Nike+ Review, Part II of II.

So, calibrating the sensor on a track works well, but...

Don't be an idiot like me. If you have good sneakers, keep wearing those, and fuck the Nike+iPod system. After an x-ray, a doctor visit, and a serious-ass ultrasound to insure that I didn't kick off a blood clot which was lung-bound, I have learned that it's A-OK to stick with what works.

Damn. I can't BELIEVE how much I screwed myself up, all for the sake of geek tech.

Hmm. Geek tech. Aren't there wearable GPS/Heart Monitor sets?

Yummy.

Love to all. Even you, the hypermuscular twenty-something who didn't know what "fast" meant... causing the nurse to yell "DID. YOU. EAT?"

Maggie sums it up.

I was talking to Maggie about how Tricia suggested I leave the Catholic church because I don't believe everything that it teaches (and think, in fact, that some of what it teaches is contrary to the word of Christ).

Maggie thought for a second and said:

That's strange that she would say that: Peter denied Jesus three times, and Jesus made him the rock of his Church.

Smart wife, mine.

Love to all.

Injury report.

Shin splints.

Way back in 2004 (which kind of feels like another life), when I first started getting myself in shape, I would get shin splints when I ran. But I found that if I ran through them, they'd go away.

Fast forward to yesterday, when I didn't bother to think about the fact that I got shin splints for the first time in a long time, just after switching to Nike+iPod shoes from my Asics Kayanos, and I figured "What the hell. I'll just run through them."

13.5 miles later, I was in quite a bit of pain.

This morning, I could barely walk.

So, I've ordered stability inserts for my sneakers, and if they don't work, I'll abandon the Nike+ system and go back to my Kayanos (at least until Nike releases a + version of the Kantara... and I'll be using my Kayanos from now until the inserts arrive. Either way, though...

Note to self: do NOT try and run through shin splints. Especially not over 13.5 miles. Unless you're running a marathon.

In that case, go for it.

Love to all. Even you, the ex-stylist saleslady at ABC in Chelsea whose jaded front didn't quite cover a disappointed interior.

Mel Gibson, example number 4029.

"Fucking Jews. The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world. Are you a Jew? (...) You motherfucker. I'm going to fuck you." - Mel Gibson to a deputy.

"What do you think you're looking at, sugar tits?" - Mel Gibson to a female deputy.

So sad, so sad. And so sadly predictable. William Bennett, Ralph Reed, so many others. Folks who try to define themselves by some weird version of moral purity turn out to be hypocrites. Like Jim West, the virulently anti-Gay politican who, surprise, was caught trying to seduce underage men in onloine chat rooms (he denied knowing they were underage, but did not dispute that he was trying to seduce men).

It seems to me that people who have character traits (sinful - Anti-Semitism or not - being gay) that they can't deal with, often compensate by going on hogwild moral crusades. Can't deal with the fact that you like dudes? Become an anti-Gay activist. Have a gambling problem? Write books on raising children with moral character.

The Muslims say it best: There is no God but God.

We are inherently flawed, and admitting that is what, I think, let's us actually make progress.

The reason I love my AA sponsor is because he's taught me that I have to accept the fact that I can be a complete dickface. And my job is to try to be a complete dickface less often.

So, off I go to Manhattan, to go couch-shopping and art-browsing with Maggie. The kids are away, so it's just the two of us. This is the perfect time to practice not being a complete dickface.

Wish me luck.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who claimed he never got the project description, even though he emailed it back to me with his comments.

Whoosh.

Life overwhelms me,
tater tots and coffee beans,
bright sun on the bench.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the BMW doing 80 in a 35.

Note: I never knew, until yesterday, that Haiku required a kigo, or a word that referenced the season in which the poem is set. Please forgive my past Haiku errors.

The hypocrisy of the Lebanese Prime Minister.

"Is an Israeli tear-drop worth more than a drop of Lebanese blood?"

So said the Lebanese Prime Minister, yesterday. It's a great political comment. It tugs at your heartsrtings. It's also complete manipulative bullshit.

In 2004, the United Nations passed UN Security Council Resolution 1559, which called for the Lebanese government to, among other things, disarm Hezbollah. If they had done this, there would be no Israeli/Hezbollah conflict. The blame for each and every death associated with Israel trying to disarm Hezbollah and protect itself lies with the Lebanese government, Syria, and Iran.

Iran and Syria could stop this conflict in an instant. Hell, Jordan could have created a free Palestine any time in the last several decades. Does anyone really believe that Palestine exists only in the land that Israel occupies? Please.

And the Israeli's aren't fighting an army. They're fighting guerillas who drive around with truck-launched missiles from different locations. If anyone expects Israel to be able to fight back without causing serious collateral damage, they totally misunderstand the nature of the conflict. This isn't pre-Revolutionary war, line-up-and-shoot warfare. This isn't jungle warfare. The enemy acts from populated areas. Options are extremely limited.

Let me ask you this: If Hezbollah didn't attack Israel, would Israel attack Hezbollah? If everyone left Israel alone, would Israel start a war?

No.

To answer the PM's question: No, an Israeli tear is not worth more than a drop of Lebanese blood. But both are spilling because of you, your government's inaction, and your allies.

Love to all. Even you, Fouad Siniora.

Gay appraisal = The truth.

A short time ago, I posted an admittedly-egotistical but somewhat deservedly-excited body shot of myself which appeared as if I was actually getting in shape. Never having been in shape before, I'm pretty psyched on the whole situation.

I didn't expect many comments from women. But there was one person who I was hoping would comment, for better or worse, Albert, aka ARG, from Obliquity.

Why? Because, in the end, it's the gay man's opinion that'll really tell you how you look... and ARG is the only blogger on my blogroll who I know is gay. And if there's any reason for straight guys to get over any homophobia they might have, knowing whether or not you actually look good should be reason enough.

When I was younger and working in NYC (I still work in NYC, I'm just older) I would get checked out by dudes with some regularity. Then, over time, nothing. It just stopped. It could have been my vibe, that I was getting older... or maybe it was because I was green and bloated from drinking 10 - 16 drinks a day. That could have been it, too.

The thing is, women can't give semi- or unknown-men feedback. Because most dudes would incorrectly translate a "looking over" by a woman as her saying "Please have sex with me immediately." Regardless of whether a gay man is saying that or not, there's more of a perceived power balance between men, and the checking-out can generally happen without fear of one dude
stalking the other, etc.

Yesterday, I was walking from my morning AA meeting with some friends, one of whom is a successful interior designer (he was in Elle Decor a little while back), and this very topic came up.

He agreed with me: if gay men don't think you look hot, then you don't look hot. Alas.

So, I'd just like to thank God for making me appreciate the appraisals and dismissals of gay men. Homophobes just aren't getting appropriate feedback, which is a shame.

Love to all. Even you, Ms. Knock-Over-The-Apples-And-Run-From-The-Aisle.

Love.

How lucky are we who get to love people, and have them love us back?

I need to remember that, in the midst of everything else.

Love to all. Even you, dude who HAD to get on the uptown 6 train, much to the physical (and probably emotional) discomfort of the woman in front of him.

Preliminary Nike+ review.

Calibrate, calibrate, calibrate.

After gearing up with my iPod Nano, my Nike+ AirMax Moto Shoes, and my Nike+iPod connection kit, I learned that, without calibration, the Nike+ system makes me look SLLLOW.

For those of you who don't know, the Nike+iPod system is a combination of sneakers, ipod, a transmitter and a receiver, which collects running data from your sneakers (via the transmitter that slots into the specially designed shoe), sends it to your iPod (via the receiver that clips into the dock connector), and syncs it to nikeplus.com to track your runs. During a run, you can have the Nano give you feedback via headphones about distance, etc.

Sounds great, right? Is it, sort of.

Unless you calibrate the sensor on a track, by running a set distance and telling the sensor what that distance was (400 meters, a mile, etc), the sensor can be WAY off, which is disconcerting during a run.

During the 4-mile Run for Central Park, I would pass a mile marker, and a long time later, the Nano would say I just went that mile. When I finished the race, the Nano thought I had gone 3.49 miles. That's a huge difference between reality.

The drag is that it synced that race to the site... so it thinks I ran MUCH slower than I did, because the clock was accurate, but the distance wasn't. Bummer.

Anyway: I'm going to calibrate the sensor this weekend, and I'll report back then.

Love to all. Even you, the guy driving the limo, fast and in reverse, through the train station parking lot.

Last note to Tricia.

Fascinating, how you make so many sweeping statements, ask me to leave the Catholic Church, but then you repeatedly fail to answer simple questions like:

• If you believe the Pope is infallible, why did the Church issue a formal apology for it's inaction during WWII, when it allowed the Holocaust to proceed without protest?
• Comments about disturbing conceived blastocysts aside, what's your problem with condoms, which intercede pre-conception, just like the APPROVED methods of the Catholic Church?

Shocker. At this point, after asking you multiple times over several days, if you DO answer them, I'm going to assume you are repeating someone else's words, not your own. Sad.

Love to all. Even you, Tricia.

“Then don't be a Catholic.”

“Then don't be a Catholic.,” she says. “Why be something you're not?”

Aside from the response I gave her in the comments to this post, her comment to me demonstrates exactly what I mean about people who claim to be Christian but appear to be going completely off message.

Who did Jesus seek out? With whom did he take meals? Sinners. People who didn’t believe as he did. People who needed help. (Luke 15:2, Luke 19:7)

This lady, when she sees that I disagree with some of the man-made weirdness of the Catholic Church, wants me to LEAVE. “Don’t be a Catholic.”

And once again, she proves that not only is she not acting like a Catholic, but she’s specifically acting against the very basic teachings of Christ. Would Jesus ever have said “You are too sinful to follow me?” No, he said that these are the people whom he would seek. (Luke 5:31-32)

If she believes the the Catholic Church is the true apostolic Church, if she believes that she is following the faith and that I am misguided, then then she should embrace me, try to bring me into the Church, discuss things with me, and through her example of tolerance and kindness, try to show me the Way. No disciple of Jesus would try to convince someone to LEAVE the Church. That's madness.

But no: She thinks I should leave. And that, my friends, is antithetical to the Gospels.

It's also interesting how she completely ignored the whole condom thing. Why, I wonder?

Anyway, Tricia, I invite you to stay in the Church, even if you preach things that are entirely against what Jesus taught and did.

Love to all. Even you, the burly dude who, while bothering me with his loud-for-5am train conversations, has surprisingly lush hair.

Anti-Choice Hypocrisy.

"The truth hurts," the lady says, referring to a sign on a woman's car that says "John Kerry Approves of Killing Babies!!!!!" The truth hurts.

No, it doesn't.

What she doesn't realize is that she supports abortion wholeheartedly. In fact, she is doing a great deal to grow the number of abortions at the most rapid pace possible. I don't know a single pro-choice person who wants to do anything but make abortion a rarity (via education, contraception, etc). But this woman, she's doing her best to make sure that abortion remains tragically frequent.

This woman, you see, is anti-contraception. Thus, she's making sure that lots and lots of conceptions occur that are destined for abortion.

"Wrong," she might say. "Adoption! Adoption!" Yeah, right. I'm sure she's going to monitor and the nutritional input of the woman she is forcing to remain pregnant. I'm sure she's going to enforce this diet, lack of smoking, drinking, and drugs. And I'm sure she's going to pay for maternity clothing, housing, and lost work time. And I'm sure she's going to fund the life of the child that results from forcing a completely undeveloped, unable-to-feel-pain, brainless zygote through term.

"Wrong," she says. "Abstinence! Abstinence!" Well... no. There's not a chance on earth that abstinence will ever be the answer. This is historical fact. And besides, grownups having safe, mutually respectful, recreational sex is certainly on my moral "No-Problem List."

Oh, and since she won't fund international medical programs that include abortion in their broad suite of otherwise-missing services, she's going both to fund the lives of all the people whose lives she destroys, and attend the funerals of all the people she killed by withdrawing their medical care.

Actually, she's right. The truth hurts. Or rather, it should. But my sense is that it doesn't bother her at all.

Love to all. Even you, the people who do so much damage, thinking they are doing the will of God.

We never count on growing up.

My oldest son just left for sleepaway camp for the first time. Maggie is driving him all the way to Vermont, dropping him off, and coming back late tonight. It's for two weeks, with an option for four if he really likes it. Maggie and I both think he'll like it, but he'll want to come home.

He was so excited. So nervous. So big and tall and gorgeous and strong and at once ready to head out on his own and clearly wanting to stay here where things are known and safe.

His mother is trying not to lose it, which is decidedly cute.

Last night, he said to me: "Hey, Dad? Remember a few years ago when I said that I was never, ever going to sleepaway camp? I didn't count on growing up."

We never do, do we?

I just started crying. I have to stop writing.

Love to all.

Training Chart Update & Back to 160.

This was the most I've ever run in a week. Rockin. On another note, I weighed in at 160 for the first time in a while.

Love to all. Even you, whoever invented "waffle crisp" cereal.

Ten Seconds of Post-Workout Rippage.

Why, oh, why, do you fade away so quickly? Why can't you at least stay until I get to the local pool? WHY MUST YOU GO, OH 10 SECONDS OF POST-WORKOUT RIPPAGE?!?!?!

Love to all.

Raffle for Jesus!

So, I went to Church the other day, and in the front row of parking spaces, there was a brand new, bright red convertible that had a big sign on it saying "WIN ME!" The parking spot next to it was blocked off, so that nobody (like the older folks who normally park in the front row) parked next to, obstructed the churchgoers view of, or accidentally door-dinged the bright, reflective prize.

Tickets were $100 a pop. Apparently, proceeds were to benefit a well-off local Westchester hospital.

They announced the raffle during mass, too.

Now, if I recall, Jesus got pretty angry when he went into the temple and found it being used as a marketplace. And when I go to Church, I don't want my kids thinking "WHAT A COOL CAR!" And I certainly don't want my kids thinking, "Wow, at Church, they ask the grownups to gamble!"

I talked to the Monsignor about this, and he said he didn't have a problem with it. Now, I have a solid relationship with the Monsignor, so I felt comfortable enough to say that this struck me as hypocrtical.

His answer really bothered me.

He said "A lot of things in the Bible are contradictory. Sometimes, I preach one lesson, and a month later, I'm saying something different!" I asked him if that was really relevant to what we were talking about, and he said he thought it was. And I just dropped it.

I don't know. It just seems weird and wrong to me... the wrong message.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who has had the "John Kerry approves of killing babies" sign on her car for years, now.

Race Results: Run for Central Park, 7/22/2006

This is the first race where I had trouble breathing. 94% humidity. Ugh.

Previous best 4-mile race:
7/23/2005, Run for Central Park
261st out of 1734 dudes. 289th out of 3281 runners overall.
Pace: 7:04/mile.

Today's 4-mile race:
7/22/2006, Run for Central Park
96th out of 1931 dudes, 99th of of 3846 overall.
Pace: 6:30/mile.

That's fucking nuts. I broke the top 5% of dudes, top 3% of racers.

Competitive-ass me keeps thinking, what if I didn't run a 15-mile training run yesterday afternoon?

Love to all. Even you, the Dad at the swim meet who had a really angry way of cheering.

Wacky station and no record for me.

I've commuted on the three major rail lines out of New York. NJ Transit is by far the rudest. Metro North is nicest. The LIRR is a close second But when it comes to train stations, nothing is zanier than the information and ticketing area at New York's Penn Station. Normally, I'm a Grand Central kind of guy, but last night I was visiting family on Long Island.

Yesterday, I ran a 15-mile training run. It was scheduled for today, but Maggie is working, so I took a long lunch and did it yesterday. My initial idea was to do today's 4-mile race, the Run for Central Park, and then run another 11 miles. But since Maggie has to leave early, I'm doing the race and going straight home.

My legs are a little shaky from yesterday... so I think today won't be one of those personal record-breaking runs.

On another note, I'm trying my Nike+iPod sneakers for the first time. We'll see how that goes.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the gym who was talking on his phone beneath the "No Cell Phones" sign.

TV Audtion Number Two.

In case you thought the offices of a major TV production studio were fancy, I’m here to tell you that it isn’t always the case. While this office is atmospherically very pleasant, it is physically like any other… only more casual.

For the second time ever, I got asked to audition for a TV show. It seems that a well-known production company is putting together a show that involves people in my field helping other people do better in their field.

They emailed me because they were looking for someone to host the show who, well, was a lot like me: someone 30-40, outgoing, has teaching experience, is in this particular field of expertise, etc.

They invited me in because they liked my written response to their email, and thought I sounded good on the answering machine when I followed up with a phone call.

Pardon. Can you move over, please? My ego needs more room.

I arrived 15 minutes early. Before I went upstairs, I said the Serenity Prayer, and asked God to help me do whatever it was that I was supposed to do as well as I was supposed to do it. I also called a TV-experienced friend of mine (who gave me advice the night before) and told him:

“If I don’t pee on anyone, I’ll consider this a big success.”

She said: “This is going to be quick. We’re just going to do a 3-5 minute video, and then we’ll edit it down and send it upstairs.”

She told me where to look (to the right of the camera), and asked me to repeat the questions back to her before I answered them. Then she asked me questions about my job, my life and my field. And I answered them the best I could, trying not to think about why I was there at all.

I think she was a little surprised when, in response to a general “describe yourself” question, I said: “Well, I own my own gorilla suit, which has always been a lifelong dream of mine, and I buy glowsticks in bulk.”

When it was over, she said: “Well, you did great. You seem confident on camera, you definitely know your business, you’re funny, and the fact that you can change your schedule to accommodate the shooting schedule is a real plus. I’d be totally surprised if you didn’t get a callback.”

I’m afraid you have to move over some more. My ego just grew again.

My TV friend said: “Congratulations! Now forget about it. You did as well as you can do, but someone upstairs might reject it for a totally different reason. But good job, brother.”

So I’m reveling in a fun event for a moment, then I’m getting back to work.

Love to all. Even you, the two twenty-somethings engaged in a very loud conversation about how much they hate their boss.

If you're bored... or, why I have no friends.

Lisa's post reminded me that I haven't done this in a while.

Sit at your regular phone. Take out your cell phone.

1. Using your cellphone call a friend.
2. Talk to your friend for a minute.
3. Using your regular phone, dial *67 and their number (this is caller-ID block, at least on Verizon, so that they won't see your incoming phone number)
4. When your friend switches lines to answer call-waiting, say "Still me."
5. When they try again, say "Still Me."
6. When they try again, use a grandma voice, cough, and say "Still me."
7. Repeat with iterations until they strangle you through the phone.

Love to all. Even you, the group of soldiers in Grand Central Station who I've only seen standing in a tight inward-facing circle, talking to each other.

I. Can't. Resist. Part II.

Doesn't this joker know he's 37?

Sheesh.

Love to all. Even you, the sweet, personable purple-haired HR woman who has absolutely no idea what the people she hires does for a living.

Edited for Snarkiness.

When Lisa AND Tricia AND Shqipo think my attitude is getting a little wonky, it's time to step back and self-examine.

And you KNOW how much I love to, um, self-examine.

More soon.

Love to all.

One question about Palestine.

Okay. I believe the Palestinians should have their own country. Mostly to keep them safe from Arabs, who have slaughtered many, many, many thousands of them over recent history.

But why is it that the land the Palestinians want happens to be ONLY IN ISRAEL.

Ancient Palestine was much, much bigger. In fact, Jordan is included in this area. Why don't people ask Jordan for land? Jordan, of course, is responsible for some of the biggest Palestinian slaughters in history... so this would make some sense.

Israel is teeny weeny. It just seems a little stupid that it's precisely that land which is desperately important to the Palestinians. You know?

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the crinkly foot.

Splash and Dash 5 Miler, Central Park, NYC

So, check it:

Had a five-mile race today. For the first time I can remember, the announcer said:

Do NOT try to set a personal record. It’s way too hot and humid. Go slow. Just have fun.

Note well, people: never, ever tell an alcoholic what to do.

Previous best 5 mile race:
July 20, 2005, Nike-Run-Hit-Wonder: 7:51 pace, came in 642 out of 3391 dudes (top 18.9%), 822 / 7553 overall. Although to be honest, a lot of non-runners sign up for this race, so the percentage is skewed.

Today’s 5-Mile Race, 76 degrees, 74% humidity.
July 15, 2006, Dash and Splash: 6:56 pace, came in 129 out of 1657 dudes (top 7.6%), 144 / 3227 overall.

That’s just nuts. NUTS.

Some thing cool happened to me: At mile five, I started to slow down... but this Italian dude (like from Italy, not just ethnically), gestured for me to run with him (he was using me as a pacer, apparently, and noticed when I fell behind.). So we ran together, picking the pace up a little at a time. I’ve never had somone push me (and vice versa) like that.

Then, at 200 yards to the finish, I took off in a sprint. He didn’t. I actually screamed: “COME ON!” And he smiled, put both hands up and said “No, no.” He patted me on the back after the race.

It was way cool to make a quick connection like that.

Love to all. Even you, runner who blew snot rockets every five seconds for like three minutes.

My take on the Israeli/Lebanon conflict.

Hezbollah holds 14 seats in the Lebanese parliament. That's all that matters to me.

If a U.S. Senator was openly a member of a terrorist organization, and the terrorist organzation started attacking, say, Canada, AND the U.S. Government didn't kick his ass out of the Senate and/or jail the fucker, I'd understand if Canada tried to kick our ass, anywhere it could.

If Hezbollah was operating inside Lebanon, but wasn't an official part of the government, I'd feel a little differently. But it is what it is.

Love to all. Even you, Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini

Rational? Huh?

I have kickass machines at home that I never have time to use.

Take my G5. It's a kickin' 2.3Ghz dual-processor machine with monster drives (totalling about over a terabyte of space) and many gigs of RAM. It faces the world with a Dell 24-inch flat-panel display.

Mostly, it's used to play Marble Blast with my kids.

So I finally decided to face the technological reality that it's better for my server at work to be the G5, and the computer at home to be a Mac Mini (instead of the other way around) and that the 24-inch monitor would be put to best use at my desk. Not at in home office that I don't use enough.

I got home from work 10 minutes ago. I set up the G5 with a mirrored raid, wrote all kinds of backup scripts (offsite and onsite), and basically tweaked the crap out of everything. It took me all day, and most of the night. I'm having a pasta-n-butter dinner tomorrow, before the 5-mile Dash and Splash race in Central park. Gotta get up early.

Whoa: rational application of technology, for the first time in 37 years. And I don't think the kids noticed that they played Marble Blast on a mini, vs. a G5.

No worries, though. I'm sure once the quad-core xeon Macs come out, I'll be getting one.

Love to all. Even you, the bus driver who parked in the only passable lane on University place for twenty minutes.

I love my friends.

I was in a crappy mood last night... and I told this to a friend of mine. A few minutes later, I get an email back from her saying: "Smile."

With a picture attached.



I love my friends so much. At 37, I'm developing the kind of super-tight friendships I had when I was 19. Lucky, lucky me.

Love to all. Even you, the corgi who has me posting at 4:57am, because her stomach is upset and she needs to go out a lot.

My Bronx Half-Marathon Playlist.

Lots of slower songs, here... but not all. I found that running to slower songs often makes me faster, but more fluid.

Love to all. Even you, the lady I just put on my company's email blocklist.

Madly, joyously.

Let's take a moment, here.

Okay. Cool. I realize that I've been moderately whiny, recently... but when I sit back and think about it, it's because life is rocking along mightily and change, even good change, can be a little disconcerting. Some things to be happy about:

• I'm coming up on 3 years sober, again.
• Maggie's rocking away at her new job.
• My oldest is confident and funny, and he's freshly 10 and starting middle school.
  
• My daughter rocks my world with every breath, and challenges me constantly.
  
• My youngest is incredibly social and happy and starting kindergarten.
  
• I can run 15 miles at any given moment, which is hilarious, and utterly antithetical to the way I used to be.
• I've got muscles I've never had before.
• I've got my own company, again, and I'm being pursued by others for work.
  
• We have a nice house, cool dogs, and sassy cats.
• We've got family that loves us.
• We've got friends that we love.
  

So we're adjusting to changes, here. But who isn't? We're lucky people, and while I think that we know it... I certainly need to take more time to appreciate it.

I am madly and joyously in love with the process of living.

That's all for now.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who apparently deleted a magazine's press-ready files on purpose.

Babysitter blues.

The babysitter didn't show up today. I've been saying that this lady's unreliability has overstepped her niceness for years. She was even fired once for being late, not showing up, etc. On the other hand, she's super trustworthy with the kids, and genuinely nice. Apparently, even though Maggie says she explicitly gave her instructions as to when she was going to be working.

Although, she didn't give me those instructions, either.... so...

Maggie told me that if I didn't come back home, she would get fired. Of course, and this sounds so mean, Maggie's job doesn't generate revenue yet... it kind of washes with the babysitter (when she shows up)... but mine is the one that, at least currently, pays for our lives. And after discovering that several things fell by the wayside at work while I was away, I wasn't keen on coming home. But Maggie really needed me. So. After taking the 5:30 train to NYC, going to my morning AA meeting, and walking to my office near Union Square, I got the call at 9:20 asking me to come home. I sprinted to the 9:48 train.

And now the day is done. Maggie is back, but going out tonight. Admittedly, the kids had a hell of a schedule, and I'm impressed that Maggie handles all this stuff: tennis team, swim team, diving lessons, dentists appointments, AND one of our cats had to be picked up from being spayed. Busy, busy.

Now, though, I'm making dinner, and trying not to feel unappreciated. Maggie did tell me at the end of the day how much she appreciated my help. And I should be glad she did. But I feel kind of weird. Maggie and I even got into an argument during the day when she called me on the phone for tech support with Excel... and laughed at me because she thought I wasn't listening to her. I was. There's a difference between "duplicate" and "fill down" and Maggie was trying to do neither, but accidentally doing the latter, and describing it as the former. She thought they were the same thing, and that I was just repeating myself.

I love this woman a lot. We are adjusting. It's a good thing I'm such a big jackass, so that I can't be too judgemental when she's a little wonky.

Love to all. Even you, bride-o-mine.

Bronx Half-Marathon 2006 and a story.

I am SO psyched.

I just blew the doors off my old personal record for a half-marathon, in weather that was much less conducive to setting a PR than the last time I did so.

On March 19, 2005, in perfect 40-something degree weather:

• Time: 1:48:10
• Pace: 8:15
• Gender Place: 819 out of 1965 dudes. (Top 30.05%)
• Overall Place: 1007 out of 3351

Today, I ran in a sunny, 77-degree day (62% humidity):

• Time: 1:45:25
• Pace: 7:53
• Gender Place: 482 out of 2073 dudes. (Top 23.2%)
• Overall Place: 536 out of 3187

This makes me think I can hit 7:30 in the next cool-weather half-marathon.

Cool story: I was walking back to my car from the race, and a young, kind of petite woman said to me:

"How'd it go?"
I said, "I think I just ran my best race. I'm happy. You?"
Her: "Well, it wasn't my best race, but I won."
Me: "Won what?"
Her: "I was the first woman to finish. I won the race."
Me: "Oh... you mean won won."

So we talked a minute more, and she told me that's she was from Morristown, NJ. So I said "MORRISTOWN! That town put me into the hospital!"

She: "What?"
Me: "Since I'm never going to see you again, I'll tell you a true story. One time, I was hired to walk around Morristown NJ handing out leaflets for Penny Press dressed as Mickey Mouse. But since I was kind of a dirty drunken oaf, I didn't wear socks. And the Mickey Mouse shoes cut my feet up something fierce. So, about two weeks later, I'm tripping my face off on mushrooms, my ankles get super-infected, swell up, and I had to go to the ER. I made a conscious decision to have a blast, since the alternative was to freak out completely."

She was looking at me with a really awesome, entertained smile. I think she didn't expect this kind of story (duh), but clearly wasn't worried that I was psychotic. I have this weird vibe which lets me chat with people kind of randomly, without offending. My boys have it, too.

I finished up: "Anyway, I've cleaned up my act since then."

We got to the corner, and I said "Congratulations again. I got a killer parking spot, I just hope my car is still there." She told me that she was given a parking spot by the security folks, and that she worked at a running store, gave me her name, and said that if I ever was back in NJ, I should come by the shop where she works.

By the way, I checked her results: she won at a 6:28 pace. Holy smokes.

This was an awesome day.

Love to all. Even you, the crazy truck driver who passed me on the shoulder, even though there were other lanes available.

And now, the real training!

So, this is my last week of pre-Marathon Training training...culminating this week with the Bronx Half-Marathon this Sunday. After this, I'm going to go on the formal training program, as provided by the New York Road Runners. I didn't run a long run this week because Sunday's race is 13.1 miles. That's far enough, this week, even if the miles count towards next week.

I'm getting kind of psyched about the condition I'm in. I've never been that fit... I mean, I had the cardio, but never the musculature... and at 37, I'm starting to look somewhat, well, good.

Weird to say, but it's true.

We leave for Westchester tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing the kitties and puppies.

Love to all. Even you, the Armonk parents who kept their backs to their six-year-old while he played right on the edge of the ocean.

Trajectories.

“Yo! Get out on my side, please!”

We had pulled up on the side of the road, and Maggie was dropping us off at the beach place in Montauk. I asked the kids to exit the van on my side, so that they’d step onto the grass, not into the middle of the road.

As I got out of the van, I saw my daughter already across the street.

I asked: “Did you look both ways?”
She answered: “Yes.”

Then my youngest started running around the back of the van.

A red car was coming down the road, approaching our vehicle. My youngest was rounding the corner of the van and heading for the road, not looking for oncoming traffic. Not seeing that there was oncoming traffic.

Slow motion.

Trajectories overlayed my vision in neon, just like they used to when I was a younger. My youngest was going to get hit. He ran out of my field of vision, and I started sprinting around the van. “STOP!” I yelled. He kept going. “STOP!” I yelled again. He didn’t.

I rounded the back of the van at speed, figuring to run into the middle of the road and knock his ass off the street.

No need. Apparently, I screamed loud enough that the oncoming car heard me. They were stopped, about ten feet from my son, who was still in the road. I grabbed him, and said “Jesus. Do you see the car? Do you see what could have happened? You HAVE to look before crossing the street. Always.”

He started crying.

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the hearing aid who screamed “HUMILITY!”

Hey, America.

Happy Birthday, you big, dumb, son of a bitch.

I love you SO much, even though you're really making me nuts. I even wore a special shoe combination just for you.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Unemployed on 1/20/2009.

Two feet for two kids.

Normally, we don’t have the pool to ourselves. This is a pretty sweet moment.

Love to all. Even you, the 40-something-year-old, brother-in-law who didn’t get my son a 10th birthday present, even though he was in a toy store this morning, and said “uh, I, uh, helped pick out the present your grandmother gave you.”

Who knew?

After going to the 7am AA meeting across the street, a friend and I went for coffee. Now, I’ve been going to the farmer’s market in Amagansett, for like, a decade… but when my friend took me around the side of the market to sit down and chat, it turns out there’s a way cool seating area.

Nice stuff.

Love to all. Even you, the Mother-in-Law who came over to visit my son, but immediately went to sleep for the entire time she was here.

Looking out.

And thus the dad-enabled segment our family vacation begins.

This is my youngest, taking in the day, seeing the possibilities, and planning what to do next.

It's nice to be here. We've been coming to Montauk for 8 or 9 years, now. And we've been coming with the same friends for 6 or 7 of them. One year, they just showed up. And we've been doing it ever since.

I have so much going on in my head and in my life. I have to figure out how to blog it. And soon. Frankly, I'm just a little baffled by how to express things these days, and that is certainly not my normal mode of operation.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who clearly didn't know where the corners of her Escalade were.