One of Many Times it's a Miracle I Survived

It's about time I write something that's just straight up funny. No more of that depressing nonsense! With it being dark out literally every time I work out now, it's been harder to get going. Plus I've been eating a stupid amount of food. But this story helps remind me how far I've come! Because.... wow.

About 11 years ago my friend Augustus came over to my apartment. That's not his real name. It was a Friday in January. The day and month don't matter, because we would drink on any night at any time of the year. We had some other hobbies, but mostly we drank.

After having several beers, we decided to go watch Underworld Evolution. It was the second in a series of movies about vampires featuring a moody and attractive Kate Beckinsale. I just looked her up on IMDB to see what new and exciting things she's been doing since those long ago days. She's in a new Underworld movie coming out next month. I'm not sure if I'm excited or indifferent.

Vampires and sex and violence and stuff.

Having no other joy in our lives, Augustus and I decided to bring more booze to the theater. In case you don't live in this country, that's totally not allowed. When I first wrote this story 130 months ago, I made it a point to write down precisely what alcohol we brought. I always find it sad that young people take so much pride in the quantity and quality of their alcohol. Apparently I was exactly that sad.

Anyway, I brought 6 ounces of 100 proof Southern Comfort and Augustus brought 8 ounces of 80 proof vodka. I don't recall the brand, but it was undoubtedly cheap. We snuck our contraband into the theater and sat down, our ill intentions emblazoned in our obtuse minds.

Every time there was a fight scene, we took a shot.

Every time there was nudity, we took a shot.

Every time it had been more than a few minutes since we'd taken a shot, we took a shot.

At some point Augustus started yelling "I love you!" at the screen. We polished off all our liquor. By the end of the movie, we were drunk. We left.

As we sped out of the parking lot, we realized we were hungry. Just a quick aside here for all you judgmental types: I don't drink anymore. We decided to go to Applebees. Wow.... Applebees. Is that even a place anymore? It's on the same list for me as McDonalds and Taco Bell. But I guess at that point in my life I was perfectly fine with eating several thousands calories of fried starch in a sitting.

I miss those days.

I had a grapefruit last night, and it pushed me over my calorie budget. A grapefruit made me feel fat and guilty.

A grapefruit.

Chock full of calories

We weren't nearly done drinking yet, and Augustus wasn't uuuuuuuuh.... of age at the time. Hold on:

• Public intoxication: check.
• Drunk driving: check.
• Underage drinking: check.

... and I've barely even started this story. Thank goodness for the statute of limitations. As I was saying, we weren't done drinking yet, so we stopped by Tops to get something to put into Augustus' flask. They don't sell liquor at Tops. We got a six pack of long-neck Coronas (just imagine I'm putting little registered trademark symbols next to all these brand names). The bottles were smaller, and we figured we could sneak them into Applebees with ease. Ease. You see, we were clever young adults in the prime of our lives.

By the way, when a young man or woman argues that they're smart and can handle their own $hit, this is what they mean. They mean they can do stupid things and get away with it. They believe they can. They're generally wrong. So feel free to insult their ego.

We each slammed a Corona in the car. Augustus stashed two more into his coat, and in we went. We budged in front of people and made a beeline for the bar. Augustus, continuing to demonstrate his ingenuity, asked around and got the names of the two bartenders. Let's call them Steve and Debbie.

Steve came over and asked us what we'd like. I said, "actually, could we get Debbie? Thanks!"

So then Debbie came over and we said, "hey Debbie! How's it going? Do you remember us? We came in here last month!" We managed to convince her that she did remember us. Or at least she was being polite.

I ordered a beer and some appetizers (buckets of grease). Augustus pulled out one of his Coronas and started (continued) drinking. He covered the bottle with his hand so you couldn't tell it was a long-neck.

Debbie came back and asked, "did you already pay for that drink?"

"Yup, Steve already took care of it," I replied. Pow! After that we were in the clear. We each ordered a perfect martini (that's manly, right?) and a shot.

At this point we thought, wow, this plan really worked! We're flipping geniuses! But our overconfidence got the best of us. Augustus stopped covering his beer and left it out on the bar. I pointed out at that they don't serve long-necks and we'd get in trouble. Augustus said we'd be totally fine. He was wrong.

Debbie came over with our perfect martinis and noticed the Corona.

"We don't serve long-necks here," she said, "I'm going to have to see your IDs."

"Oh, I left it in the car," Augustus replied, fumbling about. Debbie turned around to help another customer, and Augustus took that opportunity to say, "let's get out of here." We took one of the martinis, shaker and all, dropped some cash on the counter, and escaped.

We got in the car and quickly downed the martini. Delicious! At least it was delicious at the time. In retrospect it probably tasted like sugar and battery acid. When I first wrote this story, I mentioned - proudly - that I still had the shaker.

I still have that shaker.

Every time I've moved, I've packed it into a box. That shaker has moved with me at least five times. I used it regularly to make mixed drinks when I wanted to be a classy alcoholic, instead of the regular kind of alcoholic.

Augustus and I were still hungry, as we'd abandoned Applebees before actually eating anything. So we went to Friendly's next. We got a table. I imagine there must have been a herd of overweight families glaring at us menacingly. But I had tunnel-vision at that point and don't actually remember at all.

Sure looks friendly...

I tried being flirty with the waitress, calling her by name, which totally worked at the last place. I thought I was being smooth. The first thing I ordered was a beer. She reminded us that Friendly's is a "family friendly establishment." It was clear that we were very drunk, and even in my inebriated state, it was clear that she hated us. We ordered appetizers.

Augustus and I reminisced about how awesome we were at Applebees. We spoke loudly. The manager - a short balding man - walked by and told me to pull my feet in. In my previous retellings, I called him an "a$$hole." We were definitely the a$$holes though. It was bad enough this man was born short and bald. Now he had to deal with a couple of drunken idiots who thought they were superheros. Our food arrived.

"Where's the waitress," Augustus asked.

"Why?"

"Where is she."

"Uh, behind the counter."

"Let's go."

"What?!"

"Let's take our food and get the he!! out."

I don't know why I was letting Augustus make decisions for us, but I was in no condition to argue against stealing food. We each grabbed a plate and headed straight for the exit. Well, I headed straight for the ice cream freezer first, before I located the actual exit. Just as we hit the last door, the manager yelled out, "hey you!"

As our feet touched pavement, he grabbed our plates and said, "and goodbye to you!"

We stared dumbfoundedly at our empty hands for a second and then got in my car. Somehow, we'd managed to escape unscathed. We were elated! Then I realized something.

I'd lost my cellphone.

It was a Nokia 3210 I believe. It was shaped like a curvy brick. That phone was amazing. Last week I had to get an IPhone 7 because my 6S broke after only a year. It literally broke. It wouldn't charge anymore. 1 year. If I had that old 3210 today, it would still work. I have no doubt of that. I wouldn't be able to play Centipede on it but who cares. F@#k Centipede.

This phone would crush a centipede

Augustus and I discussed it at length (= seconds) and I decided that I'd left my phone in Friendly's. Well shucks.

Augustus being a good friend, and also black-out drunk, went back in to look for my phone. No luck. So then I tried.

I told the manager I left my phone there. He said I did not. I looked in our booth. It was not there. The manager took this opportunity to make some derogatory remarks about me and my friend. I tried to exit through the ice cream freezer again, much to his delight.

I got back to the car. I was firmly convinced that my phone was in there and that the manager was hiding it due to his personal vendetta against us. Augustus gave it one more go. My phone was definitely not in Friendly's. We headed home, defeated.

I'm rereading this story, transcribing it as I go, and shaking my head throughout. Was I really that awful? I keep asking myself. And at this point I'm thinking, finally we had gone home.

We did not go home.

We actually picked up a friend of ours. I've nearly killed myself while more sober than I was at this point. Augustus was black-out drunk (but then he normally blacked out). And we picked up a friend. And drank more.

Apparently I went to bed at 1am. Did I round that number down? How did I even decide went to go to bed? Oh, it's because our friend drank the remainder of my booze. Got it.

I got up the next morning at 9am. Back then I was impressed with myself for getting up that early on a Saturday. These days I get up at 5am to exercise. 9am is sleeping in. 9am is sleeping in late. Crazy.

My idea of working out back in the day.

I got up at 9 because a friend came over. A regular sober friend that I'm still friends with. We play board games together. I borrowed his phone and called my phone.

"Hello?" Answered a woman (in my story I called her a "chick", because I was a misogynist back then).

"Uuuummmm, I believe you're talking on my phone, which I lost last night!" I replied excitedly. My phone was at Friendly's (I knew it!). I drove over super fast.

"Hey, I called about 15 minutes ago. I left my phone here," I said to the person behind the counter.

"Oh, the one that got run over?" She said, handing me my phone. It looked like it had lost a battle with a belt sander. Amazingly, it still worked, minus the screen. Oh, and the battery cover wouldn't stay on. I was convinced the manager had found it and run over it on purpose.

That was the end of that particular story. And no, I did not learn my lesson at that time. I continued being an idiot and an a$$hole for quite some time after. It's no wonder I beat myself up so hard these days!!

How have you survived this long?!

When You Can't Be Thankful

Sure, I'm thankful for the usual things. Being healthy enough to exercise every day. Living in a place that's not a snowbank. Gorging myself on too much food. Having people I love who mysteriously tolerate me.

What I'm not thankful for is watching friends suffer. Watching them die.

I've written about my friend Brian before. I ran Wineglass and Baltimore Marathon with him. He has COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease) and it will kill him. He can no longer do any of the things that matter to him. He can't work. He can't play music.

He can't run.

With some difficulty, we got Brian up here to spend Thanksgiving with us. He was looking forward to it for weeks. It was the only thing he had to look forward to. Thanksgiving was yesterday. I drove him back to his car in Corning this morning. I have no clue what, if anything, he has to look forward to now. Even worse, he thinks I don't like him anymore; that I resent him.

The worst though is that he's not 100% wrong.

I'm not a good person. I'm selfish. It's why I lost all my girlfriends. I care too much about myself. I'm not good at dealing with someone else's pain and suffering every day. Every. Single. Day. I tried with Pixie. I tried really hard. I loved her (I still love her) and wanted to do whatever I could for her. Right until I didn't.

Here's a distraction.

Geoffrey, Meghan, and I are pretty much the only people Brian has. His own family didn't even invite him for Thanksgiving. He wants me to say "Good Night" to him every single night. He often messages during the night. And first thing in the morning, while I'm doing my deadlifts. While I'm driving. While I'm at work. I come back to messages after my run or bike ride or whatever I do after work.

And I know why. It's because he's scared. Rightfully so. Every message may be his last. Every night he goes to bed may be his last (not that he gets any sleep whatsoever). This Thanksgiving may have been the last time he got to see any of us. And as much as I want to ignore how I feel and just always been there for him - no matter what - until the bitter end, I can't. Because, turns out, being the only solace for a dying man is brutally f@#king hard.

When I first started writing this, I was going to maybe spin it slightly in an optimistic direction. Maybe throw in some inspirational $hit. Then I decided I didn't feel like writing a bunch of lies.

Another distraction... This one's a "thinker"

Brian tells us not to pity him. But when we invited him to Thanksgiving, that's exactly what it was: pity. We feel bad. When I hang out with friends, we have adventures. We play board games. We go to a show. We run through snowy woods and across frozen creeks to our favorite brewery (or used to). I don't want to help a friend up a flight of stairs while pretending to empathize about how hard it is to breath. I don't do that because it's fun. It's because I have to.

I'm a shitty friend. Just a no good awful friend. And I know exactly what Brian will say. That I'm not. That I've been an amazing friend and that I've always been there for him and that I ran marathons and came to his house and listened to him every day when he struggled and that I'm one of the few people who care.

What it really comes down to is that I internalize pain and anger. I redirect it at myself. I can't actually do anything for Brian. Talking to him is nice, but it does zero to ease his pain. Sure, it makes the time he has left more tolerable, but that's small comfort to me. And because I'm not a magical wizard and I can't magically make him healthy, I f@^king hate myself for it.

It's the problem I've always had with myself. Impossible expectations of myself that I can't ever possibly reach, followed by self-loathing when I inevitably fail. Painted over with fake smiles in photos. Good times, that.

Distraction time!

I was wrong, I am thankful for something. I'm thankful for Brian, for putting me into a place that's far outside of my comfort zone. That's the only way I grow and learn. It's the only way I become a better person. All the trash above is catharsis. I'm not going to jump back into a whisky bottle or gallon of ice cream. You don't have to worry about me.

A lot of people say Brian is an inspiration. Because he is. But I'm just as crazy as he is. It doesn't matter how broken I am, I still run. But what Brian has done for me exceeds mere inspiration. He has laid bare my demons for me. A lot of people abandon him, and I understand why now. It's not being put face-to-face with one's own mortality. Or being inconvenienced. It's because it's freaking terrifying.

Yup... crazy

Having your own insecurities and weaknesses smashed into your face is hard. But I don't want to run away from them. It's why I write all the stuff above that portrays me as a selfish and awful person. Because I have to smash myself into pieces first before I can put those pieces back together again into something better. Like breaking apart a lego castle with, just, way too many buttresses because it's too top-heavy.

Of course, it's just like my selfishness to write a post that's all about me. Me me me. Brian's dying and all I can do is whine about my feels. And it wasn't all bad. We had an amazing game of Cards Against Humanity yesterday. We all laughed uproariously. It was a great evening among friends.

For a brief period during that game, we escaped pain, we escaped fear, we escaped despair. We escaped ourselves.

And we ate an absurd amount of pie, ice cream, and chocolates. Geoffrey, Meghan, Brian, Aria... they made me feel like a part of a family. They made me feel loved. I'm eternally grateful to them.

Life isn't ALL bad...

Competition

I read this interesting article recently about competitiveness. Take a look if you like reading things: time.com/4553305/workout-competition-exercise-motivation/

If you don't like reading things - except for my things of course - here's the gist: Competition makes you work harder. The folks in the study mentioned in the article trained way more when they were competing against others. Even more fascinating, the folks who were in a friendly and supportive classroom environment worked out less.

I'll talk about the first thing first. I've always been competitive. I pretend not to be. I try not to be. But I am. I'm a terrible person to play board games against. Which sucks because I'm a nerd and I like board games. One of my ex-girlfriends actually smacked me once because I was winning too much. Like, not playfully.

I'm definitely competitive when it comes to exercise as well. I'm inspired and impressed by my friends and their amazing achievements. But I also challenge myself to push myself even harder. Competitiveness isn't a bad thing inherently. It could be. But that's where experience comes in.

When it comes to board games, I can be competitive without being a douchebag. I'm still working on that. When it comes to exercise, I can be competitive without breaking myself. I'm, um, still working on that too.

But I'm getting better at both things!

Just... maybe don't talk to me if I've just lost Settlers of Catan
Photo cr. Marc Ryan

Some folks aren't competitive, and that's fine. But having a goal to conquer will definitely motivate you to push yourself more. And if you don't have any races scheduled, then being part of an athletic community can help motivate you. As long as you choose to be motivated and not discouraged by the performance of others. Maybe you don't run as fast as others, but maybe you can run farther! Or maybe with more elevation! Or maybe even with just brighter socks. Whatever it takes!

I've mentioned in other posts the importance of friends and community. This is one such reason. Friendly competition can help everyone achieve better results. It's not about being "better" than others, or about "winning". It's about pushing yourself. And boasting about your own accomplishments makes you feel good and encourages others to push themselves as well. And in this way you and your friends all get stronger. Just be careful not to burn yourself out!

The second part of the study was really interesting too. If you're in a classroom, or a community, that's too supportive, it's actually a detriment. In the same way that a group of people can bring one another up, they can also bring one another down. This isn't done maliciously. But we can all relate to losing motivation and will forgive one another for doing so. But too much of this can make giving up "OK".

While it's important to not overtrain or cause yourself injury, having pals who are too "nice" to you can hamper your progress. This means when you're looking for people to workout with, or just to connect with, look for the ones who are crazy. Even if they scare you a little, or you don't think you can measure up (at first!). These are the folks who will make you want to work harder. Don't intentionally hamper yourself by only spending time with folks who say, "it's ok you missed your workout, let's go get cupcakes."

"I ate all the food and did nothing today. Please tell me that's OK."

I mean, cupcakes are delicious. But they're a reward, not a consolation prize.

I've mentioned a few times not to burn yourself out. Only you know what your limits are. It takes experience to learn when to push yourself, and when to ease up. And even though some competitiveness will inspire you to work harder, too much can cause you to hurt yourself. Don't quit if this happens. Take a break and then come back stronger than ever. Let your friends know you will be back kicking a$$ in no time!

Be conscientious of yourself and the people around you. Sometimes we look to punish ourselves by taking on too much. Other times we deliberately hamstring ourselves by hanging out with friends who encourage our laziness. Be aware of both. Find a balance and find a community that lets you progress consistently.

Dealing With the Election

I had a post written up for today, but I'll save it for next week. I'm going to write something else now.

I lift every day, and have the calluses to prove it. I batter my body running, swimming, and biking. I've been training martial arts for most of my life. I don't fear pain; I embrace it. I rode a motorcycle for many years. I own several guns. I think lumberjacks are awesome. A kilt is part of my regular wardrobe.

I've hurt people. For a long time I was selfish, judgmental, and self-centered. I drank, I took advantage of women, and I constantly sought pleasure. I didn't have many values and mostly cared for myself. I was an asshole.

Given that background, here is the most important thing I've discovered about life. It is this.

Love.

A lot of my friends are suffering today. They are sad, scared, and angry. Fear and anger is a big reason why Trump was elected. But those same friends are what help me get through today, and every other day. The people I love is what brings joy to my life. I know many of them are in pain and I'm sorry for that. But I want them - I want you - to know that you are the ones who make this world amazing.

I didn't delete any friends today. I don't care how anybody voted. Because unless someone purposefully injures me, I'm not going to kick them out of my life for their opinions, or difference thereof. I've done that before, and the only person it hurt was me.

I'm not a woman. I'm not African American, or Hispanic, or Muslim. I'm not gay or bisexual (although sometimes people think I am!). It would be unfair of me to pretend to understand what these folks are going through today. And I don't mean to trivialize their feelings. Some of them have very legitimate fears. The suffering they go through comes from a lack of understanding and a lack of compassion from others.

I don't want to contribute to that pool of anger or close-mindedness. Judging someone for how they voted isn't much different from judging them for the color of their skin, their religion, or their sexual orientation. Maybe you don't agree and that's OK. Maybe you feel their vote was a direct statement against who you are. We're all human. We're not inherently evil. We don't do things out of deliberate hatred or spite. Confusion, fear, anger, misguidedness, yes. But I choose to believe that we're inherently loving.

I get scared too. I don't know what my future holds, and that's frightening. I push myself every day to the brink of injury, and that's frightening. I often feel alone, and that's frightening. But I remind myself every day that what rescues me from that fear is love. The love I feel for others and the love they generously give to me.

Love may not fix all of the world's ills. But many of the problems out there come from a lack of compassion. A lack of sympathy. A lack of appreciation. It's easier to dismiss someone who's different than to try to understand them. It's easier to think of someone as "bad" than to say, "how am I similar to this person." Because when I see rage, pain, and bitterness, I see a reflection of how I feel sometimes. I'm done lying to myself. I'm not going to pretend that I'm better. I'm not.

But I want to love. I want love in my life. And I hope that, by some small measure, I can help others feel better by giving them my love.

Thank you for reading.

Don't Fear Pain

My body is totally nuked. My legs are devastated. I ran a 10K Sunday with a bunch of friends and it had a massive steep hill in the middle. I can't understate how smash-tastic this hill was. It started out steep, and then it hit a graveled seasonal road that was even steeper. And then you think you're done but then it keeps going. And then you think you're done. But then you're still not.

It hurt a lot.

I'm in the middle of my deadlift challenge, which hammers my legs. And I'm still swimming, biking, and running. Geoffrey tells me that I'm exercising way too much and I don't rest enough. He's a coach so he should know (check out his new page!). But I don't know what I can take out. The lifting challenge is important to me. But I can't cut the cardio because I'm doing an Ironman next year.

So.... Pain it is.

A lot of pain.

I don't advocate training to the point of injury. Or past it. I've done that before. It's not a good idea. I don't even recommend folks exercise as much as I do. I know I'm not being "smart". I'm terrible at following my own advice.

But I'm a big fan of pain.
 

And I have this in case I forget.

Even before I became a lunatic endurance athlete and lifter, I trained karate (and still do). I started karate 20 years ago. I've suffered bumps, bruises, pulled muscles and tendons, minor fractures, and probably a concussion in there somewhere. I've always been comfortable with pain, and exercise was a natural progression from that.

Pain makes me feel powerful.

That may sound weird, but hear me out. A lot of folks don't like pain. They go through life avoiding it. And by doing so they never really find out what their limits are. I push myself to my limit almost every day. And that limit increases a little every time. I discover how much I can handle, and I watch what I can handle keep growing.

One more thing handled...

I'm a big fan of superhero shows on Netflix. Right now I'm watching Arrow, and it's actually pretty great. He takes a beating in that show. Regularly. I like Daredevil a lot too, and he takes a huge beating all the time too. One may wonder, how can someone take so much punishment and keep on going?

I know how.

And the two examples above are "normal" guys (at least in the sense that they can't fly or shoot lasers out their butts). I can't do a backflip (last time I tried I landed on my face). And just my luck I'd go up against the one guy who didn't go to the Stormtrooper Academy of Shooting. But I can take a heap of punishment, and then do it all over again the next day.

And that's what their strength is: Perseverance. Never stopping in the face of adversity. And a big dose of loving pain.

I can't do what I do without enjoying pain to some extent. But it's not a natural thing, not for most people. It's something you have to learn. I've reprogrammed my brain to equate pain with power. And of course my brain loves the rewards (typically ice cream). I've taught my mushy lazy mind that pain equals good.

Pain = Good

Life is hard. And it never stops being hard. If it's not hard, then you're not pushing yourself enough. But when I look at a challenge, I can say to myself, "this isn't as tough as a 20 mile run, or a set of deadlifts at 350 pounds." Pain makes a lot of things seem a lot easier in comparison.

I don't take things personally. Well, OK, I do. What I mean is that I don't act out of anger. I have hurt people, and they have hurt me back. I don't want to hurt people anymore, and I make a big effort not to. But I don't react negatively if they hurt me. Because that's a thing that happens. And it's a thing I can handle. I can have a difficult conversation with a loved one, and not be scared.

I stare into the face of fear every day. Nobody else is going to push me into the abyss. Push me to make that leap and face that fear head on. Only I can do that to myself. It's easy not to. Really easy. A lot of folks make that choice. They just sort of float. Work their job every day, live in comfort, get fat. A lot of those same folks end up wondering if they could've done more with their lives. By then it's often too late.

I don't want to be that person. I consider myself blessed that I've learned to push myself this hard - and to enjoy pain - at a relatively young age. I still have a lot of time to find joy and success. And that's exciting! I've got the skill down of not surrendering. At this point it's just a matter of fine-tuning how I direct my energy.

There's all sorts of ways to direct one's energy...

That's not easy either. The navigating part. Life is crazy. Waaaay crazy. I don't know if you've checked, but yeah. It's bonkers. But I'm not afraid of that part. I've built my boat. It's just a matter of sailing now. There's plenty of folks still on the shore, staring out over the sea and wondering. But I'm out there on the tempestuous waves, braving the storms.

It's scary. And it's painful. But it's exciting. I don't know where I'll end up, but the trip itself is an adventure.

Life is pain. Love it.

Never Miss a Workout

I did not want to get up this morning at 5:15. I was exhausted. I hadn't slept enough. I ran 11 miles yesterday and my body still hurt. It was still pitch black out. It was cold, and my bed was so very warm. Most people would stay in bed for one of those reasons.

I sat up and turned the light on and turned off my alarm. I never hit snooze. Then my cat, seeing that I was awake, started going crazy. I got up, fed her, and brushed my teeth. After that I didn't go back to bed. This all happened pretty slowly, as my body really didn't want to move. But by 5:30am I was downstairs with my coffee and started lifting.

I wasn't motivated. Motivation has nothing to do with it. My motivation is a big zero right now. But this was the 16th day of my deadlift challenge. I didn't have a choice. I had to lift. At no point is exercise something I "want" to do. It's something I have to do. Because if it's not, I will fail. Period.

It's tempting to stay in bed. Missing "just one day" won't kill me. Or I could do my workout "later". In fact, my lifts took longer than I thought this morning, so I wasn't able to go swimming afterward. But I went swimming at lunch time. Staying in bed after you wake up though has no value. You don't get any more meaningful rest.

It's just comfortable.

Fitness isn't about comfort. It's the opposite. Exercise pushes you far outside of your comfort zone. It causes you pain and fatigue, so that your body heals stronger. It makes your mind stronger too, as you become better capable of handling hardship. But every time you cave in and skip a workout, you go backwards in your progress. You teach your brain that it's ok to give up. And your brain definitely loves laziness.

"Ugh, these stupid abs better be worth it."

The only way to stick to a workout plan is with a routine. Make a plan and DO it. You can't wait until you want to work out, because you never will. Oh occasionally you'll feel energetic or inspired and will go on a hike, but that's rare and undependable. Anything you want to succeed at requires a daily ritual of hard work. And this isn't just for exercise; it applies to everything.

A lot of this is about attitude. Many folks - without being too rude I think I can say most folks - have trouble sticking with a workout or diet plan. Deep down they know that they don't really need to exercise. That sleeping in, eating junk food, and being fat and jolly are totally OK. Nothing "bad" will happen to them, at least not right away. And when it does... That's what they have overpriced health insurance for!

I know, because I was the same way. I would eat, drink booze, party, and have a grand old time. I'd exercise once or twice a week, but always with a feeling like, "well, it doesn't really matter." I'd stay out too late and get trashed, or eat a whole container of potato chips in a sitting because it made me feel good. I convinced myself that the best you could hope for out of life was to feel good as much as possible.

I was wrong.

What she says.

Today, I feel proud. Genuinely proud. Even though I'm my own harshest critic, I can still point at some of the things I've done and say, "ya know what, me? That was kind of awesome." Or, "that was brutally hard, and I did it anyway." I feel powerful. Because I've learned that challenges are not insurmountable, and that I can achieve pretty much whatever I want if I work hard enough.

I also have love. I've learned how critical this is to a happy and healthy life. When I was younger, I had plenty of friends. But most of them liked me because I fed them booze and made things exciting for an evening. The friends I have now respect me. They appreciate the pain and suffering I've gone through, and they can entirely sympathize with it. We share the kind of deep connection that fellow warriors do after surviving a battle together.

We inspire one another. My friends and fellow exercise nuts blow me away with their accomplishments. Often times, seeing one of them post something amazing online is what gets me out the door. I don't want to let them down! And in return I inspire others to work harder as well. And in this way we all bring one another up.

Friends make everything awesome!
Photo Cr. MarathonFoto; courtesy of Meghan

Exercise is usually a solitary activity though. And if you're only just starting, it takes a while to build up that sense of community. There's other things to keep yourself on track though.

Think of the things you do that help you unwind and bring you joy: Relaxing, reading, eating a delicious dinner (or ice cream!), watching Netflix. Now turn those things into rewards. You don't get to do those things until after you've worked out. Period. If you don't run, you don't eat. If you don't bike, you don't get to watch TV. If you don't swim, you don't get to lie down and relax.

A lot of the times I exercise is exactly because I'm hungry. Or I'm tired. I know - KNOW - that I'm not "allowed" to eat or relax until I've done my workout. So the faster I get myself up and moving, the faster I get to the reward.

And if I don't exercise, I feel guilty. Actually, at this point I feel guilty for even thinking about not exercising. A lot of people probably suffer this as well. But here's the difference. They decide to skip the spin class, or crossfit, or their run, or the gym, or whatever. They relax and feel, "man, I needed to rest." But then later, the guilt creeps in.

Even during the winter I won't let myself slack off.

I don't wait until later. I feel guilty immediately. And I hate feeling guilty. It sucks big time. So I get up and I go do the thing I don't feel like doing. And then not only do I not feel guilty anymore, I feel good. It may sound weird, but what I'm saying is don't delay the negative emotions. Use them to drive you to work, and then turn them into positive emotions as a result.

For me, it's not enough to just have a daily plan. I like to challenge myself. I've currently completed 16 days of my 80 day deadlift challenge. Last year I did an 80 day deadlift challenge as well. I challenge myself by registering for races that force me to keep training. I've signed up for my first Ironman. It's still still 10 months out, but that actually feels like very little time to get my swimming and biking to the level they need to be at! I made sure to go swimming today because even missing one session would feel like a big setback.

"Must. Hold. 345. Pounds. For. Photo."

Ignore pain. Ignore exhaustion. They'll always be there, and they don't matter. Find your inspiration. Fill your life with people who support you and raise you up. Challenge yourself regularly. Measure your successes, feel proud of yourself, and then pushes yourself to even greater ones. Try new things; don't stagnate. Crosstrain, sign up for new and different challenges, do something your friends are doing.

Claim the identity you wish to have. You don't want to be successful. You ARE successful. You don't want to get into shape. You are already an athlete! You don't wish to be a better person. You are already amazing!! And successful athletic and amazing people work hard every day. And that's who you are.

Claim it.

"Claim it.... or I'll eat your face."

Love and Masochism in Baltimore

I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to write today, and struggled with the title. I finally settled on something that sounds like it was written by Hunter S. Thompson. Hopefully it'll make sense... eventually.

My friend Brian had signed up to run the marathon in the Baltimore Running Festival a while ago, along with about a thousand other marathons. I ran Wineglass with him, and wrote about him before that. I had actually wanted to do Baltimore too, purely because of the ridiculously awesome medal, but I already had about a thousand back-to-back races scheduled, and hate driving.

The medal freakin' OPENS. Photo cr: Baltimore Running Festival website.

After Wineglass, Brian said he was done racing, and I foolishly believed him. But about a half hour later, he totally changed his mind. We were all very worried about him. Of course he's an epic badass, and would run a marathon through a wild cougar preserve (the toothy clawy kind, not the lecherous lady kind). But we care about him, and his lungs hate him.

Meghan signed up to run the marathon with Brian. Because she's amazing, and takes care of others even if she herself is falling apart (which was true; her hip had barely recovered, and she had a gnarly head cold all weekend). I was relieved. I had: run Lehigh Valley Marathon, done a triathlon, run a half-marathon, run Wineglass Marathon, and run Empire State Marathon. All in consecutive weekends. Without a break.

I was happy to know that Brian would have an epic friend like Meghan running with him and supporting him in yet another brutal trial. I would finally have a weekend off. My toenails were all the wrong colors, I had trouble walking up stairs (or on flat surfaces for that matter), and had just started my deadlift challenge.

And then it happened.

Geoffrey told me had signed up to run Baltimore too. He was going to go down with Meghan and surprise Brian. I stared at him dumbfounded. I quivered a bit. My organs started to pre-emptively shut down. I went upstairs and signed up too. It was the last day of online registration.

That's a lie. I didn't sign up immediately. First I txted Meghan and said I was almost tempted to go. I was hoping she'd say, "well actually, Geoffrey and I were going to double this up as a romantic getaway, and you would totally cramp our mojo." No. Instead she said, "Do it!". The rest of my vital organs quietly turned off, conserving the scraps of energy that remained in my body. Then I signed up.

That made 3 back-to-back marathons in a row, and 4 within 5 weeks of each other.

And Haiko has been there for most of my races.

Of course, as soon as I did that, I was glad. I enjoy doing stupid things and destroying my body. And it would be awesome to surprise Brian and run the marathon with him. And then there was that medal!!! We all kept the secret from him, weaving delicate webs of lies upon lies to confound him.

The drive down was long. I napped in the back seat as much as I could to fast forward through the ride. It was a bit uncomfortable, as I had brought two 70 pounds freeweights and they took up all the floor space (you didn't think I'd miss even a single day of my deadlift challenge, did you??).

We got to Baltimore, and after competing over whose directions to follow, arrived at the Convention center for the expo. We got our bibs. I picked up the bib for my friend Vadim who had signed up for the half-marathon at the last minute. That's what happens when you randomly TXT to catch up. I will invite you to run a race.

And then it was time to surprise Brian. Meghan went into the restaurant first. Geoffrey and I hid in the hallway like a pair of skulking vagrants. Unfortunately Brian was facing the door, so Meghan TXTed and told us to just waltz in. And by waltz I mean we bumbled around the restaurant like a pair of lost tourists. Brian noticed my kilt from afar (it shines like the North Star). But he was still quite surprised!

"You've got to be f@#king kidding me," he exclaimed.

We sat. We met his friends who were also running the marathon (separately). We ate most of their pizza. Brian was pretty overwhelmed, but managed to keep his $hit together. There were lots of hugs and shows of appreciation. It was nice. And we had a gorgeous view of the Inner Harbor. I'd never been to Baltimore. Wow!

We drove through some questionable neighborhoods on our way to the motel. We stopped at a questionable 7-11 to pick up some questionable contraband (er, soda). There were some questionable folks being quite boisterous in the store. I remember when I was young and used to hang out in convenience stores, before social media and smart phones ruined my social life.

We got to the motel, where Vadim had been waiting for about half an hour. I lugged my two dumbbells to our room. Geoffrey and Meghan were staying in their own room, where they could engage in all sorts of inappropriate shenanigans (I imagined). Vadim and I talked about life, the universe, and everything, and went to bed too late.

My alarm woke me up at 4:45am. I fell out of bed and did ten sets of deadlifts. I was done by the time Vadim even stirred. His half marathon started almost 2 hours after ours. He asked if I could demonstrate a deadlift. I said no. I went through the rest of the pre-race morning ritual (including 3 poops). Meghan, Geoffrey and I eventually ended up in the same parking garage near the Convention Center we'd parked in the previous night.

Post lift selfie.

We met up with Brian. It was still cold, but because it was supposed to get up to 70 during the race, I decided to leave my shirt in the car and just suffer for an hour. The four of us were somewhere on the spectrum of excited to "I'm going to die in this race." Brian in particular had about eight things wrong with his body. We swept it away like so much debris and told him (lied) that he'd be fine.

We joined the obscenely massive crowd of people near the starting line and milled around, freezing. The race was ridiculously well organized and coordinated. 4500 folks left the starting line for the 5K. I walked a few blocks trying to find a place to pee and gave up. I did spot one vacant stretch of sidewalk that looked promising, until I spotted a woman who had already laid claim.

At the starting line.

Meghan, Geoffrey, Brian and I heard the air horn. 2500 folks streamed across the starting line for the marathon, many more cheering on the sides. The mood was ecstatic! And the spectators would remain amazing throughout the entire race.

Geoffrey had planned out the race ahead of time to give Brian the best shot at finishing. Brian didn't want to do the walk breaks early on, but Geoffrey hammered on him like a drill sergeant. That didn't stop me and Brian from occasionally sneaking ahead like a pair of deviant kids, until Papa Geoffrey reined in the leashes.

The race course gave us a great tour of the city, and with our leisurely pace we had plenty of time to explore our surroundings. Early on we got to run through the zoo. The zoo! Meghan got a selfie with a penguin. This 100% happened.

Photo Cr: Meghan

We had warned Brian ahead of time that the three of us complain a lot. Even though he's the one dying a slow and terrible death, he still said at one point, "you sure do b![ch a lot!" We also talk about food a lot, but that was a no-no with Brian's sensitive stomach. But most of all, we make highly inappropriate comments about, just, everything. I even got a police officer to shake his head at me with a well-timed, "that's what she said." Oh, I remember now. The officer was telling us to, "mind the gap."

Blink.

At mile 9 we passed the half-marathoners starting their race. All eight thousand of them. It took a really long time for all of them to cross the starting line. I strained my neck looking for Vadim, but it was hopeless. It was amazing passing by a crowd of over ten thousand runners and spectators.

Brian's lungs started to betray him around this point. We alternated between giving him encouraging remarks, and making terrible sexual jokes. I'm not sure which helped more. He felt guilty that we were running so slowly because of him, but we told him that was ridiculous. It was an honor for the three of us to run with such a strong individual, and we quite enjoyed the experience throughout.

Geoffrey asked me to take this photo for some reason.

Around mile 12 I tripped and did a karate roll to prevent a face plant. Brian didn't believe that that was a thing I actually did until he saw it. I'm surprised he didn't trip himself. There was a surprisingly large number of bananas scattered along the course, and if you recall from my interview with Brian, bananas are his arch-nemesis. He would point out each one like it was a ninja about to strike from the shadows.

Brian continued to struggle and the race became harder and harder for him. Geoffrey and I lent him our arms to lean on. We stopped when we needed to so he could catch some air. It was our mission to get him across the finish line, even if we had to carry him (or as Geoffrey said, drag him by his heels). And Meghan: The cold medication she'd taken (which made her hilariously loopy early on) had worn off, but she still ran up ahead several times to bring back coke for Brian. And the stores she had to go into..... Sketchy as heck.

Unbelievably, the miles ticked down. I'd say we refused to allow Brian to surrender, but the fact is that he would never surrender. We told him it was OK if he had to stop, but he never did. Brian gives us a lot of credit for helping him finish, but really, that man does not know the definition of quit. His entire body was failing him, but his will drove him onward.

At about mile 23, he seemed to get a second wind out of nowhere, and started pulling us along. A number of folks who passed us were quit impressed by his perseverance. It's an absolute inspiration to run with him. After over six and a half hours of running, and with a final epic push, we crossed the finish line together.

I frantically searched for our medals, immediately forgetting all about the marathon or Brian's health. I finally found the right person. These things were MASSIVE. Each medal weighed as much as small Volvo. And they had all these claws and pincers that got caught on just everything. Occasionally the medals would bounce off a piece of nearby furniture and break it. It was awesome.

We milled around the finishing area for a while - not because we wanted to, but because our brains weren't working anymore. Vadim was finally able to find us and we piled into his pickup truck. I rode in the back.

Riding through Baltimore in Vadim's pickup.

Brian went back to his room to get an oxygen tank. We all went to lunch. I had a crabcake sandwich and crab soup, because duh. We ate a lot of food. Finally, with many farewell hugs, tears, and genuine love and appreciation, we left. Meghan drove first and I slept. Then Geoffrey drove and I slept.

We pulled off somewhere in PA so Geoffrey could get coffee, but he was wiped out. I had slept for about 3 hours by that point and offered to drive. And immediately got us lost. With the headlights off in the dark. I finally spotted the correct on-ramp and drove through some cones to get to it. I finally turned the headlights on and we made it home more-or-less intact.

At home we ate a ton of ice cream and crashed hard.

Before I started writing this post I was thinking about why we do what we do. Brian. Geoffrey. Meghan. All of us. We push ourselves far past our breaking points. We run when we're sick. We run when we're injured. We run no matter how exhausted or sore we are. And Brian in particular runs even though it lands him in the ICU afterwards every time.

I did more deadlifts and bicycled almost 38 miles the day after the marathon. Yesterday I lifted, swam for an hour, and ran 13 miles (a half marathon). Just two days after a full marathon. There's a bunch of reasons I could come up with for why.

We want to be successful, and we train hard to be the best we can be. And the community is amazing. Our weekend at Wineglass was full of love and adventure. And our weekend in Baltimore was more of the same. And we connect over our shared passion. We know what each of us goes through in our training, and that creates a tremendous amount of respect among us.

But the real reason, I believe, is this: It's an addiction. When we don't exercise, even when we have a really really good reason for it, we hate ourselves. It's not just guilt. We beat ourselves up fiercely, emotionally, for taking a day off. At least I know I do. And yeah, that may not be the best thing. But running, and fitness, has been a massive benefit to us.

Most folks have a lot of self-doubt. A. LOT. We have fears and insecurities. A feeling that we are letting down ourselves and our loved ones. A feeling that we're not living up to our potentials, and that we're wasting the opportunities life gives us.

But when we're outside, pushing our bodies, all of that vanishes. And it really is an addiction. Because when we're "on" it, we feel amazing, but when we're "off" it, we feel terrible. But we do it because when we feel good, we feel really good. And there's just nothing else in life that compares.

And Brian.... At the risk of ending on a depressing note... There's a good chance he doesn't have much time left. But despite what everyone would say, despite what his doctors say, he knows he can run a marathon. It should be impossible for him, but he refuses to accept that. If it wasn't for running, there's a good chance he would've died when his doctors originally predicted. But he's still here, kicking ass. Running is probably the last thing he has that gives him a feeling of strength. And it gives him the love of some very supportive and dear friends.

Because otherwise he would be suffering alone.

In Baltimore, none of us were alone. We shared a powerful and close bond. We gave one another our love and generosity. We didn't obsess over our insecurities. We had a singular mission: To cross that finish line. And when we did, we were bathed in a wash of euphoria that can't be duplicated with any drug.

It was an exceptional experience. And thanks to running, it won't be the last one.

I can't believe I almost forgot about the Cheesecake Factory!!