Delusional.

Aug 292009
 

A while back, I was thinking about goals and how to get the right balance of pushing oneself and being realistic.

Travis ate the ostrich egg in about 33 minutes and impressed everyone.  Afterwards he said he could run a mile in 5:30.  We couldn’t find a place to run a mile we all agreed on, so we got back to work.  Like the sports site now?

The other day, I was going to catch the bus (cause I’m still pouring money into the Corvette…) and according to the Comcast clock, I had 3 minutes to make it to the stop.  I said goodbye to Sal and Sandy and headed out the door.

Sandy didn’t think I could make it to the bus stop in 3 minutes.  I thought it was just around the corner and told her not to worry.  I leave and get out and around the corner and look at how far it is to the real corner and it was far enough that it gave me time and reason to think.  My thoughts went something like this:

  • Brian Webb used to run our neighborhood.
  • 1 square mile he said it was.
  • We used to live near Mile Square Park – that was a cool park – a remote control airport in the middle of it!
  • We probably live in the middle of the block.
  • So half a mile in 3 minutes shouldn’t be that bad.
  • That’s just a 6 minute mile.
  • I used to almost be able to do that in jr high school with my insane gym teacher 25 years ago.
  • I’m only 100 pounds heavier than that now.
  • My calves are tight – really need to stretch them more.
  • I’m close enough to the stop where I’m either gonna make the bus or miss the bus regardless of whether I run or not.
  • I’m not that out of breath and I didn’t really run – I just jogged – and I made the bus.
  • I might be able to run a 6 minute mile.

Now, of course, the bus was probably late.

And when I called Sandy to let her know that I made the bus and wouldn’t need to mooch a ride off of her, she heard through all the panting for air that I had missed the bus and she was asking where I needed to be picked up.

But the dumbest thing I did was talk about these ideas at work.

So I went to try to run a mile today after Sal’s soccer practice.  See if I could do 6 minutes.  I saw some people on the track during practice – they were slow.  Passing them was going to give me the adrenaline rush I’d need to make 6 minutes.  Though by the time soccer was over, they were all gone.  Apparently 90 degree heat doesn’t inspire runners like it used to.  Softies.

I did 2 laps.  Catherine unofficially clocked me at 3 and a half.  We didn’t have a timer. At least it wasnt 4.  But my laps weren’t getting any faster.

Walking back to the car, I was coughing.  I continued to cough.  Until I threw up in someone’s driveway/bushes.  A couple of decent projectile heaves.

I think it was cause I had something in my throat – some dust from the track or whatever that I sucked in while trying to live with the realization that a 6 minute mile for me is delusional.  That’s what my coughing was all about, which lead to the vomiting, but the shock value of the puking is better if I leave that out.

Though I did hit a ball out of the park last week at softball.  So some goals are okay if you can be lucky and wind assisted.  (The side of the track with the wind at my back was soooooo much easier than running into the headwind.)

210 pounds of in your way.

Aug 052009
 

Hearing people’s reactions to my old soccer photo made me think about those days a bit.

Catherine can still wear my jacket from those days, which had my name embroidered on it – we were a “club” team after all.  Only AYSO in the summer when we wanted to slum it a bit.  Catherine’s sister saw her wearing the jacket once and asked what thrift store it came from.  My closet circa 1981-ish?

I used to have a finesse game.  “Spider legs” was what someone started calling me and it stuck for a while with the moms.  Speaking of moms, there was Mrs. Northrup, with her black and red camero that had her name painted on the side (Cheri).  My mother would always bring up how Mrs. Northrup could cook eggplant and I’d eat it, but I wouldn’t eat it at home.  She used to make fresh donuts in the morning too.

Anyway, times have changed.  I no longer leap gracefully over futile attempts by the defense.  I don’t dazzle them with ball control.  And I never danced on top of the ball the way Ethan did tonight.

Now, I am just 210 pounds of in-your-way. My strategy is to be a moving obstacle. Pin people into the wall.  Block the goalie’s view and set picks on offense.  Take a charge and be that immovable object that they weren’t expecting to still be standing in front of them.  I’m not quick enough to fall for your fake and move aside, Mr. Fancy Shoes.  You need to take the long way around me.  The futility that the other team feels now isn’t because of my deft moves, but more around the fact that they can’t move me.  I feel their arms and elbows flail against me. Nothing.  Maybe my shirt is tugged.  Meaningless.

But its not like I’m a some sort of superhero.  I am more like a tanker that has inadvertently found its way into a small bay.  My turns are not tight, I am not able to spin and stay in the play.  I make my move, then if I’m not successful, there is a long awkward arc as I try and change directions.  If I had the extra energy, I’m sure I could imagine horns and alarms going off as I try to perform this dangerous maneuver.  As it is, all I can really hear is my body trying to suck in as much air as possible.

And let’s be honest here – many times I am simply 210 pounds of just been passed.

I still love this silly game though.  I’m physically exhausted, yet my mind is still racing about it.

It is the same game.  Just different now.  I’m very interested to see how I adapt…

Ambitious or delusional?

Aug 022009
 

Seems like it is a fine line between the two.  Been doing a lot of goal setting lately and want to make sure one pushes oneself, but at the same time, they need to be reasonable.  Except that it if you argue your limitations, they are yours.

So I enjoy the fact that the people I work with push themselves at work and outside of work.  Well, physically at work, but outside of our day to day work tasks.  Day to day tasks, they’re always pushing to make things more efficient, usable and scalable.  Which leaves us time to talk about eating ostrich eggs and dunking basketballs.

My summer goal was to dunk a basketball.  Maybe a volleyball, cause that removes the palming the ball aspect. But no one else wanted the challenge, so it wasn’t really decided.  Regardless, I’ve increased my vertical 4 inches or so over the summer and should be able to eek out another inch or two if I keep at it.  Which is surprising, cause I was reading an SI article a while back about how old NBA stars have lost their hops.  Made me feel like the window was closed, except, well, it isn’t closed if you work at keeping it open a bit.

But it seems like such a fine line between a clueless individual and someone that’s aggressive and always pushing the envelope?  How does one set realistic goals?  Cause they should be attainable, yet they shouldn’t be easy. Jumping rope 2000 times in 20 minutes is attainable – it just sounds crazy given our current state.  If anything, kettlebell class has helped remind me that my mind is my main obstacle in life – not the world – but the limitations I put on myself when I think “I can’t”.

Maybe I should get that “I’m a mexi-can, not a mexi-can’t” tattoo after all.

Still, because of all the random side bets that go on at work, it seems like balancing out what is and isn’t possible is a challenge we all go through in life.  And I prefer people that err on the side of thinking they can instead of they can’t.  But there is a limit somewhere.  After all, there are people that are hopelessly optimistic and think literally ANYTHING is possible.  And it isn’t.  And I don’t really like those people – they’re boring because the interesting thing in life is adapting to the reality of it.  I guess I really like the people that are willing to try anything, whether it is possible or not. Because they’re learning each time.

Though it is unclear whether we’ll get a skydiving trip out this summer.

But before you give up hope, this post is focused around an event.  A challenge.  Where ambitious will battle delusional.

Monday morning, I’m buying a $30 ostrich egg, then we’re going to boil it for 90 minutes, let it cool for 2 hours, and then Travis is going to eat it in less than an hour. If he does, he makes money.  (Actually, he’s gotta eat it before 45 minutes to make money, 1 hour he breaks even, more than an hour and he’s gotta pay me back for the egg…)

Ambitious or delusional?  We’ll know by lunchtime I imagine.  There might be a webcam…stay tuned.

Mature vs. old.

Jun 112009
 

I was talking about Sandy’s son wanting a tattoo. I gave some pretty reasonable advice about location and design and meaning.

Mature.

Then we talked about age and I realized that I have a tattoo that is older than her son.

Old.

Over the hill. Or am I just married to a marketing person?

Feb 112009
 

Got the Swimsuit edition.  Yes.  I didn’t opt out this year.  But I had weeks of notification in the previous SI issues to warn me of the upcoming issue.09_jarah-mariano_13

Warn might not be the right word.  It was phrased that way.  But not sure if that was their true intent.

Anyway – I found for the most part, that I enjoyed the ads as much as I enjoyed the photos.  Maybe it was their model selection. Or the poses.  Or just that I appreciate some good marketing.

  • TurboTax had Ben Franklin’s eyes popping out and offering free tax services to a model on the preceeding page.
  • Arby’s had a couple of their sandwiches gently cradled as if they were a model’s goodies – so I was naturally interested.
  • Chevy pointing out that when you can, get by with less.  Applies to swimsuits and to hybrids.
  • An M&M shed her shell. Though that might have been done before.
  • A Dodge Challenger poster that’s covering up a Cheryl Tiegs poster.
  • A strange DirecTv ad about Coucha Sutra.  Not sure I understood it all, but I looked at it for a while trying to.

And there were probably only 6 or so photos that I thought were really interesting.  I guess on the online, there are more interesting photos – at least, I would have picked differently.  Had more Jessica and Jarah.  And then one of the photos in the magazine that made me just stare in wonderment was because there’s a $1500 swimsuit someone’s wearing.  Now maybe I’m spoiled and would have trouble living on $500k in NYC, but I think $200 and $300 swimsuits are okay…well, okay if you’re dating or trying to impress.  If you’re married no reason to go anywhere but Target.  But in any relationship $1500 seems crazy. Unless you’re drunk and she’s really hot and persuasive.  I am old and wise now.

Body paints were okay.  But I guess I’m used to them now. Do I really care if they were individual gold flakes applied one at a time?  Probably only if I was the one doing it.  Then of course I’d be bragging about it.

There was a nice break down by the decade matrix at the end of the issue that illustrated the way things have changed.  Swimsuit model boyfriends have changed quite a bit.  And Dan Patrick does pretty good interviews.

What to do when you’re getting old. Or rather, have gotten old.

Jan 262009
 

Young and invincible is a great stage.  But I left that stage a long time ago.  Or it left me.  Either way.

Ben said he might have had a turning point today.  I was sad for him.  I remember those turning points.  They don’t feel so good.

But happy for me. I think at my age, where that youthful innocence and luck has been replaced with the cold aches of reality, all I really have left is enjoying the transition in others.

Kind of like, but not quite like, having been in the car wreck and watching another take place.

Ben and I have bantering a bit lately and one thing led to another and all of a sudden we’re in a challenge to do a rowing fit test that they applied as a baseline for rugby players.  Professionals I think was a term he used.  30 seconds rowing, 30 seconds rest.  Repeat.  Do 1k in 6 iterations to pass.  Ben said he wasn’t close and that the test was tough.  He also had rowed through high school.  I started 2 weeks ago with an occasional dabble on the machine. I’d say less than 10 sessions before this month.  So the bet was on.

I wanted 1 second for each year older I am than him.  I’m 50% older than him.  He wasn’t giving me anything.  We both felt, or at least, argued, that the other had the advantage.  Him with prior experience, to know proper form and having experienced/studied the fit test.  Me, he’d claim, because I had been rowing lately.  Only one way to find out.

I sent an email to Jason late last night, cause I was nervous about this session.  How to start?  How many strokes to aim for in 30 seconds.  Go full bore to start with or try and save something for the middle iterations to hit him with a surprise?  How much of this is gonna be mental?

Jason said to start with shorter strokes to get the wheel spinning.  I think that helped.  Was planning on pacing myself with Ben the first set then hopefully, being able to go faster the next couple.  But Ben’s display was in watts or calories – useless numbers for me to compare to – and I had no choice but to go all out right away.  Let the mental games begin!

I’ve never done 180 meters in 30 seconds before. It was a good time for that to happen. That adrenaline thing works. From there, I was just trying to protect the lead.  And as I was winding down, I was pleased to notice that he was winding down too.  Turns out, I could pass this part of the fit test for the rugby team…

We were gassed afterwards.  Supposed to play basketball afterwards, but took a bit of a breather.  And that’s when he was telling me, that he saw a little bit of his own mortality today.  And it needs just a crack, a little chink in the armor is all it takes, to know that a page is turning and the window is closing (I’m trying to shoehorn another metaphor in there…)  And when he mentioned it, I realized that’s an upside to being old – to just watch and enjoy as others realize it too.

It’ll come in different ways – all the young guys in our team challenge me in different ways – but the time will come for each and every one of them, and I’ll be there waiting.  If not egging them on.

So a toast to Ben and invincibility.

And the truth is, the invincibility is still there…when we’re teammates.

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