Off the Beaten Path

One day, about 8 years ago, my husband Al and I found ourselves a standing on a rickety platform, high in the rainforest in Costa Rica.  I was hooked up to a zip line, but terrified to take that giant leap of faith to fly over a deep gorge.  Ever so sweetly, I snarled at Al, “Who’s stupid idea was this anyway? Let’s turn back.” Calmly, as always, Al replied “Yours.  No turning back.”    Actually, this is a  pattern, I come up with the crazy ideas for our travel itineraries, but it is Al that gives me that “gentle” nudge off the platform into the scary unknown once we are there. 

On no trip was this pattern more apparent than on our trip to Peru in July of 2017.  Before I tell you this story, there are three things you need to know.

•  In July 2017, I was 59 years old and Al was 60.
• I am neither sedentary nor athletic, but especially not athletic. 
• The Andes are really big mountains. REALLY. BIG. MOUNTAINS.

We were in Peru for two weeks—a few days in in Lima enjoying the history, culture and amazing cuisine, a few days in the Amazon basin, but the highlights of the trip were hiking in the Andes and seeing Machu Picchu.  We booked our trip through an Australian agency called Intrepid Travel that provided the following description (and I quote) “The trip is recommended for those with a moderate level of fitness but there are also a few different trail options to suit your interests and physical capabilities.”

 Dear Intrepid Travel,  “Moderate Level of Fitness” may need further definition.  Just sayin'

The general outline of the hike went like this.  From Lima, we flew on a small jet to Cusco, the ancient Incan capital. Cusco is situated high in the Andes and approaching the runway between the imposing peaks is not for the faint of heart.  At an elevation of 11,000 feet, this beautiful city is a common location for all sorts of intrepid hikers to adjust to the altitude.

It was in Cusco that we learned that many people don’t acclimate well to such high elevations and that most people bring a prescription medication that prevents altitude sickness.   Who knew?  Apparently, everyone but us. Maybe we should have done some research.  But by then it was too late.  There were easily available herbal alternatives to prescription medication- coca candy, coca tea- both dispensed liberally by hotels and tour guides.  I am not entirely sure if they are legal in the U.S., but when in Cusco…

It was also in Cusco that we discovered that it would be cold at night in the Andes.  Even without research, we really SHOULD have realized that.  But that oversight was easy to fix and we bought hats and gloves in a little local market.

The hike began in the town of Ollantaytambo in the Sacred Valley.  This is about 2000 feet lower than Cusco—a mere 9000 feet above sea level.  We were part of a small group- 6 hikers, 2 guides, 2 cooks, a couple of horsemen and a few horses that carried our tents, sleeping bags, food, cooking supplies, port-a-potty tent and so on.  The night before we set out, we had a team meeting where our guide told us the first of many …um… alternative facts. 

Number 1.  Day one is a warm up.  Easy Peasy

Number 2:  The trail is “rolly-rolly Inca Flat”  Just FYI:   Flat is not a word that applies in the Andes.

He also told us one thing that was true.  You need trekking poles.  All six of us were totally skeptical.  Why?  Too much to carry.  They will interfere with photographing the wonderful sights.  But he was insistent.  Ok.  We decided to humor him.  This turned out to be a very good decision.  They helped somewhat on the climb, but were indispensable on the descent.

The next morning we set out, full of optimism and confidence.  Of the six hikers, five of us were sixty-ish.  The remaining one, the speed demon known as Ingrid, was a super-fit 29 year-old physician.  But fortunately, a very kind and patient super-fit 29 year-old physician.

      

First hour. Hmmm… this is steep, but no worries. Paulo said this is the easy warm up day. It will get easier soon.

Second hour: Well, ok, it is still steep, huff… puff… but this is the easy day.

Third hour: More huffing and puffing. Lots more. Easy Peasy? Jeez Louise...what will tomorrow be like?

 Fourth hour: Gasping… “Al, who’s stupid idea was this?” (mine. I admit it)

And so the morning continued.  Step.. huff.  Step… puff.  You get the idea.  Like I said--the Andes are big. REALLY. BIG. This hike was immensely challenging-- both physically and psychologically.  Huffing and puffing.  Fighting the doubts.  Trying to ignore the screaming voices of my twin internal critics, Agnes and Agatha, as they nagged me mercilessly.  “What are you thinking?  Do you know how old you are? Why didn’t you train for this?  You’ll never make it.  What a moron!”  Those voices are the worst.

There was a lunch stop, but it was hard to eat.  I felt kind of nauseous -- maybe from the exertion, maybe the altitude.   I rested in the grass and didn’t think I’d ever get up again.  But soon the call came and we set off.  One step after another.

The afternoon was much like the morning.  The trekking poles were helpful; I did find a bit of a rhythm and we finally arrived at our campsite.  We had hiked quite a few miles and climbed from 9000 to 12000 feet that day.  We had certainly earned our dinner.  The group commiserated about our fatigue, expressed our gratitude for the cooks and the guides and the horses, and shared our awe of the mountains, but mostly we were ready, at 6:30 p.m., to sleep. 

It was already pitch dark.  And I mean dark.  And quiet. And cold.  There were no towns, no lights other than our flashlights, no noise, other than the wind.  It was us and the crystal clear night sky.  That night, for the first time, at age 59, I saw the night sky as it was in the beginning.  The Milky Way galaxy is no vague concept.  It is not a picture in a textbook.  It is a brilliant river of light that stretches across and dominates the sky.  Much like we do, the Incas named constellations but they also named the dark spots in that sparking band of light- the frog, the snake, the llama.  We were tiny specks in the universe looking billions of years back into time and into the infinity of space. 

Bone-tired tiny specks. 

At 5 am the next morning, we were awakened to the guides knocking on our tent. Time to get up!  Really?  They placed  basins of warm water for washing up and two cups of coca tea outside our tent to help us get going.  We noted, with some relief, that we did not experience significant negative effects of altitude- but maybe we should have done that research anyway….

The trail on second day was ‘rolly rolly Inca Flat’ (FAKE NEWS) and brought us to our highest elevation – 14,500 feet above sea level.  

We fell into our usual pattern—Ingrid, the 29 year-old speed demon in front, the rest of us, single file behind.  The mountains were covered by dry grasses- browns and golds blowing against the red and black rocks.  The sky was cobalt blue and we were excited to see the very rare Andean Condor, but no people, and little wildlife. 

Trying to focus on anything BUT how tired I was, I tended to focus on what was right in front of me—the trail and Al’s back.

One step.

Another.

One step.

Another.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

And then....

With no warning whatsoever, the view opened up.  We had reached the Kuychicassa Pass and in front of me was

Heaven had revealed herself and we found ourselves face-to-face with the mountain Willka Weqe, which is Quechuan for “Holy Tear.”  The name is perfect—this sight made me sob and laugh simultaneously.  I stood there, tears streaming down my face, experiencing a joy that emanated from the deepest part of my exhausted being.

Willka Weqe, stayed with us for the next two days of our trek.  Never again out of sight,  always protecting and nourishing the Sacred Valley. 

And us.

When we talk about travel as “life changing” or “transformative” we think about cultural experiences and global understanding.  Fair enough.  That is a big part of it.  But travel outside your comfort zone, whatever that means, transforms in a different way.  I have learned that I am capable of so much more than I think I am.  I am reminded that pushing though immense challenge brings deep joy and true pride.  I have learned that the moments that you expect to be inspirational, like seeing Machu Picchu itself, are indeed great but the unexpected, unanticipated moments are the ones that take root most deeply in my soul.  That night sky.  This mountain.  Those moments far off the beaten path.

I always close my blogs with gratitude.  I am grateful for the opportunities I have had to explore the world, to push myself, and to keep learning.

Going the Distance

Heavens!  I've done enough whining about running that even the occasional reader of this blog or a casual Facebook friend probably knows it is not my favorite thing.  It is hard to say exactly WHY I don't like running, but it remains a fact that I don't.

However, I have long had the goal of completing a triathon.  It goes back to high school when I read about the Hawaiian Ironman.  Those Ironmen are some tough cookies;  they complete a grueling course which includes a 2.4 mile ocean swim, a 112 mile bike ride and then, to top it off,  they run a  full 26.2 mile marathon.  I was probably 15 when decided that I wanted to participate in an Ironman competition.  This was clearly the folly of youth.  I was not at all athletic.  While I have always loved swimming, I did not take up bicycling until my mid-twenties and as for that running... well, as I have lamented numerous times... I'm workin' on it.  But as a teenager, the allure of the Ironman was so compelling that I resolved that at some point in my life, I would complete a triathlon.

Of course, I was also going to be a Hollywood actress.

Clearly, not all of my high school ambitions will come to fruition.  Nor should they.

But that triathlon has stuck with me.  Even through the soft years of my 30's and 40's.  Even now.   There is something that compels me to push myself to do this and I promised  it would be by the time I was 55.

That will be next January.

I guess it is now or never.

After a month or so of tentative training, I registered for the Tawas Sprint Triathon.  This is scaled down significantly from the Ironman competitions that initially inspired my goal.  It is "only"  a 500 m lake swim, 20 km (12 mile) bike ride and a 5 km (3 mile) run.

I went out for a 5K practice run yesterday.  It was early in the morning, but the sun was already hot and the route I chose had little shade.  Physically, I was doing all right- I was huffing and puffing a little, and yes, it was hot- but really I was fine.  I knew it too, but nonetheless, I really wanted to stop.  I wanted to walk.  I wanted that run to be over. It was really hard for me to just keep running.

I know I am not a very good runner and I don't hesitate to regularly remind myself of that fact while I am running.  In truth, I am not actually fully confident that I CAN complete the triathon, and it is the running that worries me most.  It is  so very hard to persist at something when faced with feelings of incompetence and insecurity.  There is a mental resistance that makes every step difficult, like running through quicksand.

I tried to push these negative thoughts out of my head and  think of other things.  My mind, naturally enough, wandered to the new academic year, which formally begins tomorrow.   I had the opportunity to meet a bunch of new freshmen and their parents during the move-in days last week.  The students are both excited and nervous.  Excited, because they have been waiting forever to be on their own and make their first foray into the adult world.  Nervous, because they are worried about social adjustments and the intellectual demands of higher education.

As I struggled to keep running, I was reminded that many of these students will struggle academically.  Nonetheless, we will expect them to attend classes, listen to lectures, solve problems, write papers, do projects, read and analyze difficult texts, have insightful discussions, and study for examinations.  We tell them they should expect to spend about 10 hours per week on each course they take, and if the subject is difficult for them, it will require more time.   Yes, the harder they find it, the more time they will need to endure that horrible feeling of incompetence and insecurity that I feel while running.  Like me, they will want to stop and spend that time doing something - anything- else.  Of course, as educators we know that there are no shortcuts; if they are going to be successful, they have to stick with it and push through that resistance.  It is a steep learning curve, but as educators, we know that once the students have some level of competence, it gets easier and they sometimes even start to enjoy the subject.

I have a general rule that I don't ask anyone to do anything I won't do myself.  So, I will not ask students to face their challenges with persistence unless I can face my own with that same persistence.

My head filled with these thoughts, I kept running.  I finished the 5K and did not give in to the temptation to walk or rest.  It was all right.  Not so bad, really.  Maybe, if I keep at it, like with many difficult things, I will reach a level of competence where I can actually enjoy it.

It's possible you know.

Athletic endeavors are not my natural strength, although stubborn persistence might be.  I don't expect to get an "A" in triathlon, but I do plan on passing the course on September 8.

Today I am grateful for inspiration that pushes me to do more and think harder, and for the support of those who seem to have more confidence in me than I have in myself.

Illuminating Texts

Every once in a while at Christmas or my birthday, I am the pleased recipient of a beautiful leather-bound journal.  My close friends and family know how I love the idea of writing and keeping a journal-- you know,  the old fashioned kind on real paper-- to record my thoughts and  ideas before they escape  the sieve that is my memory.

But as much as I love these books and appreciate the gifts, I must admit that I have not used them well.  Oh, I start out with good intentions, making a couple of entries, but soon I am overcome with the sense that my silly day-to-day thinking does not warrant a beautiful leather-bound volume.  The leather-bound books seem too special for shaky first drafts and ill-formed incomplete thoughts. A blank word document or even one of the cheap  tape-bound composition books that I buy in bulk during the August back-to-school sales seem more than adequate.  

But what to do with my beautiful journals?

I had an idea while visiting a museum at Shanghai Normal University in China.  The collection included numerous scrolls of meticulous calligraphy copied from ancient texts by Chinese officials and scholars.  If I understood the docent correctly, the scholars copied the texts as a way of preserving the texts, honoring the original authors,and gaining deep knowledge of the content.  The calligraphy reminded me of the beautiful illuminated biblical texts that medieval monks copied, for similar reasons.

Of course, we live in a different world now.  There is no need to preserve any written material by hand-copying.  We've had printing presses for quite some time now and at this stage, most texts are digitized anyway.  An enormous amount of written material is available to us instantly through the wonder that is the internet, and what is not immediately available for free can often be downloaded or ordered within a matter of a couple of hours, days at most. The incredible volume of material published these days coupled with easy access puts us in the midst of an information glut.

No, preservation is not an issue.

In today's educational and technological world, the concept of copying texts to assist in learning seems both quaint and wrong.  Learning by copying is just memorization  and we all know that such "rote learning" isn't "real learning" and that our goals should be to foster critical thinking and creativity.

There is nothing creative about copying.

But, here is where I think we are missing something important.

No one can think critically and creatively in the absence of knowledge.  Having ready access to vast stores of information is not the same as having knowledge. Knowledge is information that does not have to be looked up- information imprinted into our brains.  Information itself is not particularly useful until it is transformed into knowledge, a process that requires active attention, review, and internalization.

I call that transformation learning.

For me, learning is facilitated by writing things down.  Not underlining. Not highlighting.  Writing them down.  If it is a scientific or scholarly work, I make notes in my own words, perhaps quoting particularly concise phrases or key concepts. In these cases paraphrasing confirms understanding.  These are just notes, kept at various levels of organization in my cheap composition books.

When text is fiction, poetry, or ancient, I copy the exact words of the author or translator.  This practice allows me to internalize the the cadence and imagery and begin, hopefully, to know the work.

So, even though I have really bad handwriting and do not know any form of calligraphy, and even though it is out of fashion from a educational perspective, I use my leather-bound journals for copying texts, both ancient and modern, in order to honor the original author and gain a deeper knowledge of the work.  Just like the Chinese scholars.  Just like the medieval monks.  Well, not quite.  There is that little issue of illegible  handwriting!

In the process, I have discovered and rediscovered some wonderful words. I have been relearning T.S. Eliot's Preludes and other poems.  Langston Hughes, Psalms.  Words that are worthy of the beautiful journals into which I transcribe them.

Here is a fun little poem I came across on  our return trip from the Stratford Shakespeare Festival last Sunday.  The poem is by E.B. White, author of my first favorite chapter book (Stuart Little) and the wonderful tale of another clever spider (Charlotte's Web).  It is called Natural History.

Natural History
(A letter to Katherine from the King Edward Hotel, Toronto)
The spider, dropping down from twig,

Unwinds a thread of her devising:
A thin, premeditated rig
To use in rising.

And all the journey down through space,
In cool descent, and loyal-hearted,
She builds a ladder to the place
From which she started.

This I, gone forth, as spiders do,
In spider's web a truth discerning,
Attach a silken thread to you
For my returning.



As my family has been scattered over the globe this summer,  I am grateful for the silken threads guiding us all home.

Miracles Emergent

The facts:

Sunrise on Lake Huron.  

I am not a morning person.  Never have been.     I have tried to shift my internal clock to better accommodate the demands of my working life, but except when I am assisted by jet lag, I can’t seem to do so.  I tend to stay up too late and am sleepy in the morning.  For me, mornings are bad.

I have never enjoyed running.  I have tried many times to develop a more amicable relationship with the sport, but it is just not my thing.  For me, running is bad.

But, strangely enough,

Running at 6:30 in the morning is glorious. 

I get up, run in the cool morning air accompanied by the ever goofy ZigZag and I love it.  Not only that, I feel great all day long.

Huh?  Say what?

It’s like a miracle.

I have often remarked that as a scientist, I don’t believe in magic, but that I do believe in miracles.  After making such a remark, I deftly avoid further discussion of what constitutes a miracle, although a backwards look through this blog provides a few hints.  For instance, I talked about the miracle of how ordinary rhythms and rituals ground us and help keep us centered.  I also talked about the miracle of how a a couple of regular people can create a  new and perfect child and how a mass of undifferentiated cells somehow becomes a highly organized living organism.  I was talking about human life, but really, earthworms are pretty miraculous too, when you stop to think about it. 

Another time I wrote about the miracle of contentedness that I feel on a summer day, like today.  I feel an overwhelming sense of  well-being while sitting on the back deck, fresh brewed coffee in hand, dog and cat asleep in the sun, flowers in bloom, with birds at the feeders.  Conversely, when the weather is awful-- bitter cold, driving rains, or blistering heat-- when I would not want to be outside for very long, even though I love being outside, I look around my warm and comfortable home and am glad for the miracle of a safe and secure life.  I am very aware that for most of the world’s people, this miracle is beyond reach.   I feel both grateful and a little guilty for the miracle of my good fortune. 

I see miracles in the generosity of people who volunteer their time or other resources selflessly to help others.  I think about inner city after school programs,  community food banks and so on, often run by people who simply want to make things better for others.    I think it is a miracle when, in the face of all the things that could go wrong, things go right.  I think it is a miracle that there is life, joy, satisfaction, and happiness because there is no guarantee that those things have to exist.

I have another definition of miracle that is perhaps somewhat related, but not directly.  This is when things combine in unpredicted and unpredictable ways to create something new and radically different.  I learned recently that this idea has another name—strong emergence.  The idea is that the whole is not only greater than the sum of the parts, it is fundamentally different than the sum of the parts.

The concept of strong emergence is not accepted in the sciences; it is seen as too magical and is contrary to the premise that the physical world behaves predictably, at least on the large scale.  Science relies on the idea that we can observe, understand, and predict the workings of the universe.  (To any scientists reading this, I am not forgetting the indeterminacy of quantum physics, but rather thinking on a macroscopic scale).  Scientists fundamentally believe that if we know enough about the parts, we can predict the outcome of their interactions at least statistically.  I think that in the realms of the physical universe that is true.  For example, the properties of water ARE predictable from the properties of hydrogen and oxygen even though water has little in common with its constituents.   Certainly, it would have been difficult and even unlikely for scientists to predict, a priori, the properties of water from the properties of hydrogen and oxygen.  But difficult or not,  it COULD have been done and in hindsight, it is clear how water’s properties emerge from those of hydrogen and oxygen.   When things get much more complex, like biological systems, it seems impossible to predict how the same building blocks could lead to the known diversity of life.  But, I don’t think it’s impossible.  Impossibly difficult maybe, but not theoretically impossible.   

Where the idea of strong emergence feels right to me is in the area of human perception and creativity.  In the prologue to this excellent biography of Richard Feynman, titled “Genius,”  James Gleick quotes Mark Kac, a Polish mathematician, who worked with Feynman in the early 1960’s.

"There are two kinds of geniuses: the 'ordinary' and the 'magicians'. An ordinary genius is a fellow whom you and I would be just as good as, if we were only many times better. There is no mystery as to how his mind works. Once we understand what they've done, we feel certain that we, too, could have done it. It is different with the magicians… Even after we understand what they have done,  the process by which they have done it, is completely dark. Richard Feynman was a magician of the highest order.

Kac calls this magic; I call it a miracle.  Epistemologists call it strong emergence.  Whatever, it is the unpredictable, non-understandable, emergence of something radically new.  The ideas don’t come out of a vacuum, but the type II genius, the ‘magician,’ draws connections in ways that no one else can.  It is the difference between mere excellence, to which many can aspire with ordinary talent and extraordinary hard work and the miracle of real genius. 

The miracle of strong emergence creates soul-nourishing awe from the mere pile of rocks and pool of water that are Mount Hood reflected in Mirror Lake, especially if you are there to breathe the sweet air and feel the warm sunshine.

And, strong emergence is at play when a no-good-awful-sport like running at a terrible-horrible-miserable time of day like early morning combine to create a splendid experience.

It kind of makes me wonder if parsnips and liver might be tasty when combined together.

Nah.  There are limits!

Today I am grateful for the sunshine after a lot of badly needed rain.  I was glad for the rain, but my mood soared today when the sun came back out.

Shabbat

I was suffering from a severe case of missing-the-kids, so I was delighted to find that Eric was free for dinner last night.  Al and I drove to Ann Arbor to meet him and after a delicious Mexican dinner, the three of us stopped by the Wolverine State Brewing Company for a brewski.  If you know me at all, you know that I am much more a wine girl than a beer girl, but I do make exceptions.  Anyway, over beer, our conversations ranged far and wide, but at one point, I told the boys that I really wished that I could set aside one day each weekend to unplug, to refocus and to live slowly-- thinking, reading, writing, maybe doing some photography.  To spend time on the things I love but usually push to the back burner as the demands of our busy lives take precedence.

Nodding, Eric said, “What you want is a Shabbat.”  I looked at him quizzically, and he said, “You know, a Sabbath.”  I actually do know that Shabbat is Hebrew for Sabbath, it just hadn’t occurred to me that I wanted one.

It seems like such an archaic idea.  Even quaint.  It has been a long time since we, as a society, have recognized a Sabbath as a significant part of our culture.  I am old enough to remember when most stores were closed on Sunday,  and a few, on Saturday, in recognition of the Christian and Jewish Sabbaths. Today, we can get pretty much any thing at pretty much any time; we have created a culture of convenience. Our  24/7 mentality  gives us very little downtime.

I don’t know about you, but I crave downtime once in a while.  Not so much blob-on-the-couch downtime, but high quality downtime, time apart from my day-to-day distractions and demands, time when I can take a deep breath and just think.  Time when I can hold an idea in my head for more than a few seconds, long enough to see it from different perspectives and let it develop and grow. 

A few weeks ago I declared my first and so far, only, “No-Surf Sunday;” I did not check email, Facebook, or any other internet site from 9 am until 9 pm.   I managed to stay away from the computer that one day, but not again since.  Not even today as I write about the need to stay away.

I think Eric is right.  I need a Shabbat.

Al has a different take on this.  He thinks I need “Funday Sunday” where I get to define fun anyway I want.  Of course, he knows that I am likely to define it in terms of doing the things I don’t normally make time for- reading, writing, photography, and so on. 

Whatever you want to call it, I took today as sort of a trial run. Among other things, I did some reading, wrote this blog, explored the difference between satisfaction and complacency, listened to Sidney Bechet, made focaccia bread and cherry crisp, walked the dog, and resisted the urge to run errands or go shopping.

(I am definitely not a recreational shopper, but I do have a weakness for office and school supplies.  I keep hinking my Sunday experiment would be improved with new notebooks and  pens.  After all, maybe  new thoughts would flow better through new pens into unsullied notebooks.   And maybe I need one of those lap desks so I can record my thoughts in comfort wherever I happen to be sitting. 

Ok. Maybe not.)

Shabbat or Funday Sunday, I think Eric and Al may be saying the same thing.  Either way, I think I have been given explicit permission to claim Sundays as my own.  For this, I am grateful.  Just for the record, I plan to take full advantage of it!

I mainly resisted the lures of the internet, but not entirely.  I dropped in on Facebook briefly and came upon a post about the horrible mass killing in Wisconsin, the second in as many weeks.  I don’t understand this violence.  I just don’t understand.

Are we there yet?

Yes!  It is July 31st and this completes my promise to post every day in the month of July.  As I lamented, more than once, it was sometimes a challenge to keep myself motivated but having Nancy blogging alongside helped enormously.  So did your Facebook "likes," emails, and posted comments. I am glad I did this; it shook some ideas loose in my head and left some record of the month of July which otherwise might have dissipated into oblivion like a wispy fog of warm breath on a cold winter day.

But, to be honest, I am also glad that the month is over and I am done with daily posting for a while.  I have a lot of other things to do, especially as the next academic year approaches.  As regular readers of the July posts know, I have been gone quite a bit since May and it seems like the summer slow down characteristic of university life has not yet begun.  Maybe you can imagine my dismay when a faculty colleague commented today that we will begin the fall semester 'welcome back' activities in just 2 weeks!  I checked the calendar; she's right.

YIKES!  How did that happen?

This post is both the end of my July daily posting promise and my 100th entry on the Extra-Ordinary Ramblings blog site.  This represents another sort of milestone, I guess, and like the impending start to the school year, it took me by surprise.  Somehow, through all my fussing and complaining and teeth gnashing and fighting with myself over the last couple years, not to mention the constant clamor of  my twin internal critics, Agnes and Agatha, I have actually posted quite a bit of material.  And I humbly confess that I even like some of it.

I don't know about you, but I squander a lot of energy fighting with myself about doing things.  If I made New Year's Resolutions, I should really resolve to just shut up and do what needs to be done. To get over myself and get on with it.

So, here is a mid-year resolution:

A few days ago, I posted about the possibility of participating in the Tawas mini-triathlon.  Completing a triathlon has been a favorite fantasy of mine for a long time.  This morning, I  decided that I am going to do it.  That's all.  Just do it.

I got in the Ryder Center pool today and did a slow, steady, and arm-aching 600 meter swim.  Yes, I have some work to do before I'll be ready for that triathlon, but it was ok, even pretty good, once I got my goggles to stop leaking.

The biking shouldn't be a problem; it is by far my favorite summertime activity.

Running, .... well.  Yes.  About that.

Suffice it to say that biking is much better than running.  This is not just my opinion; I  have indisputable proof.  Michigan has lots of paved trails for bikers, runners, roller-bladers and in the winter, cross country skiers.  When we go to the Pere Marquette Trail, or the Saginaw Valley Rail Trail, or that especially beautiful trail that runs for miles and miles along Lake Michigan, we see lots of other people out exercising. And there is a very noticeable difference in the demeanor of the bikers and the runners.

 The bikers ALWAYS have great big happy grins on their faces and greet others with a delighted "Great day for a ride, isn't it?"

The runners, on the other hand,  tend look like they are completely miserable; they grimace and frown, and seem like they are counting the steps until the end of their ordeal. They rarely acknowledge a passer-by, let alone offer or respond to a cheerful greeting.

You have to admit that the difference is compelling.


Here is where that mid-year resolution comes into play.  I am going to shut up about how much I dislike running and just do it.  I am not a fast runner, but the 5K run will take me just a little more than 30 minutes.  Like 35.  That's all.  35 minutes.  How bad can it be?  It's only 35 minutes.


And like the July promise and 100 blog postings, if I just keep at it, I'll be fine. The job will get done.  And I will be so happy.

I have expressed gratitude for 100 things since I started writing this blog, and tonight I will just reiterate my constant gratitude for Al, Eric, Ellen, extended family, old friends, new friends, and my friends yet to come. And ice cream.  I don't think I've mentioned ice cream!

Against all Odds

Did you ever stop to think and then forget to start again?
                                                                     - Winnie-the-Pooh


It is the 30th consecutive day that I have posted to this blog.  There were some days that I felt tired and uninspired.  There were plenty of days that I was tempted to abandon my July promise to write everyday.  In truth, writing everyday probably IS too often, especially when I am working and traveling and all that.  But, I also knew that if I gave up, I would 'forget' to start again.  So I just plowed on.  Sometimes uninspired. Often out of words.  Sometimes out of ideas.

And it got better.

At least sometimes.

Tomorrow is both the end of the July promise and my 100th posting to this site. Wow! Maybe if I read all this stuff, I'll find a thread worth pursuing as I drop back to a weekly posting schedule, which I intend to keep up for a while.  Hopefully, a long while.

Last November, my coblogger-in-crime and I posted quick daily observations to a another blog that we share, called Finding Joy.  I was scanning that site for ideas and I came upon this entry from November 4, 2011.  The day I originally wrote it, I was in Montreal for a conference, but I had a similar existential mid-night  mini-crisis in San Francisco on Saturday evening.

It was 3 a.m. and I awoke to these thoughts.

I pray because I am so small.

I am one person in 7 billion on a planet that revolves around one of the 300 billion stars in the Milky Way galaxy which is one galaxy in about 170 billion galaxies in the universe.

I pray because I am so small.

I contain about 63 kg of the estimated 3.4 x 10^54 kg in the universe.  As a percentage, that represents 0.0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000018% of the mass of the universe.

I pray because I am so small.

My mass is so inconsequential, my existence so unlikely that if I were a statistician I would say with great certainty that I don't exist.  But I do.  I breathe.  I love. I laugh.  I work.  I play.  I find joy.

I pray because I am so small.
And so very grateful.

Hmmm, I think I need to lay off the chili burritos before bed!  

(Here is a link to a significantly funnier take on this idea.)