So, How Many Hats Do You Wear?

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Pensacola, Florida, United States
Husband. *Dog Dad.* Instructional Systems Specialist. Runner. (Swim-challenged) Triathlete (on hiatus). USATF LDR Surveyor. USAT (Elite Rules) CRO/2, NTO/1. RRCA Rep., FL (North). Observer Of The Human Condition.

Friday, September 21, 2007

End Of The (Summer) World As We Know It

My dog, Rubin, is a little more subtle. But not by much. I've talked about how I've learned to be an athlete by observing him; run when you feel good, sleep when you can, eat when you're hungry, and always be on the lookout for someone who's willing to rub your back. Lately, he and I have been much alike; he's recovering from some strange chip fracture in his heel bone. The veterinarian and I are uncertain as to the root cause, which could have been anything from a bump in the bedroom to a bad step in the back yard. So, now he's on a daily course of an anti-inflammatory much like Celebrex and getting gentle walks in the park on a near-daily basis...mostly in the grass, if I have my way about it. Suzanne was always good about having him in the grass beforehand, so I was the one who had to adjust my surface of choice. Lately he seems to be getting better, but I think it's going to be quite some time before he's one-hundred percent.
Maybe autumn is the end of the world for persons living in areas further north than Ft. Walton Beach, FL, but for those of us who live (sometimes fearfully) in the FL panhandle, the end of September marks the beginning of a more comfortable time of year. Okay, so there are persons here who will dress up like Nanook of the freakin' North once the mercury dips below 60 degrees. I'm not one of them, thank you. Yes, I own tights and long-sleeved tops, and use them on training sessions. But getting temperatures that are closer to 80 degrees than 90 means I can get my longer runs in outside.

I didn't do anything last night at the track because I did a little too much the previous evening out at the beach. I had the chance to run for an extended period in the afternoon, doing a tempo run of nearly eight miles in a little under 50 minutes. A little faster than I needed to be going, but boy, did it feel good for the first five or six. The hot spot on my left heel from the thin socks and the lightweight trainer wasn't so good; I had a blood blister the size of a half dollar coin that made wearing street shoes at work and running last night's workout out of the question. No problem. It was time to play coach for a workout...something I don't do as often as I'd like for the team.

The boss is back in the office today, fresh from her trip north to brief out the project we were in the middle of for the past two months. No new revelations for them, but a lot of data to support their suspicions. And now, one of the organizations involved in the analysis is complaining, stating the data is wrong. Wait a minute, fellas. You're the ones who developed the reporting tools and the spreadsheet.

It's final performance appraisal time for this year. Since the mid-term appraisal was all right (I'm considered a valued employee, just like everyone else who's not in management) and there's nothing additional I can put in the write-up that hasn't been said up to the past two or three months, I just sent the same write-up to the boss. She won't whack it any lower, and the pay pool is still going to give me the minimal pay increase all the other valued employees are going to receive. It's the next worst thing to communism; at least my possessions are mine.

I've got my more subdued Hawaiian-style shirt on this morning. Ties are definitely out of the question, since I don't do a lot of briefings. Once the temperature drops, I'll move to what I like to call my winter uniform: collared shirts with sweater/vests or sweatshirts. I probably need to make a road trip to my alma mater in order to get a couple more sweatshirts; think I gave the last one to my mother a few years ago.
I used to get the advice from my mentor, telling me to wear the same kind of attire I saw the incumbent whose job I wanted was wearing. Well, around here, it's flowery Hawaiian stuff. Go figure.


Mad Gringo said...

Bless the Hawaiian shirts and the man who wears them!

No neckties.

Go slow.

"Coach" Mike said...

As the Maori say: Kia Kaha. Stand Strong.