Cold, Dark, Do It Anyway!

I wrote the below a couple days ago. Then somebody posted a link to this article, which is closely related: 10 Reasons to Get Out and Run Even When It's Dark and Cold ... I think the article is.... not great. So if you're bored by what I wrote, you can look forward to me tearing apart the article at the bottom!


It's winter time. It's dark until... well it's cloudy out, so it's still dark. It's cold, the kind of cold where 30 degrees is meaningless. A calm sunny 30 is wonderful. A windy hailing 30 is murderous. For the most part you just want to hibernate with every blanket in your house and a box of pastries.

It's the season where pastries are sold in boxes.

This is NOT a box of pastries.

Getting up and working out is tough any time of year. In the winter you really don't want to move, much less work out. Every morning the alarm rings at 5:15am, or whatever time I have it set at. Pretty much the only reason I get up is because I have to pee so bad. And then once I'm up, going back to bed is stupid. So I go lift, or swim, or whatever I want to punish myself with that morning.

As hard as weekdays are, at least I don't have a lot of time to torture myself. I have to get up and exercise, then I have to go to work, then I have to work out right after I get home from work. Then maybe if I'm lucky I'll have a little time to relax before bed. Weekends though are a pain in the a$$.

On weekends I think, "I have all the time in the world!" And it's a total lie. Saturdays I sleep in, because of course. And then I alternate between exercising, lying in bed, and eating. This past Saturday I got up... I don't know when, but the sun was up, so it must have been late. I did deadlifts. Then I lay in bed. Then I went to the pool around noon and swam a mile. Everyone thinks I'm being adorable when I complain about how slow I swim. I'm not. Swimming a mile takes me a really long time. Then I lay in bed more. Then I dragged myself the 2 feet to my bike trainer and watched TV and pedaled for two hours.

Happy.... that I'm done swimming!

Then I ate a bunch of food that Meghan and Geoffrey made. And spent the rest of the night doing nothing.

Sundays are a little easier because I usually do "only" one thing for a really long time (instead of 3 things, also for a long time each but slightly less of a long time). This past Sunday I ran 17 miles. Because my legs are perpetually broken, it took me 2 hours and 45 minutes. The weather was cooperative though, and I think I even got a couple drops of vitamin D.

Then I made dinner for a change, and it was amazing. But, yeah, rest of the night: Nothing. 

I don't think this will be surprising for most endurance athletes. Our lives are exercise and food. Regular people talk about going to a "show", or going "out", or just living their lives. I worry about a really good movie coming out that I want to go see. I will never get back those 2 hours when I could've lay in bed doing nothing!

As often happens, I've totally lost the point of what I was writing about. I was going to try to encourage you to work out every day, instead I'm saying if you do, you'll no longer have a life. BUT, it's not like anybody actually does anything during the winter anyway. Everybody for the most part stays at home, watches Netflix, and eats. I do that, but I also exercise. Most people get fat during the winter. I think that's bull$hit.

"Winter is bullshit. Getting fat is awesome."

Some athletes - probably most of them, actually - have an off season. And it's right now. They don't quit exercising altogether, but they do less. And they eat more. I can't do that. The only reason I can exercise every day is because of the awesome power of routine, which if you've read my blog at all, is like my favorite thing besides.... Well I quit ice cream, so I don't know what.

To me, that sounds terrible: To take a break from exercising, have a relaxing and joyful winter, put on a few pounds from cookies and pies. And then to start exercising and dieting suddenly after the New Year. To "get in gear" for a summer of marathons or Ironman(s) or whatever.

But for lots of people, that works. Half a year of hard work and half of relaxation. Well, really more like 8 months and 4 months respectively, but who has the brain power for math. Working hard for a long time makes the rest periods that much more rewarding. And really, I do the same thing, just on a shorter scale. I'll work out hard early in the day so I can relax and eat lots later in the day.

Not like those 4 easy months are that easy....

If you lounge around and eat all the time without doing anything to earn it, there's no joy in it. If I'm resting or I'm eating, and I haven't exercised, I hate myself. And maybe that's what it is that works for me: Being super hard on myself when I slack off, but also feeling super good when I don't. And that just keeps me going.

As I mentioned, that Runner's World article popped up in my feed. Anything that encourages folks to run in the winter is great. Buuuut, I don't agree with the points it makes. Below I'll enumerate the ten points and my feelings about them. I know you love lists.

1. Consider using a three-day-a-week training plan to minimize time outdoors. This is terrible. If you're already having trouble staying honest, cutting down how much you train will only make it that much harder. If you take off even one of those three days because you're sick or because, like, there's a lot of snow and look at all this hot cocoa I made! That's pretty much a whole week of couch time. I exercise every day. Twice a day on average. I don't let winter mess with my routine.
   
2. Register for races. What? This was on the list? This is actually great. Maybe I should have read the article first before slamming it. But yes, sign up for all the races. Don't wait either. I'm signed up for not one but two gnarly winter half marathons. I'm hoping for sub zero temperatures and blizzard conditions.
   
3. Recruit a running partner, whether a friend or your dog. I have a friend who lives just a few blocks for me. For a few weeks, he was coming over every morning and lifting with me while I did my deadlift challenge. And then he stopped coming. I haven't seen him in two weeks. It was nice having him over, but him not showing up made no difference in me getting up early and lifting. Running with a friend or dog is nice, but you can't depend on it. Having a friend bail on you abruptly can ruin a workout. I've seen it happen.
   
4. Remind yourself daily of your goal. This just sounds exhausting. I mean, if it helps, cool. But the reason I exercise every day is because I have to. That's my thinking. Yes, I signed up for an Ironman next August. I do remind myself of this in order to get myself swimming, because I'm terrible at swimming. But otherwise my "goals" don't make me exercise any more (and if I didn't swim I'd just run more).
   
5. Commit to be Fit. Well, the article's explanation for this one made sense, about reinforcing good behaviors (and not reinforcing bad ones). So in that regard I agree. And sticking to a routine definitely helps form powerful lasting behaviors.
   
6. Make a "Bad Weather Plan". This one makes me laugh. I love bad weather! The worse it is, the more excited I am to go out in it. I feel like a viking warrior when I run through sleet and hail. Most of winter is "bad weather". It's too easy to get in the pattern of flaking out. I personally much prefer embracing bad weather and appreciating it for the adventure it is.
   
   

   

   Bad weather is my bad weather plan

7. Always prepare your clothing and workout bag the night before. I mean, this is probably a good idea. But I've literally never done this. I'm totally haphazard and I just throw all my $hit on 2 minutes before I go out. I don't even pack the night before a marathon. So I guess do this if it's important to you? But if you forget to pack your "workout bag" (so cute; I imagine that it's neon pink), don't skip your workout for that reason alone.
   
8. Run in the morning. I exercise in the morning and after work. Getting up early is great, but I pretty much work out at any and every free moment I have. But yes, if you have a pile of screaming children you have to jam food into every night, then get your workout out of the way early.
   
9. Plan Rewards. I count calories, so I get an automatic reward after every run of eating more food. Because deep down inside (actually, not that deep at all) I'm a big fat pig. Having to come up with different and unique rewards sounds like a huge pain in the a$$. So whatever you do, it should be a regular treat (but only if you exercise). If I don't exercise, I starve.
   
10. Invest in the right running clothes for your running weather. Yeah I suppose so. Although battling the elements ill-prepared is an exciting adventure in itself! But, yeah, hats, whatever.

Alright, so maybe I was exaggerating. I only disagreed with about half the points. Whatever it takes to lure you to stay with me this long! AmIright? In any event, my biggest tip for you is to find reasons to love winter training, not just tolerate it.

"Really? Love this? You've really gone off the deep end."

This has been your annual winter running post. Back to standard programming after this.

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.