20-200-2 Much?

Is getting 20 years and  200,000 miles out of our 1993 Toyota Camry Wagon 2 much to ask?

I ask because at 16 and 163 I’m starting to feel like a surfer at the end of a long ride pressing up and down on the board with my feet while trying to get the most out of the 12 inches of white water.

I could write a “Marley and Me” like book about the car and me, but oddly we never named it. One admittedly short chapter would be about the time I drove into the garage and THEN realized the bikes were on the roof. 

The picture below isn’t the actual car, but it looks an awful lot like it. I had bike racks drilled directly onto the roof early on and the wife must have been mad at me a few years ago when she dented in the right front bumper. 

Tinting the windows was the best decision ever. Let’s just say the ladies have paid the wagon and me A LOT more attention ever since. 

Mechanically it’s pretty solid, and the tires are relatively new, but the driver’s door handle snapped off a while back so now I have to grab the remaining two inches with two fingers. There are annoying electrical problems too. The interior dome light doesn’t work even after replacing the bulb so I keep a flashlight handy. And after replacing the turn signal bulbs, the instrument panel lights shuts off after every use of a turn signal (all fuses are fine). Blondie and blonder found that very entertaining on the way to school last week. I wouldn’t wish the upholstery on anyone and the inside roof has a bit of residue from where water probably seeped in through the holes that were drilled for the rack.

Oh, and sometimes it won’t start until it feels like it even though the battery is relatively new (faulty safety neutral switch?).

Killer radio though and a good radio compensates for a lot of shortcomings.

Since I don’t know if the air bag will open, and gas prices have plummeted, I’ve taken it back over. I’d rather kill myself than my wife. “Here lies Dad. He took one for the fam.”

Speaking of dads, mine always got 8 years out of his American cars back in the day. I think he’d be proud that I’ve doubled him up and I like to think he’s rooting for me to stay on the bull until it completely tires.

I have to admit though, the Venza looks nice and I’ve been looking at “pre-owned” Highlander Hybrids on Craigslist. The question is, can I hold off until the London Olympics? I wouldn’t bet on it.

Mo Rest, Mo Clarity of Purpose

I almost always teach a course during my university’s J-term, but not this year. Even though the email stream hasn’t stopped, and I’m going in once a week, slowing down and writing at home has been wonderful.

During my last sabbatical I was pleasantly surprised to learn that there were ever deepening levels of rest and renewal. I had assumed I’d reach a rest/renewal point of diminishing returns after a few weeks or months, but I didn’t. You know that Mase, Puff Daddy, The Notorious B.I.G. song on your iPod, Mo Money, Mo Problems . . .

. . . I’m working on one called Mo Rest, Mo Clarity of Purpose. I have the lyrics down, but I’m still perfecting the dance moves. No doubt it will set you back 1.29 once the new iTunes launches. 

Ever spun a light road bike wheel with a primo hub? With little effort it will spin and spin and spin. Takes a long time to come to a complete rest. I feel like a road bike wheel. I can’t say I’ve come to a complete stop, but I’m spinning more slowly than normal. The result is a fresh perspective on what’s most important. 

The single greatest cost of my modern-default pace of life is a loss of perspective on what’s most important over the medium and long-term. For me to think deeply about what’s most important in life, I need to stop spinning. The slower I spin, the more I ask questions about life purposes, the more I ask questions about life purposes, the more appreciative I am of the people around me and the more meaningful my actions.

I wonder why almost everything that’s written about overwork focuses on stress and physical health when the most damaging trade-off is a relative loss of perspective on the “bigger picture.” As a result of this break, I’ve been more perceptive of how we sometimes resist slowing down and thereby avoid questions about life purposes. 

If we watch enough television, read enough fluff, aimlessly surf the net, shop til’ we drop, bounce around Facebook, text and talk on cell phones long enough, we can avoid a question we’ve been highlighting at PLU: What are you going to do with your one wild and precious life? 

I need to be more intentional about unplugging each day to be more mindful of my life purposes and to rise above the tyranny of the urgent.

Winter Reprieve

Happy 2009.

Tomorrow I’m ringing in the new year by flying southeast from one corner to the other to visit mother-dear in FL and thaw out. In addition to catching up with mother-dear, I look forward to reading, writing, and running on the “world’s longest continuous sidewalk.”

I always get a kick out of how the locals dress for their chilly, 60-something degree, early morning runs: hats, tights, gloves. If you’re in the hood, I’ll be the shirtless guy representing the PNW.

The new year is a natural time to plan so I’m curious what you’re interested in me writing about this year. Dean remembered I have thoughts on church life and leadership that I’ll get to sometime this year. Friday’s post, “Fitness Year in Review” is dedicated to Travis who has not been timid about his interest in fitness topics. Other 2009 education or related requests?

Peace.

Out and back, sans hills.

Out and back, sans hills.

Natural Order Restored

You may recall that in October my 16 year-old daughter shattered my 500 yard free time (6:21 versus 6:28). Last weekend, at the Third Annual Rudolph’s Plunge, I attempted to reclaim the title that is so integral to my identity: family’s fastest distance freestyler.

Uppity daughter couldn’t fathom that possibility so she finagled an invitation to a Seattle concert. Fortunately the other two members of my posse were among the thousands (or tens) packed into the Water Cube (or Briggs YMCA) as I stood on the block.

I am not a talented athlete by any stretch of the imagination, however, I have developed a reservoir of endurance as a result of consistent training over the last 15 years. Another asset is an intuitive feel for even pacing. Case in point, the Seattle Half Marathon. The marathon website provides three pages of stats for each runner based on their timing chip. One graphic said that from mile 6.2 to 13.1 I passed 233 people and 6 passed me. I ran 7:20’s for the first half of the race and 7 flats for the second, hillier section. The art of the slow build.

Oddly, my Rudolph’s Plunge 500 may have been the worst paced race in my life. I don’t know why, but I went out WAY too fast. Long story short, I faded big time over the second half, but still finished in 6:17.5. L said at one point the announcer said I was on a 6:02 pace. Opps. It’s no fun going into oxygen debt and then not being able to recover.

Reminds me of a Prefontaine quote, “The only good race pace is suicide pace and today looks like a good day to die.”

I thoroughly enjoyed posting a 6:17 sticky note on A’s mirror that night before retiring.

And at the end of a quiet circle in Northwest Indiana, my sister just shook her head in disgust.

Even though A was recently named co-captain of next year’s team, I suspect she’ll just quit the sport now that the natural order has been restored and the family record is out of reach.

The Greater Good

In a few days the race to put up Christmas lights will begin in my hood. I’m anticipating a tight battle between PC and the Malamute for first place. In a month, the fam and I will drive slowly through our neighborhood and a few others rendering judgement on Christmas lights and decorations.  

“Wowa, nice lightage, I thought the deer was real, nine. Eight. Nine. Ten. Nah, can’t be a ten, Santa needs more air, he’s melting.”

Eventually we’ll pull up to our house and the grief will begin. “Zero! Zero! Dad, come on, it’s embarrassing.” And once again I’ll explain that by not putting lights up I’m contributing to the greater good because our dark house makes the others look so good by comparison.

No, its not just that I’m too darn frugal. Ten years ago, when we first moved to Olympia, I spent the first December silently staring at our roof. Day after day. At the end of the month, the family gathered around hoping I’d finally speak.  When I said, “Damn, that’s a steep roof line,” they couldn’t have been more disappointed. 

So the following year, I stared at the roof for a few days, recalled the double X’s disappointment, pulled lights out from under the house, and got the ladder out. Game on.

Fast forward thirty minutes. I’m spread eagle on the highest, steepest point of the roof, left arm and leg down one side, right arm and leg down the other, and I can’t move. PC finds it so funny he stops working on his lights to watch me try to figure out what to do. Instead of lending moral support he makes a few snide sexual jokes that I don’t find as funny as I might normally.

It was an unexpected place to take stock of my life and what I was most going to miss about it. I’m only half joking, I didn’t know if I could reverse my tracks without sliding off and I didn’t know if I’d survive the 15-20′ fall. I just hoped my family would appreciate the fact that I checked out trying to bring them a little Christmas joy.

When I got down and thanked PC for his wonderful support, I was shaking. Right then I swore off our roof for good. You want lights, find another house. 

Since then the X’s have made half-ass efforts at putting up lights above the garage and around the front door.

It’s sad they haven’t embraced my “greater good” argument, but what can I do?

As I write this, I’m staring out my home office window at the exact part of the roof where I almost met my maker. Over the years a light layer of moss has formed on the wood shake panels. And they’re moist this afternoon as a result of this morning’s fog.

Until they find another house, I will focus on living and the neighborhood’s greater good.

Thanksgiving DayS

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year, hands down. Especially when I can avoid congested freeways and flying.

In part because it’s among the least commercial.

We don’t have any elaborate traditions really, we tend to slow down, kick on the gas fireplace, catch up with one another, eat too much, and reflect on how much we have to be thankful for. On the weekend we’ll cap it off with 24 hours in Seattle where I’ll burn off some of the extra calories in the Seattle Half Marathon. 

Interesting context for Thanksgiving this year. People are losing their jobs while their homes and retirement accounts rapidly decline in value. And despite the excitement generated by profound political change, there’s deep-seated foreboding about our economy and the world’s economy. Recently, my international stock index fund crossed the “minus 50% year to date” threshold.  

On a personal level, this academic year is shaping up to be considerably more stressful than normal. And yet, I have so much to be thankful for. . . a secure job, inspiring students, wonderful friends, a healthy and loving family, a warm home, ample food, a beautiful place to live, a peaceful political transition, and I could go on and on.

What I wonder though is how can we infuse a Thanksgiving-like appreciation for all we have to be thankful for throughout the year? 

At the beginning of this year, I wrote about our impending trip to Norway in this way, “My hope is we’ll be changed as a result of our Northern retreat, both individually and collectively.  When school and full-time work begins again in September, and we return to our regular routines, I hope there’s a legacy of intimacy that helps us better manage the pace of modern life and relate to one another and others with even more patience, kindness, and love.”

I don’t feel as if I’ve succeeded in managing the pace of modern life, therefore, I doubt that I’m relating to my family and others with increased patience, kindness, and love.

Managing the pace of modern life and incorporating a Thanksgiving-like appreciation throughout the year are closely related. Slowing down is a prerequisite for taking stock of one’s personal “for this I give thanks” list. 

More specifically, a commitment to daily meditation or prayer helps, as well as, associating with people who have a year-round thanksgiving-orientation.

How do you combat cynicism and negativity? What suggestions do you have for me as I try to be even more thankful throughout the year?

Alcoholism

John Daly. Professional golfer. Bomber off the tee with amazing touch around the greens. More personality than most PGA foursomes. Major championship winner. 89th on the all time money list at $9m.

History of drinking, divorce, domestic violence.

Found last week in a drunken slumber outside a closed Hooters restaurant in the middle of the night in Winston Salem, NC. Apparently had drunk so much and become so belligerent his friends bus-left him.

Seattle sports talk host, like others in the media has two things to say. 1) Funny mug shot and funny that Hooters is one of his primary sponsors. 2) Sad that he could have been financially independent “and lived a life others just dream about” if he had just not drunk so much.

There’s absolutely nothing funny about alcoholism. Ever. It’s an insidious disease. Nearly every recovering alcoholic stays sober with the help of others in an Alcoholic Anonymous like support group. I knew Daly was in trouble when from the very beginning he said he wasn’t into meetings, he was going to beat it himself. 

I couldn’t feel more differently than the Seattle sports talk host.

Let’s not confuse one’s W-2 forms and one’s legacy. Talk host would lead us to believe Daly’s tombstone will read, “Earned $9m, but it easily could have been double that.” 

The tragedy is not Daly’s unfulfilled golf potential and lost income. The tragedy is the shattered lives he’s left in his wake—children, ex-wives, friends, family, business associates.

Hope I’m wrong, but I don’t expect it to end well for Daly or for those who still care about him.

Finish Strong

No, this isn’t about the election.  It’s about well. . . finishing strong.

When shooting hoops, always end with a swish from downtown. Backing up, holding the release, palming your face, and yelling “face” to no one in particular is optional.

When putting before teeing off, always end with a made putt. Pumping your fist ala Tiger is optional.

When retiring for the evening, always end with hugs, kisses, and rubs for the kids, partner, and dog. Stories, prayers, and tuckies are optional.

When swimming the 500 free, always save a little sumthin’ sumthin’ for the last 100.  Hoping out and dressing before your opponents touch is optional.

When eating Thanksgiving dinner, always end with warm pie and cold ice cream. Pretending to be European and lingering at the table for hours on end is optional.

When putting a wrap on a cycling season, always end with an epic ride in a beautiful setting with good friends. Using the brakes on the icy sections is optional.

Mount Rainier—Descending Sunrise—photo credit "T"

Rainier—Descending Sunrise—photo credit "T"

Too Excellent?

It gained momentum during the Pennsylvania primary when Obama passed on beer shots and rolled a few gutter balls. Hillary’s peeps went on the attack saying he’s not a regular guy, he’s an elitist, out of touch with beer drinking bowlers who work factory jobs and hunt on the weekends.

The criticisms multiplied after Hockey Mom burst onto the national stage. Obama was too professorial, too intellectual, too eloquent, too damn skinny. He was a media darling, because like him, the media are arrogant out-of-touch east-coast intellectuals. On the other hand, Palin was celebrated for not being professorial, not being intellectual, not being particularly eloquent. She was regular folk. She hunted moose.

Obama was a man of ideas, she was a woman of action. Like ordinary folk, she hopped from anonymous college to anonymous college before graduating and reading the sports news for a living. In contrast, Obama attended the Punahou school, then Occidental, then Columbia, then the bastion of elitism, Harvard, where he became the first African-American to edit the Harvard Law Review.

Even though we tell ourselves that education is important, people are suspicious of those that attend elite institutions. Obama went from editing the Harvard Law Review to a community organizing gig in Chicago which cynics charge was simply a calculated plan to jumpstart his political career. There’s another strike against him, too ambitious.

I understand cynicism, but maybe there was something about growing up poor that combined with classroom and extracurricular experiences at Punaho, Occidental, Columbia, and Harvard that resulted in a genuine social conscience.

For awhile there, at the end of the Republican Convention, when McCain-Palin pulled even, I thought our national motto had become style over substance. Better not to be too poised. Better not to be too intelligent. Better not to be too fit. Better not to be too ambitious.

All of a sudden conservative Republicans who always advocate for excellence over equity were back-pedaling en masse.

Obama illustrated there was a tipping point, one can be too excellent. I can’t help but wonder if latent racism explains why many on the right felt compelled to portray Obama’s excellence as elitism.

Even last Wednesday night, McCain repeatedly referenced how eloquent Obama was, by which he meant, he’s just too smooth, he can’t be trusted. 

So Obama’s probable victory will restore my faith that what I’ve attempted to model and teach my children—pursue excellence in school, learn to communicate well, take care of your body, be ambitious about serving others—still resonate despite the best efforts of the Palin fanbase to retreat on excellence and dumb down the election.

Breaking Point

How much can a guy take?

Today I watched my daughter beat my personal record in the 500 free. I know the book of parenting states very clearly that parents should celebrate whenever their offspring surpass them.

To which I say bullshit.

After I get this little run over with on Sunday, I will begin my quest to reclaim the family crown.  Just in case, please get Lance Armstrong’s pharmacist on the line (that was for you T!).

And yesterday, I watched years of personal economic progress erode in a few hours.  

So I guess yesterday I had my assets handed to me and today I had my ass handed to me.

At least a woman was nominated Vice-President.