Yesterday I decided to sign up for the Philadelphia Marathon. The race is scheduled for November 23, which gives me nine week-ends to fit in training runs ranging from 12 to 20 miles. I figure I can fit them in either on my work from home day or on the week-end day when Bin Ladin comes over for a visitation. Back in 2006 I planned to run a marathon in 2007, which would have been the 10th anniversary of the last marathon I ran. At the time I was interested to see whether, at the advanced age of 39, I still had enough gas in the tank to get through 26.2 miles without permanently damaging an organ or body part. Obviously, 2007 turned out quite differently than I had envisioned so I now get to attempt the distance at age 40, which will officially put me in the “master runner” category. “Master runner” is a term bestowed on people who have reached the apex of their running careers and are starting the long slow slide into physical disintegration. I first found myself placed into that category in the Long Island ½ Marathon I ran in May. Let me tell you, I found the competition pretty stiff. The older guys have more to prove and you always move faster when you can feel the grim reaper pacing you a few steps back.
It is hard to believe that I have been running consistently for 16 years. By “consistently” I mean that for the last 17 years, aside from the odd vacation and bout with the flu, I have run between 15 and 45 miles per week, every week, since 1992. There were times when I ran less, and times when I ran more, but putting foot to pavement has been the one constant thread running through the fabric of my bizarre-o life.
Last year I wholeheartedly embraced running as a way to help me retain my sanity in the face of Becky’s death and my own terrifying responsibilities as a new father. In early February I joined a gym and drastically stepped up my mileage. The end result was me losing 40 pounds in six months. I literally ran out of my old life into a new reality, which is a strange feeling. I look in the mirror and I don’t even physically resemble the person I was in January 2007.
I remember thinking quite consciously that I was going to need a huge increase in energy reserves to succeed as the single father of a small boy, especially in light of the fact that I was considerably older than the average dad and probably not in the best shape of my life. The first step towards building up more energy was taking the weight off. Taking the weight off meant that I had to stop eating so many bacon cheeseburgers and start shaking my rapidly expanding ass on the treadmill every day. On the week-ends, I loaded Jack into the baby-jogger and took off for the park. That kid logged more miles in his first six months than Ryan Hall did training for the Olympic marathon.
Somehow, it worked. I lost a lot of weight. I have more energy. The constant flow of endorphins into my bloodstream has also made me a very even-tempered and pleasant daddy to be around. Now I’m putting in a base of 40 miles a week and in 9 weeks time I’ll be toeing the line in Philly. I credit Jack for motivating me to put down the cheese doodles and get out there back into life. For that reason, I’ll be running the race for him.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Looking Forward
I haven’t posted here in awhile. Not because there’s been any lack of subject matter to post about (Dimitri’s adjustment to school, Jack barfing all over Erin and I in Fairway yesterday, etc.) but because the financial crisis and the election have completely diverted my attention away from this blog. I reopened my old blog and started posting on the Patriot again. I just couldn’t help it. I think the world is in for a real wake-up call and I’m consumed with worry about what kind of world Jack and Dimitri will be faced with when they head off to college. The cynical/realist side of me expects society 15 years hence to resemble the Times Square of the 1970s and 80s-filthy streets full of pimps and hustlers trying to separate you from your money. I remember what that was like, and while I had a great time wandering around the sordid back alleys of mid-town before it was turned into a Euro-Disney theme park, I could always get on the LIRR and escape back to the suburbs if a situation got a little tight. My worry is that the boys will not have the same margin of safety as I did.
In economic downturns, jobs disappear; Wall Street doesn’t operate in a vacuum. Competition for the remaining jobs will be fierce. Any self-respecting sociologist will tell you that the Horatio Alger myth in America is just that-a myth. Where you get in life is determined more by where you came from and who you know than by the fruits of your labors. Generations of West Virginia coal miners would agree with me. So the boys are going to have to muddle through the best they can. Hopefully we can help them along the way.
In economic downturns, jobs disappear; Wall Street doesn’t operate in a vacuum. Competition for the remaining jobs will be fierce. Any self-respecting sociologist will tell you that the Horatio Alger myth in America is just that-a myth. Where you get in life is determined more by where you came from and who you know than by the fruits of your labors. Generations of West Virginia coal miners would agree with me. So the boys are going to have to muddle through the best they can. Hopefully we can help them along the way.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Two Legs Good, Four Legs Better
The rains came, and the rains left and we were none the worse for wear. Erin’s shower was rescheduled to Sunday so I had the boys to myself in decidedly better weather. We went to the animal farm and fed pellets of food to a variety of slightly crazed goats and sheep. We also took pony rides and had a whirl on the train. That such places exist is a testimony to the existence of parents who desperately need entertainment that a 100th trip to the park can’t provide. One of the main attractions at White Post Farms is a giant sandbox with playground equipment in it which the boys enjoyed more than the animals. I let them root around in the dirt for an hour while I compared parenting notes with the other adults. From what I can tell by talking with my peers, nothing we’re doing is causing any irreversible or irreparable harm. It’s always nice to check though.
Surprisingly, taking two toddlers out of the house into a world where everything within sight had the potential to cause incapacitating injury or death didn’t stress me out to the level I expected it to. Both of the lads were generally well behaved and fun to be with. I was so pleased at my organizational skills that after we pulled out of the animal farm I took them both to Target for toys, followed by a food-shopping jaunt to Waldbaums. Aside from D clawing his way into the contents of the cart in the supermarket, the whole thing went off without incident. Of course, as soon as we got home they both melted down. It was a long day and in the end all that wandering around the suburban jungle pushed them to their collective limits. I’m sure Erin thought they were howling like feral bobcats all day but it truly wasn’t the case. Next week-end we’re planning on a trip to the Long Island Renaissance Fair. No problem.
Surprisingly, taking two toddlers out of the house into a world where everything within sight had the potential to cause incapacitating injury or death didn’t stress me out to the level I expected it to. Both of the lads were generally well behaved and fun to be with. I was so pleased at my organizational skills that after we pulled out of the animal farm I took them both to Target for toys, followed by a food-shopping jaunt to Waldbaums. Aside from D clawing his way into the contents of the cart in the supermarket, the whole thing went off without incident. Of course, as soon as we got home they both melted down. It was a long day and in the end all that wandering around the suburban jungle pushed them to their collective limits. I’m sure Erin thought they were howling like feral bobcats all day but it truly wasn’t the case. Next week-end we’re planning on a trip to the Long Island Renaissance Fair. No problem.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Beginners Mind
I received a text message this morning from the weather channel warning of the potential for flooding in New York. It wasn’t specific as to time, and since the sun is merrily shining over the Meadowlands I have to assume that ark-building can be deferred until tomorrow morning. The remnants of tropical storm Hannah are winding their way up the coast and are due to hit Long Island some time in the next 24 hours. After the last big storm took out the power in Great Neck for several hours I now know enough to fill the hurricane lamps and get out the flash-lights. I’m not especially worried about losing power. I’m more worried about finding something to entertain Jack and Dimitri if we’re stuck in the house all day tomorrow due to foul weather. I tried to get them to sit down to watch the Chronicles of Narnia last night but quickly realized that the movie was geared for a slightly older audience. Shrek II it ain't.
It is challenging trying to understand the world of the imagination that three year old boys reside in. Dimitri can concoct elaborate narratives sitting at the kitchen table which rival anything C.S. Lewis came up with. Tales of monsters and superheroes, gathered from disparate references which stuck in odd corners of his mind, gurgle forth in stream of consciousness storytelling. It is a fascinating thing to see. At some point in our transition to adulthood we lose the ability to wonder at things and to weave complex fables out of our sensory input. Phenomena that completely amaze us as children; clouds, butterflies, the dew on the grass in the morning, become ordinary and routinized after repeated encounters. If only there was some way to keep this “beginners mind” when we become adults. Unfortunately as we become “educated” we learn to classify and categorize, discriminate between good and bad and assign value to things and ideas. We also become conscious of social structures and accept external limitations on our behavior. Not all of this is bad, after all, if we all ran around as undisciplined as three year olds nothing would ever get done. But I’ll bet we would all have a lot more fun.
It is challenging trying to understand the world of the imagination that three year old boys reside in. Dimitri can concoct elaborate narratives sitting at the kitchen table which rival anything C.S. Lewis came up with. Tales of monsters and superheroes, gathered from disparate references which stuck in odd corners of his mind, gurgle forth in stream of consciousness storytelling. It is a fascinating thing to see. At some point in our transition to adulthood we lose the ability to wonder at things and to weave complex fables out of our sensory input. Phenomena that completely amaze us as children; clouds, butterflies, the dew on the grass in the morning, become ordinary and routinized after repeated encounters. If only there was some way to keep this “beginners mind” when we become adults. Unfortunately as we become “educated” we learn to classify and categorize, discriminate between good and bad and assign value to things and ideas. We also become conscious of social structures and accept external limitations on our behavior. Not all of this is bad, after all, if we all ran around as undisciplined as three year olds nothing would ever get done. But I’ll bet we would all have a lot more fun.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Resting from One's Labors
I love fall. It is probably my favorite season. The bounty of the harvest, the rich changing colors of the leaves and the way the light splays across the landscape, all signal the waning of the season of beach and bar-b-q and the beginning of the gentle slide into winter. Labor Day week-end always changes my seasonal mindset and gets me thinking about tweedy jackets and the smell of wood smoke, even though today the mercury is still bumping up against 90 degrees. This past week-end Erin and I decided to forgo invitations to two end-of-summer events and just hang around the
Sunday was visiting day with daddy and despite my bravado in a prior posting, I was treated to the full spectacle of A. sitting on my sofa and raiding my refrigerator. At least he brought a cake. Mocha. Quite good, although it crossed my mind that he might have done something to it. I ate it anyway and it tasted vaguely of sorrow and tears. In the end D. ended up throwing him out after about two hours. The argument started over a DVD and resulted in A. giving his son the silent treatment because he felt slighted. By a 3 year old. Maturity does not necessarily come with age. Dimitri asked him to leave and he actually did. I’m not going to editorialize, just let the facts speak for themselves. We went to the pool in the afternoon and splashed around. A. was forgotten.
Monday, August 25, 2008
You Are Now Free To Move About The Cabin
Sorry folks. I took a week off for a business trip to Tulsa and a few days visiting with Grandma and Grandpa down in Florida. Unfortunately, our trip to the Sunshine State happened to coincide with the arrival of Tropical Storm Fay which pretty much torpedoed all of our planned outdoor activities. Traveling with the two boys on the airplane was less stressful than I expected. There were no major freak-outs or screaming fits, although when we exited the plane in New York, the row we were seated in looked like the Giant Stadium parking lot after a playoff game. I am not the most organized packer in the world but I do get around for business and have developed a fairly static routine that gets me through airports and to my destination without too much fuss. Such a routine approach to travel is impossible when you are also lugging two kids and their equipment around. A flexible approach is best for one’s mental health. The most important lesson I learned is that it is easier to get through security and to the gate if the kids are rendered completely immobile for 99% of the time. I had Jack in a backpack carrier and Dimitri was more or less strapped into a stroller. Newark airport is a pit, but Tampa actually has a carpeted playground next to the Continental departure gates; a godsend if your flight is delayed. Unfortunately for us, our flight was delayed on the way out of New York; we sat on the tarmac for 30 interminable minutes until we had to go back to the gate to drop off a sick passenger.
The only other glitch was on our way through security in Tampa, Erin was selected for “special screening” because her handbag was deemed “too heavy” by the TSA clerk. “There isn’t anything in there that could hurt me, is there?” he intoned as he solemnly poked through a years worth of ATM receipts in a handbag about the size of a vanilla latte. What a dick. He also didn’t want to let Jack’s bottle or Dimitri’s juice through but relented after realizing that he would get the opportunity to tear the rest of Erin’s luggage apart. Such a farce. And completely ineffective at diverting any sort of terrorism. Erin walked through the first checkpoint when the guard’s attention was diverted by a couple of dangerous looking grannies and made it to the second checkpoint without anyone even looking at her ID or boarding pass. I was carrying both suitcases but the geniuses at TSA didn’t realize we were traveling together and didn’t find it the least bit odd that Erin was carrying a small handbag and knapsack, with no checked luggage and two children. No one ever asked to look at my luggage, although I was told by the airline (!) that I was going to be selected for special screening when I got to the airport.
The TSA is the most useless government agency since the CIA. Seven years since the 911 attacks (which the TSA would not have stopped) and there still isn’t anywhere to put your shoes on after you get through the line. Never mind the indignity of being questioned by someone who probably couldn’t get a job at Burger King and made the TSA their fall-back plan. Ah, well, government agencies tend to accumulate like barnacles on a ship's hull - once created, they're pretty hard to remove and they keep replicating themselves. Especially the ones granted some sort of quasi-police powers.
The very creation of the TSA was a triumph of Republican free-market ideals combined with the persistence of bureaucracy; a dangerous combination that succeeded at nothing other than funneling large sums of tax dollars into the pockets of private security companies. Created in November 2001, the TSA’s goal was ostensibly to secure our nation's transportation system by replacing private airport security screeners with "fully trained, professional" federal screeners. The head of the TSA went about this, of course, by hiring a private company to train and provide the screeners. While this proved that they were adept at the particularly Republican, supply-side skill of creating something no one needs and then billing them for it, (TSA blew through its original $2.4 billion budget requested an additional $4.4 billion by the summer of 2002) the architects of the TSA were much less effective at their actual mission of keeping weapons off airplanes. The TSA regularly fails its own security tests. In 2002, TSA documents revealed that their screeners were missing 24% of mock weapons in undercover tests, with some airports experiencing a 50% failure rate. LAX had a 41% failure rate. They even failed when they realized they were being tested, as screeners had begun to recognize the testers but still failed to find smuggled weapons. That would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.
All of this is to say that being dressed down by a government lackey in an airport while juggling two kids and all of our stuff was a crappy ending to a difficult trip. Next time maybe we’ll take the train.
The only other glitch was on our way through security in Tampa, Erin was selected for “special screening” because her handbag was deemed “too heavy” by the TSA clerk. “There isn’t anything in there that could hurt me, is there?” he intoned as he solemnly poked through a years worth of ATM receipts in a handbag about the size of a vanilla latte. What a dick. He also didn’t want to let Jack’s bottle or Dimitri’s juice through but relented after realizing that he would get the opportunity to tear the rest of Erin’s luggage apart. Such a farce. And completely ineffective at diverting any sort of terrorism. Erin walked through the first checkpoint when the guard’s attention was diverted by a couple of dangerous looking grannies and made it to the second checkpoint without anyone even looking at her ID or boarding pass. I was carrying both suitcases but the geniuses at TSA didn’t realize we were traveling together and didn’t find it the least bit odd that Erin was carrying a small handbag and knapsack, with no checked luggage and two children. No one ever asked to look at my luggage, although I was told by the airline (!) that I was going to be selected for special screening when I got to the airport.
The TSA is the most useless government agency since the CIA. Seven years since the 911 attacks (which the TSA would not have stopped) and there still isn’t anywhere to put your shoes on after you get through the line. Never mind the indignity of being questioned by someone who probably couldn’t get a job at Burger King and made the TSA their fall-back plan. Ah, well, government agencies tend to accumulate like barnacles on a ship's hull - once created, they're pretty hard to remove and they keep replicating themselves. Especially the ones granted some sort of quasi-police powers.
The very creation of the TSA was a triumph of Republican free-market ideals combined with the persistence of bureaucracy; a dangerous combination that succeeded at nothing other than funneling large sums of tax dollars into the pockets of private security companies. Created in November 2001, the TSA’s goal was ostensibly to secure our nation's transportation system by replacing private airport security screeners with "fully trained, professional" federal screeners. The head of the TSA went about this, of course, by hiring a private company to train and provide the screeners. While this proved that they were adept at the particularly Republican, supply-side skill of creating something no one needs and then billing them for it, (TSA blew through its original $2.4 billion budget requested an additional $4.4 billion by the summer of 2002) the architects of the TSA were much less effective at their actual mission of keeping weapons off airplanes. The TSA regularly fails its own security tests. In 2002, TSA documents revealed that their screeners were missing 24% of mock weapons in undercover tests, with some airports experiencing a 50% failure rate. LAX had a 41% failure rate. They even failed when they realized they were being tested, as screeners had begun to recognize the testers but still failed to find smuggled weapons. That would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.
All of this is to say that being dressed down by a government lackey in an airport while juggling two kids and all of our stuff was a crappy ending to a difficult trip. Next time maybe we’ll take the train.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
The Olympics
I’ve been watching the Olympics this week and wondering about those kids. The amount of training necessary to perform at such an elite level is incredible and has to start at a very young age. In fact, from what I’ve heard children as young as 3 can sign up for swimming and gymnastics programs. By the time they’re a few years older, they can avail themselves of early morning and late evening training sessions in specialty gyms dedicated to producing the next generation of Olympians. But seriously, at 6 or 7 years old what kid in his right mind really wants to spend 12 hours in a gym banging out floor routines? The only logical conclusion is that it isn’t what the kids want, it’s what the parents want.
Whenever I see those teenage competitors in gymnastics or diving I seriously wonder about their overall mental health. Can you really say that spending hour upon hour perfecting one thing with single-minded determination is good for a developing brain? These kids are trying desperately to please their Type A parents by bringing home a gold medal. Unfortunately, the law of averages being what it is, most of them won’t (odds are roughly 1 in 1,000,000). So why do they do it? I think the parents who push their kids into such a hyper-competitive environment must have some serious unresolved psychological issues. Youth sports activist Bob Bigelow calls it "the Tiger Woods syndrome" i.e. parents think they have to push their little kids earlier and earlier to give them a leg up on the competition.
Have you ever taken a close look at Tiger Woods? He might be a great golf player but he has the face of a robot. When he does poorly he becomes enraged; even when the reason for his poor performance is because he is playing with a broken leg. Such dedication! What a weenie! Clearly Tiger could have benefited more from drinking the occasional six-pack behind McDonalds and sneaking cigarettes with his friends (assuming he had any) rather than spending his entire childhood at the driving range becomming intimately involved with his drivers. What kind of freak can bounce a golf ball up and down repeatedly off a seven iron? That takes a long time to master and it isn’t even a golf skill. It sort of looks to me like a slightly less destructive version of a dog chewing all of its hair off in one spot because it’s stressed out. But I digress.
According to Dr. Charles Yesalis, a Penn State professor of health and human development. "Kids doing sports activities three to five hours a day for five days a week is almost child abuse. When you talk to kids away from their parents, they feign injuries because they're burned out," he says. "They don’t want parents to know because of their financial and time commitment." Ultimately the question to ask your children after getting them involved in any intensely competitive sport is, “are you having fun?” Childhood is supposed to be about fun, isn’t it?
Whenever I see those teenage competitors in gymnastics or diving I seriously wonder about their overall mental health. Can you really say that spending hour upon hour perfecting one thing with single-minded determination is good for a developing brain? These kids are trying desperately to please their Type A parents by bringing home a gold medal. Unfortunately, the law of averages being what it is, most of them won’t (odds are roughly 1 in 1,000,000). So why do they do it? I think the parents who push their kids into such a hyper-competitive environment must have some serious unresolved psychological issues. Youth sports activist Bob Bigelow calls it "the Tiger Woods syndrome" i.e. parents think they have to push their little kids earlier and earlier to give them a leg up on the competition.
Have you ever taken a close look at Tiger Woods? He might be a great golf player but he has the face of a robot. When he does poorly he becomes enraged; even when the reason for his poor performance is because he is playing with a broken leg. Such dedication! What a weenie! Clearly Tiger could have benefited more from drinking the occasional six-pack behind McDonalds and sneaking cigarettes with his friends (assuming he had any) rather than spending his entire childhood at the driving range becomming intimately involved with his drivers. What kind of freak can bounce a golf ball up and down repeatedly off a seven iron? That takes a long time to master and it isn’t even a golf skill. It sort of looks to me like a slightly less destructive version of a dog chewing all of its hair off in one spot because it’s stressed out. But I digress.
According to Dr. Charles Yesalis, a Penn State professor of health and human development. "Kids doing sports activities three to five hours a day for five days a week is almost child abuse. When you talk to kids away from their parents, they feign injuries because they're burned out," he says. "They don’t want parents to know because of their financial and time commitment." Ultimately the question to ask your children after getting them involved in any intensely competitive sport is, “are you having fun?” Childhood is supposed to be about fun, isn’t it?
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