Aussies are kind of funny.
"How's it going, mate?"
"Yeah...not bad. Not too bad."
By which you really mean, things could be better, but they could be worse, too. So yeah, I'm alright.
Life ain't half bad. It sounds negative. It sounds nonsensical. But to an Aussie (and maybe the English), it means, Life is alright.
I never really wrote for you. It was always for me. My dad died. I wrote. I put my feelings down. There were a lot of posts that never got published, but that's because they weren't written for you, they were written for me. Writing was cathartic. I haven't been writing lately, because I haven't needed to, because my life isn't half bad.
I'm doing alright.
I've accepted that I am where I am, and things aren't going to change. We're not moving back to Australia. That was just a pipe dream. The wishful thinking of a boy who missed his home, who hadn't accepted that things change, that life goes on.
Going back home a few times helped. Seeing just how much things had changed since I'd been gone. It helped to see that. To make me fully accept just how much time has passed. Time I spent regretting coming here. Wishing I could go back.
But things change. Places change. People change. I changed, and my hometown changed.
Home wasn't home anymore.
That's because this is my home, here, where MY family is. Not the family that raised me, but the family that I'm raising.
I like my job now. For the first time in many, many years I'm enjoying what I'm doing. My supervisor is probably the toughest boss in my office, but I like her, and I like what I'm doing. I haven't taken anywhere near the sick days that I used to take, and it's not just because I've got a tough boss. I just don't wake up Mondays, or every other day for that matter, thinking, "Fuck. Gotta go to work. Fuck."
I will admit there are a few days where I'll think, "Man, I'd really rather stay home today." But where I would have called in sick, now I kick myself out of bed and force myself to get ready and go to work. I actually had Sick Hours left over last year. Most of what they gave me, in fact. That's a good thing.
I like my job. I like my life. I like where I'm at. And I've embraced my AZNness. Admittedly I'm only half-Asian (on my wife's side ;) but due to a combination of the way I was raised and my own personality and traits, I'm really only white on the outside. I'm not 100% Australian any more, and I'm not 100% American, either. If anything, I'm actually more Asian in a lot of what I do.
And thanks to the Fung Brothers, I've embraced my Asian-ness, which for someone living in the SGV is a pretty important step to being happy with your lot in life. This is my life, and I'm happy with it. I don't need to write anymore, because I'm happy with where I'm at, and where my life is going. I'm not living the Bobalife ;) but I am happy. Wherever you're at, I hope you're happy, too.
Showing posts with label Journal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Journal. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Tuesday, March 05, 2013
When you least expect it
It doesn't come from the drug dealers. You're minding your business; they're minding theirs. It's all good.
It's not the crazy guy talking to himself, or yelling and throwing punches at thin air. He's minding his own business, too. He's just a little loud, that's all.
It's not even the quiet ones who look the other way as they pass by. You think it might be them, but it never is.
It's when you least expect it.
It's the guy on the BMX bike who cuts off two cars as he veers across three lanes of traffic to make a beeline for your corner, where you stand waiting for the light to change.
It seems like he plans to ride up onto the sidewalk. What does he want to do? Does he want to go in front of you? Or behind you? You don't know and can't tell. If you move, it's a 50-50 chance you'll move into his path, so you stand your ground and let him make the decision.
It's not until he's riding up onto the sidewalk and is just a few feet away that you realize he's riding straight at you. You make a split-second decision and take a quick step back. He swerves but not away from you; he swerves toward you and almost hits you.
Was he playing "Chicken" and you both tried to dodge the same way?
Did he think you would jump out of the way a lot sooner than what you did?
Or was he deliberately trying to run into you? As he rode past he did lean toward you, as if he was trying to shoulder block you.
But he didn't hit you and you need to get to work so you don't give it any more thought. But as you start to cross the road, out of the corner of your eye you see him skidding his bike to a stop. Still, you don't think anything about it. Not consciously at least.
But just as the sound of beating wings behind your head many years ago caused you to drop to your knees and avoid the pecking beak of the swooping magpie, the sound of rapid footsteps alerts you so when you're hit from behind your body is somehow ready.
It's a hard hit - your back is still a little sore, even now - so you have to take a couple of quick steps forward to catch yourself, but you don't trip or stumble.
Fight, flight, or freeze? It's not a conscious decision.
Fight. You spin to face your attacker and of course it's the angry BMX rider. You take a step forward, your hands move up and your feet slide into position. It's been twenty years since you studied karate but the basics are still embedded deep within your muscle memory. You slide into kokutsu dachi (back stance) as easy as you slide into bed at night.
Flight. Not expecting this reaction, this response, BMX guy turns and runs towards the bike he dropped in the middle of the crosswalk.
Big dog chases little dog. Again, not a conscious decision. You run after BMX guy and as he stoops to grab his bike you act without thinking (again) and return his shove. He trips over his bike. He gets back to his feet and turns to glare at you. You slide back into kokutsu dachi. Feet apart, body balanced, hands up, relaxed, ready...waiting.
Freeze. He stops.
You're both about the same age. You've got a couple of inches on him while he outweighs you but not by much. It would probably be a fair fight if he wasn't carrying a weapon. Is he?
His hands go to his pockets.
You tell yourself that if he had a weapon he wouldn't have just hit you in the back. And if he does have a weapon, at this distance your best course of action right now is still Fight!
You slide forward a step, maintaining kokutsu dachi, and his hands come out, empty.
Flight. He takes a step back. He's intimidated. He doesn't want to fight you now. He's pissed off that you beat him at whatever game he was trying to play, but he doesn't want to fight you. You're not the victim he was expecting. You weren't supposed to react like this.
His hands return to his pockets. Does he have a weapon? Or does he want you to think he has one.
He attacked you from behind but he didn't knock you down. Then you stood up to him, and when he ran, you knocked him down. You humiliated him. So now he wants you to think he has a weapon. He wants to scare you to restore his ego.
You think all this without really thinking it, and so you also still think your best course of action right now is Fight!
Again you slide forward, and again his hands come out, still empty. No weapon, just like you thought. Like you hoped.
And then he makes a gun with his left hand. Like a kid on the playground. And he points his 'finger gun' at you, cocks his thumb, then 'shoots' you. When a little kid does this, it's funny. From this man, in this situation, it's a chilling sight. He wants to scare you. He wants to make you think he has a gun. But if he did he would have pulled it by now. He would have used it. He hasn't, so he doesn't have a gun. Does he?
Fight. You slide forward one more step.
Flight. He bends, grabs his bike, jumps on and takes off.
You were right. He didn't have a gun.
But...what if he did?
It's not the crazy guy talking to himself, or yelling and throwing punches at thin air. He's minding his own business, too. He's just a little loud, that's all.
It's not even the quiet ones who look the other way as they pass by. You think it might be them, but it never is.
It's when you least expect it.
It's the guy on the BMX bike who cuts off two cars as he veers across three lanes of traffic to make a beeline for your corner, where you stand waiting for the light to change.
It seems like he plans to ride up onto the sidewalk. What does he want to do? Does he want to go in front of you? Or behind you? You don't know and can't tell. If you move, it's a 50-50 chance you'll move into his path, so you stand your ground and let him make the decision.
It's not until he's riding up onto the sidewalk and is just a few feet away that you realize he's riding straight at you. You make a split-second decision and take a quick step back. He swerves but not away from you; he swerves toward you and almost hits you.
Was he playing "Chicken" and you both tried to dodge the same way?
Did he think you would jump out of the way a lot sooner than what you did?
Or was he deliberately trying to run into you? As he rode past he did lean toward you, as if he was trying to shoulder block you.
But he didn't hit you and you need to get to work so you don't give it any more thought. But as you start to cross the road, out of the corner of your eye you see him skidding his bike to a stop. Still, you don't think anything about it. Not consciously at least.
But just as the sound of beating wings behind your head many years ago caused you to drop to your knees and avoid the pecking beak of the swooping magpie, the sound of rapid footsteps alerts you so when you're hit from behind your body is somehow ready.
It's a hard hit - your back is still a little sore, even now - so you have to take a couple of quick steps forward to catch yourself, but you don't trip or stumble.
Fight, flight, or freeze? It's not a conscious decision.
Fight. You spin to face your attacker and of course it's the angry BMX rider. You take a step forward, your hands move up and your feet slide into position. It's been twenty years since you studied karate but the basics are still embedded deep within your muscle memory. You slide into kokutsu dachi (back stance) as easy as you slide into bed at night.
Flight. Not expecting this reaction, this response, BMX guy turns and runs towards the bike he dropped in the middle of the crosswalk.
Big dog chases little dog. Again, not a conscious decision. You run after BMX guy and as he stoops to grab his bike you act without thinking (again) and return his shove. He trips over his bike. He gets back to his feet and turns to glare at you. You slide back into kokutsu dachi. Feet apart, body balanced, hands up, relaxed, ready...waiting.
Freeze. He stops.
You're both about the same age. You've got a couple of inches on him while he outweighs you but not by much. It would probably be a fair fight if he wasn't carrying a weapon. Is he?
His hands go to his pockets.
You tell yourself that if he had a weapon he wouldn't have just hit you in the back. And if he does have a weapon, at this distance your best course of action right now is still Fight!
You slide forward a step, maintaining kokutsu dachi, and his hands come out, empty.
Flight. He takes a step back. He's intimidated. He doesn't want to fight you now. He's pissed off that you beat him at whatever game he was trying to play, but he doesn't want to fight you. You're not the victim he was expecting. You weren't supposed to react like this.
His hands return to his pockets. Does he have a weapon? Or does he want you to think he has one.
He attacked you from behind but he didn't knock you down. Then you stood up to him, and when he ran, you knocked him down. You humiliated him. So now he wants you to think he has a weapon. He wants to scare you to restore his ego.
You think all this without really thinking it, and so you also still think your best course of action right now is Fight!
Again you slide forward, and again his hands come out, still empty. No weapon, just like you thought. Like you hoped.
And then he makes a gun with his left hand. Like a kid on the playground. And he points his 'finger gun' at you, cocks his thumb, then 'shoots' you. When a little kid does this, it's funny. From this man, in this situation, it's a chilling sight. He wants to scare you. He wants to make you think he has a gun. But if he did he would have pulled it by now. He would have used it. He hasn't, so he doesn't have a gun. Does he?
Fight. You slide forward one more step.
Flight. He bends, grabs his bike, jumps on and takes off.
You were right. He didn't have a gun.
But...what if he did?
Monday, January 28, 2013
Snow play with the bunny
This weekend I took my daughter snowboarding at Mountain High Ski Resort with a few families from my son's Boy Scout Troop. I enrolled the bunny in an all-day beginner's snowboarding class (heh heh. Now she's a snow bunny ;) while I signed up for two beginners' skiing classes, one in the morning, and one in the early afternoon.
At the morning class the head instructor asked us if we'd been skiing before; the two young ladies standing next to me both said no, I said yes. So the ladies went with one instructor while I went with another. My "group" lesson was almost a private lesson until a teenager turned up late, and when he said he had skiing experience he was assigned to my "group". So there were two of us plus Alex the instructor, which is almost the same as a private lesson. By the end of that morning's lesson Alex had us working on hockey stops and parallel turns, which are basically hockey stops but where you don't actually stop, so not really "beginner stuff" any more.
The bunny's class included lunch so I didn't see her during the middle of the day. I had a break between the morning and afternoon's class, so I scarfed my lunch down then got a quick run where I worked on my hockey stops and parallel turns. I finished my run at the class meeting spot where the students and instructors had already gathered and yes, I pulled up with a hockey stop. When the instructor looked up at me, before he could even ask I announced, "Not my first time." As if my "showboat entrance" hadn't announced that already ;)
Once again I got bumped up to the "advanced beginners" class and when I saw Alex standing with the other instructors I waited for her to look our way, then waved and called out to her. She came over and we chatted briefly and I asked if she was going to be our instructor her again. She said she was working on it, and I think it helped that her Dad was one of the head instructors because she did get assigned to my group again. For me, that was good because she was able to continue my instructions from where we'd left off before lunch.
By now I was getting pretty cocky and my over-confidence resulted in a couple of spills. Although all four of us in the afternoon class would take a tumble, I was the first one of us to go down when my snow plow didn't plow enough snow and I wasn't able to stop in time. Fortunately the others managed to sidestep and leave me a gap to wipe out into and I literally fell down at their feet.
Alex laughed and made a comment about this being the true test of a skier's athleticism. I got one ski under me, stabbed my poles into the snow and heaved myself up. Alex laughed again and said that I'd defied the laws of physics by getting back up the "wrong way" while somehow making it look easy.
"You did say it was a test of my athleticism," I replied. "I had to rise to the challenge."
Near the bottom of the mountain we stopped next to where I knew the snow bunny's class was being held and...there was her red and black jacket! "There she is!" I exclaimed eagerly, like a proud father, "there's my daughter."
I watched as she took a turn on her snowboard. One of the intructors held her hand, holding her in place, then when it was her turn he gave her a gentle shove to get her going and...she was snowboarding!!! My snow bunny was riding her board! Just like a real snowboarder. She rode it down, down, down, all the way to the bottom of the children's run before running out of slope, stopping, then sitting down as casual as anything. Was I a proud Papa? You bet your arse I was! :D
When I finally finished my class I made my over to where I'd seen her earlier and there she was with her Instructor. When she comes back next time, he told me, she can go to Level 3.
From novice to Level 3 in one day. Definitely a proud Papa moment.
I asked her if she was done, or if she wanted to keep going.
"Keep going!" she exclaimed. I took her across to the chairlift which took us up to the easiest of the runs, and as we waited in line I instructed her on how to get on without falling over. And then up the mountain we rode, daddy and daughter, on the ski lift. It's a good thing Mama wasn't there to see us because there were no safety rails on this ski lift.
She avoided getting cleaned up by the chair when we got off, but she did take a spill down the exit ramp. But after strapping her rear boot back in (SOP for boarders is to unbuckle your rear boot while riding the chair lifts) we were off, down the mountain; the bunny in the front, me following keeping an eye on her. When she started to go too fast she bailed and sat down, and she did that a few times. I'd pull up next to her and wait as she stood back up, got her balance...and back down the mountain we went.
And then she didn't sit down as she built up a little too much speed, and she didn't fall over either. I watched incredulously as she spun her board 90-degrees, dumped some speed, then continued to spin the board, essentially doing a 180 with a brief pause in the middle, and when she was done she continued riding. As if it was nothing. As if she hadn't just learned to ride a snowboard that very day.
Proud Papa? Absolutely! That's my snow bunny!
Unfortunately I'm not sure how often we can get up to the snow. She obviously had fun, and she picked up snowboarding fast. So it would be something the two of us could have fun doing together. At least until she surpasses her old man and starts boarding down double black diamonds as if they're a walk in the park. Which would probably be on her third or fourth lesson ;)
At the morning class the head instructor asked us if we'd been skiing before; the two young ladies standing next to me both said no, I said yes. So the ladies went with one instructor while I went with another. My "group" lesson was almost a private lesson until a teenager turned up late, and when he said he had skiing experience he was assigned to my "group". So there were two of us plus Alex the instructor, which is almost the same as a private lesson. By the end of that morning's lesson Alex had us working on hockey stops and parallel turns, which are basically hockey stops but where you don't actually stop, so not really "beginner stuff" any more.
The bunny's class included lunch so I didn't see her during the middle of the day. I had a break between the morning and afternoon's class, so I scarfed my lunch down then got a quick run where I worked on my hockey stops and parallel turns. I finished my run at the class meeting spot where the students and instructors had already gathered and yes, I pulled up with a hockey stop. When the instructor looked up at me, before he could even ask I announced, "Not my first time." As if my "showboat entrance" hadn't announced that already ;)
Once again I got bumped up to the "advanced beginners" class and when I saw Alex standing with the other instructors I waited for her to look our way, then waved and called out to her. She came over and we chatted briefly and I asked if she was going to be our instructor her again. She said she was working on it, and I think it helped that her Dad was one of the head instructors because she did get assigned to my group again. For me, that was good because she was able to continue my instructions from where we'd left off before lunch.
By now I was getting pretty cocky and my over-confidence resulted in a couple of spills. Although all four of us in the afternoon class would take a tumble, I was the first one of us to go down when my snow plow didn't plow enough snow and I wasn't able to stop in time. Fortunately the others managed to sidestep and leave me a gap to wipe out into and I literally fell down at their feet.
Alex laughed and made a comment about this being the true test of a skier's athleticism. I got one ski under me, stabbed my poles into the snow and heaved myself up. Alex laughed again and said that I'd defied the laws of physics by getting back up the "wrong way" while somehow making it look easy.
"You did say it was a test of my athleticism," I replied. "I had to rise to the challenge."
Near the bottom of the mountain we stopped next to where I knew the snow bunny's class was being held and...there was her red and black jacket! "There she is!" I exclaimed eagerly, like a proud father, "there's my daughter."
I watched as she took a turn on her snowboard. One of the intructors held her hand, holding her in place, then when it was her turn he gave her a gentle shove to get her going and...she was snowboarding!!! My snow bunny was riding her board! Just like a real snowboarder. She rode it down, down, down, all the way to the bottom of the children's run before running out of slope, stopping, then sitting down as casual as anything. Was I a proud Papa? You bet your arse I was! :D
When I finally finished my class I made my over to where I'd seen her earlier and there she was with her Instructor. When she comes back next time, he told me, she can go to Level 3.
From novice to Level 3 in one day. Definitely a proud Papa moment.
I asked her if she was done, or if she wanted to keep going.
"Keep going!" she exclaimed. I took her across to the chairlift which took us up to the easiest of the runs, and as we waited in line I instructed her on how to get on without falling over. And then up the mountain we rode, daddy and daughter, on the ski lift. It's a good thing Mama wasn't there to see us because there were no safety rails on this ski lift.
She avoided getting cleaned up by the chair when we got off, but she did take a spill down the exit ramp. But after strapping her rear boot back in (SOP for boarders is to unbuckle your rear boot while riding the chair lifts) we were off, down the mountain; the bunny in the front, me following keeping an eye on her. When she started to go too fast she bailed and sat down, and she did that a few times. I'd pull up next to her and wait as she stood back up, got her balance...and back down the mountain we went.
And then she didn't sit down as she built up a little too much speed, and she didn't fall over either. I watched incredulously as she spun her board 90-degrees, dumped some speed, then continued to spin the board, essentially doing a 180 with a brief pause in the middle, and when she was done she continued riding. As if it was nothing. As if she hadn't just learned to ride a snowboard that very day.
Proud Papa? Absolutely! That's my snow bunny!
Unfortunately I'm not sure how often we can get up to the snow. She obviously had fun, and she picked up snowboarding fast. So it would be something the two of us could have fun doing together. At least until she surpasses her old man and starts boarding down double black diamonds as if they're a walk in the park. Which would probably be on her third or fourth lesson ;)
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
Pullover! No, it's a cardigan.
At 4:30am it's rare for me to see anyone else on the road, and so I almost always do a "California Roll" through the first Stop Sign as I head off to work. At the bottom of that street is a set of traffic lights where I make a right turn, and although the law requires me to come to a complete stop, I often slow down just enough to make sure the way is clear before doing a second "California Roll".
This morning was par for the course as I rolled through the Stop Sign, but after making the left turn and heading down towards the traffic lights I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw a car turn onto the road behind me. Not from my street but from the next one up. He sped up quickly and caught up with me just before I got to the lights, and just as I'd had that inkling many, many years ago, somehow this morning I thought it prudent to come to a complete stop at the red traffic light before making my right-hand turn.
As I made the turn the car followed me around the corner and just like that I found myself bathed in alternating red and blue lights. I pulled over and the cop car, because of course it was a cop car, pulled up behind me.
I glanced in my mirror and noticed a second car pulling up behind the first. Two cop cars? Must be a slow night/morning.
Okay. Turn off the engine. Turn the ignition back on to power down my window then turn it off again. Remove my beanie (to lower my perceived threat level), hands on the steering wheel, look in my mirrors and...the cop is coming up on my right, on the passenger side. That's fair enough, I guess. Unusual, and not SOP, but I guess it's safer than standing out in traffic.
Turn on the ignition again, power down the passenger-side window, turn off the ignition. Hands back on the steering wheel (again).
Cop leans over and peers in passenger-side window: Good morning, sir.
Me: Good morning, sir. How are you this morning?
Cop: Very well, thank you, sir. How are you?
Me: I'm good, thanks.
Cop (smiling, points to my left): The other side.
I turn and notice a second cop is standing next to my driver's side window.
Me: Sorry, sir. Good morning, how are you?
Cop #2: Is this your vehicle, sir?
Me: Yes, sir.
Cop #2: You live around here?
Me: Yes, sir.
Cop #2: Where abouts?
Me: Just back around the corner, sir. Where I was coming from.
Cop #2: What's the address?
Well, duh! Of course that's what he was asking. I give him my address.
Cop #2: Show me your license.
(This cop is obviously the bad cop.)
I tell the cop that my license is in my bag next to me (rather than in my wallet in my hip or back pocket) and that I'll need to get it out. (Don't Taze me, bro!)
The cop acknowledges this and I open my backpack, remove my wallet, and hand over my license. The two cops go back to the first car, return a minute or so later, hand me my license and bid me good day.
I start up my car, turn on my left turn signal (to signal that I'm pulling out from the curb, of course! Duh! There's a cop behind me! :P) and pull out. As I drive down the block I glance in my mirror. The two cop cars are gone. They can only have made an illegal u-turn and gone back the other way.
So was I not a random stop that morning? Were they looking for someone in my neighborhood and pulled me over in case I was their suspect? There was no breathalyzer, no search of the car, they didn't even ask for proof of insurance. They ran my license, then having verified that I was not "their guy" (or wanted for anything) they let me go. As far as traffic stops go, it was quite painless.
I wonder, if I had not come to a complete stop at the Red Light before making my turn, would they have written me a ticket?
Then again, given how many people do not stop at Red Lights before turning, did I draw attention to myself by obeying the law?
Was my Copdar a blessing this morning, or a curse? I guess we'll never know.
This morning was par for the course as I rolled through the Stop Sign, but after making the left turn and heading down towards the traffic lights I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw a car turn onto the road behind me. Not from my street but from the next one up. He sped up quickly and caught up with me just before I got to the lights, and just as I'd had that inkling many, many years ago, somehow this morning I thought it prudent to come to a complete stop at the red traffic light before making my right-hand turn.
As I made the turn the car followed me around the corner and just like that I found myself bathed in alternating red and blue lights. I pulled over and the cop car, because of course it was a cop car, pulled up behind me.
I glanced in my mirror and noticed a second car pulling up behind the first. Two cop cars? Must be a slow night/morning.
Okay. Turn off the engine. Turn the ignition back on to power down my window then turn it off again. Remove my beanie (to lower my perceived threat level), hands on the steering wheel, look in my mirrors and...the cop is coming up on my right, on the passenger side. That's fair enough, I guess. Unusual, and not SOP, but I guess it's safer than standing out in traffic.
Turn on the ignition again, power down the passenger-side window, turn off the ignition. Hands back on the steering wheel (again).
Cop leans over and peers in passenger-side window: Good morning, sir.
Me: Good morning, sir. How are you this morning?
Cop: Very well, thank you, sir. How are you?
Me: I'm good, thanks.
Cop (smiling, points to my left): The other side.
I turn and notice a second cop is standing next to my driver's side window.
Me: Sorry, sir. Good morning, how are you?
Cop #2: Is this your vehicle, sir?
Me: Yes, sir.
Cop #2: You live around here?
Me: Yes, sir.
Cop #2: Where abouts?
Me: Just back around the corner, sir. Where I was coming from.
Cop #2: What's the address?
Well, duh! Of course that's what he was asking. I give him my address.
Cop #2: Show me your license.
(This cop is obviously the bad cop.)
I tell the cop that my license is in my bag next to me (rather than in my wallet in my hip or back pocket) and that I'll need to get it out. (Don't Taze me, bro!)
The cop acknowledges this and I open my backpack, remove my wallet, and hand over my license. The two cops go back to the first car, return a minute or so later, hand me my license and bid me good day.
I start up my car, turn on my left turn signal (to signal that I'm pulling out from the curb, of course! Duh! There's a cop behind me! :P) and pull out. As I drive down the block I glance in my mirror. The two cop cars are gone. They can only have made an illegal u-turn and gone back the other way.
So was I not a random stop that morning? Were they looking for someone in my neighborhood and pulled me over in case I was their suspect? There was no breathalyzer, no search of the car, they didn't even ask for proof of insurance. They ran my license, then having verified that I was not "their guy" (or wanted for anything) they let me go. As far as traffic stops go, it was quite painless.
I wonder, if I had not come to a complete stop at the Red Light before making my turn, would they have written me a ticket?
Then again, given how many people do not stop at Red Lights before turning, did I draw attention to myself by obeying the law?
Was my Copdar a blessing this morning, or a curse? I guess we'll never know.
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
Punctuality
We recently we had an informational meeting in our office scheduled, apparently, for 8am. Because a Rep was coming in to make the presentation attendance was also mandatory, apparently.
A few minutes before 0800 my supervisor reminded me and my coworkers about the meeting and off we went.
When I walked in I noticed the Rep had already arrived and was chatting with our Director, and that the meeting did not appear to be in any danger of starting on time.
Other staff began slowly arriving.
At approx. fifteen minutes past the hour the Director finally got the meeting underway and the Rep started her spiel. It lasted all of 10 minutes. During her presentation people were still slowly dawdling in.
The last of the stragglers arrived just as the Director wrapped up the meeting. They walked in, saw the meeting was over, and turned and walked straight back out.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Airsoft
Sunday afternoon I visited the local airsoft arena with my son and a few of our friends. The boys went in first while I stayed outside and tried to take a couple of photographs through the observer's window. Although visibility through the plexiglass window was good, the photos themselves came out blurred and foggy. 
When the staff saw me trying to take photographs they offered to let me go into the staging area for a better view but asked I sign a liability waiver first. I also had get clearance from the wife because the camera I was using, a Nikon D40, is actually her camera. Surprisingly, she allowed me to take her camera into the staging area. Not surprisingly however, I was threatened with consequences worse than death should anything happen to her baby, and I don't mean our son ;)
Unfortunately, while I was able to get better photos from the staging area, I was restricted to the staging area, and once my son and friends advanced further into the arena my view was obstructed by the maze of plywood walls.
After a couple of games there was a brief break, and at that point one of the Referees asked if I wanted to accompany him up onto his Referee's platform so I could get an even better view of what was going on. Duh! Of course I did!
From my raised vantage point midfield I now had a great view, although my son was still frequently disappearing behind the plywood walls which made getting pictures of him a hit & miss affair. But when I realized that by focusing on him I was giving away his position and increasing his risk of being shot I stopped looking for him and just took pictures of anyone and everyone.
With folks running around all over the place I tried taking a few photos using the D40's "action" mode but they didn't come out too well, and after noticing the quality of "action" shots I switched the camera back to Auto and just let rip. And that's the beauty of a digital camera; you can take hundreds of photos then delete the ones that don't turn out, because if you take enough photos odds are you're going to get some gems, and I believe I did.
This was probably my favourite pic of the day. These two guys both knew the other was there and this was an exciting "duel" to watch from above as they each tried to get the drop on the other without getting shot themselves; I can only imagine how intense it must have been for them. Later, I would find out just how heart-pounding such a moment could get.
The Referees themselves were armed, and they were occasionally shooting at the players. Sometimes they did so to check if that particular player was honest and would call themselves out, other times it was to get their attention if they were doing something wrong, such as continuing to shoot at a "dead" player who was leaving the arena. The Refs also occasionally took potshots at each other, and the Ref on my platform quickly realized the advantage of having a photographer with him and used me as a human shield...which is probably why the other Ref later asked me to join him on his platform. He said I could get a different viewpoint but I think he wanted his own time with the human shield ;)
Not intending to play I'd dressed light, in t-shirt and jeans, and at one point I got hit in the shoulder. If you imagine someone giving you a solid flick with their fingernail, that's what it felt like. A stinging impact followed by a minute or two of dull ache, and then you forgot about it.
So why are these guys wearing vests, helmets, gloves, etc?
When my son played last year at his cousin's birthday party one of the kids came back with a cut on his finger while another had a cut on his arm. If I could be stuffed doing the math (and I probably will at some point) a 6mm plastic ball traveling at 300-350 feet per second probably creates a considerable amount of impact pressure (pounds per square inch, and all that) so yeah, it's going to hurt, and if you're not protected skin can be broken...as I would soon find out ;)
After spending most of the evening taking photographs I rejoined my son and friends in their locker room and told them as it was getting late we could only stay for one more set of games. My friend, Mike, threw me a spare vest and an MP5K (he shoots a lot and has a ton of gear), and told me to suit up because I wasn't leaving without playing. I pulled the vest on over my t-shirt, tied a bandana around my neck, and put on my gloves (I'm a Boy Scout, I'd come prepared, even if I didn't intend to play ;) and hit the staging area, this time armed with something packing a little more punch than a camera.
In our first game Mike told me to stick close to him, which didn't work too well. While following Mike and trying to cover his back I felt several bb's impact the front of my vest while someone else shot me from behind. That last bb zipped in beneath my vest & t-shirt but above the waist of my jeans. Yeah, it stung, and I was pretty sure it had left a mark. (It did. Meh.)
"Hit!" I called out, holding my gun up, and I walked off the field followed by Mike, because whoever shot me had got him, too.
"I didn't even see where they came from!" I exclaimed to Mike.
"That's usually how it goes," he replied.
In the second game I again got eliminated, but this time at least I not only saw my opponents but even got off a couple of shots. Unfortunately they were camped in corner of their base, behind cover, and they proved to be a little more accurate than me, with a single shot impacting the front of my vest.
"Hit!" I called out again, and as I passed the guy that nailed me added, "Good shot!"
It just so happened that these guys were camped right next to the staging area, where the "dead" players retired to, and when I looked around I noticed Mike and I were the only ones from our team. Both our sons were still out there.
The guys that took me out were behind an L-shaped obstacle on my left. They were protected from the front, and from the arena wall on their left, but despite their cover being an "L" their right flank was slightly exposed to anyone approaching from the right-hand side along the rear wall...which is where my son was coming from.
I don't know if our sons planned it, or if it was just good timing, but as Mike's son attacked from the front and drew their fire my son came in from the side to outflank them, and from about 30 feet away he picked off the tallest of the two kids. I know it was my son who got him because he stopped firing and looked to his right, directly at my son, then he held his gun up in the air and stepped back toward the staging area.
The other kid also turned and looked to the right, and seeing that my son was the more immediate threat turned to shoot at him instead. My little warrior backed up and dodged sideways, not making himself an easy target, all the while returning fire. Accurate fire at that, because his opponent quickly stopped shooting, threw his gun up in the air, and with that the Ref blew his whistle to end that match.
My son had just eliminated the last two opponents. It might sound a little macho, a little barbaric even, but I was SO proud of him.
The final game of the series the Refs told us would be a little different. We're going to turn out the lights occasionally, they said, and when they're out you can move but you cannot shoot.
Again I went out with Mike, this time being a lot more cautious, and when the lights went out it was nerve wracking. I lost Mike when the lights went out for the second time and found myself mid-field. Realizing I was standing between our opponent's base and a single piece of plyboard against the side of the arena wall I quickly ducked back around the plyboard, back on our side, backed into the corner, and crouched down.
Barely seconds later a figure appeared from behind the board from where I'd just came, walked across in front of me, then leaned against the edge of a "house" to look down toward our end of the field.
With my heart racing I pointed my MP5K at his back and tried to breathe as quietly as possible. He was just 5-to-6 feet away, too close to shoot; at that distance the in-house rules required me to order him to "surrender". I waited, ready for the lights to come back on
The lights stayed off.
The guy ducked inside the "house" and disappeared from view.
The lights stayed off.
Another figure appeared from my left. Another opponent. Déjà vu.
And just as his teammate who came before him this second guy also leaned against the "house" while looking down towards our end of the field. Just as before I tried to keep my breathing low & slow as I pointed my MP5K at this guy's back, and again I waited for the lights to come back on.
The lights stayed off.
This second guy also ducked into the "house".
The lights came back on.
I jumped up, took a couple of quick steps to the doorway of the "house" and peered in. The two guys were both looking the other way, covering each other's flank, but neither guy was covering their rear.
Holding my MP5K more like I would my Beretta 96G than an actual rifle I took aim and double-tapped the guy on the left. Both guys turned at the sound to look behind them as I swung my MP5K and took aim at the second guy.
Should I order him to Surrender? Hell no. At this range it wasn't expected, and I offer no quarter and expect none in return. A second double tap and both guys were now "dead" and we all knew it.
As they raised their guns over their heads and started down toward the staging area I turned and rushed toward the back corner where I knew the remainder of their team were most likely camping, just as they had done in the earlier games.
And I was right.
I came out on the top left of the arena and saw three players camped behind a barrier on the far right hand side and we began exchanging fire across the 50-60 foot gap. Large enough distance to see the bb's flying back and forth, not enough to be able to dodge them.
One of the trio held up his rifle, hit, and emerged from behind the barrier to walk toward me. I have no idea why he came my way instead of down the wall back toward the staging area. The other two guys held their ground and I continued to fire. I may have hit the "dead" guy a couple more times as I shot at the two who were still "alive". Not intentionally, but at that distance bb's can curve through the air from the original point of aim. I was also looking at him as he walked toward me and in doing so I might have inadvertently aimed at him.
Then my MP5K started making a different sound; a louder popping noise which I knew meant no bb's. Mike's clip for this rifle had two clips side-by-side. Was the first one empty? I ducked back into cover, ejected the magazine, spun the dial on the bottom to "load" the second clip, slammed it home, then resumed firing.
POP! POP! POP!
What the...?
I ducked back into cover. Ejected the magazine and shook it. Rattle rattle rattle. There were bb's inside. I spun the dial some more, reinserted the magazine and fired into the wall directly in front of me. If a bb came out and bounced off the wall I didn't notice it. Seriously???
Then a Ref's whistle blew and when I stood up I saw Mike's helmet appear on their flank. I'd actually seen Mike earlier, but by drawing my opponents' attention and their fire I'd provided Mike with the opportunity he needed, and he'd taken it. Game over, we'd won.
My heart was racing like after an open world PvP encounter, and why wouldn't it be? This was PvP IRL.
I fear I may have unleashed a monster. No, that's not true; I don't fear it. I welcome it, and I think I'm going to like it :)
When the staff saw me trying to take photographs they offered to let me go into the staging area for a better view but asked I sign a liability waiver first. I also had get clearance from the wife because the camera I was using, a Nikon D40, is actually her camera. Surprisingly, she allowed me to take her camera into the staging area. Not surprisingly however, I was threatened with consequences worse than death should anything happen to her baby, and I don't mean our son ;)
Unfortunately, while I was able to get better photos from the staging area, I was restricted to the staging area, and once my son and friends advanced further into the arena my view was obstructed by the maze of plywood walls.
After a couple of games there was a brief break, and at that point one of the Referees asked if I wanted to accompany him up onto his Referee's platform so I could get an even better view of what was going on. Duh! Of course I did!
From my raised vantage point midfield I now had a great view, although my son was still frequently disappearing behind the plywood walls which made getting pictures of him a hit & miss affair. But when I realized that by focusing on him I was giving away his position and increasing his risk of being shot I stopped looking for him and just took pictures of anyone and everyone.
With folks running around all over the place I tried taking a few photos using the D40's "action" mode but they didn't come out too well, and after noticing the quality of "action" shots I switched the camera back to Auto and just let rip. And that's the beauty of a digital camera; you can take hundreds of photos then delete the ones that don't turn out, because if you take enough photos odds are you're going to get some gems, and I believe I did.
This was probably my favourite pic of the day. These two guys both knew the other was there and this was an exciting "duel" to watch from above as they each tried to get the drop on the other without getting shot themselves; I can only imagine how intense it must have been for them. Later, I would find out just how heart-pounding such a moment could get.The Referees themselves were armed, and they were occasionally shooting at the players. Sometimes they did so to check if that particular player was honest and would call themselves out, other times it was to get their attention if they were doing something wrong, such as continuing to shoot at a "dead" player who was leaving the arena. The Refs also occasionally took potshots at each other, and the Ref on my platform quickly realized the advantage of having a photographer with him and used me as a human shield...which is probably why the other Ref later asked me to join him on his platform. He said I could get a different viewpoint but I think he wanted his own time with the human shield ;)
Not intending to play I'd dressed light, in t-shirt and jeans, and at one point I got hit in the shoulder. If you imagine someone giving you a solid flick with their fingernail, that's what it felt like. A stinging impact followed by a minute or two of dull ache, and then you forgot about it.
So why are these guys wearing vests, helmets, gloves, etc?
When my son played last year at his cousin's birthday party one of the kids came back with a cut on his finger while another had a cut on his arm. If I could be stuffed doing the math (and I probably will at some point) a 6mm plastic ball traveling at 300-350 feet per second probably creates a considerable amount of impact pressure (pounds per square inch, and all that) so yeah, it's going to hurt, and if you're not protected skin can be broken...as I would soon find out ;)
After spending most of the evening taking photographs I rejoined my son and friends in their locker room and told them as it was getting late we could only stay for one more set of games. My friend, Mike, threw me a spare vest and an MP5K (he shoots a lot and has a ton of gear), and told me to suit up because I wasn't leaving without playing. I pulled the vest on over my t-shirt, tied a bandana around my neck, and put on my gloves (I'm a Boy Scout, I'd come prepared, even if I didn't intend to play ;) and hit the staging area, this time armed with something packing a little more punch than a camera.
In our first game Mike told me to stick close to him, which didn't work too well. While following Mike and trying to cover his back I felt several bb's impact the front of my vest while someone else shot me from behind. That last bb zipped in beneath my vest & t-shirt but above the waist of my jeans. Yeah, it stung, and I was pretty sure it had left a mark. (It did. Meh.)
"Hit!" I called out, holding my gun up, and I walked off the field followed by Mike, because whoever shot me had got him, too.
"I didn't even see where they came from!" I exclaimed to Mike.
"That's usually how it goes," he replied.
In the second game I again got eliminated, but this time at least I not only saw my opponents but even got off a couple of shots. Unfortunately they were camped in corner of their base, behind cover, and they proved to be a little more accurate than me, with a single shot impacting the front of my vest.
"Hit!" I called out again, and as I passed the guy that nailed me added, "Good shot!"
It just so happened that these guys were camped right next to the staging area, where the "dead" players retired to, and when I looked around I noticed Mike and I were the only ones from our team. Both our sons were still out there.
The guys that took me out were behind an L-shaped obstacle on my left. They were protected from the front, and from the arena wall on their left, but despite their cover being an "L" their right flank was slightly exposed to anyone approaching from the right-hand side along the rear wall...which is where my son was coming from.
I don't know if our sons planned it, or if it was just good timing, but as Mike's son attacked from the front and drew their fire my son came in from the side to outflank them, and from about 30 feet away he picked off the tallest of the two kids. I know it was my son who got him because he stopped firing and looked to his right, directly at my son, then he held his gun up in the air and stepped back toward the staging area.
The other kid also turned and looked to the right, and seeing that my son was the more immediate threat turned to shoot at him instead. My little warrior backed up and dodged sideways, not making himself an easy target, all the while returning fire. Accurate fire at that, because his opponent quickly stopped shooting, threw his gun up in the air, and with that the Ref blew his whistle to end that match.
My son had just eliminated the last two opponents. It might sound a little macho, a little barbaric even, but I was SO proud of him.
The final game of the series the Refs told us would be a little different. We're going to turn out the lights occasionally, they said, and when they're out you can move but you cannot shoot.
Again I went out with Mike, this time being a lot more cautious, and when the lights went out it was nerve wracking. I lost Mike when the lights went out for the second time and found myself mid-field. Realizing I was standing between our opponent's base and a single piece of plyboard against the side of the arena wall I quickly ducked back around the plyboard, back on our side, backed into the corner, and crouched down.
Barely seconds later a figure appeared from behind the board from where I'd just came, walked across in front of me, then leaned against the edge of a "house" to look down toward our end of the field.
With my heart racing I pointed my MP5K at his back and tried to breathe as quietly as possible. He was just 5-to-6 feet away, too close to shoot; at that distance the in-house rules required me to order him to "surrender". I waited, ready for the lights to come back on
The lights stayed off.
The guy ducked inside the "house" and disappeared from view.
The lights stayed off.
Another figure appeared from my left. Another opponent. Déjà vu.
And just as his teammate who came before him this second guy also leaned against the "house" while looking down towards our end of the field. Just as before I tried to keep my breathing low & slow as I pointed my MP5K at this guy's back, and again I waited for the lights to come back on.
The lights stayed off.
This second guy also ducked into the "house".
The lights came back on.
I jumped up, took a couple of quick steps to the doorway of the "house" and peered in. The two guys were both looking the other way, covering each other's flank, but neither guy was covering their rear.
Holding my MP5K more like I would my Beretta 96G than an actual rifle I took aim and double-tapped the guy on the left. Both guys turned at the sound to look behind them as I swung my MP5K and took aim at the second guy.
Should I order him to Surrender? Hell no. At this range it wasn't expected, and I offer no quarter and expect none in return. A second double tap and both guys were now "dead" and we all knew it.
As they raised their guns over their heads and started down toward the staging area I turned and rushed toward the back corner where I knew the remainder of their team were most likely camping, just as they had done in the earlier games.
And I was right.
I came out on the top left of the arena and saw three players camped behind a barrier on the far right hand side and we began exchanging fire across the 50-60 foot gap. Large enough distance to see the bb's flying back and forth, not enough to be able to dodge them.
One of the trio held up his rifle, hit, and emerged from behind the barrier to walk toward me. I have no idea why he came my way instead of down the wall back toward the staging area. The other two guys held their ground and I continued to fire. I may have hit the "dead" guy a couple more times as I shot at the two who were still "alive". Not intentionally, but at that distance bb's can curve through the air from the original point of aim. I was also looking at him as he walked toward me and in doing so I might have inadvertently aimed at him.
Then my MP5K started making a different sound; a louder popping noise which I knew meant no bb's. Mike's clip for this rifle had two clips side-by-side. Was the first one empty? I ducked back into cover, ejected the magazine, spun the dial on the bottom to "load" the second clip, slammed it home, then resumed firing.
POP! POP! POP!
What the...?
I ducked back into cover. Ejected the magazine and shook it. Rattle rattle rattle. There were bb's inside. I spun the dial some more, reinserted the magazine and fired into the wall directly in front of me. If a bb came out and bounced off the wall I didn't notice it. Seriously???
Then a Ref's whistle blew and when I stood up I saw Mike's helmet appear on their flank. I'd actually seen Mike earlier, but by drawing my opponents' attention and their fire I'd provided Mike with the opportunity he needed, and he'd taken it. Game over, we'd won.
My heart was racing like after an open world PvP encounter, and why wouldn't it be? This was PvP IRL.
I fear I may have unleashed a monster. No, that's not true; I don't fear it. I welcome it, and I think I'm going to like it :)
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Deep thought
Normally my kids spend the weekends with their grandparents but this past weekend they stayed with us. The grandparents also take them to Church, so Saturday evening my daughter asked me if we were going to Church the next day. "Do you want to?" I asked her. "Yes, please!" she squealed excitedly. And so Sunday morning off we went, just the two of us.
When she asked why her brother wasn't coming I told her he didn't want to, and that he should go to Church because he wants to, not because someone else wants him to. Which is why I don't go to Church every week, either.
The funny thing with my Church is when I do go, the Minister's message seems to have been written specifically for me, almost as if it was divine providence that I attended that day (that's if you believe in that sort of thing).
And this day was no exception.
The first time I heard Luther Vandross' "Dance with my father" was in 2005, the year both Vandross and my own father passed away, and this Sunday, by coincidence (or was it?) the Minister used this song as the basis for his sermon. Needless to say I had tears running down my cheeks before he'd finished, and once again I felt as if wasn't there that day by mere chance.
This afternoon while walking from my office to the train station I passed a couple standing on the sidewalk staring forlornly at a parking meter. As I walked by I recalled that morning feeling change in my trouser pocket, and I patted my hip; yes, the coins were still there. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two quarters, looked at them, then turned back and said to the couple, "excuse me, would you folks be needing some change?"
They gratefully accepted the coins, and thanked me as they inserted them into the meter, and I wished them a good day and resumed walking to the train station.
At the last intersection before the station I waited to cross the road and watched as my train pulled into the station. "Guess I'm waiting for the next one," I thought to myself.
The light changed and I walked across the road.
And up the ramp to the platform.
And...the train remained in the station.
Expecting the train to pull out the moment I started to run I casually walked through the gate and swiped my Rail Card.
And then, as if Gandalf himself was urging me to "Run, you fools!" I started running.
And as I slipped into the last carriage and took a seat the doors closed and the train pulled out.
Coincidence? Karma? Providence? You decide.
When she asked why her brother wasn't coming I told her he didn't want to, and that he should go to Church because he wants to, not because someone else wants him to. Which is why I don't go to Church every week, either.
The funny thing with my Church is when I do go, the Minister's message seems to have been written specifically for me, almost as if it was divine providence that I attended that day (that's if you believe in that sort of thing).
And this day was no exception.
The first time I heard Luther Vandross' "Dance with my father" was in 2005, the year both Vandross and my own father passed away, and this Sunday, by coincidence (or was it?) the Minister used this song as the basis for his sermon. Needless to say I had tears running down my cheeks before he'd finished, and once again I felt as if wasn't there that day by mere chance.
This afternoon while walking from my office to the train station I passed a couple standing on the sidewalk staring forlornly at a parking meter. As I walked by I recalled that morning feeling change in my trouser pocket, and I patted my hip; yes, the coins were still there. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two quarters, looked at them, then turned back and said to the couple, "excuse me, would you folks be needing some change?"
They gratefully accepted the coins, and thanked me as they inserted them into the meter, and I wished them a good day and resumed walking to the train station.
At the last intersection before the station I waited to cross the road and watched as my train pulled into the station. "Guess I'm waiting for the next one," I thought to myself.
The light changed and I walked across the road.
And up the ramp to the platform.
And...the train remained in the station.
Expecting the train to pull out the moment I started to run I casually walked through the gate and swiped my Rail Card.
And then, as if Gandalf himself was urging me to "Run, you fools!" I started running.
And as I slipped into the last carriage and took a seat the doors closed and the train pulled out.
Coincidence? Karma? Providence? You decide.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Mary, Mary, quite contrary
Maybe it's just me, but the title of that Nursery Rhyme makes no sense. Other than for the sake of rhyming, why is Mary quite contrary? Nothing in the Rhyme itself indicates she is particularly argumentative or inclined to do the opposite of what is expected.
My father-in-law, however, IS quite contrary, deliberately and stubbornly so. If he's right there is no arguing otherwise; he's right and that's it. Don't think you can agree to disagree or say, "Well, that's your opinion," because his opinion is not just his opinion; it's The Truth.
We had dinner at their house a couple of nights ago, and after dinner the mother-in-law produced a bunch of bananas and offered me one. Or maybe my 7 y/old daughter brought them to me and asked if she could have one. I forget which, but somehow I ended up with a bunch of bananas in front of me.
I like bananas. I like them soft and pungent, and I like them firm and barely ripe. I've also eaten, partially, a green banana that was not quite ripe and was still fluffy & bitter in the middle. Bite into an unripe banana once and you never forget it. I haven't, and that was over 20 years ago.
I looked at this bunch of bananas with their bright green tops and bottoms, and the streaks of green running along the sides of skins, and as much as I like bananas I declined, stating that they were a bit green.
As soon as I said this the FIL said "No, they're not," lunged across the table and grabbed the bunch of bananas from in front of me.
(As well as being stubbornly contrary he also lacks table manners and if there's a dish or item he wants he will reach across the table or across your plate to get it. Don't bother protesting or arguing with him; he's "right" so he sees nothing wrong with doing this.)
Pulling a banana off a bunch is tough unless they're ripe, and these bananas were not ripe but green, really green, so their skins were exceptionally tough. The FIL ended up tearing the bananas almost in half in order to get them off the bunch. He ripped one free for my daughter, then as if doing so proved they weren't green tore a second banana free for himself.
Midway through her banana I saw my daughter stop chewing and screw up her face and I knew what had happened; she'd got a mouthful of green banana. Green, furry, bitter banana. She stopped chewing and I could tell she wanted to spit the banana out and I couldn't blame her.
She looked around at us and noticed I was the only one looking at her. "Go spit it out," I said to her, and she rushed over to the trashcan.
"What's the matter?" asked my MIL.
"The banana's not ripe," I told her.
"Mine was fine!" said the FIL, contrary to the last bite.
My father-in-law, however, IS quite contrary, deliberately and stubbornly so. If he's right there is no arguing otherwise; he's right and that's it. Don't think you can agree to disagree or say, "Well, that's your opinion," because his opinion is not just his opinion; it's The Truth.
We had dinner at their house a couple of nights ago, and after dinner the mother-in-law produced a bunch of bananas and offered me one. Or maybe my 7 y/old daughter brought them to me and asked if she could have one. I forget which, but somehow I ended up with a bunch of bananas in front of me.
I like bananas. I like them soft and pungent, and I like them firm and barely ripe. I've also eaten, partially, a green banana that was not quite ripe and was still fluffy & bitter in the middle. Bite into an unripe banana once and you never forget it. I haven't, and that was over 20 years ago.
I looked at this bunch of bananas with their bright green tops and bottoms, and the streaks of green running along the sides of skins, and as much as I like bananas I declined, stating that they were a bit green.
As soon as I said this the FIL said "No, they're not," lunged across the table and grabbed the bunch of bananas from in front of me.
(As well as being stubbornly contrary he also lacks table manners and if there's a dish or item he wants he will reach across the table or across your plate to get it. Don't bother protesting or arguing with him; he's "right" so he sees nothing wrong with doing this.)
Pulling a banana off a bunch is tough unless they're ripe, and these bananas were not ripe but green, really green, so their skins were exceptionally tough. The FIL ended up tearing the bananas almost in half in order to get them off the bunch. He ripped one free for my daughter, then as if doing so proved they weren't green tore a second banana free for himself.
Midway through her banana I saw my daughter stop chewing and screw up her face and I knew what had happened; she'd got a mouthful of green banana. Green, furry, bitter banana. She stopped chewing and I could tell she wanted to spit the banana out and I couldn't blame her.
She looked around at us and noticed I was the only one looking at her. "Go spit it out," I said to her, and she rushed over to the trashcan.
"What's the matter?" asked my MIL.
"The banana's not ripe," I told her.
"Mine was fine!" said the FIL, contrary to the last bite.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Further early morning adventures in downtown L.A.
This morning on my walk to the office I was greeted by four inhabitants of downtown L.A., and not one of them asked me for spare change.
I'm a little reluctant to refer to them as homeless because there's a good chance they're not; most of them probably have a home somewhere, even if it's little more than a room in a $150/week hotel. Yes, they exist, and no, you probably don't want to stay there on your next vacation, as cheap as it may seem.
Around 4th & Los Angeles I encountered a lady and a gentleman having a chat across the width of Los Angeles St. The lady was on my side of Los Angeles and walking toward me while the gentleman was crossing Los Angeles from the other side. As I approached they seemed to conclude their chat, and the lady turned, saw me, and wished me a good morning, and I returned her greeting. Unexpectedly, she did not ask me for spare change.
The gentleman had finished crossing to our side of Los Angeles, and having witnessed the brief exchange between the lady and I, while I was still about 30-feet away called out to me.
"Yo! What's up?"
"Hey! How you doin'?" I called back, then added. "Cold one this morning." (Which it was.)
He said something in return which I didn't catch but I knew meant that he hadn't quite heard or understood what I'd said. As I got closer he repeated, "Whazzat?"
"She's a cold one this morning," I said.
"Ooh yeah," he agreed.
And on I walked, again without being asked for change.
As I approached 5th St. I saw it was a hive of activity, much like last week. For some reason everyone seems to be out early on Friday morning. Maybe it's the excitement of the approaching weekend, I don't know, but at 5:30am on a Friday morning the place-to-be in downtown L.A. appears to be 5th St. and Los Angeles.
As I crossed 5th St. a large, middle-aged black woman standing on the opposite corner snarled loudly at a passerby, "What are you looking at?" Then she turned, saw me, and greeted me with a cheerful, "Morning, baby. How you doing?"
"I'm doing well, thank you," I replied. "How are you this morning?"
"I am going to make it," she said. She had such a positive outlook that I knew whatever curveballs life threw at her she would take it all in stride.
"That is really good to hear," I responded, with as much sincerity as I could muster.
Just a little further down was a young, quite stylishly dressed black man who, if the lady I'd just spoken to was a lady of the night, and I'm not saying she was, may - or may not - have been her agent. Or he may have been a gentleman of the night himself. He was quite well dressed. He had clearly overheard my conversation with the large black lady and he caught my eye and grinned at me as I approached, and then he smiled and wished me a good morning.
The incongruity of a white boy like me in that neighborhood at that time of the morning probably contributes to the warm reception I received. That I'm not just a white boy but a white boy from a small country town in rural Australia walking through downtown Los Angeles at 5:30 in the morning only serves to further enhance the absurdity of the situation.
This is not to say downtown Los Angeles is erroneously portrayed in the media and is actually a delightful place for an early morning stroll. I'm an Aussie country boy in Los Angeles. I am who I am. YMMV.
I'm a little reluctant to refer to them as homeless because there's a good chance they're not; most of them probably have a home somewhere, even if it's little more than a room in a $150/week hotel. Yes, they exist, and no, you probably don't want to stay there on your next vacation, as cheap as it may seem.
Around 4th & Los Angeles I encountered a lady and a gentleman having a chat across the width of Los Angeles St. The lady was on my side of Los Angeles and walking toward me while the gentleman was crossing Los Angeles from the other side. As I approached they seemed to conclude their chat, and the lady turned, saw me, and wished me a good morning, and I returned her greeting. Unexpectedly, she did not ask me for spare change.
The gentleman had finished crossing to our side of Los Angeles, and having witnessed the brief exchange between the lady and I, while I was still about 30-feet away called out to me.
"Yo! What's up?"
"Hey! How you doin'?" I called back, then added. "Cold one this morning." (Which it was.)
He said something in return which I didn't catch but I knew meant that he hadn't quite heard or understood what I'd said. As I got closer he repeated, "Whazzat?"
"She's a cold one this morning," I said.
"Ooh yeah," he agreed.
And on I walked, again without being asked for change.
As I approached 5th St. I saw it was a hive of activity, much like last week. For some reason everyone seems to be out early on Friday morning. Maybe it's the excitement of the approaching weekend, I don't know, but at 5:30am on a Friday morning the place-to-be in downtown L.A. appears to be 5th St. and Los Angeles.
As I crossed 5th St. a large, middle-aged black woman standing on the opposite corner snarled loudly at a passerby, "What are you looking at?" Then she turned, saw me, and greeted me with a cheerful, "Morning, baby. How you doing?"
"I'm doing well, thank you," I replied. "How are you this morning?"
"I am going to make it," she said. She had such a positive outlook that I knew whatever curveballs life threw at her she would take it all in stride.
"That is really good to hear," I responded, with as much sincerity as I could muster.
Just a little further down was a young, quite stylishly dressed black man who, if the lady I'd just spoken to was a lady of the night, and I'm not saying she was, may - or may not - have been her agent. Or he may have been a gentleman of the night himself. He was quite well dressed. He had clearly overheard my conversation with the large black lady and he caught my eye and grinned at me as I approached, and then he smiled and wished me a good morning.
The incongruity of a white boy like me in that neighborhood at that time of the morning probably contributes to the warm reception I received. That I'm not just a white boy but a white boy from a small country town in rural Australia walking through downtown Los Angeles at 5:30 in the morning only serves to further enhance the absurdity of the situation.
This is not to say downtown Los Angeles is erroneously portrayed in the media and is actually a delightful place for an early morning stroll. I'm an Aussie country boy in Los Angeles. I am who I am. YMMV.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Sorry? Why are you sorry?
As part of my weight loss plan I've been walking from Union Station to the office and back each day, a distance of approximately 2 miles each way. I can walk at a decent pace so this takes me about half an hour each way. Given the route I take I'm also passing through a slightly seedier part of downtown L.A. so my morning commute frequently takes me past quite a few homeless folks, most of them are asleep but sometimes one or two are awake and getting ready to face another day in paradise.
I'm used to being asked for spare change and aren't bothered by the homeless folks, although the LOUD jumpy ones are definitely worth keeping an eye on as they're the ones who sometimes like to hit passersby.
This morning I'm pretty sure I passed a couple of drug dealers, and while I might look like a cop and sometimes be mistaken for one I think these guys were streetwise enough to realize I wasn't the real deal. Which is why one of them didn't hesitate to take something that may or may not have been drugs and/or cash out of a broken newspaper vending machine as I approached. Likewise I was savvy enough to not even look at them as I passed by but continued marching along at my pavement-eating pace. Fast, but not running. Not scared, but not acting like a bravado either.
Further down the road I saw two guys standing in a doorway, engaged in conversation. As I drew closer one of them began walking off while the body language of the second indicated he intended to talk to me. Physically he looked like your typical street dweller, but he appeared more mentally alert than the average brain-addled homeless guy. This is the kind of thing you need to be aware of if you plan to walk the streets of Los Angeles, especially at 5:30 in the morning.
I was prepared to defend myself in case he turned out to be the loud, jumpy type, or wanted more than just spare change. I was also ready to turn the guy down if he did ask me for change. What I wasn't expecting was for him to produce a block of chocolate and offer it as trade for a cigarette.
Realizing that although he had not asked for change that he was still actually begging, sort of, my mouth spat out "Sorry, man" before my brain could provide it with a more appropriate response.
And on I walked as my brain tried to process the absurdity of being offered a block of chocolate by a homeless guy in exchange for a cigarette at 5:30 in the morning on the streets of downtown Los Angeles.
Then from behind me I heard him say, "Sorry? Why are you sorry?"
Are you serious? Do I need to spell it out for you?
Apparently my mouth thought it did, and I called back to him, "I don't have any cigarettes...*pause*...sorry."
That really doesn't make that much more sense, said my brain. Why are you sorry that you don't have any cigarettes? That's not a bad thing. Even if you did, you don't want that guy's chocolate anyway.
Wisely, this time, my mouth stayed silent.
I'm used to being asked for spare change and aren't bothered by the homeless folks, although the LOUD jumpy ones are definitely worth keeping an eye on as they're the ones who sometimes like to hit passersby.
This morning I'm pretty sure I passed a couple of drug dealers, and while I might look like a cop and sometimes be mistaken for one I think these guys were streetwise enough to realize I wasn't the real deal. Which is why one of them didn't hesitate to take something that may or may not have been drugs and/or cash out of a broken newspaper vending machine as I approached. Likewise I was savvy enough to not even look at them as I passed by but continued marching along at my pavement-eating pace. Fast, but not running. Not scared, but not acting like a bravado either.
Further down the road I saw two guys standing in a doorway, engaged in conversation. As I drew closer one of them began walking off while the body language of the second indicated he intended to talk to me. Physically he looked like your typical street dweller, but he appeared more mentally alert than the average brain-addled homeless guy. This is the kind of thing you need to be aware of if you plan to walk the streets of Los Angeles, especially at 5:30 in the morning.
I was prepared to defend myself in case he turned out to be the loud, jumpy type, or wanted more than just spare change. I was also ready to turn the guy down if he did ask me for change. What I wasn't expecting was for him to produce a block of chocolate and offer it as trade for a cigarette.
Realizing that although he had not asked for change that he was still actually begging, sort of, my mouth spat out "Sorry, man" before my brain could provide it with a more appropriate response.
And on I walked as my brain tried to process the absurdity of being offered a block of chocolate by a homeless guy in exchange for a cigarette at 5:30 in the morning on the streets of downtown Los Angeles.
Then from behind me I heard him say, "Sorry? Why are you sorry?"
Are you serious? Do I need to spell it out for you?
Apparently my mouth thought it did, and I called back to him, "I don't have any cigarettes...*pause*...sorry."
That really doesn't make that much more sense, said my brain. Why are you sorry that you don't have any cigarettes? That's not a bad thing. Even if you did, you don't want that guy's chocolate anyway.
Wisely, this time, my mouth stayed silent.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
I don't believe in going on a diet
Because going on a diet implies that at some point in the future you will go off the diet, and if you go on a diet and lose weight and then go off the diet, and if nothing else has changed in your life, then the weight you lost while on your diet will most likely return. With friends.
In order to lose weight and keep it off you need to effect a lifestyle change.
Instead of going on a diet you need to change your eating habits. Instead of eating three pork tacos for lunch, you'll eat two. Or perhaps you'll eat two chicken tacos, or two fish tacos.
Instead of riding the bus to the office, given the time you'll get off several blocks early and walk the rest of the way, and in the afternoon going home you'll do the same.
And if you want to keep that weight off those are not things you'll do only until you've lost X pounds, after which you'll resume eating 3 pork tacos for lunch while riding the bus all the way to the office. If you want to keep that weight off you need to continue doing the things that helped you lose the weight in the first place. In other words, you cannot go on then go off your diet.
That said, for the past few months I have been on a diet. I make no pretenses about this. I am on a diet. I have been denying myself certain food products in order to lose weight, and once a certain date has been reached, being October 5, I will absolutely and unequivocally go off my diet. After October 5th I will have a donut from the box that occasionally appears in the office. One donut. I will sometimes order the ribs instead of the fish or salad when we eat out. And I will have those deep fried jalapenos, the crispy fried noodles, and the pork burrito, thank you very much. But not all the time.
Because once October 5th arrives my Office's weight loss competition will be over, and hopefully I will have lost a large enough percentage of my starting weight to be declared the biggest loser. That's my primary goal. To lose enough weight to win the Office weight-loss competition.
Currently I'm the front runner, as per our weigh-in last week and now there's just 3 weeks to go. I weigh approx. 175 lbs, having lost 12.2% of my starting weight of 200 lbs, I'm wearing size 32" pants (which fit well, and are not snug at all), while my body fat is approx. 15% (it used to be around 22-23%). I'm in great shape for a 42-year old guy. Knee pain & arthritis aside I'm even in better shape than when I graduated from High School. So I can honestly say that once this is all over, even if I'm not the biggest loser, I am a winner.
However, just because I'm going to go off my diet on October 5th doesn't mean I'll balloon up to my former weight of 200-210 lbs. Yes, I'll have the burgers and ribs and beer and jalapeno poppers, and all the other foods I love but which I've been denying myself these past few months. But I'll eat them in moderation. I said earlier that winning the Office weight loss competition was my primary goal. My secondary goal is to maintain (to a moderate degree) my healthier lifestyle and to continue working out. But rather than continue with the cardio I've been doing to lose all that weight, I'll be lifting weights to regain the muscle mass I know I've lost.
In 3 months I've lost 25 lbs and dropped my body fat from 23% to 15%. I'm not going back on another diet; I'm going to make changes to my eating and workout habits in order to capitalize on what I've accomplished these past few months.
I don't plan to bulk up and look like Captain America, but I still want to look good.
Correction: I'm already looking good, I want to look great.
In order to lose weight and keep it off you need to effect a lifestyle change.
Instead of going on a diet you need to change your eating habits. Instead of eating three pork tacos for lunch, you'll eat two. Or perhaps you'll eat two chicken tacos, or two fish tacos.
Instead of riding the bus to the office, given the time you'll get off several blocks early and walk the rest of the way, and in the afternoon going home you'll do the same.
And if you want to keep that weight off those are not things you'll do only until you've lost X pounds, after which you'll resume eating 3 pork tacos for lunch while riding the bus all the way to the office. If you want to keep that weight off you need to continue doing the things that helped you lose the weight in the first place. In other words, you cannot go on then go off your diet.
That said, for the past few months I have been on a diet. I make no pretenses about this. I am on a diet. I have been denying myself certain food products in order to lose weight, and once a certain date has been reached, being October 5, I will absolutely and unequivocally go off my diet. After October 5th I will have a donut from the box that occasionally appears in the office. One donut. I will sometimes order the ribs instead of the fish or salad when we eat out. And I will have those deep fried jalapenos, the crispy fried noodles, and the pork burrito, thank you very much. But not all the time.
Because once October 5th arrives my Office's weight loss competition will be over, and hopefully I will have lost a large enough percentage of my starting weight to be declared the biggest loser. That's my primary goal. To lose enough weight to win the Office weight-loss competition.
Currently I'm the front runner, as per our weigh-in last week and now there's just 3 weeks to go. I weigh approx. 175 lbs, having lost 12.2% of my starting weight of 200 lbs, I'm wearing size 32" pants (which fit well, and are not snug at all), while my body fat is approx. 15% (it used to be around 22-23%). I'm in great shape for a 42-year old guy. Knee pain & arthritis aside I'm even in better shape than when I graduated from High School. So I can honestly say that once this is all over, even if I'm not the biggest loser, I am a winner.
However, just because I'm going to go off my diet on October 5th doesn't mean I'll balloon up to my former weight of 200-210 lbs. Yes, I'll have the burgers and ribs and beer and jalapeno poppers, and all the other foods I love but which I've been denying myself these past few months. But I'll eat them in moderation. I said earlier that winning the Office weight loss competition was my primary goal. My secondary goal is to maintain (to a moderate degree) my healthier lifestyle and to continue working out. But rather than continue with the cardio I've been doing to lose all that weight, I'll be lifting weights to regain the muscle mass I know I've lost.
In 3 months I've lost 25 lbs and dropped my body fat from 23% to 15%. I'm not going back on another diet; I'm going to make changes to my eating and workout habits in order to capitalize on what I've accomplished these past few months.
I don't plan to bulk up and look like Captain America, but I still want to look good.
Correction: I'm already looking good, I want to look great.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
To Spruce Grove, and beyond!!!
That title doesn't look terribly witty. I should probably stick to my day job. Not like I plan to make any money off this Blog anyway...unless I put a Paypal donation button on the side. I wonder...if I did that...would anyone actually use it??? I wouldn't do that anyway, I despise beggars because most of them don't need the money anyway, or if they do, they only need it because they're not making any attempt to actually do anything with their life. That said, I do admire the work ethic of some of downtown L.A.'s perpetually homeless folks. I pass through Union Station at approx. 5:30am and there are already beggars hitting me up for spare change.
I get off the train at Pershing Square and walk a few blocks to the office and the other morning I ran into a woman who could have been my mother. I don't mean she looked like my mum, but she was in her late 50s to 60s, quite well dressed, clean, well groomed, in other words she looked like your typical middle-class elderly woman. When she said "Excuse me" I stopped to hear her out because she did not look like your average beggar, and then she asked me for change, and I said "Sorry" to her and walked on. I had another early riser hit me up one time but as soon as I heard him say, "I live in Santa Ana..." I cut him off. "No change, buddy."
Looking at the title of this entry this was not meant to be a rant on homeless people and I'm pretty sure I've done that already. Oh, I see how I derailed myself, so, back to the actual topic.
This past weekend was supposed to be the peak of the Perseid Meteor Shower. When my Mum was here this time last year we sat out in the backyard and tried to see some meteors, but we were SOL - too much ambient light - so I promised my son that next year (being now) I'd take him camping and we'd see some meteors for sure. Although apparently the ones you see are really meteorites, if I recall my High School Astronomy correctly. Meteors are in outer space, meteorites are the ones that enter Earth's atmosphere.
So it was this time of year again (isn't that a redundant saying? Isn't it always "That time of year"?) and the annual Perseid Meteor Shower was passing by so I decided the boy and I would head up into the Angeles National Forest and go camping and maybe see some meteors.
I got off work early on Friday, and after dicking around at home getting everything packed (we were going for one fucking night and it still seemed to take forever to get our shit together), plus a trip to the hardware store for a hatchet, followed by a trip to the market for a packet of hotdogs, we were finally off. Fortunately the entrance to the park is not far from home so by 4pm (or so) we were parked at Chantry Flat (in the last freaking space in the lot, at 4pm, on a Friday afternoon. Incredible!) had our packs on our backs and were heading into the wilderness.
I'd come down here a few weeks earlier with the family, and I'd planned to do the 4-mile roundtrip via Camp Hoagee, except we missed our turn off and wound up at Sturtevant Falls instead, which for a family hike was actually a much more pleasant destination than 4 miles of nowhere. I'd also been to the Falls a couple of times before but had never gone any further. Fortunately I had a map, and the trail had decent signs pointing the way, so I was pretty confident we would find the Spruce Grove campsite. However, having never been past Sturtevant Falls before I was not prepared for what was in store for the boy and me.
The boy is 11 now. He does Tae Kwon Do a couple of times a week, plays golf with me (occasionally), and lately has been taking tennis lessons once a week with his uncle. He's not fat, not at all, in fact he's in pretty good shape compared to many of his friends, but he had never been on a hike like what I had planned for us.
We hiked the 1 1/2 miles along the trail to Sturtevant Falls until we came to the Spruce Grove turn-off, and then made our first decision. Did we want to take the "Horse Trail" (so called because the packmules which supply Camp Sturtevant come that way) or did we want to take Upper Falls Trail which took us, obviously enough, above Sturtevant Falls. We went with the Upper Falls Trail and it was...interesting.
And here's a picture. Actually, here's a few. As always, you can click 'em to make 'em bigger.
This is the edge of the pool at the base of the Falls. There are people down there. We're pretty high up. Not like thousands of feet in the air, but definitely vertigo-inducing, if you're susceptible to that sort of thing.
This shot was taken pretty much from the path itself, I just leaned over a tad. There were sections of the path so narrow that you could not put both feet down side-by-side, and the drop-off at those sections was not unlike that in this picture.
And then there were sights like this cave. At least I think it's a cave. We didn't go in there, or even stop to take a closer look; we were in a race with the sun. I knew we were close when I smelled smoke from a campfire, then we crested a hill and although the scenery didn't change, it opened up a little, and the sight that greeted us was very welcoming.
Several of the camp spots were already occupied but the one closest to where we came in was free so we quickly claimed it. For a campground 4 miles into the forest it was actually quite decent. Each site had a cleared area to pitch your tent; a picnic table with bench seats; and two fire places, one a fire pit with a hinged grate (which could be swung onto the fire, or lifted out of the way), and the second an almost enclosed fire place (with a chimney) and a flat piece of griddle-like iron on top.
Dinner that night was beans with hot dogs, grilled the traditional way on a forked stick. The dogs, that is; the beans were heated up in a frying pan that I carried in my pack, along with the tins of beans, hot dogs, bowls, etc. The boy carried his pack but he just had a few bottles of water, his sleeping bag & sleeping mat, spare socks and a warm sweater. I had the same in my pack, too, but I also had the tent. I planned to weigh my pack before we set out, but I forgot, and that's probably a good thing. I know the military do crazy hikes with 60-100 lbs packs but they train for that shit AND they get paid to do it. I was doing this for fun...sort of.
Baked beans and grilled hot dogs. After a 2 1/2-hour hike that simple fare tasted unbe-fucking-lieavable! It was seriously good. The boy ate 1 1/2 dogs and not quite a full tin of beans. I added the remnants of his beans to my own tin along with 2 1/2 dogs. After the dishes were done (washed in the nearby & apparently freezing cold stream) we lay down next to the fire, stared up at the sky, and looked for meteors, while silently berating the City-boys in the next site over who insisted on shining their super bright flashlight all over the place. We lay there looking up at the night sky and saw lots of stars but no meteors.
"Want to keep looking, or go to bed?" I asked the boy.
"Keep looking," he replied. So we did.
A while later I repeated my question and this time he chose "Bed". Not surprisingly. I'm sure even without the food his pack was still pretty heavy. For the next few hours I tossed & turned, dozed off & woke up, until some time after midnight when I finally managed to stay asleep until 6am.
Wanting to get going before it got too hot I woke the boy up, and 45 minutes later we had the tent packed up, had eaten breakfast (granola bars), and were on our way. The return journey was not back out the way we came but further in, past Camp Sturtevant, up Mt. Zion, down the other side, through Camp Hoagee and on to Chantry Flat, being a total distance of approximately 5 1/2 miles.
Again the boy did amazingly well and we were back at the car by 9:30am.
"Want to do something like this again?" I asked him.
"Maybe," he said, "but not quite as long."
I know how you feel, son ;)
I get off the train at Pershing Square and walk a few blocks to the office and the other morning I ran into a woman who could have been my mother. I don't mean she looked like my mum, but she was in her late 50s to 60s, quite well dressed, clean, well groomed, in other words she looked like your typical middle-class elderly woman. When she said "Excuse me" I stopped to hear her out because she did not look like your average beggar, and then she asked me for change, and I said "Sorry" to her and walked on. I had another early riser hit me up one time but as soon as I heard him say, "I live in Santa Ana..." I cut him off. "No change, buddy."
Looking at the title of this entry this was not meant to be a rant on homeless people and I'm pretty sure I've done that already. Oh, I see how I derailed myself, so, back to the actual topic.
This past weekend was supposed to be the peak of the Perseid Meteor Shower. When my Mum was here this time last year we sat out in the backyard and tried to see some meteors, but we were SOL - too much ambient light - so I promised my son that next year (being now) I'd take him camping and we'd see some meteors for sure. Although apparently the ones you see are really meteorites, if I recall my High School Astronomy correctly. Meteors are in outer space, meteorites are the ones that enter Earth's atmosphere.
So it was this time of year again (isn't that a redundant saying? Isn't it always "That time of year"?) and the annual Perseid Meteor Shower was passing by so I decided the boy and I would head up into the Angeles National Forest and go camping and maybe see some meteors.
I got off work early on Friday, and after dicking around at home getting everything packed (we were going for one fucking night and it still seemed to take forever to get our shit together), plus a trip to the hardware store for a hatchet, followed by a trip to the market for a packet of hotdogs, we were finally off. Fortunately the entrance to the park is not far from home so by 4pm (or so) we were parked at Chantry Flat (in the last freaking space in the lot, at 4pm, on a Friday afternoon. Incredible!) had our packs on our backs and were heading into the wilderness.
I'd come down here a few weeks earlier with the family, and I'd planned to do the 4-mile roundtrip via Camp Hoagee, except we missed our turn off and wound up at Sturtevant Falls instead, which for a family hike was actually a much more pleasant destination than 4 miles of nowhere. I'd also been to the Falls a couple of times before but had never gone any further. Fortunately I had a map, and the trail had decent signs pointing the way, so I was pretty confident we would find the Spruce Grove campsite. However, having never been past Sturtevant Falls before I was not prepared for what was in store for the boy and me.
The boy is 11 now. He does Tae Kwon Do a couple of times a week, plays golf with me (occasionally), and lately has been taking tennis lessons once a week with his uncle. He's not fat, not at all, in fact he's in pretty good shape compared to many of his friends, but he had never been on a hike like what I had planned for us.
We hiked the 1 1/2 miles along the trail to Sturtevant Falls until we came to the Spruce Grove turn-off, and then made our first decision. Did we want to take the "Horse Trail" (so called because the packmules which supply Camp Sturtevant come that way) or did we want to take Upper Falls Trail which took us, obviously enough, above Sturtevant Falls. We went with the Upper Falls Trail and it was...interesting.
And here's a picture. Actually, here's a few. As always, you can click 'em to make 'em bigger.
This is the edge of the pool at the base of the Falls. There are people down there. We're pretty high up. Not like thousands of feet in the air, but definitely vertigo-inducing, if you're susceptible to that sort of thing.
This shot was taken pretty much from the path itself, I just leaned over a tad. There were sections of the path so narrow that you could not put both feet down side-by-side, and the drop-off at those sections was not unlike that in this picture.
And then there were sights like this cave. At least I think it's a cave. We didn't go in there, or even stop to take a closer look; we were in a race with the sun. I knew we were close when I smelled smoke from a campfire, then we crested a hill and although the scenery didn't change, it opened up a little, and the sight that greeted us was very welcoming.
Several of the camp spots were already occupied but the one closest to where we came in was free so we quickly claimed it. For a campground 4 miles into the forest it was actually quite decent. Each site had a cleared area to pitch your tent; a picnic table with bench seats; and two fire places, one a fire pit with a hinged grate (which could be swung onto the fire, or lifted out of the way), and the second an almost enclosed fire place (with a chimney) and a flat piece of griddle-like iron on top.
Dinner that night was beans with hot dogs, grilled the traditional way on a forked stick. The dogs, that is; the beans were heated up in a frying pan that I carried in my pack, along with the tins of beans, hot dogs, bowls, etc. The boy carried his pack but he just had a few bottles of water, his sleeping bag & sleeping mat, spare socks and a warm sweater. I had the same in my pack, too, but I also had the tent. I planned to weigh my pack before we set out, but I forgot, and that's probably a good thing. I know the military do crazy hikes with 60-100 lbs packs but they train for that shit AND they get paid to do it. I was doing this for fun...sort of.
Baked beans and grilled hot dogs. After a 2 1/2-hour hike that simple fare tasted unbe-fucking-lieavable! It was seriously good. The boy ate 1 1/2 dogs and not quite a full tin of beans. I added the remnants of his beans to my own tin along with 2 1/2 dogs. After the dishes were done (washed in the nearby & apparently freezing cold stream) we lay down next to the fire, stared up at the sky, and looked for meteors, while silently berating the City-boys in the next site over who insisted on shining their super bright flashlight all over the place. We lay there looking up at the night sky and saw lots of stars but no meteors.
"Want to keep looking, or go to bed?" I asked the boy.
"Keep looking," he replied. So we did.
A while later I repeated my question and this time he chose "Bed". Not surprisingly. I'm sure even without the food his pack was still pretty heavy. For the next few hours I tossed & turned, dozed off & woke up, until some time after midnight when I finally managed to stay asleep until 6am.
Wanting to get going before it got too hot I woke the boy up, and 45 minutes later we had the tent packed up, had eaten breakfast (granola bars), and were on our way. The return journey was not back out the way we came but further in, past Camp Sturtevant, up Mt. Zion, down the other side, through Camp Hoagee and on to Chantry Flat, being a total distance of approximately 5 1/2 miles.
Again the boy did amazingly well and we were back at the car by 9:30am.
"Want to do something like this again?" I asked him.
"Maybe," he said, "but not quite as long."
I know how you feel, son ;)
Monday, June 13, 2011
Mini-vacation
My son graduated from 5th Grade & Elementary school last week, which resulted in me having a mini-vacation from Wednesday through Monday, during which I:
- inflated and tied over 100 helium balloons, blistering the side of my finger in the process (something I didn't realize I'd done until the blister burst around the 90th balloon);
- ran security/crowd control on 200+ proud parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc., all intent on getting a photo of their little angel receiving his/her "diploma" while being completely oblivious to who they stood in front of to do so;
- co-chaperoned 100+ screaming 10 y/olds at a graduation 10-pin bowling party, where I discovered 10-year old kids not only know the words to Gaga's Poker Face, Taio Cruz's Dynamite, and Katy Perry's Firework but how to dance along to them, too...except for my son. He's a chip off the old block, he is ;)
- helped my 6 y/old daughter finally beat Kirby's Epic Yarn, Lego Batman, and Mario Galaxy. (Note: we only beat them, we didn't complete them. I later returned to Mario Galaxy and collected a few extra Power Stars but turned the game off when the Developers confused "challenging" with "frustrating".)
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
I don't honk when you're in MY lane
The right-hand lane which I use to enter the bus station's parking lot is not a right turn-only lane, so cars are free to use that right hand lane to continue straight ahead, and most vehicles in that lane do because they prefer to park in the next lot, or they're heading for the Freeway just a little further down. I find this annoying because in California, unless there are signs saying otherwise, you can make a right-hand turn on a red light, and if I don't catch the green light inevitably I find myself stopped behind someone who wants to go straight ahead. But as it's not a right turn-only lane they're doing nothing wrong, so I sit patiently and wait for the green.
Unlike most Southern Californians I always use my turn signal, and sometimes I'll pull up right behind this car, barely inches from their rear bumper, but slightly off center so if their mirrors are angled correctly my blinking turn signal is being reflected in their right-hand mirror. At times like these I'm even tempted to honk my horn at them, as if to say, "Come on, turn already." Except that's rude. They don't have their turn signal on, and if they wanted to turn they would have done so, so I sit there, patiently waiting for the light to turn green. Of course when it does there's always a couple of pedestrians from the parking lot waiting to cross the road to the bus station, so as a courteous driver (for the most part) I now feel compelled to wait for them too.
And the situation I've just described is exactly what happened this morning.
When the light went green the car in front of me drove on, straight ahead, and I pulled forward, turn signal still blinking, just like it had been doing the entire time I sat there waiting patiently for the light to turn green, then I stopped. I stopped because George, the old man who rides my bus, who had a stroke a few years back and so now walks with a pronounced limp/shuffle, good old George had stepped down into the crosswalk and was slowly hobbling across the road into which I wanted to turn.
Now I'll admit that maybe I didn't pull forward quite as much as I could have, but as far as I'm concerned yielding to pedestrians does not mean stopping your car halfway into the crosswalk so they're forced to walk around you. As far as I'm concerned, yielding to pedestrians means coming to a complete stop before your car even enters the crosswalk, and so I did.
For some reason this offended the driver of the car behind me. At first I wasn't sure if he'd flashed his headlights at me, but then he honked his horn, and then he flashed his lights again.
"Hello!" I said to myself with malicious glee. "Yielding to Pedestrians here. FUCKING wait!"
The horn honked again, accompanied by more flashing of head lights.
Now I don't know about you but when I'm being a courteous, considerate driver and yielding to pedestrians in a crosswalk, particularly slightly disabled pedestrians, specifically, slightly disabled pedestrians who I happen to know, and you're a rude, impatient, arrogant prick of a driver behind me honking your horn and flashing your lights, you've just accomplished the complete opposite of what you were trying to achieve; you've just made damn sure I'm going to completely yield to the pedestrian.
Which is what I did.
When there was enough room for me to pull forward, and even drive through behind George as he hobbled across the crosswalk, I didn't. I sat there. I would say I ignored the honking and flashing of lights, but in all truth they amused me as I waited to make sure George was well & truly clear of my path before finally driving through behind him.
Yes, I deliberately pissed this other driver off, but I don't care. I don't honk at drivers blocking my path just because I want to turn and they want to go straight ahead. If you don't want to sit behind me while I yield to pedestrians, don't drive in MY lane. It's that fucking simple.
Unlike most Southern Californians I always use my turn signal, and sometimes I'll pull up right behind this car, barely inches from their rear bumper, but slightly off center so if their mirrors are angled correctly my blinking turn signal is being reflected in their right-hand mirror. At times like these I'm even tempted to honk my horn at them, as if to say, "Come on, turn already." Except that's rude. They don't have their turn signal on, and if they wanted to turn they would have done so, so I sit there, patiently waiting for the light to turn green. Of course when it does there's always a couple of pedestrians from the parking lot waiting to cross the road to the bus station, so as a courteous driver (for the most part) I now feel compelled to wait for them too.
And the situation I've just described is exactly what happened this morning.
When the light went green the car in front of me drove on, straight ahead, and I pulled forward, turn signal still blinking, just like it had been doing the entire time I sat there waiting patiently for the light to turn green, then I stopped. I stopped because George, the old man who rides my bus, who had a stroke a few years back and so now walks with a pronounced limp/shuffle, good old George had stepped down into the crosswalk and was slowly hobbling across the road into which I wanted to turn.
Now I'll admit that maybe I didn't pull forward quite as much as I could have, but as far as I'm concerned yielding to pedestrians does not mean stopping your car halfway into the crosswalk so they're forced to walk around you. As far as I'm concerned, yielding to pedestrians means coming to a complete stop before your car even enters the crosswalk, and so I did.
For some reason this offended the driver of the car behind me. At first I wasn't sure if he'd flashed his headlights at me, but then he honked his horn, and then he flashed his lights again.
"Hello!" I said to myself with malicious glee. "Yielding to Pedestrians here. FUCKING wait!"
The horn honked again, accompanied by more flashing of head lights.
Now I don't know about you but when I'm being a courteous, considerate driver and yielding to pedestrians in a crosswalk, particularly slightly disabled pedestrians, specifically, slightly disabled pedestrians who I happen to know, and you're a rude, impatient, arrogant prick of a driver behind me honking your horn and flashing your lights, you've just accomplished the complete opposite of what you were trying to achieve; you've just made damn sure I'm going to completely yield to the pedestrian.
Which is what I did.
When there was enough room for me to pull forward, and even drive through behind George as he hobbled across the crosswalk, I didn't. I sat there. I would say I ignored the honking and flashing of lights, but in all truth they amused me as I waited to make sure George was well & truly clear of my path before finally driving through behind him.
Yes, I deliberately pissed this other driver off, but I don't care. I don't honk at drivers blocking my path just because I want to turn and they want to go straight ahead. If you don't want to sit behind me while I yield to pedestrians, don't drive in MY lane. It's that fucking simple.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
IT'S ALIIIIIVE!!!
This weekend I dug out two old PCs which I seemed to recall had died on us (several years ago), warranting the purchase of new PCs.
Contemplating making one working PC from the two, I pulled the sides off both boxes and took a look inside. I know my way around the inside of a case, and I'm also pretty efficient at salvaging dead PCs, so one look was all it took for me to realize that I was lacking several critical pieces, like RAM, and hard drives.
Fortunately I'm also a hoarder, so the RAM sticks and hard drives which no longer resided within these cases were still within my possession. As were several old Video Cards which I'd burned out (or so I thought) playing games that were a little bit too graphic intensive for them. I'd need one of those video cards because the mother board of one of those PCs does not have an on-board GPU.
But first on the agenda was upgrading my daughter's PC. She got 50% more Ram and a new (old) video card. Old, but still a two generation upgrade over what she had. I also uninstalled AVG. As much as I like anti-virus programs they tend to bog older systems down (as well as some newer ones). Her computer definitely seemed to run a lot faster with those simple changes. Cost? zero dollars.
Then I turned to the PCs. The first thing I noticed was of the remaining RAM sticks, the two largest were two 512MB sticks and they would only fit one of the MoBos. So it got a full Gig of RAM. I also dropped in one of my two 40GB HDD then, out of sheer curiosity, plugged it in and fired it up. To my amazement not only did it work, but it booted up into Linspire.
ASIDE: Earlier this week at my mate's house we watched United which he'd...er...borrowed(?) from a certain website which let you download...borrow. I did say borrow. So this website lets you borrow all sorts of movies which, if you've got a TV hooked up to your computer, rather than watch these movies on your piddly little computer monitor you can watch them on a much bigger screen (such as that found on a 50" Plasma TV). We already have Netflix, which lets us stream movies through our BluRay player, except that Netflix's 'online' service is sadly lacking. It does have a reasonable selection of some older movies, and some of the newer releases, but for the older or more obscure classics, and the latest releases, you still have to request a physical DVD. I understand what they're doing, but I still think it sucks.
So I hooked up this new PC with Linspire to my 50" Plasma, booted it up, and the POST loading screen came up, followed by the Linspire loading screen, and then? As it booted into Linspire's desktop, my TV screen went dark and the words Invalid Format began floating around the screen. Having encountered this situation before with the BluRay player I knew what was going on so I hooked up a monitor to the Linspire machine to set its resolution to one of the handful of true 16:9 widescreen resolutions. Except Linspire didn't offer any of those particular resolutions to me. Yes, I was using a widescreen monitor, but even when I told it to show me resolutions not supported by my system none of the 16:9 resolutions were listed.
Fortunately I had a second 40GB HDD so I unplugged the Linspire HDD and plugged in the second one. It booted up into Windows XP (as it should; I only have a 98 SE CD, and an XP Pro CD), and XP let me set the resolution to a proper 16:9 resolution. Unplug the monitor, plug in the 50" and the Windows desktop appeared larger than life (that's assuming you're smaller than 50", which I'm not, so technically it's not larger than my life, but I digress).
I unplugged the LAN cable from the BluRay player and hooked it up to the PC, which was good for updating the video drivers, but not so good for the BluRay player. But one of the other gadgets I had in my possession, which I had no idea why, or how long I'd had it (years, I'm guessing), was a 5-port Switch. As I'd gone through my box of PC Bits & Pieces I'd come across the Switch and despite not recalling ever seeing it before and not being 100% sure what it was, in typical Bloke-fashion I'd thought to myself, "I might be able to use this." A quick Google search revealed that indeed I could use it, and for the purpose I'd had in mind, too. Back into the box of Bits & Pieces I went where I extracted two 6' CAT5 cables. Plug the LAN cable into the Uplink port on the Switch, plug in both 6' cables then plug their other ends into the BluRay and the PC, and now both machines were online. Cost? Zero dollars.
Finally I turned to the last PC. This thing is old. It has an Athlon 1.2Ghz CPU. Years ago that was fast. Now? Not so much. It also only takes PC133 RAM. I had, according to their stickers, two 128MB sticks of PC133. I plugged them in, plugged in the Linspire HDD, and one GeForce MX4000, being the fastest of the old video cards I still had. It all booted up, except the Linspire HDD wouldn't boot. Which made me wonder if Linspire was not on the Hard Drive itself, but buried in an EPROM chip on the other PC's Motherboard.
Fortunately I had my XP CDs handy, as well as an old DVD drive which I promptly plugged in. It was then a simple matter of installing XP, and catching up on some reading. Then downloading SP3 while doing some more reading.
The only problem is there's one essential part of a computer which I don't have any spares of, and that would be monitors. The first PC doesn't need one because it's hooked up to the 50" Plasma, but this second PC? It needs a monitor. It also needs a new MoBo, faster CPU, more (& faster) RAM, a faster Video Card, and a bigger power supply to keep all that stuff running. In other words, I need a new computer ;)
"This axe? Why, it's been in the family for generations. Had 4 new handles, and a new blade, but it's just as good as the day my great-grandpappy bought it, all them years ago."
Saturday, May 07, 2011
And I thought they were tough
This morning I dragged the wife and kids out of bed at OMFG o'clock to come support me on my 5K Gladiator Rock 'n Run. Actually I didn't need to drag them out of bed. The wife claimed she had trouble sleeping last night (as did I, a little nervous I guess) so when the cat woke me up at my usual workday time of 4:30am and I realized I needed to use the loo, doing so woke up the wife, and she got up, even though there was an hour left on the alarm. I decided I might as well stay up too, and the boy was awake when I stuck my head in his bedroom door. So it was the only the bunny who needed waking up, and unlike a school morning, despite it being almost 2 hours earlier than her usual "wake-up" time, she was out of bed in seconds (vs the typical "I'm tired!" whine followed by rolling over and burying her head in her pillow).
After breakfast, and a 45-min drive we arrived at Irvine's Hidden Valley Park.
We also, eventually, managed to hook up with 4 of my coworkers, all who are a few years (or 10 years) younger than me. The original plan was to run together and help each other out, but when the first obstacle, a balance beam affair, split us up I was now running with a female coworker a few years younger than me, and a male coworker 13 years younger. The guy managed to trip himself up on the second obstacle, a tire run, and sprained his ankle, but he sucked it up like a true Gladiator, ran it off, and we continued the race.
When I noticed that my pace was a little faster than theirs I tried to slow down to stick with them, but eventually my competitive nature said "Fuck it" and I never looked back.
At the obstacle titled "The Fools' Spools" I leaped up onto the first one only to find the competitor ahead of me was slower than I expected. Instead of landing on top of it as he leaped off the other side I was forced to check my momentum or get a face full of arse. As I fell back I grabbed the edge of the spool to hang on and...Oh shit! My right tricep screamed at me that I was the fool! When I pulled myself back up onto the top of the spool I agreed with it, but I was doing this race to test myself, to push myself to the limit, not drop out at the first sign of an Owie! (Definitely a pulled tricep. I rubbed Bengay into it when I got back home but its still pretty sore, and will be for a few days. Meh. I'm a GLADIATOR!!!)
I vaulted over the remaining spools and finally caught up to one of my first two female coworkers (she's 10 years younger than me) at the muddy uphill slope, with a rope if you needed it to ascend, which I did (Ow, said my tricep. Shut up, I replied.) followed by a water slide back down to the cargo net. I managed to generate too much friction on the water slide (don't ask me how) and I found myself slowing down, then stopping 3/4 of the way down. Knowing other competitors were coming down right after me I tried to scoot down to the bottom of the slide but I wasn't quick enough and got nailed from behind by a competitor with a lower coefficient of friction. Fortunately that gave me the boost I needed to complete the slide. Unfortunately it provided me with too much momentum, and when I hit the muddy pool at the bottom I was forced to dive across it and roll out the other side.
It was only while standing in line at the cargo net that I realized I'd acquired a war wound from my spill, but being literally covered in mud from head-to-toe I could't tell how seriously I was hurt. And I do mean literally. My face was covered in mud but I couldn't wipe it off because my hands were covered in mud, and I couldn't wipe them off because every other part of my body was also covered in mud. I figured I was still standing and it wasn't hurting much so it can't have been serious. And it wasn't.
I don't look it there, but I was not the only one a little pissed at waiting in line for the cargo net/container obstacle. I was even more pissed when it was my turn and I finally climbed to the top, only to see scores of competitors running past the cargo container. "Cheaters!" I heard someone call out to them. "That line is too long!" one of them called back. Like that's an excuse. Enjoy your hollow victory, wannabe Gladiators!
Down the other side of the cargo container and on I ran with my female coworker, helping her across the vertical wall (she's considerably shorter than me) then sticking with her as we ran up, up, up the long hill. But when we came down the hill and she started to lag behind it was once again "Every Gladiator For Himself!" and I pulled away and left her behind. I never saw the second girl, but my first two coworkers found her, somewhere, because she finished the race with them, but that was long after I was done.
When I know my final time I'll post it, but for now I think I finished in approx. an hour.
A 5 kilometre race, through mud, over 14 obstacles, and I was the first AND oldest of my coworkers to finish. And I thought they were tough.
OFFICIAL RESULTS
My time: 47m 11.8s
Mens 36-42: 148/306 (I'll be 42 in August)
Mens Overall: 854/1819
Overall: 1367/3715
Monday, April 18, 2011
One fine evening, down at the running track
Among the 20 or so runners/walkers at the local High School running track were:
An elderly Chinese man running the wrong way. No, I'm not saying there was something wrong with his technique. I mean he was running clockwise while everyone else was running or walking counter-clockwise.
One couple strolling along together, side-by-side...hand-in-hand. Nothing wrong with walking on the track, lots of folks do, and at least they weren't walking on the inside couple of lanes (track etiquette dictates that the inside lanes are for runners) but they looked they were out for a casual romantic Sunday afternoon stroll rather than serious walkers getting their laps in at 8 o'clock on a Monday night.
Two ladies walking together. One wearing a faux fur vest (it wasn't that cold), the other with her jacket tied around her waist, a black & white leopard print silk (or faux silk) scarf around her neck, and an umbrella. No, not a compact umbrella. She was walking around the track carrying a full-sized 2 1/2'-long umbrella. Wow!
And me? Why, I was a picture-perfect fashionably-dressed runner, of course. With my grey & black Under Armor t-shirt, my red basketball shorts with black "racing" stripes, and my coordinated white, red & silver Nike runners w/ matching ankle-high white socks.
What?
An elderly Chinese man running the wrong way. No, I'm not saying there was something wrong with his technique. I mean he was running clockwise while everyone else was running or walking counter-clockwise.
One couple strolling along together, side-by-side...hand-in-hand. Nothing wrong with walking on the track, lots of folks do, and at least they weren't walking on the inside couple of lanes (track etiquette dictates that the inside lanes are for runners) but they looked they were out for a casual romantic Sunday afternoon stroll rather than serious walkers getting their laps in at 8 o'clock on a Monday night.
Two ladies walking together. One wearing a faux fur vest (it wasn't that cold), the other with her jacket tied around her waist, a black & white leopard print silk (or faux silk) scarf around her neck, and an umbrella. No, not a compact umbrella. She was walking around the track carrying a full-sized 2 1/2'-long umbrella. Wow!
And me? Why, I was a picture-perfect fashionably-dressed runner, of course. With my grey & black Under Armor t-shirt, my red basketball shorts with black "racing" stripes, and my coordinated white, red & silver Nike runners w/ matching ankle-high white socks.
What?
Saturday, February 26, 2011
New cartoons
Daddy! We wanna watch the new cartoons!
Ok, what channel are they on?
Boomerang, daddy!
Boomerang, huh? Okay, here we go.
Yay!
Is that...Top Cat???
Yeah! Ooh, the Jetsons are next!
New cartoons? These cartoons are older than me.
*giggling*
The Jetsons come on and I start preemptively singing the theme song.
Daddy! How do you know this?!
I told you. These cartoons are older than me.
You're funny, daddy!
Ok, what channel are they on?
Boomerang, daddy!
Boomerang, huh? Okay, here we go.
Yay!
Is that...Top Cat???
Yeah! Ooh, the Jetsons are next!
New cartoons? These cartoons are older than me.
*giggling*
The Jetsons come on and I start preemptively singing the theme song.
Daddy! How do you know this?!
I told you. These cartoons are older than me.
You're funny, daddy!
Saturday, January 01, 2011
18:25
Tonight I ran the 2 miles in 18m25s. I finished my first 400m lap in 2:12, while the second & subsequent laps were ran at a slightly slower (& saner) pace of ~2:20 each. Amazingly I ran my final lap faster (just) than I ran the first, in 2:08. Yes, after running almost 2 miles at 6mph I actually had enough left in me to finish strong. Tomorrow? I am wisely choosing to rest & recover.
Despite having preexisting injuries of a dislocated ankle, two torn ACLs, and one slightly torn hamstring (injuries which never heal 100% & leave life-long impressions) I'm actually not that sore.
Bring on that 10K Mud Run!
(But not too soon ;)
Friday, December 31, 2010
1 mile in 11 minutes, 2 in 20
This time last year I weighed approx. 210 lbs with 25% body fat. Now I weigh 180 lbs (my High School weight), with approx. 20% body fat (which is definitely not my High School BF% ;)
When I found out my son was running a mile on Fridays in Gym at school, and was finishing it in around 14 minutes, I was not happy with him. That's 4 miles per hour and I practically walk that fast, so there's no way my 10-year old son was running a 14-minute mile unless he was walking most of it, too.
My local park has a walking track around it, and using Google Maps I measured it to be approx. 1/3 mile around, so I headed out and ran three laps, finishing in approx. 9 minutes. The next night I went out with the boy and together we ran the mile in a little over 10 minutes.
"I never knew I could run that fast!" he exclaimed, excitedly.
That Friday while running his mile he slipped over rounding the baseball diamond and skinned his knee on the gravel. Apparently he finished his mile in 10:30 with blood running down his leg. I was pretty proud of him when I heard this, although he was mad at himself because recovering from the spill slowed him down so he didn't break 10 minutes (his goal). Hearing that made me even more proud of him :)
Over this Christmas break the boy has been taking it easy but when I discovered the track at my local High School is open to the public after 6pm I took him out to run an accurate mile. Not having had much exercise in 2 weeks other than a class or two of Tae Kwon Do I practically had to drag him across the line. Time? A shade under 11 minutes.
Knowing I could run it faster, and having jumped at the chance to take part in a 10K Mud Run with 4 coworkers this June, with the boy spending this New Year's Eve with his grandparents I headed out to see what I could do without a 10-year old anchor holding me back.
Bravely (or foolishly, depending on your point of view) I decided to see if I had it in me to run TWO miles.
I did.
Mile 1 = 2:15 + 2:26 + 2:28 + 2:29 = 9:38
Discounting that first faster lap I was surprised to see how consistently I ran the 2nd, 3rd & 4th laps. But then Mile 2 happened.
Mile 2 = 2:29 + 2:29 + 2:29 = WOW!
And yes, I know I'm missing a 4th (or 8th) Lap there. Unfortunately I was using my cell phone's Stopwatch App to time myself, and I hit "Stop" when I finished rather than "Lap", which resulted in my final Lap time not being recorded. And when I hit Stop all I saw was that the first couple of digits was a 1 and a 9, i.e., 19 minutes-something, and as I was pretty happy to run two miles in less than 20 minutes (my goal) I never looked at the seconds.
I am pretty sure I ran that final lap a little faster than 2:29 though. I definitely stepped up my pace during the last 100 meters. Not quite to a full sprint but definitely faster than the 6mph jog I'd been maintaining for the past 20 minutes. I might have done that final lap in 2:25 ;)
All up I was pretty happy with myself. But if I'm going to do a 10K Mud Run in 6 months time I need to be able to run more than 2 miles. I need to be able to run 7 miles in less than 2 hours, but that's 7 miles of running through mud, climbing over walls, crossing streams, & crawling through tunnels. In other words, I need to step my shit up, fo'shizzle!
Or something like that :P
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