Hating Goodbyes

Dinner last night at a Thai restaurant with Christian and Petra, our German friends. Normally we would hold off on dinner and do the New Yorker Deli on Friday evening, but they're now temporarily billeted in the Officers' Quarters on NAS.

The bad news is there's no kitchen.

The good news is there are no dishes.

So, we ended up talking triathlon and training over dinner, trading notes and looking forward to future events. For them it's Ironman Germany in Frankfurt. For me, it's probably going to be either a sprint triathlon or a couple of long races in the autumn. It depends on the work schedule and how busy we are at Chez' Bowen.

Since they're doing IM.de, we'll be able to keep track of them courtesy of IronmanLive. Christian comes back to finish his tour, then goes back to .de. I have the sneaking suspicion they'll remain close (enough) to us in the coming years. I certainly hope so, for a number of good reasons. A life always benefits from diversity:

The more closely your companions and confidants resemble you, the less likely you are to stretch your horizons or consider differing viewpoints. Without the encouragement (or would that be a dare?) of Christian and Petra, I never would have considered doing a half-iron distance triathlon. No, I would not have run the numbers and considered a half-iron triathlon (or a full Ironman triathlon, for that matter!) as an achievable goal.

Christian and Petra also saved me from tuning in to the BBC to get a diverse take on the news; we could always ask what Deutsche Welle, ARD, ZDF, or BRW were saying about American policies and politics. We were able to clue them in on some of the incomprehensibilities of the American political system, usually with much eye-rolling and humor.

Race, religion, culture, sports icons..."third-rail" topics were always fair game, because we knew we could speak in honesty, truth and candor to each other. And for that we have been grateful these past couple of years.

I hate goodbyes. I do poorly with them. Doesn't matter how much you promise to drop an e-mail to each other monthly, or pick up the cell phone (especially if they're on your network!) to stay in touch, it seems small orbits become large ones; large ones become like the orbit of comets that show once every 75 years. Of course, there's Web 2.0 and Skype and all those other things, but it isn't the same as killing three (four? five? I don't recall...) mini-kegs of Heineken on a Saturday, then going out into the front yard to watch the International Space Station whiz by.

Some people bring joy by their arrival, others by their departure. As for Christian and Petra, it's been a joy to be in their presence. Every time I see a triathlete walking a flat-tired bike on a training run I hear the "don't ever go out on a training ride, no matter how short, without a flat kit" lecture.

We will see you soon, my friends. Until then, I'll do my best to hold the tears.

Strong Convictions

Listening to a Public Radio International program, The World, a researcher is trying to help reconstruct the voluminous amount of un-shredded (but hand-torn) data left behind by the East German Stasi (state security service) after the fall of communism in Eastern Europe. To this point, the information has been picked out and rejoined by hand; the best reconstructionist on the project to this time can put together the contents of one bag (presumably the size of a full-sized grocery bag) in a single year. Yep, that's a needle in a haystack in a barn full of haystacks. The researcher is trying to find a methodology, using scanner and computer technology, to subdivide the material into smaller piles so reconstructionists can have an easier time.
In the case of a single person's life (if they were considered a dissident) that's probably thousands of pages; probably millions of pieces...and in the best case, all together in the same bag. I guess the first question would be to someone looking from the outside, 'who cares?' But, if you're the person whose life was adversely affected by the decisions of a handful of bureaucrats, you'd probably be screaming for justice, or at least something that resembles closure. It might not make everything better, but it certainly would provide that AHA! moment that would better explain why something went wrong for you, given all of the available information to the contrary.

Basing strong convictions on exceedingly small amounts of data are never really good. Yes, there is that faith thing, but it usually pales in the face of the scientific method. If you're out and running little more than five easy miles at a stretch a couple of times a week, the odds are good you're not going to be able to run a terribly fast five kilometers. Stepping to the line without the prerequisite speed work, the right kind of tempo work, long aerobic running, or sufficient rest in your training plan is like trying to read a smudged, torn-up document...or applying make-up while the bathroom mirror is dirty and smudged. Your results are probably going to be less than stellar; you'll miss the gist of the message.

Another Thing to Do (in Denver) When You're Dead

The sudden passing of a local teacher/runner/political commentator last week had my wife and I discussing the merits of dying. She said to me, '...seems like the only way a person can become famous or noteworthy now is by dying.' Perhaps the term merits is a little off, but you start to wonder when a musician's discography - and sometimes even their popularity - increases three-fold in the period following their demise. Does the name Tupac Shakur ring a bell?

When I see all this, all I can do is extrapolate from a bumper sticker I once saw: Everybody Wants To Go To Heaven, But Nobody Wants To Die. In this case, everybody wants to be remembered for something, but nobody wants to die.

I'd like to think I'd be remembered, or thought of positively, by the persons who were closest to me in life. My contacts in the business world won't remember me any longer than the period of time it takes for my bank account to be closed; my co-workers will say, 'Mike Who?' within six months, or maybe even six weeks, give or take a pay period. Tempus fugit.

We all want to leave a little something of ourselves out in the world; a perfect three-minute saxophone solo, a painting or piece of sculpture...or in the case of an athlete/coach, a performance recalled by the masses or a training system used by them. As I like to say, especially on Saturday morning in the coffee shop when choosing my breakfast item/s...life is short; you're dead a long time.

I'm certain that sales of Luciano Pavarotti's music won't take a major spike over the next couple of days. The King of the High C's has a new gig in the heavenly chorale. I had the supreme enjoyment of seeing/hearing his last public performance during the Turin Olympics. It was always neat to hear the duets he performed with European popular musicians like Lucio Dalla, Sting, Bono, Brian May, Zucchero and so on. That's the neat thing about European radio, you can get popular music from Germany next to Italian rockers, followed by English and French musicians. Okay, so the stuff is paid for through your (exorbitant) taxes. But hey! At least you get some culture...and I'm not talking about swabs from Britney Spears' (redacted).

Sometimes you get the best ideas from sources you would least expect. Best thing you can do is keep an open mind. Of course, I still pooh-pooh Runner's World magazine, but it has so much to do with what I consider a rehash of the same three or four training ideas. Many times, there really is nothing new in the training realm...just a different arrangement of the old song...In a perfect world John and Julian Lennon sing together.

In a world gone wrong, Kenny G plays behind Louis Armstrong.