes it beautiful. And the longer you do this simple act the harder it becomes and that’s what makes it even more beautiful to me.

Running has taught me a lot about life, things like developing persistence, facing adversity, battling depression, the ability to fall out of and climb back into the ring, even how to enjoy a job well done. Now, I’m going to use running for something more. I’m going to use it to help me re-format my self-image. It’ll be my toughest run yet.

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Can Athletes Handle More Pain? I came across this post on Greatist written by Laura Schwecherl on the research surrounding athletes and their ability to tolerate higher levels of pain than non-athletes. It’s no surprise that they can. But what jumped out at me was the indication in the research that tolerance to pain is something that can be learned over time. And if tolerating pain is something we can train our mind to do then it makes sense that we can gradually over time condition our body to tolerate higher and higher levels of pain. How often have I pulled in the reigns during a run because the pain was too much? That I slowed down because my legs were searing with pain after a climb or because my lungs were on fire during a tempo run? I’ve been going about things all wrong. I need to work on increasing my pain tolerance if I am going to improve as a runner.

The main study cited in Schwecherl’s article is from the journal Pain. Another interesting finding in the study cited is that athletes and non-athletes begin feeling pain around the same time during an activity. However, athletes are able to handle pain better and continue on because they have developed a higher pain threshold–defined as the amount of pain you can handle before it becomes unbearable.

The study indicated that athletes use two types of strategies to manage pain, association and disassociation. Association is defined by Merriam-Webster as “the process of forming mental connections or bonds between sensations, ideas, or memories.” In medicine, association is applied “to those regions of the brain that link the primary motor and sensory cortices.”  Think of recognizing, dealing with, or embracing the pain. Disassociation is the opposite. Disassociation is the process of focusing the mind on anything else but the pain.

The study also indicated that each was effective for different kinds of pain. Disassociation works best when you are working at an effort level that is low to moderate in intensity. When I think of disassociation I think of how I use music during my runs. By focusing on the music I am able to get out of my body and whatever discomfort it may be feeling. It’s as if my body and mind become detached. My automatic system, the areas of the brain that enable us to use our motor skills without having to consciously think about what we are doing, is able to move my legs, pump my arms, send oxygen-rich blood coursing through my body without a conscious thought leaving my conscious mind free to enjoy the tunes. Thus I am able to ignore any pain signals my body is trying to send to my mind.

If we push ourselves harder the pain signals our body is sending will eventually get through and disassociation no longer works. The body eventually forces the mind to acknowledge it is in pain. This is the pain threshold. Interestingly enough, successful athletes are able to keep going despite the pain by embracing it. At this point the strategy becomes to pay attention to the body and what it’s saying rather than ignoring it. There seems to be something about the mind understanding what is happening and then accepting that provides the athlete with the capability of going on. The more you practice, or train at this level, the higher you move this threshold line. In other words, the mind is able to stay in the dissociative state longer because the body is accustomed to dealing with a greater level of pain.

I will get to test out my associative and dissociative skills next week at the Marine Corps Marathon. Will I have what it takes around miles 18-20 to embrace my body’s pain threshold and push on?

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The Marine Corps Marathon is seven days out and I guess I am as ready as I’m going to be. The difficult part of training is over and there are only three short taper runs between me and the big run. I’ve heard nothing but great things about MCM, the course and the people, so I’m expecting the event to be a lot of fun. My expectations are different this time than they’ve been on previous runs. Coming off the injury I’m still building back my base fitness. For this training cycle my focus has been on building up my tolerance for running long-distances and for running for longer stretches of time non-stop. I did no speed work or hill work this cycle so I’m not going for a fast time. My plan is to run the marathon as I trained for it with a focus on a nice long steady run over 26.2 miles. My expectation is to finish with a time of 4 hours and 30 minutes.

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Random section from something I’m writing:

It was touch-and-go as to whether Moonie would get into Central. He had the grades; he was smart enough and he certainly was good enough for the track team, Coach Hobbes said that himself to pop, no, what almost kept Moonie out of Central was his juvee record. I may or may not have said earlier that Moonie loved to take a dare.

This is what happened.

One weekend last spring, it was either right before or right after Easter, I forget, but I remember it being a miserable time. Winter was still handing around. We’d gotten lots of snow of the winter, so much so that the city couldn’t remove it fast enough, so it ended up in piles all over town. Wherever you looked, parking lots, abandoned lots, street corners, schoolyards, wherever there was an open space, the city was dumping snow.  I don’t know how much you know about snow, but let me tell you, if all you know about it is from watching those movies around Christmas time, brother you are grossly misinformed. You see other than when it is falling, snow is an ugly mess. It doesn’t stay white for very long but turns kind of gray and gets these black peaks around the edges from car exhaust. Plus, as sidewalks get shoveled and the streets plowed, everything gets plowed along with it so these mounds of snow always have cigarette butts, newspapers, candy wrappers, and all kinds of shit rolled up with them. Then the sun comes out and the snow starts to melt but then night comes and it freezes again, and now it’s not snow but this mound of ice-trash which won’t melt completely away until April or May. It’s a disgusting mess. By this time you’re tired of being cold and wet  and you’re tired of having to work around this mess and everyone just gets angry. I had a teacher in high school who had this theory that most fights between students occurred in March and April because everyone was just sick of being beaten down and miserable by the weather.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, how Moonie almost didn’t get in to Central. Sorry for the rant on snow. I’ve been getting lost like that lately. I really haven’t been myself.

Well, Moonie and a couple of friends were having lunch at this deli in town, I can’t remember who was all there, I think Freddie, Georgie, and Dunie were there along with some other guys I didn’t know. Anyway, it’s not that important really. What was important was that sometime near the end of the meal one of the guys got the idea to do a dine-and-dash, you know where you eat and then skip out before paying. Well, what Moonie didn’t know was that one of the guys, I don’t know who but I like to think it wasn’t Freddie or Georgie, because they were our half cousins or Dunie because he was like Moonie’s best friend in the whole world, but anyway, one of the guys had tied the lace of Moonie’s sneaker to the table leg when Moonie wasn’t paying attention to what was going on around him, which was a lot of the time, and when they did the dash, Moonie naturally tripped and went flying head first, first off the table next to him, where this old couple were eating pea soup and corned beef sandwiches, and then he hit the floor. Well, now there’s this fuss and people are yelling and pointing at Moonie and at the guys as they’re making their way out the door. This busboy wearing a hair net tried to grab Moonie as he was untying his sneaker but Moonie managed to push him off. He dodged past a couple of waitresses and pushed off the owner, who was this hairy, short guy out of his way and made for the door. He made it outside but no sooner had he got there and tasted the sweet air of freedom, nobody could touch Moonie once he made his move and got into the open, like I said, no sooner had he made it outside than wouldn’t you know, he hits a patch of ice and goes skidding into a heaping mound of frozen trash-ice. Well by that time the owner and the busboy, along with this huge guy who I think was the dishwasher, had made it outside in time enough to grab Moonie before he could recover. When they pulled him up his nose was all bloody and his bottom lip was split from the impact and he was covered in all sorts of snow trash.

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The runner running toward the ring of fire

“I advise you to say your dream is possible and then overcome all inconveniences, ignore all the hassles and take a running leap through the hoop, even if it is in flames.”

–Les Brown

Psycho-cybernetics tells us that everything we “are” our actions, behaviors, feelings, and thoughts is consistent with our self-image. It also teaches us that you’re never to old to change your self-image. Whitman didn’t start being Whitman until his mid-thirties (the same age I was born). Michelangelo, Goethe, Picasso continued to make art past their eightieth year. Hell, Thomas Edison was still working on his inventions after the age of ninety. And Happy Valley’s own George Etzweiler can be seen running down College Avenue every morning at the great age of ninety-two. (You can read more about this remarkable man here.) So there’s hope for me yet. And based on some recent events time may also be on my side.

The first event was an article published on the London Daily Mail Online indicating that aged seventy-two is the new thirty, at least for those of us who live in the west. The article references research done by German scientists who studied the death rates of modern hunter-gatherers and found that health-wise modern hunter-gatherers in Australia, Africa, South America and the Philippines are as healthy at the age of thirty as a seventy-two year old man living in Japan. The main reasons behind this discrepancy are that life in the developed world is less dangerous, advances in medicine, and better access to nutritious food.

The other event happened at last week’s Toronto Marathon where eighty-one year old Ed Whitlock ran the marathon in three hours and thirty minutes. (You can read all about it on Runner’s World.) The article goes on to cite research done on nine alpine skiers whose average age is eighty-one where it was found “The high aerobic power achieved by the octogenarian athletes is comparable to healthy, non-endurance trained men about 40 years younger.” Think about that. To quote Amby Burfoot, the article author, The bottom line here: “If you’re not 80, keep going. If you are 80, keep going.” Amen. A-freaking-men.

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Looking toward the future – Post MCM. After the marathon I’ll take a few days off and tour D.C. with Sue. I’ll continue to build my base fitness through the fall. Come January I’ll begin ratcheting up the intensity level of my workouts and add in speed work, hills, and cross-training. I’ve got my eye on a race in the spring but don’t want to say anymore until I’m sure I can give it a go.

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Things seen while running:

• You know that dream where you’re being chased and you seem to be running in slow motion? That’s how I felt on my Monday run.
• New England gets all the pub. but, Pennsylvania is right up there with fall beauty.
• Judging by the discarded wrappers and cup lids strung along the curb down Bishop St. like a string of costume pearls, the local Burger King did a bang-up business during Thursday night’s home coming parade.
• Lots of young families out walking, enjoying the beautiful fall day on Saturday.
• Lots of young dudes with neck tattoos. Spotted a spider, two shamrocks, and an I don’t know what on one guy.
• A youth soccer tournament at the school off of Gregory St.

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The Boss

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the runner staring down his toughest opponent

“In running it is man against himself, the cruelest of opponents. The other runners are not the real enemies. His adversary lies within him, in his ability with brain and heart to master himself and his emotions.”

–Glenn Cunningham, possibly the greatest American miler. Teammate, and roommate of Jessie Owens during the 1932 Olympics. They became lifelong friends. Cunningham almost had his legs amputated when he was eight due to a schoolhouse fire that took the life of his older brother Floyd. He lived his life bearing the scars from that fire on his skin.

I have long been my own worst enemy, in running and in life. Gradually, over the last fifteen years or so I’ve been working to overcome this inclination. I have my good stretches, and I have my bad ones. Fortunately, as I’ve grown to understand why I am the way I am the good periods last longer and I know what I need to do to dig myself out of the bad patches. Still I could fall into some nasty bad patches.

Every once in awhile I’ll come across something that helps me dig a little deeper into myself and by doing so I dig myself out of whatever’s got me down this time. It’s usually a book, as was the case this time. The book is Psycho-Cybernetics by Dr. Maxwell Maltz and it was recommended to me by my own physician, Dr. P. Dr. Maltz was a plastic surgeon who recognized through the course of his practice the importance of self-image for leading a happy, productive life. Maltz saw that changing a person’s face did not always lead to change in their demeanor or how they approached life. Maltz incorporated psychological treatment into his repertoire, sometimes “fixing” a person without surgery. In the book, Dr. Maltz explains the principle of psycho-cybernetics and how you can use it to improve your outlook on life, and by extension improve your life. The book was published in 1960 yet it is not dated. In fact, it’s still incredibly relevant today.

I guess the biggest thing to resonate with me so far is the notion of letting your mistakes define you rather than using them as a learning experience and growing from them. I have a terrible habit of defining myself by my shortcomings and by doing that I’ve created this self-image of a failure, as someone who doesn’t deserve success. In short, I was setting myself up for failure because in my mind that’s what I deserved. So now I’m trying to see myself as someone who is worthy of what life has to offer. It’s a weird feeling but I’m trying on a new skin.

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the final ‘long’ run before the taper

My Saturday long run was twelve miles this week, the last run of any distance before the marathon two weeks from today. I spent the morning working on my dissertation so I didn’t get out to run until the evening. This was my fourth run wearing a pair of Reebok RealFlex shoes this week. The RealFlex is Reebok’s entry into the natural running movement. I bought them on a whim when we stopped at the Grove City Outlets on our way home from Pittsburgh last Monday. A whim inspired from reading Christopher McDougall’s Born to Run.

In terms of the running shoes I own, the RealFlex is like an unstructured sportcoat with no lining on the inside to give it shape or structure. The top of the shoe is basically the nylon fabric you find in running shoes without any of the additional padding sewn into it. The shoe tongue is just a stretch of cloth and there’s no plastic mold supporting the heel nor is there any plastic capping around the toe box. They remind me of the trainers I used to wear as a kid back in the seventies and early eighties before leather sneakers became all the rage in my neighborhood. The top of the shoe is extremely comfortable. I especially appreciate how the soft nylon stretches making for a large toe box, something my wide feet greatly appreciate.

There’s nothing to the mid-section of the shoe, the layer between the canvas top and

The Reebok FlexRun

the sole. No cushioning, no arch support just a foam pad. It’s like wearing Chuck’s with an extra insole inside. When I first stood up in them I felt like I was standing really flat compared to how I usually feel wearing runners.

The sole of the shoe in made up these rubber nubs, Reebok calls them sensors. The sensors vary in size and are designed to align with the pressure points of your foot as you stride. The sensors located in the back of the sole are square and rectangular shaped and chunkier than the rest of the sole. The forefoot, where you’re supposed to strike in minimalist shoes I believe, has these thin rectangular sensors.

Running in them felt a bit weird at first. I had to get used to the way the sensors gripped the ground and responded to the pattern of my foot strike. I found that my feet were slapping the ground because I was used to running in the heel-to-toe style made possible by the standard running shoe. Also, and this was weird, my foot had farther to fall with each step because of the absence of padding. It made the first few steps feel like I was walking in one of those bouncy castles you find at amusement parks.

I got more used to them with each run and by the fourth run my stride was more comfortable with them. I definitely felt a difference in where my muscles fatigued running in the RealFlex. These shoes definitely asked for more work out of my calves and my outer thigh muscles but the fatigue I felt was that healthy tired your muscles feel after a good workout and not a warning pain that something was amiss.

I was pleasantly surprised that I was able to wear them and run for distance with no adverse affects. In fact, after my twelve-miler yesterday my calves felt pumped in the way my biceps feel after lifting weights. I plan to keep the Flex in my training mix.

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the selfie going out to mow the lawn

I’m a selfie. Sue dropped this on me last night while flipping between the Tigers & Yankees baseball game and the LSU-South Carolina college football game. “Ooh! This is you!” she said. “You’re a selfie.” Selfie is a term describing someone who takes pictures of himself with his cell phone for the purpose of posting them on line. The Urban Dictionary description tells it much better:

“A picture taken of yourself that is planned to be uploaded to Facebook, Myspace or any other sort of social networking website. You can usually see the person’s arm holding out the camera in which case you can clearly tell that this person does not have any friends to take pictures of them so they resort to Myspace to find internet friends and post pictures of themselves, taken by themselves. A selfie is usually accompanied by a kissy face or the individual looking in a direction that is not towards the camera.”

Judging by the amount of pictures of me I have on my phone I may be more than a selfie, I may have a selfie problem.

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Random section from something I’m writing:

We came from a long line of runners, Moonie and me.  Grand pop was a runner. So was his brother, Uncle Moe. Both of them ran track at Central High. Back in the day, Central was the cream of the Philadelphia track world, coached by the great Jack Hobbes, and pop and Uncle Moe were stars. Uncle Moe was a sprinter and pop ran distances. One year they got to run at the Penn Relays, this big time event. I remember my mom used to have this black and white photo of Uncle Moe and pop taken at the Relays. They were standing, arm-in-arm, on the infield, smiling for the camera, mugging it up really, each wearing his white singlet with CENTRAL stitched across the chest.  Even back then pop’s eyesight was so piss-poor he had to wear those round eyeglasses, the kind like Teddy Roosevelt used to wear. Mom used to keep that picture on the server in the dining room, along with assorted other family pictures, weddings, communions, babies, anniversaries, crap like that, but I don’t what’s happened to it. But that’s what happens with old things, isn’t it? They just disappear and nobody knows how or why.

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The runner “could-a been a contendah”

Another thing I took away from Psycho-Cybernetics was this quote: ”You can fight as well as a champion as when you’re the contender if you’ll remember one thing. When you step into the ring you aren’t defending the championship–you’re fighting for it. You haven’t got it–you’ve laid it on the line when you crawl through the ropes.”

This quote is from what a manager told his fighter who fought so beautifully on his way to wining the title but performed miserably during his first title defense and lost his belt to a less-skilled opponent. I just found this so spot on regarding what makes a great competitor. You see, I’ve always been at my best when I was the underdog or when little to nothing was expected of me, either from myself or from others. When there were expectations going in, I failed. The greater the expectations the greater my failure.

The quote is from a section of the book discussing how people who think this way, like I do, set ourselves up for failure before ever stepping into the ring. When we’re going after something we’re like a hunter. A goal gives us something to target for, something to focus on that calls everything else into perspective. Before we achieve something we are relentless in our pursuit. But once a goal is achieved a common problem arises in that we begin to view ourselves no longer as the predator but as they prey. We’ve obtained our goal and so we turn ourselves from an offensive position of pursuit to a defensive position of someone trying to hold onto something. It’s a mindset that’s brought down many a champion and prevented them from achieving even more.

It is said about the great ones, regardless of their sport, that they were never satisfied. That there was always more to go after; that nothing had been one yet, other than it being a stepping-stone toward something more. Whether they were the reigning champion in their sport did not matter. What mattered was what they had to do next.

I’m trying to adopt this perspective. To always see myself going after something rather than trying to hand on to what I have. Maltz says it’s a matter of developing a “nostalgia for the future” rather than for the past. The past is gone and to focus our energy on it any longer than what it takes to learn and move forward is to fight a losing battle when it comes to trying to change past mistakes. Better to make right the present with an eye toward what we want the future to be. This is another dramatic shift in mind-set for me, as someone who loves to live in his head. I can still reside there, I just have to do it in a more healthy way.

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Things seen while running:

• The warm glow of orange in the electric candlelights in the windows of the bed & breakfasts on Linn St.
• Another Tico sighting. This time he was on his riding mower as I was making my way round Gregory St.
• Oddly enough, I also saw my next door neighbor Colby on Gregory. He’s working on a house over there.
• A discarded cup of Oikos blueberry yogurt by the high school with the blueberries still mostly in the bottom.
• While climbing up Howard St. I passed this little kid standing in front of his house. As I went by he thrust out his stuffed doll. It was The Count from Sesame Street. I said, “Cool!” as I went by to which he replied, “Thanks!”
• They’re doing some work to the inside of the Presbyterian church on Allegheny St.

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 Playlist: I’m back to Bruce

the runner in it for the long haul

“We are psychologically evolved to pursue long-range goals, because through millions of years that is what we on average had to do in order to eat.”

–Bernd Heinrich, Evolution of Intelligent Running Ape People

This post is all about the long of it. It’s about those goals we set for ourselves that are so far out there at first they only exist in the mind’s eye. These are the goals that take vision. The require belief. These are the goals we hold most sacred because they ask so much of us. And because they ask so much we love them and hate them at the same time.

I love setting goals like this. I enjoy the hardness of them. I like the challenge of asking myself to do something I haven’t done before. Or that I can do better. Sometimes this gets me into trouble. There are times I can feel overwhelmed by all that needs to be done. Or frustrated because I cannot perform them at the level I expect. Over the years I’ve learned to deal with these feelings, to work through them when they rise up, and they always do, but they never get weaker. Dealing with them won’t make them weaker, nor will it make them go away. You just get better at dealing with them. The little victories add up and after awhile you have more of them than losses.

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The Marine Corps Marathon is twenty-eight days out. I have one more long run, a twenty-miler this Saturday before the taper begins. I may make this a muffin run again. After the run we’ll be driving out to Pittsburgh to my brother-in-laws house. Hopefully, we’ll get there in time to catch my nephew’s soccer game. On Sunday, JR and I will go to Heinz Field to watch the Eagles and Steelers play. We’re both Eagles fans so we’ll be strangers in a strange land. I’ve never been to Heinz field but I hear it’s beautiful. And, I gather from my friends from Pittsburgh the fans are good eggs, for the most part. It should be fun. I was going to wear my retro Eagles shirt but the last time I wore it the Eagles got it handed to them by the Cardinals, so I don’t want to jinx ‘em.

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Yesterday was my second muffin run. It worked so well last week I figured I try again. I stepped out the door at 6:30 am to be greeting by a cool morning. It was still dark and everything was moist from an overnight rain. My skin prickled with gooseflesh from the chill but I knew the run would warm me up soon enough. The cold Gatorade in my right hand wasn’t much of a help and I was glad to stash it by the fire hydrant at Howard and Monroe.

The town’s a lot more empty on non-football weekends. For the most part, I had the streets to myself. Back home everyone was still asleep. Sue, my mom and my sister. They were up to visit my niece who goes to school at another university about twenty-five miles down the roadI ran without wearing my contact lenses again. I kind of like how this forces me to focus on the task at hand. This way I don’t waste a lot of mental energy worrying about what’s far up ahead. It’s a cool feeling, running into the dawn. Your right there the moment the day begins. It’s too early yet for things to have spun out of control so you feel as if you’ve got a jump on things. That if you could hold this line for the rest of the day things would turn out all right. You move through the world like a shadow, like you’re this ephemeral mist sweeping through the streets before evaporating in the heat of the sunrise. The man in the car, lighting his cigarette, is half awake and can hardly make sense out of your figure running past in your shorts and t-shirt, from the corners of their eyes. He has to be awake; he’s gotta work. A lifetime laborer he can’t understand anyone voluntarily doing this to them self.

the runner signaling the day

Greenie crapped out on me again. He’s been doing that a lot lately. So, I ran most of the run without music. The weird thing is he’ll still track my mileage; he just stops playing music for some reason.

I passed the farmers setting up the market in front of the court house. This group of farmers comes from all over to set up here. There’s a local group of farmers, who’ve split off from this group and set up shop in the parking lot of the Gamble Mill restaurant about a half-mile or so away. There was some sort of falling out between the groups causing this split but I can’t remember what it’s about.

I feel strong climbing up Howard. I’m not fast yet but my stride has more confidence. I take what the climb gives me and when I feel good, I lean into it and dictate things for a bit. Through the first six miles my muffin’s been just a prop. Not until after the climb is complete do I take a bite.

The second loop of my run takes me over the other side of Bishop St. The sun is up and there’s signs of life about. The birds are beginning to call and I hear a squirrel or chipmunk ripping through the brown leaves that cover the ground. On Gregory St. an older man is riding his red mobile scooter to walk his dog. He’s stop to chat with another guy driving a pickup. They look at me oddly, because I’m carrying a partially eaten muffin while I’m running, and we exchange good mornings. I pass a couple running together up the opposite side of Blanchard and I wave before turning on to Hume.

I’m greeted by another gentleman walking his dog when I turn off Parkview onto High St. I see this guy and his dog a lot. The guy’s very friendly and has a melodic voice that should be on the radio. His dog is this old beagle, gray from muzzle to tail. Today I break a piece of my muffin off for him as his owner and I exchange pleasantries and talk about the beautiful morning.

I complete my loop and stop at the hydrant and open my Gatorade and have a drink before I set off for the last three-plus miles. Now I’m warm enough to not remember being cold. I finish off the last of my muffin and tuck the paper wrapping in the pocket of my running shorts. There’s more signs of life over remainder of the run. People leaving houses. People getting into cars. People milling about the farmer’s market. Traffic is heavier and I need to pay more attention to my surroundings. I pass one last guy. I’m coming down Jacksonville toward home and he’s riding a bicycle. He’s wearing blue scrubs and has a backpack strapped onto his back, probably going up the road to the nursing home. They’ll be switching shifts soon. I turn into the development and make my way home. Everyone will be awake and they’ll be hot coffee.

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I skipped my Thursday run because I was so fucking sore. I hated to do it but, the way my body hurt, I felt it was best. It wasn’t just tired sore, or muscle sore, I hurt in my bones. I still felt like a puss for skipping it but it allowed me to rest by doing other things and getting to bed early.

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I came across an essay on the Tarahumara in this book of ethnographic essays I’m reading. It’s by an anthropologist named William Merrill and was originally published in 1983–Religion and Culture: God’s Saviors in the Sierra Madre. Recently, the Tarahumara, and their distance running prowess, were highlighted in Christopher McDougall’s bestseller, Born to Run. The Tarahumara refer to themselves as the Raramuri, which means human beings. While this essay mentions their running prowess, it’s focus is on how the Raramuri have blended the doctrine of Christianity in with their existing religion.

the non-Raramuri runner

When it comes to religion the Raramuri are like most every other people in that they believe their religion is the one true one. They believe they are God’s chosen people. They are human beings and the rest of us are non-human, as it were. God is their father and they associate him with the sun. His wife is the moon and since they’ve incorporated parts of Catholicism into their religion she is also the Virgin Mary. In the Raramuri religion, God has an older brother, the Devil, who is the father of you and me and every non-Raramuri person. Even though God and the Devil are brothers, the Devil is determined to win out and destroy God. You find much similarity in their relationship as you do in the relationship of those first biblical brothers, Cain and Abel. According to Merrill, in the battle of the brothers, God us usually able to come out on top on his own but every year, around the time leading up to Easter, God becomes vulnerable and the Raramuri must perform certain rituals to save Him, and the world. These rituals involve play-acting by members of the Raramuri where some need to take on the role of the Devil’s assistants, called Pharisees  and reek havoc through the village while others take on the role of God’s soldiers and seek to restore order. In the end the soldiers win out, order is restored and the world saved. This is followed by a celebration that includes everyone.

The Raramuri incorporated pieces of Catholicism, first brought to them by Jesuit missionaries at the beginning of the seventeenth century, without loosing their sense of self as a people. Merrill notes that instead of bending their beliefs to meet the doctrines of this new religion, the Raramuri, took what made sense to them in Catholicism and bend that to fit into their beliefs. Raramuri beliefs in the afterlife are reminiscent of the Calvinists in that they also believe in pre-destination. When the Raramuri die they will go home to live with God and his wife. The rest of us will go live with our parents, the Devil and his wife, our original parents. But we need not fear this fate because the Devil’s house is a pleasant place for us to live because we are his children. The truly evil, Raramuri or otherwise are annihilated at death and are gone forever.

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I got a standing desk for my office at work. I’d been thinking about it for awhile

a means of staying off one’s bum

and after talking with some co-workers who had one, I decided to take the plunge. My plan is to use this desk as a means to get away from sitting for long stretches at a time. I spend enough time on my arse in meetings. Hopefully, standing for stretches of time will help keep me mentally sharp.

A funny aside, when I posted this pic on Twitter I soon received notice that Standing Desks was now following me. Who knew they had an account?

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Did you know? The first major change in our evolution into humans was the ability to walk upright? Based on the fossil record, it looks like our ancestors starting walking while our brains were still the size of our cousins, the chimps. An evolutionary advantage as more of the world became covered in grasses. Standing upright allowed us to spot both food and danger from far away. It freed up our hands, which allowed us to use tools. The jolt in protein we got from eating game spurned brain growth. Who knows, maybe working at my standing desk will cause my brain to grow? Or at least my butt to shrink

The one who starter it all is named Lucy. Her remains were discovered in Ethiopia in 1974. Lucy is part of a species named Australopithecus afarencis. Lucy and her kind roamed the grasslands of Africa over three million years ago. Her remains were discovered by anthropologists Donald Johanson and Tom Gray. Gray was a graduate student at the time. They named her Lucy after the Beatles tune, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. I have Elton John’s cover of it on my current playlist (below).

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Things seen while running:

• A young girl running down Jacksonville as I was making my way up it. She looked as if she came straight off the cover of Runner’s World the way her ponytail bounced behind her. The word “happy” immediately came to mind as I thought to describe her.
• St. Johns R.C. church got new steps. I’m glad because I worry about God busting a hip climbing them at His age.
• Victorian homes really shine in the fall. There is something in the way the low sun, still bright, creates shadows through the intricate scroll work around the porches, really giving them depth.
• Lots of people coming in and out of the Bellefonte public library. Is it me or does it seem more people visit the library in the fall?
• A German shepherd sitting on his front lawn licking his balls.
• There’s a tiny rectangular cemetery at the corner of Crawford and Spring. The headstones are small and extremely weathered and protected by a stone wall.
• By the looks of the splatter pattern off the curb, someone threw-up a pumpkin on Hume Rd.
• Leaves coming down off the trees and Halloween decorations going up in windows.

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Playlist:

Still Elton