R&R

So 12/12/2010 came and went with a bang, literally.  Crazy fireworks at 5am to start 23,000 runners circling around Waikiki and Honolulu.  It was pretty cool to be a part of it all.

We had to awaken at 2:30am in order to get there on time, and unlike Philly, we were prepared for it.  Granola and Yogurt to fuel the machine, and a ton of powerade to wash it all down.  A massage the day before at the hotel, and we were good to go - or so we thought.

For anybody out there who seriously wants advice;

If you're going to read Born To Run by Christopher McDougall, do it WELL IN ADVANCE OF YOUR EVENT.  Why?  Because you, like I did, will go out and buy a pair of Vibram FiveFingers shoes, and will try to run in them.  You'll be so inspired by the book that you'll go out and try this great idea.

...and it will jack up your calves/achilles something fierce.   Yes, having gorilla feet is cool, and you'll look like a champ.  But don't do it.  Trust me.

So, my legs are jacked, my midweek massage gets cancelled due to a cut finger, and I'm still limping around, with 10 minutes to go before the race.

Carolyne kicked serious ass.  4:35 finish time, almost a full hour before my 5:28 finish time.  As she pointed out, at least I beat Katie Holmes' first run attempt.

So, about the Honolulu Marathon?

1) It sounds exotic and beautiful, but it's really not.  Do a marathon somewhere in California, New York, Chicago, or somewhere picturesque.  You'd think that Honolulu would be right along the water the whole way - even looking at the map - but it isn't.  The race is inland, and spends about 10 minutes beside the water.  Not (exactly) what I was expecting.

2) They're cheap bastards.  No gatorade until mile 8, no gu at all in the race.

3) Everything is in Japanese.  This is by virtue of the fact that JAL is the anchor sponsor of the race, but it's still irritating to no end not to be able to get information on a race because it's in the wrong language.

4) The race pack is cheap cheap.  I guess that's not a big deal, but it's still irritating.  I'm over this though.

5) It is VERY VERY HUMID.  You're going to sweat like you've never sweat before.  We were both sweaty before getting to the start.  72 degrees at 5 in the morning, and thank GOD that the sun didn't come out until around mile 12.

If despite all of this, you decide to come to Honolulu to race, by all means EAT at Arancino di Mare.   So, so, so, goood.  We had pasta there the night before the race, and went back the following night that it was so good.  The Spaghettini con Polpette is SO delicious.  Their sauces, etc... Mmmm.  Carolyne had the Rigatoni all' amatoriciana and that was fantabulous too.  Mmm...

So, all bad things about the hono marathon aside, by all means, RECOVER IN HAWAI'I.  it is so so so so beautiful here.  You need some R&R in order to come back to reality.  Every day brings a day of greater comfort into our stride.  Yesterday, we rode bicycles around the island and made some local friends.  Carolyne and I are fine.  We're enjoying our R&R and escape from reality.

Thanks to all who made the dream a reality and supported us both through the process.  I'm proud of myself, and am proud of all who actually decided to undertake such a task.

So... Aloha, Meli Kalikimaka, and happy holidays to all who are out there.

xo
Dave

Photos, etc here: Dave, Carolyne

On the eve of madness...

Well, the time has come, where did it go?  It always goes fast when you want it slow.

Yep, T minus 38 hours and counting until the starting gun, here in Honolulu, HI.

Am I ready?  As ready as I'll be for this race.  I'm pumped, I have clothes, shoes, and an awesome partner in crime about to arrive in Honolulu to join me.  I've got granola and yogurt for a 3am chowdown on Sunday morning, plenty of Powerade to fuel the legs and keep us hydrated, and am in a healthy state of mind.

Fundraising is almost done - I'm within a hair of meeting the minimum commitment, but that's neither here nor there.  It's paid for, I'm sure I'll see the visa statement at some point when I return home.

Actually, that brings up a good point: I'd like to thank everybody who's been so supportive throughout this process.  Specifically, I'd like to thank the following people - for inspiration, donations, kind words of encouragement, or just being really cool people.

Venkat Rangan - the founder and CTO of the company I work for, this man is a running machine.  He ran a marathon last weekend, at 51 years old, and turned in a time of 3:28.  Crazy.  Venkat was also my first work donor, and contributed his ill-gotten gains from our world cup pool to the Leukemia and Lymphoma society.


The following individuals from work who contributed to the cause - all without solicitation - Daniel Sternbergh, Patrick Murphy, Kamal Shah, Doug Royer, Dan Taylor, Meena Srinivasan, Valli Mylvara, Jason Reeve, Jason Carrico, Diana Lustenader, Spike, and Michael Garcia.  Doug was also very helpful on the "what drugs to take to help you prepare" front.  Thanks to all those who are shouldering the load as I take a few days off for the 3 Rs (rest, relaxation, recovery) - Mike, Cat, Amy, Soumitro, Meena, Kalanea, Hongou, Imad, Subrah, Pradeep, Michael, and Randy.


To KQ and Ledi, thank you both for your donations and for inspiring and encouraging me to join TNT.  I appreciate the support, and realize that though sometimes things don't work out, I am thankful for your respective impacts on my life.  I wouldn't be the person I am today in the position I'm in without your help.

To Paul & Erika, you guys are just awesome.  It was nice to be able to spend the holiday weekend with you; thanks for opening your home and your hearts to me.  You'll always have a very special place in my heart.  Burger, Snoozin, same to you: I can't wait until next time I'm down under and have a chance to see you guys again.

To Carrie, you're an inspiration to us all.  Your story is so compelling and your heart is so true.  I think you have a future on the motivational speaker circuit, and I'll be on the sidelines cheering you along when you are ready to run a marathon.

And finally to my running mate, Carolyne: I'm psyched to run alongside you this weekend, and am tremendously happy to have you in my life.

Thanks to everybody - hopefully I haven't forgotten anybody.  If I have, please slap me upside of the head and I'll call you out later.

Wish us luck :)

The unintentional marathon

Last weekend, I flew to New York to visit Carolyne; Those of you who have been following my journey from couch potato to running machine will note that I've been a little light in terms of training of late.  One would think, based on my lame-ass training regimen, that I have no business running a marathon.

...and he/she who thinks this would be absolutely right, particularly given that I was

So last weekend, I'm being the supportive boyfriend that I am, and offered to pace Carolyne through her marathon - at least part of the way.  You see, we're doing Honolulu together in two weeks' time, and we both need to be in shape for it.

So anyhow, we start out late, still a little bit hung over from Friday night and not feeling well from the day preceding the race, but we started out nonetheless on time and in her correct starting group.  The first 8 miles went without a hitch; we were cruising along pretty well at about 9:50/mile, and having a good time running together.

mi	Pace (min/mi)	Elevation (ft)
1	9:49	46
2	9:38	-35
3	9:24	-37
4	12:30	8
5	9:40	48
6	9:22	50
7	9:06	-86
8	9:45	78
9	9:13	-54
10	9:46	66
11	10:37	-72
12	9:30	-24
13	10:16	45

Around mile 12, I started fading.  My calves were seizing up and hurting like crazy.  Carolyne surged ahead, and I lagged while I dealt with my issues.  I caught up around mile 14, and then couldn't go any further.  My legs just weren't cooperating.

For christ's sake, how the hell am I supposed to be able to complete a marathon when I can't run 15 miles?

Cursing myself, I let Carolyne go, and relegated myself to cheering squad status.  I sat on the side and stretched and stretched, and stretched and stretched.  I stretched and stretched soooo much that the muscles in my legs gave in, and were cooperative again.  I thought, I'll race ahead and catch her, surprise her.  Mile 14, 15, 16, ... 18, 20, no dice.  I couldn't find her.

So I hung out at the 22 mile mark, and waited... and waited....

nope.  So I decided to just run it out in hopes that we'd run into one another.  Alas, t'was not to be, but I managed to complete a 26.2 mile run for the first time in my life - roughly 9 miles longer than the next longest run I'd ever done before.

Yep, I'm pretty proud of both of us.  Next up: Honolulu.  Train a little better, don't drink yourself into a blubbering oblivion two nights before next time, and rest up.

Bring it!

Getting back into (running) shape

I'll say this: life has somehow managed to get in the way of running for me.  Well, that, and the fucking IT band.

This past month has been, honestly speaking, one of the best months of my life.  I got back on a plane for the first time in a while, and regained my love for a city I've disliked for a while.  The San Francisco giants won the world series, and along the way, I came to realize that I living life as a cynic isn't my schtick - that I'm a hopeless romantic and just need to accept that fact and move on with life.

I resolve today to train in earnest for the next month, because otherwise I'm toast.  I went to my Chiropractor and massage therapist last week for an adjustment to my jacked up right side.  Something is rotten in the state of Fraleigh, and that would be my right leg.  I'm going to grin, bear it, and cross-train like a motherf*cker, so that I can get through the 26.2, one month and 5 days from today.

Tomorrow at 6am, I'll be out pounding that pavement for a little while, working that leg back into shape.

Wish me luck, pounding that pavement and righting the life of sloth that I've been living for the last month.  No more hot dogs, no more beer.  It's go time.

36 magical hours

For the Canadians and non-sportsfans in the crowd, Major League Baseball has two leagues: American and National.  The San Francisco giants are a National League team, and this year, are the top of the league.  I'll get to how that happened in a few minutes.  The important part of the result is (and almost always is) to me, in the journey to the endgame.

Not long ago, the Phillies (Philadelphia's NL team) were facing off against the Cincinnati Reds, and The Giants (San Francisco's NL baseball team) had just beaten the Padres in a home series at the end of the season to advance to the National League Division Series playoffs against the woeful Atlanta Braves.

Now, I'm a Giants fan, because it's fun to watch baseball in the place you live, and I hit games here and there over the course of the last few years.  I wouldn't call myself a superfan, but I most certainly have enjoyed watching them.  This year, towards the end of the season, I switched into superfan mode.

Anyhow, The Phillies and Giants both finished off their rivals handily, and ended up playing one another in the National League Championship Series, in order to face the winner of the Yankees/Rangers for the World Series.

A few scant weeks ago, I was on a flight to JFK and I met a girl (Carolyne), who was the biggest Philly (Phillies and Eagles) fan I'd ever met, and we got to talking - and making wagers about whose team would end up victorious in a football game which the 49ers never had a chance to win.  Now our two relatively evenly matched teams were facing off in an epic battle of the bullpen for the NLCS.  It practically begged for audacious wagering.

Saturday, Carolyne gets to go to the game.  And Sunday.  I'm so jealous, because she's got one of the best possible sports hookups in the business - in her family.  Saturday the Giants come up on top, and Sunday, the Phillies eek out a well-deserved win.  It's off to the city by the bay for games 3,4, and 5.  Game 3 is a day game, which is ridiculous in my mind.  It's impossible to get off work that early, so we're resigned to watching on television.

So... I offer the mystery girl a ticket to Games 4 and 5 of the series, if she flies across the country to hang out with me and watch the game.  Given that I'm possibly a serial killer in her mind, she makes up an excuse and politely declines, cursing the fact that I'm home to the only team that really stands between the Phillies and another World Series pennant, and (I like to think) silently wishing that she could tell if I'm a serial killer, so she can accept the invitation to come out for a game.

So, Tuesday rolls around - the game is an early start (12:35), and I set up the lounge at the office to watch the game.  I mean, I had my cell phone, computer, and a host of meetings ready to go in the lounge.  I caught the first pitch of the game, before getting sucked into a cesspool of meetings outside the lounge, ending 3 minutes before the Giants walkoff in the 9th.  Wednesday isn't so.  I bolt from work at 3:30 and take my tickets to the game, watching a fantastic game go back and forth until Uribe pops a sac fly to left field and ends the game for the giants.  The only way I got there remotely on time was by riding the motorcycle to the city, because 101 was a parking lot all the way there.  Rinse, repeat for Thursday's game, and the Giants are up 3-2 in the series going into Philly for game #6.

I get a text message from my mystery girl on Friday morning:

Carolyne: Do you still want to come? I just got hooked up.

Me: Seriously? is that an invitation?

Carolyne: Yes, I just got two sets of tickets so if you want to come, have an extra for you.  Not sure how good the seats are, but they are free so I didn't ask. :)

Booya! I'm in.  Book a redeye flight on friday night into JFK, and then off into enemy territory for game #6.  Seriously, it's ridiculous: I'm strutting around the office, preening myself like a peacock, complete with tailfeathers...

All of a sudden, I'm nervous.  What if SHE's a serial killer and wants to cut me up into little pieces?  Meh, it's game 6 of a series where I've seen every single play.  I'm not giving up this opportunity on the off chance that she's an Axe Murderer... and besides, I'm hoping that this may develop into something more, because I thoroughly enjoyed our time in New York together.

So I get into New York bright and early on Saturday morning, and we head out for Philly.  It's funny how in different circumstances, conversation seems to ebb and flow differently.  I really didn't see it here.  I didn't fall asleep in the car, and we were both progressively getting more excited for the game.

Checking into the hotel was funny.  She's wearing Phillies shirt and hat, and I'm sporting the Giants away jersey.  I'm sure it was a funny sight to behold, because everybody on the street [really, everybody!] was wearing a Phllies shirt.  It was the strangest thing I'd ever seen, but it's like the entire city was behind their baseball team. And here I am, an uncamouflaged threat, behind enemy lines, cruising with a beautiful and eligible female of their own.

I drew scowls, comments, and heckling throughout the afternoon... and loved every minute of it.

We had a fabulous dinner at Parc, a brasserie on the edge of Rittenhouse Square in downtown Philly.

It was fantastic, actually - a streetside table sitting across from the park, serving Oysters, Cheese and fantastic french artisan bread, as well as oh-so delicious flutes of Perrier Jouet.  A gorgeous day, the park was teeming with activity, and our placement on the sidewalk allowed me to taunt passers by with my unwelcome showing of San Francisco colours.

We took the subway to the game (incidentally, Philly has a great subway system, which surprised me), and beheld the wonder of Citizen's Bank Park.  I swear to god, I was one of 5 giants fans in the ballpark.  Maybe 10 at the outside.

Now, if you've never been there, a few observations:

1) CBP is a hell of a ballpark.  I liked the seat layouts even more than I like AT&T park in San Francisco.  The bullpens are a really cool feature as well (they're stacked on top of one another)

2) CBP is very, very intimidating.  The crowd gets into a baseball game in the way that college football game crowds, British Premiere League fanatics, and NHL games go.  I swear, the crowd chanted "Sanchez, Sanchez" for 20 minutes straight, without taking a breath.... ALL IN UNISON!

It's a close game, and I'm taking some heckling from the fans, but overall it's a friendly crowd.  We were in sponsored seats, which meant that we enjoyed constant offers for free beer, as well as standard ballpark fare such as hot dogs and soft pretzels.

When Uribe hit the home run in the 8th, I went wild - and began fearing for my life.  The older gents behind our seats recommended that I put a jacket on over my jersey on the way out of the stadium if the Giants were to win, which they ultimately did.  This was to prevent me getting beaten up.

We retired to a small bar for a martini to allow Carolyne to nurse her disappointment, and me to celebrate my victory.  The bar closed at 2, so we wandered back to the hotel room, and made our own from the minibar, made with olive juice and martini glasses obtained from the bar downstairs.

Wake up the next morning, hung over like nobody's business.  When we finally drag ourselves out of the hotel, heading for a bite, we're moving down side streets.  Of course, a cab stops in the MIDDLE of an intersection, to let its fare out.  Idiot.  I "encourage" Carolyne to give him a little honk, which, living in Manhattan comes second nature, so she does.  Four people exit the cab, including a crotchety guy that looks like Christopher Lloyd with a mullet and a limp.  The guy's wearing a Yankees jacket, of course.  He's probably 50, but easily looks 70.

He starts giving us lip when he gets out of the cab, and comes back towards us, while his granddaughter pays the fare.  I roll down the window to hear what he's saying.

Me: ...what's that?

CL: What's your problem?

Me: um, pull out of the intersection rather than blocking it for everybody else?

CL: What, you think your time is more valuable than mine?

Me: well, yes actually, but it's a little thing called courtesy.

CL: Fuck you.  Why don't you step out of the car.

Me: Really?  REALLY?  You want to get your ass handed to you in the middle of the street?

CL: Fuck you.  Get out of the car.

(I start unbuckling my seatbelt.  I mean, I've been called out by an overconfident Yankee fan who needs an attitude adjustment.  Carolyne is laughing her ass off, and CL starts to back away.)

Carolyne: (to the girl who got out of the car after paying the fare) Your grandfather is an asshole.

(Girl nods and walks away, shaking her head in disgust)

So there it is.  I attend a baseball game in hostile territory, take the NLCS home with me, and the only ass kicking that I'm threatened with is from a crotchety septuagenarian Yankee fan.  Go figure.  

We did however have one of the best burgers I've ever had.  We were kind of short on time, and instead of stopping at a real breakfast joint, we stopped at a place called 5 guys burger and fries.  

This place seriously gives In N Out a run for their money.  Bigger, greasier, and full of bacon and cheesy and mushroomy goodness.  Exactly what one craves after a bender.

After having our burgers and fries, we stopped to grab a soft pretzel; it made Carolyne happy.  Seriously, a place that sells only soft pretzels.  Seems like something to check out, but alas we left them on her counter in NYC.  Hopefully they didn't attract any pests.

So, headed back to New York, so Carolyne could pack for her trip and we headed our separate ways at LaGuardia airport... and, just as it began, 36 hours after my arrival, I'm headed back to JFK with a ridiculous smile on my face.

I can't wait until the next trip out there.  You can probably read between the lines and by now know as well as I do that next time, it won't be about baseball, so this is probably the end of the posts about it.  For those who care, just know that I'm extremely happy for the moment....  and I'll have to revert to writing about my training from this point forward.

(well, maybe another post or two about the giants in the interim)

Editor's note

So, one of the funny things about blogging is that you inevitably share more information than you'd originally have intended to share, with others who don't know you from Adam.

When I set out to write this blog, it was supposed to be about inspirational type stuff while I trained for a marathon... and it really started that way, kinda sorta.  That obviously is not what it is today, though I'll get back there eventually once I return to solid ground.  Today, it's something else completely.  It's a place for me to ponder as I struggle through life.

Life is sometimes pretty challenging.  We work very hard to develop ourselves and to grow into what we want ourselves to be.  It comes with stress in a number of different areas, and we all have different ways of coping with the stress of our jobs, our expectations of ourselves, and the general direction of the world.

I think.  A lot.  I think about what I want out of life, and how to get myself there.  I think about my friends and family, and how to make them happier with their lives, and I think of ways to innovate, thus removing stressors from my life and making room for more.  As a part of my thinking, I sometimes like to write.  That's why many of these posts are very deep thoughts-like; I find it cathartic to get my thoughts out onto paper - perhaps so that I can come back and read them later, and fully understand them, or perhaps to share them with those who have an interest in reading it.  I don't know, but I feel good about it when I'm done - similar in fact to a long run.  During the run, you feel like it was a terrible idea and that you should stop now.... but when you're done, you feel a sense of accomplishment.

That's what the writing does for me.

So here it is: if I ever write something about you, I'm sorry.  It isn't my intention to air dirty laundry, or to share something that was meant to be private.  If I step out of line, smack me back into line.  If I'm oversharing, tell me.  TMI is a concept with which I'm very familiar, and I'm happy to correct any problems I cause.

This obviously is on the eve of my publishing a different blog posting, and quite possibly going beyond the acceptable.  I humbly request your understanding and forgiveness should I do anything untoward.

Thanks
Dave

Serendipity?

Hello blogland... Thank you for welcoming me back.

Other than the quick post I just put up, it's been a few weeks since I last wrote...  The hiatus has me back, yet again in a contemplative state, contemplating inspiration, happiness, love and life.  The usual things, I suppose - but nonetheless, I'm going to give you an update on my life and thoughts, stream of consciousness style.

So what's happened in the last few weeks?

Well, let's run it down:

• 5172 miles flown
• 49ers lose 3 times
• Giants beat Braves to win NLDS
• 2 weddings attended (both were weddings of esteemed colleagues)
• a bunch of last minute hotel reservations
• two half marathons completed
• 1 new friend
• countless covenant slaughtered (playing Halo:Reach)
• found my lost love for the city that never sleeps

My history on airplanes is a long and storied one; I got on my first plane at the age of 6, and at that point, wanted to be a pilot.  Unfortunately, the genetic lottery was not on my side, and I grew up with a vision impairment, thus ending the dream of a career in the air force flying jets.

Anyhow, I started flying commercially when I was about 22, for work.  Criscrossing the great white north in the interest of preserving justice, peace and the inner good.  I really liked it; I thought it was exciting; I thought that it was fun, exotic - going and staying in places that weren't my home - experiencing restaurants and hotel rooms was a great way to live.  Ten years later, I'm 32.  I've logged over 500,000 miles as of this writing in my history with United.  That's on top of the 100,000 or so I did with Air Canada during my stint with the Department of Justice.  183,784 of those miles were in 2009, and 119,843 of the miles were in 2008.  Obviously, I've been building it up for a while.  I got tired of it at one point, and in my latest job, I've travelled far less than in previous years.  I doubt I'll even hit premiere executive this year, which I will miss dearly next year.

Anyhow, where am I going with this?  Nowhere really.  This is a stream of consciousness posting, so I'm entitled to meander.

Well, I've met some cool people on planes over the years.  A week ago today, I met Carolyne, a beautiful and interesting woman from Philadelphia, who now makes her home in New York.  She was minding her own business in the departure lounge at SFO, watching the skins play the packers, getting ready for the flight to JFK.  She didn't see me coming, but graciously allowed me to remain with a smile.  As a native of the city of brotherly love, she's a Phillies and Eagles fan - probably more of a sports fan than I've ever seen in a woman.

So I'm in 9A.  United upgraded me to business, and I was feeling pretty good about the situation, looking forward to a nap on the way to JFK.  As luck would have it, 9B was available on the flight.  Serendipitous? Perhaps. I nicely asked the gate agent if she would mind upgrading my new friend, and she gracefully accommodated my request.  So, I've got a flying buddy.  Put aside that lovely 5 hour nap, and talk all the way through the flight.  Interesting conversation, including discussion of 3rd nipples - neither of us - tough mudders, marathoning and other random facts ensues.  49ers playing the Eagles while we fly ... sounds like a wager is in order - especially since we can get online during the flight.

The Wager:

For me, if the 49ers win, I get the pleasure of her company for tuesday evening and get to experience the city as a native would.  For her, playing the new york attitude card - an Eagles win has me flying from honolulu to JFK, and going to the Giants/Eagles game on December 19th in New York, wearing Eagles garb.

The flight ends with the score 24-10, and I consign myself to making good on the bet.  I give her my number, foolishly without getting her details. Obviously the end of the game was fantastic, and I had high hopes, but ultimately ended up losing.  Without her number, I couldn't call.

Monday night while I'm sitting in a bar watching MNF and giants, my iphone buzzes with an email - I check it and see this (spell corrected because google does a pretty bad job transcribing audio):

On Mon, Oct 11, 2010 at 9:27 PM, Google Voice <voice-noreply@google.com> wrote:

Voicemail from: (xxx) xxx-xxxx at 9:26pm

Hi Dave this is Carolyne from the airplane, calling to collect on my bet, so call me back. Bye.

The SF giants are about to beat the Braves in 4 to win the NLDS, and I see this.  It's been a good day.

The Outcome:

So long story short, I spent Tuesday evening in her company, enjoying the wonders of the east village.  Dinner at Yerba Buena, cocktails at PDT.  It's a cinderella story complete with pumpkins and glass slippers.  When the evening ended in the east village at around 2am, I had a smile on my face having enjoyed an evening in incredibly interesting company.  Could it be possible that I'm actually enjoying a trip to NYC?

Who knew.  So I guess I'm going to New York from Hawaii in December.  Ultimately, I won, regardless of the outcome of the bet.

Next up: Phillies/Giants NLCS.  I'm sure there's room for a wager in there somewhere.

Ok, I'm out.  Until next time guys.

A stark realization

In all seriousness, this past week brought me to a stark realization: I've been drinking too much.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I have always been a social drinker.  I enjoy a cocktail after a long hard day, a complex wine to accompany a good meal, or a beer during/after a round of golf.  I've taken it too far though.  It's not like I turn into a raging asshole like some guys do while drinking, and it's not as though I do too many things that show how idiotic I can be.... but here it is: Twice in the past week, I've driven after having some drinks.  Here's the kicker: I think that in both circumstances I was legal while driving, but I've always been a zero tolerance guy.  I can't be one of those guys, I don't want any trouble with the law, and damned if I want something terrible like being the cause of an accident on my conscience...  This is what scared me into re-evaluating my situation.

I think it may be an offshoot of moving to the suburbs, but I'm not at all happy with it... So, I think I'm going to spend some time on the wagon - more focus on fitness and building a fulfilling life, without the encumberment of problems with the law.

I've got another post coming, but I don't want to mix messages, so I thought I'd post this separately.

dave

Inspiration, and where we find it

Life is funny sometimes.

Last week, I met a young man who had been to hell and back, in his battle against leukemia.  His battle, and more importantly, his attitude, along with the story of the people who helped him on his journey back to recovery were an inspiration to me and the other TNT runners who met last Thursday.  Tonight I watched a similarly inspirational tale "Into the Wind", the ESPN 30for30 presentation by Steve Nash and Ezra Holland about Terry Fox's epic battle against cancer - and what he did when he realized that young children had been suffering from the same challenges as him.

I find myself in a contemplative mood, so I will wax rhapsodic to the citizens of the interweb.  (Note: when writing this, I imagined a voiceover to a video montage, not dissimilar to that which starts or completes an episode of Grey's Anatomy, so please, when you're reading this, read it in that tone).

Where does one find inspiration?  How about fulfillment?  Is it in seeing someone fight towards accomplishing seemingly unattainable goal, such as survival?  Is it found while watching the heroic nature of certain members of society?  What about activities?  Is it watching good conquer evil, or is it something more abstract - a bag floating in the wind; a beautiful flowering landscape; a brilliant catch of the football?  In art? In music? In fantasy?  In god?  In ourselves?

I guess, for each of us it's different.  For me, I get inspired by the triumph of the underdog.  I unfortunately don't find a lot of deep inspiration in my life, so I hold on for the ride of my life when I find it.  I'm not a particularly spiritual being, so I don't find it in God.  Don't get me wrong, I respect those who have found a belief, no matter what the reason or justification -- I just don't share it.  I get fulfilled by, of all things, the belief of others in me.  Watching the old videos of Terry Fox, this was a guy who found something to believe in.  He fought hard to accomplish his goal, and was ultimately effective in his tribulations.  He was inspired to act, took the bull by the horns, and went for it.

I run for those who can't.  Cancer and all of its evil cohort can stay in hell and not take any beautiful, fantastic people down with it.

Now regarding fulfillment, I don't find that in my life; At the moment, I feel somewhat lacking in direction.  I don't know what to believe in.  Over life, I've accomplished nearly everything that I have through a combination of good fortune and hard work.  I've busted my ass repeatedly and continuously in order to get where I am today, largely at the expense of other, possibly more important things in life.  In thinking about what I've done over the course of life, I think back to when I felt I've been truly happy, and have come to the conclusion that I feel fulfilled when I feel loved by those around me.  Now I know that there will be those in the crowd who take that last comment, and "make it gay", or whatever they like, but it's true.  I have a builder personality type.  A caretaker.  I feel best when I'm able to help those who are close to me meet their goals, and when they in turn can return the favour**.  Don't get me wrong, there are other components to fulfillment in the form of diversion, education, satisfaction, but largely, that's where I derive my satisfaction.

I went online last week and ordered a bunch of copies of a John Blumberg book entitled "Silent Alarm: A parable of hope for busy professionals" to distribute to members of my team.  Those who work for FTI will recognize it as one of the pieces of paradoxical propaganda we were given at new hire orientation -- with the key focus on understanding what it is in life that truly brings value (relationships over vocational success), and understanding that a good work/life balance is critical to your overall happiness.  Someday I hope to have a life/life balance.  That's one of the reasons I'm in the technology business.  I truly believe that the balance is important, because I for one don't seem to be able to find true happiness without the relationships.

Obviously, given my meandering, I'm finding myself with a little more time than I used to have to philosophize on the meaning of life, happiness and all that jazz.  The question is, is it wrong?  I don't know.  I like who I am, and it's hard-wired in my personality to help those that I'm capable of helping.  I just wish it were as easy to find that inspiration when I'm only living for myself as it is when love is in the air.

Waxing rhapsodic and closing the door on tonight.

Love y'all.
Dave




** Screw you chrome, I'm not removing the "u".  Get over it.  It's not misspelled.