Don’t fish? Don’t like fishing? Don’t care about fishing? No worries. This short film is so much bigger than that.
…It’s easy to stay inside when the weather isn’t pleasant. Sometimes convincing yourself to get out is the hardest part. And once you’re out, it’d easy to find an excuse to quit. But there are just some things you can’t see from the inside of your house. Some things you can’t feel and experience from the comfort of your warm home. Things your high definition TV can’t give justice to.
The woods are silent. And the water abandoned by the crowds who surrender to the cold. You fully appreciate the stream you fish, when you see it cycle through all its seasons. The dense thick green canopy is gone. And the stream runs crisp clean and bright. The sun touches water it only reaches a few month a year.
The pain of frozen extremities fades fast when you hook that first fish. And all of the sudden, it all seems worth it. You forget about all of your problems. You forget about the ice in your guides. The frozen hands. The problems at home. Troubles at work. It all fades.
At the end of a cold day of fishing you end up much more thankful than when began. Thankful for the motivation to get up and get out. Thankful for the lessons of the day. Thankful for the fish you may have been blessed with. And thankful to return home to the things outside of fishing.”
Six Mile run. Sixty-two minutes.
*Sylvia Plath: I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery— air, mountains, trees…I thought, “This is what it is to be happy.”
Related Posts: Running Series. Credit: Thank you Susan for photo of Zeke.
Inspired? Yes. Listening for the referee’s call of “crouch, bind, set” – - watching the players bind together – heads interlocking with the opposition — followed by brute force. Add rain and mud and what you have here is a Man’s Sport.
SMWI* = Saturday Morning Work-out Inspiration
at the speed
this video took me back.
Saturday mornings in January.
Crisp, cold mountain air.
A sparkling layer of frost on the snow.
Running in Sorel boots to the outdoor rink,
Snow crunching under each foot fall.
Rushing to lace up our skates.
And we go.
And we go.
And we go.
If you close your eyes and listen
You can hear
The steel blades cutting the ice.
The chop, chop, chop of cross-overs to accelerate.
The spray of fine ice crystals from a hard stop.
Take me back.
To our Golden Pond.
This Canadian’s Heaven.
- SMWI* = Saturday Morning Work-out Inspiration
- Credits: Video – Thank you Rob @ The Hammock Papers
Mianus River Park.
I park the car.
I queue up my music.
I cross the bridge to the entrance.
Light rain is falling.
Mist is floating – cobwebs in trees.
Steam is rising from the earth.
I start my climb.
Rain. Rocks. Roots. Ruts.
I short-step my run on the way up.
I’m 1/2 mile in.
Stomach isn’t right. I’m woozy.
I slow my pace.
Lift your head man. Look straight ahead. Get a grip. [Read more...]
SMWI* = Saturday Morning Work-Out Inspiration
Would she, Elizabeth Roxas-Dobrish, 55 years old, former Ailey superstar and current artificial-hip owner — come out of retirement to dance at a special performance on New Year’s Eve? “Are you kidding me?” she responded. No, he was not kidding, and eventually the answer was yes, she would do it.
But knowing how to do something doesn’t mean being able to do it the same way you did it before. The dancers spoke of thinking one thing in their heads but having something else, perhaps, happen in their limbs. “Does the body do what it did when it was 20?” “Maybe not.”
She was suffused by doubt. Her hip-replacement surgery had taken place at the end of 2012. “I also don’t have any A.C.L. in both of my knees,”
So she got to work. She enlisted the help of a physical therapist, a massage therapist and an acupuncturist; she tweaked her diet; she stepped up her Pilates; and she started going to class again. She began to see the dance from a new perspective, not just as a showcase for technique but as an expression of “all the things that life has put into you.”
And no, she said, she cannot do it exactly the same way she did when she was young: when she arches her back toward the floor while balancing on one leg and extending the other high into the air in one especially hard movement, for instance, she cannot bend back as far as she once did. “Alvin always said, ‘Ponytail to the floor,’ ” she said. “That’s not going to happen.” [Read more...]
“She was 86, competing in the marathon for the 25th consecutive time. Even injured, she abided by one of her enduring rules for any race, which was to smile down the homestretch, aware of the roving race photographers and believing it never served anyone to be caught in a grimace.
Joy Johnson crossed the finish line at the New York City Marathon this year nearly eight hours after she began. Of the 50,266 people to finish, she was among the very last — wearing a pair of Nikes and a navy blue bow pinned neatly in her hair, leaning on a stranger for support. Her forehead was bloodied in a fall she took at around Mile 20…Johnson, who was raised on a Minnesota dairy farm and was given to cheery understatement, waved off any concern. “I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she told her sister shortly after finishing. “It looks just awful, but I’m fine.”
…she herself didn’t have an exercise regimen. Until one day in 1985, when she and her husband were newly retired and their four children all grown, Johnson, who was 59, took a three-mile walk and found it energizing. Soon she tried jogging and enjoyed that even more…As a senior citizen, she ran an average of three marathons a year, buttressed by dozens of shorter races, always with a bow in her hair. Her home in San Jose grew so cluttered with running medals and trophies that she began storing some of them in the garage.
Early the next morning, looking cheery, with her medal around her neck and a blue kerchief over her head, the right side of her face swaddled in bandages, Joy Johnson waited in the crowd outside NBC Studios to say hello, as she did postmarathon every year, to Al Roker (“a nice young man,” she called him) from the “Today” show…”
I won’t be a spoiler. Be sure to read this article and how it finishes: Joy Johnson, a Marathoner to the End
- Elise, thank you for sharing. Inspiring. How do you define grace and class: Joy Johnson.
- Image & Article: NYTimes.com
SMWI* = Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
SMWI* = Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
It’s Monday morning. 8:00 am. I’m waiting out the rain.
It’s Tuesday morning. I’m noodling on why I waited to write this post. I broke the chain: Run. Write the post. Nap.
Life and order. Life, and of course, order.
Let us simmer over our incalculable cauldron, our enthralling confusion, our hotch-potch of impulses, our perpetual miracle—for the soul throws up wonders every second. Movement and change are the essence of our being; rigidity is death; conformity is death: let us say what comes into our heads, repeat ourselves, contradict ourselves, fling out the wildest nonsense, and follow the most fantastic fancies without caring what the world does or thinks or says. For nothing matters except life; and, of course, order.
Back to Monday.
The rain doesn’t let up.
Life and order. Life, and of course, order.
We arrive at Mianus River Park. Hail size drops are splashing on the windshield. I notice there isn’t a single car in the parking lot. My spirits climb. Rain be damned.
Day 1: Tickle in back of throat. Sudden bout of sneezing.
Day 2: 2 am. Difficulty swallowing. Throat burning.
Day 3: Fatigue. Fog. Tough guy regrets not taking a flu shot. (again)
Day 4: Man Down. Working from home. DayQuil to NyQuil to DayQuil loop. Delirious.
Day 5: Winded walking up the stairs. Read same page 3 times. Heavy eyelids.
Day 6: Thick nasal discharge. Can’t taste or smell food. Chocolate still Ok though.
Day 7: Patient care provider: When will you take a shower and get out of the house?
Day 8: Is that a break? Have the clouds moved? Has the sun muscled through and ignited the hills?
“You’ll be driving along depressed when suddenly a cloud will move and the sun will muscle through and ignite the hills. It may not last. Probably won’t last. But for a moment the whole world comes to. Wakes up. Proves it lives. It lives—red, yellow, orange, brown, russet, ocher, vermillion, gold. Flame and rust. Flame and rust, the permutations of burning. You’re on fire. Your eyes are on fire. It won’t last, you don’t want it to last. You can’t stand any more. But you don’t want it to stop. It’s what you’ve come for. It’s what you’ll come back for. It won’t stay with you. but you’ll remember that it felt like nothing else you’ve felt or something you’ve felt that also didn’t last.”
— Lloyd Schwartz
Credits: Image Source: Winter Sun by Onodriim. Poem Source: apoetreflects
Žydrūnas Savickas, 38, is a Lithuanian powerlifter and professional strongman. He is widely considered to be one of the greatest strongman competitors of all time. He is the only modern strongman competitor to have won every major strongman competition, most notably the World’s Strongest Man in 2009, 2010, & 2012. He is 6 ft 3 in tall and competes at 385 lb. Savickas is often referred to by his nickname, “Big Z”. (Source: Wiki)
This month, Savickas broke the Guinness world record for the most cars pulled by one man when he hauled 12 Nissan Cars (28,530 pounds) for five meters in Druskininkai, Lithuania. See video here.
What is your diet like during heavy training?
I eat about 6,000 calories a day, plus I drink four or five litres of water and three protein shakes with milk or water. I eat four times a day, mainly cottage cheese, eggs, chicken, beef, fish, rice, potatoes, vegetables and fruit juices. My favourite food is Steak and Potatoes. I monitor my body weight. If I just need power for a competition then I eat fried food. But if I also need speed or endurance, such as in the World’s Strongest Man competition, I eat more healthily. I’m very careful with alcohol: I have a glass of white wine perhaps two or three times a year. (Source: Men’s Fitness)
SMWI* = Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
wsj.com – Drinking After 40: Why Hangovers Hit Harder. A few excerpts…
- When you’re in your 40s, it’s pretty common to need reading glasses. You might need smaller wine glasses, too.
- That’s because alcohol hits people harder in their 40s and 50s than it did during their 20s and 30s.
- “All of the effects of alcohol are sort of amplified with age”
- Body composition starts to change as early as the 30s. As people age, they tend to lose muscle mass, while fat content increases. Alcohol isn’t distributed in fat. People also have less total body water as they get older. So if several people have the same amount to drink, those with more fat and less muscle and body water will have more alcohol circulating in their bloodstream. (This is also partly why women of any age tend to feel alcohol’s effects more than men.)
- People in their 40s and older simply tend not to drink as much or as often as those in their 20s and 30s, which lowers tolerance.
SMWI* = Saturday morning workout inspiration. Source: themetapicture.com
Notes: SMWI* = Saturday morning workout inspiration. Image Source: HungarianSoul
“To the age-old question of “what do women want,” Lay’s thinks it has an answer: Chocolate-covered potato chips. This month, Lay’s is rolling out milk chocolate-covered potato chips. The chipmaker says the salty-sweet combo is tailor-made for young women, who apparently can’t get enough of the stuff. Lay’s senior director of marketing, noted: “the increasing popularity of chocolate-covered snacks among our target audience, millennial women. … They are looking for those more indulgent, savory/sweet combinations.” The product’s debut will officially be a trial run, but the product could become a permanent part of the Lay’s arsenal if shoppers love them. As for other chocolate-covered chip combinations, “the possibilities could be endless,” says Saenz. (Source: Bloomberg BusinessWeek: “Men Like Potato Chips. Women Like Chocolate. Who Will Like Chocolate Potato Chips?“)
The possibilities could be endless. Right. Got it. May this NOT come to a store near me…Please.
Source: Thank you Steve Layman
“Jogging or whatever our sport is, then, is the way we move from actuality toward our potential, toward becoming all we can be. At the same time it will fill us with uneasiness, with what Gabriel Marcel called inquietude, the recognition that there is work to be done to fulfill our lives. And it allows us to see, as Theodore Roszak suggested, that our most solemn, and pressing, and primary problem is not “original sin” but “original splendor,” knowledge of our potential godlikeness. “We grow sick,” Roszak wrote, “with the guilt of having lived below our authentic level.”
~ George Sheehan, Running & Being
*SMWI = Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
“Who are you to do something like this? What makes you think you can make a difference? What makes you think you can succeed? I was diagnosed with polio as a young boy. When I came out of the doctor’s office, my life was going to be very different. And even as such a young age, somewhere deep in there, I remember thinking, I refuse to let this define me.
Mongolia evokes the kind of emotion that I would read in an adventure book as a child. The place that was always winter and never Christmas. Ulan Bator is the coldest city in the world. There is a big problem. Thousands of children that have been abandoned, many of them living on the streets. Without the help of the orphanages, how many of them would be dead? They’re overflowing, I have to do something. I’m not wealthy. I’m not famous. And I started to think about what I could do.
I have to do something. What came up, was, running. I’m going to run 1,500 miles across Mongolia to raise awareness and support for orphans and vulnerable children.
My Dad left when I was 2 years old. Nobody should ever be abandoned. I would deny part of who I am if I didn’t at least try.
I want you see these children and spark a hope that you can make a difference.”
~ Brian Hunter. Donate to the cause here.
SMWI*: Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
SMWI* = Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
Creator: Sarah Anderson, Doodle Time
*SMWI = Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
6:10 am. 70° F. Humidity: 100%. Thick. A mood dampener.
After an unexpected, unexplainable and unacceptable two-pound jump last week, Gadget Man replaced the seven-year old bathroom scale. I don’t need to wait three seconds of interminable flashing to see my test scores. If you aren’t getting results, replace the equipment. Pull the band-aid off and hit me.
The new scale is sweet. I step on the scale and it snaps to attention. No waiting, no flashing, no bad scores. This morning, this incredible technology signalled that I was a mere one pound higher than the challenge target, with another month to go. Now we’re talking.
Yet, what a miserable journey this has been. Rationing ice cream. Mouth salivating for pasta. A 3-cookie daily portion limit. People, this is not living. And the real question is whether this is sustainable.
This morning, I’m determined to drive this weight down. Way down below target to give me cushion. In one run.
My head is saying: 10 miles.
My body: Groaning. [Read more...]
This is a bit of a departure from the usual SMSI* (Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration) clips but no less inspiring. The imagery on this short film is stunning. This video was filmed in Manitowish Waters, Wisconsin in cranberry bogs. This extreme sport is called winch boarding which involves “being pulled by a large machine while on a skateboard, surfboard, snowboard, or other type of board.” Don’t quit on this one too early.
(Source: The Minneapolis Egotist: Two Locals & Red Bull Created a Stunning Cranberry Wakeskating Video.
It’s Saturday Morning. Time for the weekend warriors to get inspired to Exercise. Here’s four of my favorite recent articles on the subject:
A Question That Can Change Your Life: ”For years I’ve exercised every day — doing weights, cardio, yoga — but despite my continuous effort, I haven’t seen much change. Until a few months ago. Recently, my body has changed. My muscles are stronger, more defined, and I’ve lost five pounds along with a visible layer of fat. Let’s start with what I didn’t do: Spend more time exercising. In fact, I’ve spent less. So what did I do differently?…“
25 More Rules of Conquering the Gym: “…Gyms are tricky relationships. You fall in and out of love. Commitment fades. Maybe you have a torrid affair with ice cream sandwiches. All you know is that you used to go to that gym five times a week, and suddenly it becomes two, and then two becomes one, and one becomes none, and none becomes a brand new size of jeans…#3: No, you’re not getting a six-pack. You’re just trying to take off your shirt at the beach without people running to their cars…#6. Here’s a helpful rule on gym clothing. If you’re not sure your shirt smells? Your shirt smells…#22: The best gym on earth is outside, and it’s totally free.” Read more here. And if you’ve missed the first installment (even funnier), read it here. [Read more...]
“As the spot unfolds, you notice that 1950s Man’s lifestyle is simpler and more active and his diet is healthier than Mr. Modern Man. He’s just happier. As the ad ends, you discover that the men are grandfather and grandson. The lovely bit of splitscreen nostalgia scored by the Tom Jones toe-tapper ‘It’s Not Unusual’ features one actor playing both parts…This ad shows that the lifestyle enjoyed by our grandparents — moving more, eating well, taking it easy — can be beneficial. ” (Source: Buzzfeed)
(And if we’re slugging back Coke Zero, Coke wins too! )
6:00 am, August 4, 2013: 60F. Gentle morning breeze: 3 MPH. Spectacular day for a run. I’m off. Thoughts chattering. Legs pumping but heavy. Thighs stiff. Bottoms of feet tender. All aches emanating from yesterday’s run. Marquis whispers: “Middle age is the time when a man is always thinking that in a week or two he will feel as good as ever.” Yep, that’s about right.
5:30 am, August 4, 2013: Morning weigh in. 60 days left in the Biggest Loser Challenge. I expect a bad outcome. Expectations realized. Loser! Weight: Back up 1.8. And this after yesterday’s grueling 6-mile, rain-soaking trail run with the wolf pack — slopping around in wet woods, dancing on slippery rocks, and sinking in gooey mud. Somehow escaping injury. Rambo. No, Chubby Rambo. I step (waddle) off the scale in disgust. It’s all about intake and yesterday’s feedings.* So Mr. Lewis**, when? When do I learn?
7:30 pm, August 1, 2013: Rachel returns home from work. Dragging. In a mood. She runs upstairs. Comes down. Attired in florescent, glow-in-the-dark green shorts. Matching shoes. Ear buds in. iPhone in hand. Styling!
“I’m off for a run.”
“Wait, I’m coming with you.”
“No Dad. I would rather go alone.”
“NO, I’m coming.”
“NO Dad. I don’t want you to come. I’m not interested in running a time trial.”
“Rachel, you stand right here and wait. I mean WAIT.”
She waits. We go. Road narrows. Evening traffic heavy. I slow to let her pull in front and we run single file. Her hair tightly wrapped in a single braid which bounces up and down in the center of her back. She has a graceful, confident stride. In contrast, my legs are heavy – - long day at work… 3.5 plates of pasta for dinner…laboring to keep up. I’m breathing heavy.
6:50 am. 67F. 87% humidity. Mom’s gone for the weekend visiting family. Zeke’s not happy. Mom walks him every day. Every single day. Three times a day. 2 1/2 hours a day. Daily routine – I wave to them from the couch as they head out the door. This morning, he’s out of sync. Discombobulated. He sees me gearing up for a run. He scrambles into his cage and lies down. He’s knows what’s coming. I grab him by his collar and drag him out of his cage. He snarls, baring his teeth. (I don’t need this sh*t. I don’t want to go either but we’re going. Pure Bred Running Dog who hates running. Owner is carrying him to the car. What a picture this is. He looks me in the eye – not a happy look. I glare back.) I shift his weight to my left and pull him tightly to my chest to free up my right hand. I reach for the door handle of the car. And, pull my lower back. And grimace. Oh, boy. I open the door. Heave him into the back seat. And curse.
I fire up the car. Shift uncomfortably in the seat. Lower back. Hmmmmm.
I back the car out of the garage. Zeke climbs from the back seat to the front. And starts licking my face. ”Sit down. No bloody kisses.“ (He knows that I’m pi**ed.) He sits down in the passenger seat. His seat. And sulks.
And we’re off. Mianus Park. Plan: 5-Mile Trail Run. We arrive at the Park, leash up, and walk through the entrance. He pulls back on the leash and lies down on the bridge. He will not move. He will not accept a treat. (Oh, yes. A test of wills. Just what I need.)
Another dog owner walks by. One older German Shepard Mix. Another is a happy looking mutt with tail wagging furiously. (Did she just give me that look? Like, how’s that pure bred workin’ out for ya?)
I stop pulling on his leash. He’s now lounging, looking down at the river below. (How many shades of humiliation are there?)
I decide to pull a Mom and talk nicely to him. ”Come on buddy. Let’s go for a nice walk in the woods. Come on. Let’s go.” (Oh, for God’s sake. I can’t do this. Is this what I’ve come to? Man-up. 206 lbs of fighting machine against this 70 lb beast and he’s got the upper hand. No chance.)
I look at him. He looks up at me. His tail swishing on the bridge deck. (Is he smiling? Could this be funny?)
“You are going to come. Right now. And run.” (Our last visit to this Park was not a great show. And an Elephant never forgets. And this one has a plan. I will not let him off leash to have him lie down in the grass at the bottom of the hill forcing me to back track. No sir. Not me. I will drag him for five miles, if that’s what it takes.) [Read more...]
8:24 am. 74F. 66% humidity. Late jump. Two capsules of Nyquil Flu & Cold down the gullet the night before. Slept like a baby. This morning, I’m woozy. After five consecutive days of 96F+ scorchers and too much in-doors time, I needed to get out.
I’m off. Head in a fog. How is it possible to have a head cold in the middle of a July heat wave?
I’m at Mile 1. I start sizing the GERM opportunity. A quick week in review:
- Grand Central Station: 750,000 commuters a day. 1000′s of hands touching my exit door, all spilling out into Manhattan.
- MetroNorth: 1000′s of touches on each stainless steel handrail we grip to hold steady while the train lurches to and fro.
- Lunch. Food particles in the cracks on table. Water spots (one hopes) on spoon. Table top has a light sheen from being wiped with dish towel, after 7 other tables. Grab water glass, warm to touch, soap smell mixed with heavy chlorinated water. Rapid table turnover = > cash flow.
- Bathroom. Hundreds of touches on the door handle a day. (Did your Mamma teach you to wash your hands after going to potty?)
- Taxi cab doors and window handles. Office door handles. Elevator buttons. Conference room tables. Arm rests on chairs.
Do I grab the handle high, or grab it low, as most grab the middle? Or lean on door with shoulder? Or slide jacket sleeve over hand? Or, do I surreptitiously slow my pace to let another open the door in front of me?
And from these touches, a frictionless hand-off to my pen, my blackberry, my phone and my computer keyboard. Hand to nose to face to mouth. The germ baton is passed on; a leaf in the wind, a feather in the air, all silently and deadly landing on yet another unsuspecting prey.
But the moment that sticks is a split second decision to shake a hand prior to the kick-off of a meeting. A natural reflex. A custom. A greeting. A courtesy.
Some, very funny. Some, not. Some, clearly manufactured for TV. Strong finish.
- SMWI* = Saturday Morning Work-Out Inspiration
- The posting of this clip is inspired by Brenda @ space2live.
5:00 am. 75F. 89% humidity. Need to get a jump on the heat. Weatherman calling for 91F by noon. It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. Right. (Bullsh*t.) I’m off.
Feeling good. Three consecutive days of running. Not bad. Yet, a bigger deal? Avoiding all food intake after 7pm last night. Now, this, this, was a major accomplishment. A single break in habit. A lifetime of four more-than-square meals a day. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Bed-Time Snack. (A hard Pivot? A Break? Hmmmmm. More like a kink in a fire hose. Or overnight bout of constipation. Dam will burst. It’s just a question of when. And it won’t be pretty.) But…let’s focus on the positive here. Six days into my Biggest Loser Campaign and the trend is my friend.
July 1, 2013. First day of 2nd half of the year.
Add 200 pounds to that little puppy up there and that would be me. Head bowed in shame. Or perhaps he’s trying to find his belly button. In which case, I’m in huge trouble.
I hit a new low. Or a new high depending on your perspective. 30 pounds over collegiate playing weight.
Suit pants are now snug. Feeling “things” growing over my belt loop. This discomfort plus increasing levels of humidity = a radiator that’s steamin’ and going to blow.
More in. Than out. More in. Than out. More in. Than Out. [Read more...]
Alpinist Kyle Dempster embarked on an inspiring journey to bike across Kyrgyzstan’s back roads on his bike. His goal – ride across the country via old Soviet roads and climb the country’s most impressive peaks along the way. He was alone. He carried only a minimalist’s ration of climbing gear. Ten Kyrgyz words rounded out his vocabulary. He’d purchased his bike just weeks before and had never bike toured. Upon arrival, Kyle found himself pulled into the Kyrgyz culture – heavy drinking, friendly curiosity and families carving existences out of yurts in the foothill. From his maps, he picked a circuitous path of back roads between the regions incredible mountains. When he arrived, he found that the roads had been abandoned. Crumbling roads led deeper into the heart the Kyrgyz wilderness before disappearing all together. After crossing a few rivers and nearly being swept away in the process, Dempster realized that his path back was blocked. He had to keep, pedaling, pushing and carrying his bike. It meant crossing rivers raging with summer snow melt and navigating game trails. As his options dwindled, Dempster became more desperate. The camera becomes an outlet. Overwhelmed by his predicament home, he narrates a letter home telling his family he loves them. He executes one final river crossing before reconnecting with civilization and its roads. Part meditation on true spirit of adventure and part epic travelogue, The Road from Karakol is the story of a unique spirit who pedaled to the road’s end and decided to keep going. The documentary is slated for release later this summer. Watch the trailer and get ready.
“When the road ends, will you keep going”
“I hate flies”
“Definitely gotta love the Pantera that’s just pumping through my headphones right now!”
See more @ Tastefully Offensive
“His brain and body shattered in a horrible accident as a young boy, Bret Dunlap thought just being able to hold down a job, keep an apartment, and survive on his own added up to a good enough life. Then he discovered running.
You know what people think. They see jeans too short and winter coat too shiny, too grimy, and think, homeless. They watch a credit card emerge from those jeans and think, grifter. They behold a frozen grin, hear a string of strangled, tortured pauses, and think, slow. Stupid.
You learned too young about cruelty and pity. You learned too young that explaining yourself didn’t help, that it made things worse. People laughed. Made remarks. Backed away. So you stopped explaining. You got a job, got a cat, got an apartment, and people can think what they want to think. You built a life without explanation and it was enough…”
Read more here. Long. But so worth your time. Having trouble getting off the couch to work out? Having a tough day? Week? Year? Forgettaboutit. Inspiring story of the year? Running away. Read this man’s story.
SMWI* = Saturday Morning Work-out Inspiration
Source: Runner’s World
5:30 am. 59F. Birds up and singing in all their glory. It’s still. Very still.
I put on my Adidas running shorts. Rachel’s scolding from months back surfaces: “I can see your tan line. They’re too short. Those are Perv Shorts. Embarrassing. Go change.” I growl. Now, each time I put them on, I’m thinking Perv-Man. Words. Killer. What a delicate flower.
“What do you want to do for Father’s Day Dad?“
“I’d like to be left alone for the day.“
“Yes, if you could arrange for me to be sitting alone next to Thoreau, at Walden Pond, listening in on his thoughts, that would be a perfect Sunday.”
“Forget it Honey. Forget it.”
“Have to say Dad, you have to stop your incoherent mumbling.” [Read more...]