This Kind of Crazy

"If ... he could no longer endure the realities of ... life, he found a way out in his mental life– an invaluable opportunity to dwell in the spiritual domain, the one (they) ... were unable to destroy." - "Man's Search For Meaning" - Viktor Frankl (1905-1997)

Sometimes you "have" to do something a little bit out of the ordinary. A little bit on the crazy side. I've often heard talk of persons with multiple personality disorders; the term "crazy" is bandied about with such indistinction. Each of us live multiple lives & have multiple personalities, depending on the role we need to play: As a coach I provide wisdom & guidance to athletes, sometimes through a bit of bad judgement of my own. As a runner I look for a good story to entertain friends & family. Somehow the thought of how to talk about some of this kind of fell together on a four & a half mile easy trot the other morning...

The story really starts a little after two o'clock in the morning last Tuesday; I woke up wanting a soda. This might sound a little strange for a guy on vacation in New Orleans; I hadn't had a soda in over a week. Neither water nor beer was going to help me get back to sleep. However, all I had was two twenty-dollar bills, so I had to get change from the hotel front desk. I took my wallet & rode the elevator down to the lobby. "No change for a twenty," says the desk clerk. Here's where the fun begins:

Rather than return to the room for my shoes & risk awakening my (sleeping) wife, I plan to walk the two blocks - in a pair of baggy shorts, t-shirt & in stocking feet - to a convenience store on Canal, purchase my soda, & walk back. This should take no time at all. A great idea, right? Lesson: Not everything stays open all night in NOLA; what is open late on a weekend is not always the same on a weeknight. Canal Street is EMPTY on a Tuesday morning at 2:15 a.m. I begin to tick off on the map in my head where I can go, & walk another two blocks to a shop which should still be open.

I encounter a guy in Army Camouflage Utilities with a roll-on suitcase. He stares at me like I am truly insane. He tells me he just got off the plane from Afghanistan & trying to make his way home - why his route was by way of the French Quarter makes as much sense to me as my stocking-clad search for soda pop does to him. Actually, I understand him more than he does me.

Every so often you feel compelled...don't ask the logic behind compulsions of this sort; something like this happened about a year ago at the Beachcomber, in Waikiki. The specialist, in exchange for cab fare, would gladly point me in the general direction of a 24-hour soft drink purveyor. Now there are two of us in a modern-day "Wizard of Oz" situation. Lions, & tigers, & bears...

We chatted as we walked the three blocks; talking about family, our jobs, stuff like that. The store, like any place which remains open when most sane people on the face of the earth (not getting paid to stay awake) are normally asleep, has a small group standing outside the door. Naturally, they all marvel at the (obvious) fact I have walked around without shoes. The only answer I can give, naturally, is: "it's a long story." The only ones who fail to look in awe or wonder, strangely enough, are the gentlemen who benefit financially. Gee, you would think a guy carrying forty bucks would be welcome in their place. Not like I'm going to steal anything. Maybe they are concerned because of a recent rash of barefoot runners.

I hand the Guardsman a twenty to pay for the soda; he asks me to wait outside the store. He comes out seconds later with the change. I give him cab fare, which he hands to the cabbie - who followed us over to the store. I quietly snarl at the logic of his action, but the hack driver is not driving anyone who isn't paying, I guess.

I take my soda & walk back toward the hotel. Half way back from the convenience store, I encounter two couples strolling back to their hotel from their evening of debauchery. Not only do they ask the obvious, but begin to take photos, as though I am some kind of freak. Hello? Who is the sober one here?

Sobriety is great, even at three in the morning. The grating & sidewalk, on the other hand, is trying my soles. I was almost certain barefoot running was not for me when that "Born To Run" book came out; now I know. All my friends could say, when I recounted the tale for them that evening, was that I was a little insane. Looking back at the act, a few days later, it was a well-intentioned development of positive karma covering an illogical selfish desire...something for which I would have gently derided my wife had she told me the same tale.

I guess we all are a little bit crazy, here & there. The compulsions we feel can force us to run fifty marathons in fifty states, or do ultra runs on mountains...or to do truly harmful things to ourselves & others around us (I consider marathons only harmful to young or inexperienced runners). I guess the difference between (near-) rationality & lunacy, to the kind which can enable complete strangers (even those entrusted to care for us) to treat us like a lesser being, boils down to our ability to clearly tell the story, rather than letting someone else tell it.

If someone asks why you're crazy enough to run, tell them. Just make certain to keep the message simple.

Give Me The Fruitcake And Nobody Gets Hurt

Rather than not try to make amends for the morning's weather conditions (light rain), which put the kibosh on not only the marathon course measurement but the Sunday kinda-long run, Suzanne and I took a couple of walks during the course of the day. The first one was the more enjoyable endeavor, around the park outside of our house...taking our greyhound on the last circuit. She wears her iPod to listen to techie podcasts, I wear my Speedo Aquabeat to listen to tunes...we chatter when the spirit moves us...which is usually often during these strolls.

The second one, we decided, would be at the mall. We did want to make a brief trip to a couple of our favorite shops, and we did indulge in some of that four-dollar coffee, too. As always, the mall provides lots of commentary material, so we usually don't take any music player with us.

Why do people lumber through shopping malls in an absolutely overloaded state? There is no way, given the fitness level of the typical American consumer, their stamina is going to withstand a three-hour stroll in an overheated, crowded mall...especially when they are carrying fifty pounds of cr*p IN BAGS WHICH WERE NEVER MEANT FOR CARRYING OVER EXTENDED DISTANCES/PERIODS OF TIME. Suzanne mentioned seeing a couple earlier in the week as she was taking care of some business; the woman was carrying ALL of the stuff. When a bag (inevitably) failed to hold up and shopping items fell to the floor, her husband berated her...of course, he was NOT carrying a d*mned thing. As my friend Christian would say, 'what the heck, over...'

I did mention, during our stroll, the fact I was still not completely in the holiday spirit. For me, it is not the Christmas holiday without not having at least one piece of fruitcake. This has been a painful decision in years past; it was two years ago when I broke a molar while eating a slice of fruitcake, starting a very expensive string of dental appointments which has lasted until the middle of last year. Still, I like candied fruit, nuts, raisins, currants, dates, and all the junk that should never pass the lips of a serious athlete...at least one slice during the holidays, just to say I've had it.

Gingerbread, German lebkuchen, other European delectables of the sort; those are the next-best things I've ever had to fruitcake, frankly. And I'm certain a good gingerbread cake or a couple of good gingerbread cookies are less damaging to the diet than their equivalent weight in fruitcake. However, that's what I want, and I'm still on the hunt for it, d*mn it. If it takes me until Christmas Eve, and I find one of those cheesy single-slice packages at the local Circle K, I'm going to have my piece. Then I'll have some peace.

Ah...it was so good to get back into the groove of working out after three days of being a sick doggie. I didn't get the yardage in the pool I hoped for on Saturday, but it was a check in the box...definitely better than the morning's spinning class. I fail to see the merit in playing holiday music as background visualization to a indoor cycling workout...unless you're playing the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Christmas Eve, Sarajevo...if it's that piece, I'm going to grind big gears. Still, I can't get up for (young) Michael Jackson singing Santa Claus Is Coming To Town. I can't see Crowie, Chuckie V, Chrissie, spinning to it, nor would Michael be caught dead with it in his iPod.

But I guess the most important thing is to get something done so you don't add something on. This time of year I guess we do work out in order to eat. I'm going to work out until I find my fruitcake...then I'll stop long enough to eat it...then I'll work out some more. Hm, memo to self...recommend fruitcake-flavor to makers of Clif Bar...

In case I don't post between now and later this week...but I probably will...Happy Chanukah, Happy Christmas.

A Certain Cure For Depression

The Court of Arbitration for Sport ruled that Oscar Pistorius (above) is eligible to race against able-bodied athletes, overturning a ban imposed by the International Association of Athletics Federations (that's the international governing body for track and field, of which USATF is a member). Pistorius wants to run the 400 meters at Beijing, but hasn't met the qualifying standard yet. However, he can be picked for the South African 4x400 relay team, but the squad has not yet qualified. If he doesn't get to compete in 2008, his goal is to qualify for the 2012 or 2016 Olympics.
In January of this year the IAAF banned him from competing, saying his carbon fiber blades gave him a mechanical advantage. Pistorius was born without fibulas, one of the two bones between the knee and ankle, and was 11 months old when his legs were amputated below the knee. Personally, I don't consider that a mechanical advantage, more like a biomechanical equalizer. Dude, he didn't have OEM body parts in the first place.
So, when I hear a person complain how it is too hot, cold, wet, dry, sunny...whatever convenient inconvenience (or excuse, as my coach might say - one is as good as another) exists to keep them from training (outside of the ones I absolutely understand, such as parenthood, domestic tranquility, work or recovery), they need to take a good, long look at Oscar Pastorius. This guy has been fighting for years for the privilege to compete against able-bodied athletes at the highest levels of competition. Now he gets to. Isn't that what sport is really about?

I felt quite bummed out last night, standing around at the track waiting for athletes to come work out...and nobody came. Most of the regulars, I then realized, were recovering from the triathlon last weekend, or were heading out of town this morning. On top of that, yes, there was the first Thursday evening of music downtown. I've wondered what folks would think if I were the one who didn't show up. Then again, that's the reason I guess I am where I am. I'm not bucking for martyr or saint status, and I shouldn't be complaining...much. Ah, but an hour in the pool should take care of this depression. If not I can always run the risk of self-drowning. ;)