Sentence of the Sentury

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In my early twenties, while attending a workshop on “Teaching About Africa”, I was introduced to African literature which has enriched my life unmeasurably. My current exercise in seeing the world through African lenses is We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo. Highly recommended. Before digging in though, read a bit about recent Zimbabwean history. For example, this backgrounder compliments of the Daily Mail.

There are so many passages I’d like to highlight, but I’ll limit myself to one which requires a brief intro. Here the central character, Darling, is describing her Kalamazoo, Michigan, adolescent self:

The last book I read was that Jane Eyre one, where the long meandering sentences and everything just bored me and that Jane just kept irritating me with her stupid decisions and the whole lame story made me want to throw the book away. I had to force myself to keep reading because I had to write a report for English class.

Then Bulawayo goes all Jane Eyre on her readers. Dig this sentence of the sentury:

It’s early in the morning so the mall is a little dead. If this was at home, the place would be throbbing with life already: little kids riding that escalator over there like it would take them to heaven, their screams rising like skyscrapers—you would hear them all the way at Victoria’s Secret on the third floor; the mothers gossiping and laughing on the first floor, taking turns to look up and shouting warnings at their children, bodies constantly shuffling about because women never stand still since there is always something to do, always something; the men doing their thing maybe around those benches outside Payless, maybe passing around a Kingsgate cigarette or huddled around a newspaper and maybe talking about football scores in the European League, or the war in Iraq; their voices deep but never rising about those of the women and children because a man’s voice needs to stay low always; and then, in the open space where that Indian girl does threading, the older kids would be dancing to house musice, to DJ Sbu, and DJ Zinhle and Bojo Mujo, being reckless with their contorting bodies like they know they don’t own them and therefore they don’t care if they break; and in the massage chairs near the elevator, toothless old people sprawled out like lizards basking in the sun, making groaning noises as the massage thingies worked their wilted bodies; and at the telephone near the candle shop, an impatient line queuing to make calls to relatives in places like Chicago and Cape Town and Paris and Amsterdam and Lilongwe and Jamaica and Tunis; in the air, the dizzying aromas of morning foods cutting those perfumed smells from Macy’s to shreds; and maybe on that little square outside Foot Locker, under the fake tree, someone preaching from a Bible, a small crowd gathered around him, maybe wondering whether to believe or not, litter at their feet and around the mall to show there are people living there.

Wisdom From a Life of Teaching Piano

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Behold my favorite teaching essay of recent vintage from the unlikeliest of publications. Thank you Byron Janis for the perfectly timed reminders about what teaching excellence entails. If you teach, coach, or parent, this is a concise treasure trove of insight. He writes:

“To me, the most important challenge a teacher must confront is keeping an open mind. One must convey knowledge and artistry without overpowering a student’s sense of self. That talented ‘self’ can develop only when he or she is not over-taught. One must know when to teach and when not to teach.”

And when to coach and when not to coach. And when to parent and when not to parent. It’s the very rare teacher, coach, or parent who avoids overpowering their students’, athletes’, or sons’ and daughters’ varied senses of self.

“During the course of my instruction Horowitz also made a very important point. ‘You want to be a first Janis—not a second Horowitz.'”

“. . . talented students must be taught that they are not only pianists but artists, and to create, not imitate. They should be shown that inspiration comes from living, experiencing and observing life, the real as well as the imagined.”

Twenty to thirty years ago, schooling in the United States shifted focus to standardization of curriculum, teaching “best practices”, of most everything. Consequently, we don’t foster creativity very well. Not only do the arts suffer, but our culture. Janis’s radical musings point a way forward.

Coaching Excellence Personified

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Sid Otton, Tumwater High School, Tumwater, Washington.

49th and final year. 384 wins and counting. 82 more than the second most winning coach in Washington State. More important than the wins, are the lives he has changed by doing it differently than most everyone else.

As Lauren Smith puts it:

“. . . he doesn’t yell, or swear, but consistently works with players on maximizing potential.”

And Paul Alexander:

“He always worked on clarifying just exactly what they needed to do versus what they’d just done — run the play again, let’s keep working on that.”

And Pat Alexander:

“The players’ job is to love each other, and the coaches’ job is to love the players.”

And Matt Hinkle:

“He gives kids a sense of self-worth. He has that ability to pour into you the feeling that you’re the most important piece of what they’re trying to accomplish. And he does that for every kid. There’s tremendous buy-in because of that — you don’t want to disappoint him.”

sid3.jpg

Photo by Tony Overman.

How To Avoid Weight Gain In Later Life

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This post was inspired by reading a LetsRun.com forum thread on the subject. Here are two contributions that stood out to me:

The first.

I’m 6’1″ and ran competitively until my early 30’s. You can see what scaling back the running and getting older does.

Age 18: 117
Age 25: 140
Age 35: 160
Age 45 (now): 190

Know what happens between age 35 and 45 when you pretty much quit running? 30 pounds. That’s what happens. Fortunately I have plateaued at right around 190 for the past few years. Not surprisingly people tell me I look better than I did when I was 120lbs and looked “sickly.”

As you get older it is easier to put the weight on, and significantly harder to lose it. I now sport a ‘Dad Bod’ like many guys my age. I’m not an obese slob but I could certainly stand to drop 20 pounds.

The second.

The margin of error disappears after 40. In my 30s, I could pig out now and then without any consequences. Since turning 40, one big desert or dinner and I will gain a pound or two on an otherwise light 5’8″/135-40 lb frame. When i am injured or just lazy, I will very quickly gain weight and level off just below 150. It then takes about 1 month to lose 2 lbs by watching diet and running 50-70 mpw.

As mentioned previously, there is a self regulating aspect to getting old. If I eat a sugary desert and drink a lot of booze at dinner, I will wake up around 3 am feeling like I just drank 3 cups of coffee due to all the sugars suddenly metabolizing. The result is that I rarely have deserts and have cut back a lot on booze.

Three suggestions.

1. Most importantly, decide if it matters. Unless you have a compelling reason or two to not be overweight in later life, you will be, because as the LetsRunners make clear, overtime metabolism slows and self discipline erodes. A double whammy.

I suspect I’m unique in this respect. It’s nice that the Good Wife digs my slender self, but truth be told, my main motivation is running and cycling well. By which I mean maintaining some sort of rhythm running and cycling longish distances with others who still run and cycle pretty damn fast. Even more specifically, I enjoy running and cycling uphill which is hard enough without an extra 5 or 10 lb. pound spare tire.

For most the question is whether a general appreciation for better mobility and physical and mental health is sufficient motivation. Based upon my people watching, it doesn’t appear to be. If you can’t write down a specific and compelling reason or two to avoid weight gain in later life, you may as well skip the rest of this post and enjoy a Big Tom’s milkshake or giant snack of your choice.

2A. Don’t buy your favorite processed sugary snacks and alcohol unless your young adult children are visiting. Also, “they” are right to recommend eating before grocery shopping. “They” are also right to say always use a list.

But even in later life, everything in moderation. I enjoy a beer, or chocolate covered raisins, a piece (or two) of cheesecake, a bowl of ice-cream, but only on days when I’ve burned quite a few more cals than normal. Typically, weekend afternoons after a long or especially hard run or ride. I’ll deny it if you tell her I told you, but the always slender and sexy Gal Pal has a soft spot for Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches.

2B. Eat on the road and in restaurants in moderation. Take charge of your food purchasing and prep.

3. Switch your dishes out. I’ve learned the only way I can control my portions is to use smaller bowls. Now it’s to the point where I have winter bowls and summer bowls. Two winter bowls = one summer bowl. In the summer, I cycle further with much greater intensity. Last night, for example, I burned 3K calories on my 54+ mile team ride. I weighed 169 pre-ride, 164 post. This morning’s bowl looked like a replica of Mount Rainier, Raisin Bran, Honey Bunches of Oats, raw oats, washed down with a large smoothie. In a few minutes, pistachios, banana with pb, huge serving of pasta. On the way home from work, pretzels, Cliff Bar, and then I’ll graze before dinner.

It’s painful switching to the winter bowls, which I should probably do a month from now. You would chuckle if you could see me try to max that baby bowl out without having the contents overflow the sides. Like playing Operation, the key is the first, delicate spoonful. Winter also means next to no desserts, very little beer, no joy in Mudville. And I still gain a little weight.

 

RIO 16—Ignorance Is Bliss

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Watching the Olympics is great fun if you can. . .

• block out that NPR report on how violence has spiked in Rio’s favelas since the Games began

• block out how little ordinary Brazilians will benefit from hosting the games

• block out how crazy the idea is that because someone happens to live within the same political borders as a medal winner they feel much better about themself

• record the 100m final and watch it in slow mo

• trust everyone will forget Hope-less Solo’s post game comments

• pretend everyone is succeeding purely based upon intense training, lots of sleep, and fruits and veggies

• block out the inevitable future drug test results and associated medal swapping

• watch a Canadian channel, and see what it’s like to appreciate, not take for granted, athletic excellence (for U.S. readers to get a feel for this, imagine if your state was a country)

• forgive the Canadian swimming analyst for thinking Ryan Lochte was in the lead for 190 meters of the 200IM

• time it so that you’re home alone with the labradude and can freely marvel at the diversity of bodies, like Olga Rypakova’s (6’0″ 137lb triple jumper) and Sarah Robles’s (5’10”, 273lb weightlifter)

 

 

 

 

If You’re Not Happy, And You Know It

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Long before the Republican nominee for President entered politics, he was the public figure I disliked the most. Visceral antipathy for a self-centered man who embodies the worst excesses of U.S. popular culture. Exactly what we don’t need in a candidate for any sort of office, let alone the Presidency. His wealth doesn’t impress me. I wouldn’t want to play golf with him, work for him, or have him represent me on Olympia’s city council.

Believe it or not, there are sane Republicans in our midst, so how does one make sense of the Republican Party nominating him? Historically, the R’s have emphasized personal responsibility (too often at the exclusion of institutional racism and other limiters, but I digress). Most R’s believe their life circumstances are largely determined by daily decisions to get a quality education, develop marketable skills, respect the laws of the land, and out work others. That’s John Kasich Republicanism.

And yet 14 million R’s fell for a counter explanation for why they’re not prospering. The Republican nominee for President substituted the dire threats posed by illegal immigrants and Muslims for personal responsibility for economic advancement and public safety and tens of millions mindlessly abandoned their party’s core values. Possibly the quickest, most radical, and disheartening political transformation of a major party in our nation’s history.

In the past week, as a blessed respite from this dystopian novel of an election, the polls and associated headlines finally show slippage in support for arrogance and divisiveness.

And yet, I can’t celebrate this positive turn of events because even if the Republican candidate for President withdraws today or tomorrow, he will have accomplished more than I thought possible. In fact, so much that it leaves me questioning whether my fellow citizens are as rationale, welcoming, and hopeful as I always assumed. When he withdraws (power of positive thinking) or loses, I will not be joining in the racuous celebrations that will spontaneously erupt across the fruited plains. I’ll be too busy rethinking what I thought to be true about my fellow citizens.