Marathon Man

During the period of the 1980s and 90s I was a runner. Well, maybe it would be more accurate to say I was a jogger, but I actually did participate in several “races” during that time (namely 5Ks, 8Ks and some 10Ks). (And, really, I, myself, never actually raced anyone…) I think the largest event I ever participated in (on one hot August night in the late 80s) was when the Seattle SEAFAIR 10K race drew over 10,000 runners. (That’s the memory I have of it now, anyway). I see that, these days, the SEAFAIR event is an 8K run, and that last year it drew a mere 2,700 participants. Ah, I guess the glory days of running are over…

But, why do I speak of this?!

Because: during the last several days, I’ve been feeling healthy enough to think about running again. It has been almost ten years since I’ve done this, having severely aggravated my left knee during an intense August 1997 hike in Glacier National Park. The arthritis that was discovered in the aftermath of that vacation led me to, practically immediately, drastically curtail my running activities. Lately, however, with this renewed path to health that I’ve been on, I’m toying with the idea that my body may be able to tolerate this kind of exercise again. Even to be THINKING of this, of course, feels great. And, during three of my walks in the last few days, I’ve broken into a jog (for, like, a quarter mile or so).

Now, I don’t really have the stuff of a marathon man, but… can't I dream?

Inspiration

A little while back, I wrote about my experience watching presidential candidate John Edwards on HBO’s Real Time with Bill Maher. I had been tremendously impressed with Edwards’ obvious forthrightness and honesty during that interview.

Yes. You’ve got that right: a politician’s name and the word “honesty” used in the same sentence. Is that amazing, or what?

After having been greatly disappointed with the choices in presidential elections in recent times (well, like, since 1972), I found myself intrigued and curiously excited about Edwards’ 2008 candidacy.

Now we have the news, in the last week, that Elizabeth Edwards has had her breast cancer return. Pundits, bloggers, and just about anyone else in the politically-aware world, are examining the couple’s choice to remain in the race. Every person with a camera, microphone or a website has felt the obligation to weigh in.

And so will I.

I was very moved by the Sixty Minutes interview with the Edwards’ last Sunday. If they’re in denial about the seriousness of their situation, well, that’s where they need to be at the moment. If, on the other hand, they’re being “realistic,” then they’re simply a tremendously gutsy duo. Whatever they are, they continue to be “real” (authentic) people in my eyes…the kind of couple that, personally, I’d like to see occupy that big light-colored dwelling on Pennsylvania Avenue.

People pursuing their passion. Living in the moment. Knowing that “we’re all going to die” – and proceeding to go about the business of living anyway. My kind of people.

Thanks, John and Elizabeth, for being an inspiration.

Keep Healthy & Keep Going

Life is too short. And, for what there is of it, way too hard. My head, my very being, is bursting, is overloaded, right now, with sensory input. My heart is breaking from all the pain I see, from all the tears shed everywhere I turn.

Things are pretty complicated these days. There just are not enough hours in the day; I have several things that I’m needing to attend to, all of quite-high priority. Number one is my health, of course. So, I have my herbs and supplements supplied by my Traditional Chinese Medicine woman. The routine I engage in everyday is quite structured; I have regular breathing exercises and Yoga and meditation practices. And I have sleep and a healthy diet and other stress-management techniques to pursue. I’m very preoccupied with keeping healthy and keeping going.

The results: so far, so good. I’m in much better shape than I was a couple of months ago.

But then, too, there’s the search for a new job. An incredibly high priority. Made necessary by the fact that the work environment I now inhabit is wholly unsatisfactory: that is to say, very unhealthy. And, when I speak of the tears I observe, they are, of course, shed in that place. There’s hardly a day that goes by without someone in my office breaking down — in one way or another. Given the emotionally-unpredictable, spiritually-bankrupt climate, such frequent outcomes are inevitable. Literally every fiber of my being aches for the pain of those I work with; for this ubiquitous suffering of epic proportions.

So much. So unnecessary. So absolutely critical for the health of my soul that I escape.

Appearances and Judgments

Yesterday, I took a quick, one-day (interview) trip to San Francisco. This involved driving up to the Eugene airport in the morning and then boarding one of United Airline’s small Canadair jets. (And doing the reverse process in the evening, of course.) As I was waiting in the terminal before the trip down, I was doing what I usually do at such times: scoping out the other people in the seating area, wondering why they’re all going where I’m going, and musing about who I’ll be sitting next to (or near) during the flight.

As I was engaged in this speculation, I observed an undeniably-obese woman walking, very slowly, with more of a waddle actually, in my direction. Now, such a sighting is not all that unusual these days, what with our national “obesity epidemic,” but the thing that really attracted my attention was that this individual was coughing with an intensity that I can only describe, with any degree of accuracy at all, as a “death rattle.” It was very deep and pretty scary. As she sat down, fairly close to me, I immediately got up and relocated to a point far-away. Not in my breathing space you don’t, I thought.

Shortly after I moved, I noticed at least three other people get up and use the same avoidance tactic. Let me tell you, this person was having some serious issues, and it was no big secret to anyone even remotely in her vicinity.

It wasn’t long after I had resituated myself, though, that I noticed she had activated a nebulizer, right there in the waiting area, and was attempting to inhale all the medicated steam she could get. Periodically, however, she was forced to remove the mouthpiece portion to engage in yet another coughing jag. Yes, serious, serious stuff going on here.

Just my luck, I thought, that she’ll end up in the seat next to me. (Which would be particularly ironic since I had, at check-in, changed my seat assignment to one at the front of the plane.) Really, I wondered, what would I do if that happened? Would I just sit there, as I had during one trip last spring, when I found myself on a cross-country flight seated next to a woman who reported to me she was very ill and had a temperature of 102? Tell me, what is there to do in these situations where you’re basically trapped and at the mercy of someone who doesn’t have the sense to stay home and not infect the rest of the world?

The moment of truth came when it was time to board the plane. I noticed that she had put away her nubulizer and was standing at the front of the line, perhaps seeking priority-boarding due to her disability. I was far back in the line, in no hurry, having a first-row seat waiting for me. When I got there, it didn’t take long to scan the territory…and to discover that, yes, there she was, directly behind me.

Great. She’ll be hacking the entire trip, spewing her germs directly my way. Yuck. What miserable luck.

But, actually, it wasn’t too long before I started thinking that perhaps I was about to catch a break this time around: for apparently the nebulizer had worked some magic, and she was not coughing any more. Maybe it’ll stay this way? (I asked myself. I hoped to myself.) I guess I’ll just have to wait and see, I decided.

Eventually, after we were in the air, she ended up having a rather extended conversation with the gentleman next to her, and I learned (is this eavesdropping? – how could I NOT have heard this?) that she was a severe asthmatic, that her body had picked this totally inopportune time to have an attack, and that she was quite embarrassed at having had to use the nebulizer right there in the airport. Fortunately for her, the man, a stranger, was totally sympathetic and supported her decision to do whatever she needed to do to take care of herself.

Which is exactly what she needed to hear. What a great thing it was that he was there to say it.

So I, of course, started to examine the assumptions I had made and found that my entire process was really, in all honesty, not very attractive. In this case, I had leapt right into a wholly-narcissistic judgment mode, not really trying to understand at all the suffering that had been going on, right there in front of me. From what I could overhear, she seemed like a rather decent human being, caught in a really tough spot by needing to travel with this particular (probably not-contagious) ailment.

Ahhhh…appearances, and the stories we make up in our heads. They aren’t really “the truth,” are they?

Curmudgeonliness

Whatever is becoming of me? Am I turning into this stereotype of a curmudgeonly old fart, someone unrecognizable even to myself? Why is it I find myself engaging in some behaviors these days that would have seemed foreign even just a few years ago?

Or maybe, my actions today are because I’m actually healthy (and want to stay that way) and have little to do with curmudgeonliness?

I haven’t a clue…

Here’s the story.

I went out to a local coffee shop this morning to have a cup of tea and read the newspaper. This is one of (what I term) my “civilized behaviors.” Although I swore off coffee years ago, I have never really given up the coffee-house scene. I love going out in the morning and spending some time with a hot beverage and the morning’s newspaper. Today, I treated myself to the Sunday Oregonian.

This time, I also wanted something to eat. I had never ordered a bagel at this particular place before, so I asked the young man behind the counter what the choices were. Well, there were just three bagels left in the entire place at 9:30 a.m., as it turned out, but I asked that the blueberry bagel be toasted (and could I please have some cream cheese?). I watched while he first prepared my tea, then as he washed his hands before he unwrapped the bagel, sliced it, and put it in the toaster.

So far, so good, I thought.

As I sipped my tea from a seat across the room, I continued to watch as he left the toaster and began to wait on other customers. I observed him open the cash register and handle their money. Finally, when my bagel was ready, he turned around again, back to the counter, and with his bare hands lifted the bagel from the toaster. Then he put it on a plate and brought it over to me.

Which I, of course, refused.

Very calmly I told him that I appreciated the fact that he’d washed his hands before preparing the bagel, but that I’d seen him handle cash and then lift my bagel from the toaster…adding that, at the very least, he could have used tongs.

He was somewhat surprised at my words, I think, but immediately offered up, “yes, that was careless of me. How should we handle this?”

When he brought me back a heated muffin instead, he said, “one guaranteed germ-free muffin for you, sir.”