Thoughts on the banjo quest

 What am I after? What is my goal? 

Funny that it is easier for me to describe what my goals are not. 

I do not want to play in a band. 

I do not want to be on a stage. I do not want to be anyplace where people would ask me to play a particular tune. However, I would like to be good enough that I could do that if I wanted to, the confidence to turn it down because I am good enough to do what I want and have nothing to prove. 

I don't want to "jam" with others. While I did enjoy a recent jam camp, I did not leave with the sense that I had discovered something I wanted to do. Weird. 

I do not want to change the strings regularly, but I do. 

I like playing by myself. I like trying a new tune or lick and getting through it. It's sort of like running. A very solitary activity. I like the challenge, actually I love the challenge. 

I like playing for my grandchildren, who have no expectations and no real sense of what is good or bad about my playing. They just like to see me do it. 

I like talking banjo with other players, I like that a lot. 

Two hours a day, every day. Every day. 

I like the way my fingers move across the strings. I like making music. I like the theory and science behind the music. 

I would say that I love my banjo, but love seems the wrong word to express my feelings for anything non-human. I do love the way I feel when I play the banjo. Capable. Confident. Smart. A learning man. An aging man who does not waste his time in retirement. He does things. 

Thursday morning 5am

The wee hours of the morning I cannot set aside. Cannot stay in bed. My favorite time of day. It is a perfect time to be outside for a run and it is an excellent period to just watch the world wake up. 

Early reactions to the news overnight, a death in Europe, an earthquake in Asia, the late night appointment of a soon-to-be-forgotten official, early market trading, the weather, the west coast sports scores. The first commuters roll east to the city. The sounds of night birds ebb and day birds build as the first dim glow changes the horizon from dark black to deep grey. 

I think about the day ahead and the day past. Things set aside and left undone. Loved ones snuggled in bed. The lost contact of an old friend. The name of a new one. The illnesses of the aged. The victories of the young. The remnants of yesterday's mail are strewn across a kitchen counter. The coffee pot wakes and whispers. 

Watching, praying, running, listening. Capturing the last stillness as my little clutch of dirt and stone in Minnesota wakes up. 

The politics of running

This week I went for a long run on one of the many state trails. This one runs along the Minnesota River from Chaska to Shakopee Minnesota. 

It was two days after the death of a famous politician.

Along the trail there were little signs with directional arrows and rules such as "no motorized vehicles", "stay on the trail", "clean up after your dog", and the like. 

On each of the signs someone had placed a sticker, "Rest in peace, politician's name". Someone felt that while I am out running on this beautiful trail I needed to think about their hero. No, I did not. I could write much on what sort of person would do that, but since I once was that sort of person, I won't. Anyway, whomever you are, you briefly interrupted my solitude, but you won't interrupt that of others. The stickers came down, sign by sign, one by one. 

...and he left the woods better than he found them.  

Finally, I'm fat.

About six weeks ago my doctor told me that, based on my body mass index, I was obese. That's a hard word to take. But hey, according to the chart, I had spent the last two years steadily creeping from fat to obese.

Don't even ask me how this happens to a guy who runs every day. It should be impossible. But not for a guy who loves to smoke pork as much as I do. Running just helps me eat more. Anyway, for the last few weeks my goal is to be fat again. Not obese, just fat.

Hooray. Oh frabjous day, callooh, callay. I'm FAT!

And after two days on the road with Mother Delta, traveling fat is much easier than traveling obese.

Oh, Thanksgiving, get behind me, fast.

Monday at Carver's Gap

This is where I spent last Monday, hiking around Carver's Gap, along the Tennessee/NC border. I had a meeting in Knoxville on Tuesday and decided to go a day early and roam some old haunts in Carter County. I flew in to Johnson City on Sunday, spent the night there and spent Monday night at Beech Mountain.

All in, it was a wonderful day. I spent about two hours here, up and down hills, an hour out and back. Some of it I walked and some I ran. Odd to be there by myself, as I'm always here with family. The day included a drive through Roan Mountain State Park, the villages of Roan Mountain, Banner Elk and Beech Mountain. Breakfast in Elizabethton and a drive down Main Street. Lunch at Bob's Dairyland in Roan Mountain, a treat I waited too many years to enjoy.

It was election day in Elizabethton and for an hour or so the tea party was out in full force at the Monument, protesting the latest proposed tax increase. Benny was on the porch, but I didn't stop to chat. I should have.

At Beech I stayed in a non-descript little motel called Archer's Mountain Inn. Nice views, nice rocking chairs on the porch, and good neighbors in the other rooms.

Running dreams

I dreamed last night that my feet had begun to change shape from years of running. They were very flat and flexible, and you could bend them so that the toes touched the shin, like with a newborn. The toes had the thickness similar to a pancake and curled upward at the end. They were very bruised and bluish. I showed them to my wife, though neither of us were overly concerned.

What is odd about this, is that after over 14 years of not missing a day of running, I hardly ever run in my dreams. My dreams are about other things that have nothing to do with my real life. Weird stuff. Like the one I had about giving golf advice to Phil Mickleson at our house in St. Louis while babysitting a kid with no body.

The weekend I did almost nothing

Got rid of a futon by giving it away on craiglist. Went to see "Hunger Games". Grilled steaks on Sunday night. Cut the grass for the first time this year. Loaded salt into the water softener. Went to church. Went to Costco. Got a haircut. Ran about six miles each day. Played scrabble. Watched a Cardinals game on tv. Scotch guarded the new outdoor furniture cushions. Planted flowers in various outside containers. Restocked my supply of charcoal and hickory chunks. Pulled weeds. Finished watching "24, The Complete Series", for the third time, all while running on the treadmill. Watched game 6 of the 2011 World Series, also while running. So baisically, running, watching tv, yardwork.

My running life

On January 1 1998 I ran four miles. I don't recall the run but I imagine it was in our neighborhood in St. Louis. I haven't missed a day since and have run 31,643 miles, an avg of 6.5 miles a day. In 2007 I ran 4015 miles, which still amazes me.

I rarely write about running. But obviously it's a big part of my life. I don't enjoy it as much as I did when I was younger though I still love it very much. I can't remember a day when i've had what i'd call a bad run. It is just harder now. I have pains in my knees that usually subside around mile 3.

The closest I ever came to upsetting my streak was a couple of times when I got to a hotel room around 11pm and immediately headed outside or to a fitness room to run a couple of miles.

Today I ran 12 miles downstairs on the treadmill. It caused me to think about how fortunate I have been to have stayed healthy all these years. I ran while watching Pirates of the Caribbean 3 on DVD. I've been going through all our DVDs this last month. I've watch classics like Yankee Doodle Dandy and Guys & Dolls, along with more forgetable flicks like Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and the Lizzie McGuire movie. Some people hate running on a treadmill, i've come to love it. I run in the privacy of a room in our basement. It's me, a treadmill, a tv, the heater, and assorted household items we cannot bear to get rid of, such as a crib, playpen, kiddy cars, and an almost lifesize Barbie. In the room i'm not too fat or too slow and I always have the perfect gait. Barbie looks at me admiringly and I return the favor by cleaning the cobwebs
out of her armpits from time to time.

I don't know how long I'll keep this streak going. I suppose as long as my health permits. It's been good. It's added some order and discipline to my life. I'd like to think I set a good example to my kids, or at least a better example than I would have otherwise. Running is a time for thinking and often for not thinking. Sometimes I pray while I run or think about what I should be praying about, only to forget later. Running is solitary. Moving my body down the road and keeping atuned to the aches and pains and sounds that remind me i am still alive.

She Conquers, one more time.......

My oldest daughter ran her first marathon today. 26 miles, 385 yards. The Twin Cities Marathon. We followed her around and cheered her on, at the 12, 20, and finish line. The achievements of my children leave me scratching my head at times, a combination of pride and wonder and thanksgiving. This was one of those times. A remarkable accomplishment that I cannot adequately describe. We were proud that she tried and even prouder than she succeeded. I will leave it to her to fill in the blanks of what this final day was like.

I dropped her off this morning, around 7am. I don't know when I was proudest. Was it from watching her step out at dawn and face the fear of failing so publicly, in one of the biggest physical challenges of her life.... or was it from watching her stride to the finish line as the conquerer of 26 miles of Minnesota pavement.

She has faced so many obstacles, things that would have knocked out a weaker one. Some of it is normal stuff that comes with adulthood, like college admission disappointments or early career struggles. Then there are the other things, Katrina evacuation, Peace Corps evacuation, a stint teaching tough kids in the tough side of Kansas City, epilepsy, weight. Other things I don't know about.

There is a verse in the Bible that on this day reminds me of her....2 Corinthians 12:9 ....My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

There are those who allow disappointments to rule them. She never does. She has built on things that others would think are weaknesses and made herself strong. For things like a 26 mile run, and much more.

I still miss 'em

In the fall of 1968, just after I turned 12, I had my first cigarette. Behind the gym at Everitt Junior High School in Panama City Florida. Actually it was my second if you count the lit butt I found on the sidewalk outside our house in Chicago in 1962, I was six and took one puff. I guess that doesn't really count.

Anyway, the junior high event started me on this love/hate relationship with cigarettes that continued off and on through high school. In college it was more off than on as I took up running and would quit for months at a time while I took in the new passion for pounding the streets. I started again with the onset of my first real job after college, management trainee with JCPenney in Little Rock, Arkansas and continued through engagement to my wife, marriage, the birth of our first child. All of these were major life events that caused me to swear off cigarettes, but that only lasted a day or two.

October 15, 1983 was the day of the Texas/Arkansas football game. In the days of the old Southwest Conference this was one of the most important events of the year for Arkansans, whether one was a big sports fan or not. We lived in a place the locals referred to as Pine Bluff, Arkansas, a bedroom community of Little Rock. Although I grew up with my dad's affinity for Texas football it didn't run very deep and the passion of my adopted state for the Razorbacks was infectious.

On the morning of the game I thought again about the need to quit the habit and wondered how I could make it through the weekend without lighting up. I thought through the weekend as a series of time compartments. I got this sense that if I could just make it past the game I could probably make it through the whole day. That doesn't make a whole lot of sense but it did at the time. My oldest daughter was almost three and I asked her if she would go running with me before the game started. This would get me through the first time slot. We went outside and for about 30 minutes chased each other around a long block that circled a nearby church. The trot was enough to remind me of how much I loved running and how the tobacco was wearing on my lungs.

When we got back to our little apartment I was determined to at least make it to halftime. Made it. Third quarter, made it. Fourth quarter, game over. Razorbacks badly beaten, 30 something to 3. I had made it and on through the rest of the day. Sunday morning, once I made it past the church service, the rest of the day was not quite as hard. Monday, Tuesday, easier. That was over 25 years ago.

I still miss 'em. While giving up the habit has saved me over $66,000 (2 packs a day @ 3.50 average per pack for 26 years) there are still times when I would love to sit on the porch with a cup of coffee, the newspaper, a pack of Salems, and a couple of fellow smokers. If I thought I could get away with it and not start the habit again, I would. I'm not that strong. That physical sensation that came from quenching the nicotine craving with a freshly lit cigarette was really something. Especially after a good meal. You know what I mean.

Occasionally I will pass the smokers outside my office and remember my old habit. When I quit, smoking was still common in office buildings. I never had to go outside. Never had to take a break from work to light up. I smoked on buses and on airplanes. In my house, in my car, with my little girl on my lap.

I now pass these folk as they huddle outside my office building and sometimes remember that I was one of them, though the memory is fading. When I am traveling out of the country and can pick up a carton of cheap cigarettes, I do, and then give them away. Can't pass up that bargain. In the winter I will shake my head and quickly walk by them, thinking about how weak they are, not strong like me to kick the habit. But i'm not as strong as I think. I have other habits that have taken the place of that one.

Every once in a while I will see them chatting, laughing, sharing some joke, or a problem, getting acquainted, sharing a light, cursing their habit in the bitter cold, cursing the political correctness that forces them outside, and I will envy them. I will forget all the bad things about smoking, all the money I wasted and how smokers are forced to plan their days, friends, work and life in general around the habit. I see them and ponder if I would be tough enough to be in their ranks today, especially when the temp outside is double digits below zero. I am glad that they are still there and I hope they continue to thumb their noses, or ashes, at those who force them into alleys and corridors. There are a lot of bad habits in this world that lead to a hoard of pain and suffering. Gluttony, drunkedness, greed, and the like. In the big scheme of things this one is hardly worth noticing.

Hey man, I can still slap open a zippo with the snap of my fingers and light a match with a nick of the thumbnail. I miss 'em.

The streak

5:50 am, another day of running completed. Five miles. Not a day missed since Jan 1, 1998. 27,884 miles. Average of 6+ miles a day. One of my fellow runners noted the hardest thing about a running streak is not the starting, its stopping. Here's the list, from the US Running Streak Association. There are better ways to use my time, but I would have about 150 lbs more to carry around.