Memorial Day

Perspectives change, don't they?

When I was a kid, Memorial Day meant only two things: One, that school was out (Yea!), and two, that I'd be forced to suffer through a horrid weekend of visiting boring relatives and wandering through cemeteries. I just wanted Tuesday to arrive so I could start spending my life at the swimming pool.

Then, there was a long span of years where Memorial Day meant barbecues and motorcycle rides, hikes in the mountains, and a 4-day workweek. I didn't spend much time thinking about what the holiday meant. I just dreaded Tuesday's appearance because it meant going back to the office.

But eventually, I think we all grow up a bit. Some of us just take longer than others, that's all.

I'm not sure I can pinpoint any one specific event that changed my attitude. But I do know that as the years go by, I have come to realize that my relatives might not have been as boring as I thought. And more importantly, I've come to recognize the value in remembering and admiring those who have lived their lives with honor, and have sacrificed so much to make it possible for the rest of us to live our own lives and pursue our own fulfillment. I'm talking about American veterans.

My attitudinal transformation probably began when my brother joined the Marine Corps. As the older and much "cooler" brother, I couldn't very well tell him how proud I was (and still am), but I knew and appreciated what he was willing to go through in service of our country.

And as time went on and I learned more about the world, I encountered many other examples worth remembering. My dad's patriotism was also inspiring—for when he was rejected upon trying to enlist, he steadfastly worked within industry to provide the essential tools for our fighting forces. And over the last couple of years, I've been blessed to participate in the Veterans History Project, interviewing a number of brave and stalwart folks who have served in defense of freedom around the world. I've met foot soldiers, gunners, sailors, pilots, even a wartime mule handler -- and without exception, these folks have been outstanding human beings. In addition to their service within the Military, they have all led exemplary lives in their post-military careers, and have contributed so very very much to what makes America the greatest country in the world.

And that brings me to an important announcement. I am very pleased and proud to acknowledge the formation of The American Patriots History Association! This non-profit organization is dedicated to collecting, preserving, and disseminating the stories of patriotic Americans who have served in the armed forces or have otherwise contributed to the safety and strength of our nation. APHA's primary mission is to capture veteran's interviews for the Library of Congress, but also has several other exciting projects lined up to enhance the country's historical records and honor the brave men and women who have given so much of themselves to keep the USA free and secure.

Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to turn this blog into one long commercial/solicitation of funds...but if you would like to donate to this wonderful cause, feel free to click on the link and get out your checkbook. I will be providing updates from time to time, but for the most part will return to the regular type of inane and juvenile bloggery that you expect from me. But for the moment, in honor of Memorial Day and the remembrance of those who made the ultimate sacrifice, let's take a moment to think about just how important it is to preserve the histories of those heroes who are still with us.

We have quite a backlog of veterans lined up for interviews, but are still wanting to find contacts who fought in WWII. There aren't that many of them left, and we definitely want to prioritize collecting their stories before it's too late. So if you have a friend of family member who saw combat during the 40s, please get in touch. And of course, your generous contributions will help us gather the resources we need to do justice to these amazing stories.

And if neither of those options works for you right now, please try to remember to acknowledge ALL of our veterans...and current troops. Thank them for their service, shake their hands (or better yet, give them a big hug), and remind them that we'll never forget what they were willing to do for the rest of us.

Thanks, and have a great day!

Summertime

One of the greatest things about being on the Foothills Masters Swim Team is the inspiration I get from my teammates. Not only are there super-tough swimmers who push me to perform better at every single workout, there's also a big group of stud triathletes, some crazy cold-water distance fanatics, and unbelievable ultra-runners. The best I can hope for as a coach is to inspire people by yelling at them and repeating technique platitudes over and over until they're forced to perform better...just to get me to shut up. But they all inspire ME just by doing the things they do. On any given day, there's at least one member of the team who is doing something challenging, inspiring, and possibly even fun.

Here's one difference between men and women, though: the women talk about all their plans and dreams during practice...while the guys hold their discussions in the locker room after practice. Since the chicks have already talked about running and kids' functions while they're supposed to be listening to the coach, I can only assume that their locker room chatter is all about girly stuff like makeup and Oprah and high heels, etc. But the manly men on the other side of the wall are discussing what sorts of grueling workouts they'll be doing during the otherwise-wasted interval between swim practices.

On Friday, my buddy Kim talked about riding his bike up to something called "City View". You reach it by riding up Deer Creek Canyon, which is pretty steep in places. He made it sound challenging, but fun, so I started thinking it might be a good way to spend part of Saturday morning. Kim was going to start at about 5:30am, but I decided to see what time I woke up and got around to it.

I hit the road by myself at about 7:30. Kim was probably finished by the time I started up the hill, but it didn't take long for me to realize that I hadn't paid quite enough attention to the directions he gave me. He said that "City View" was a little ways past the fire station...but I discovered that there are multiple fire stations along the route. I took a few wrong turns and engaged in profound head-scratching along the way, but eventually ended up on Highgrade road.

I'd heard the name before, and had always assumed that it acquired the name because the folks who lived there did really well in academics. But after climbing and climbing and climbing without a single flat or downhill section in an hour and a half of riding, I began to suspect that the name of the road might have something to do with its neverending steepness. Ugh.
Oh, I could go on and on about all the cruel people who laughed as they passed me, and all the kind ones who volunteered to call the paramedics for me. But long story short--I never did find City View. As I rode, I did some math...and the inescapable conclusion was that I had bitten off more than I could chew for my first ride of the season. I'm ashamed to say that I turned around before reaching the top of the mountain.

I may not have learned how to get to City View, but I did learn that being drenched in sweat and then riding a 20-minute descent on a cool morning is surefire a recipe for hypothermia.

Next time I'll take a windbreaker.

Oh yes, there will be a next time, my friends. Perhaps even this weekend. In the meantime, I'll listen in the locker room to see if any of the other guys have any good training ideas. I'll let you know. Until then, thanks for the inspiration...and have a great day!

Track Practice

My rehab is successfully underway! I am running again, albeit slowly and briefly. But I did go to the track with my brother Thursday afternoon. He ran a sprint workout while I jogged around the outside of the track, doing my best to minimize impact and hold a smooth form. And I'm pleased to announce that I completed a mile with no greetings from the ghosts of my shin splints. It'll be a long time before I'll consider myself cured, but I'm feeling good about where I stand at the moment.

Thanks to my brother's generosity, I spent the rest of the evening enjoying a wonderful evening at Coors Field. Well...the evening was wonderful, but the Rockies didn't give us much to cheer about. Still, if you ask me -- pretty much any hours at the ballpark have to be counted on the plus side of life's ledger.

I'll provide updates as my reentry into the world of fitness and real life continues. In the meantime, here's a brief history of the trip to Kansas:

It was the first time Tanner and I had flown together. We've spent countless hours together in a car, but had never before shared an airplane flight. I enjoyed that part of it, but otherwise, the flight to Kansas City was pretty routine. I had ordered a rental car with a GPS system, and was looking forward to how much easier that device would make our navigation. We had arranged to meet my Wichita Swim Club friend Ben Wagoner for lunch, and Ben was kind enough to phone us with directions on how to meet, so the GPS didn't come into play right away.

Groovy Ben was one of the toughest swimmers I've ever known. (You'll have to buy my next book to hear the complete tale of how he got tagged with that nickname, and why it stuck.) Ben could always be counted on to work hard and practice and give it his all in competition. Nothing was ever handed to Groovy Ben; I think it was his competitive focus that helped him surpass some very talented swimmers to earn his championships. It was good to catch up with him, and I'm glad he took the time to meet us for lunch.

I think I left my jacket at the restaurant, though, which was a bummer. Anyway, Ben had to get back to work, so Tanner and I turned on the GPS and headed for our motel. It surprised me to learn that I'm probably better at following a map than I am listening to some voice coming out of a little box on the dashboard. It sounded like a great plan to let technology guide us...but the GPS was a little slow. It kept saying things like "Dude, you were supposed to turn back there. Try the next stree...oops, too late, you passed it again. I'm totally lost, man."

I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea. It knew where we were going, and was reasonably good about figuring out where we were, but it wasn't quick enough. I'd rather have Tanner look at the map and say "Turn right at the Burger King" than hear the box lady say "Turn right on west seventy sixth street in two meters. Recalculating."

We turned in the rental car that evening and bummed rides for the rest of the trip. Pat picked us up at the motel and took us to our niece's graduation dinner. Julie had earned her Masters Degree in Occupational Therapy, and had invited a bunch of friends and relatives to a celebratory meal on the Plaza.

It was a delicious dinner, and everyone behaved themselves. (Even Tanner, more or less.) Julie was very proud of overcoming the family shame of having parents who went to Kansas State and finally getting a diploma with "KU" written on it. From now on, I suspect she'll always introduce herself as "Jayhawk Julie".

When Julie's dad first starting dating my sister, our two families started hanging out with each other. This was fine with me, since Mike's parents were very cool and always nice to me...and I'd had a crush on his sister Lisa since about the 2nd grade. As a show of support for Mike and Cindy's budding romance, Lisa and I decided to bake a birthday cake for Mike's mom. Since I was an expert and adventurous cook (even back then), Lisa and I decided to go well beyond the standard 3 layers. The details of this feat of baking have become fuzzy over time, so Lisa and I had fun trying to remember exactly how many layers (and what flavors) we ended up with. The only thing that's certain is that the final product was so tall that it refused to maintain verticality long enough to deliver it to the birthday girl. When finally presented to Blanche, our masterpiece had numerous fingerprints in the icing from where we kept pushing it upright as it oozed into a Piza lean.

Tanner listened to part of this conversation. It's no wonder he thinks his dad is a bit weird. Oh well.


Julie's actual "walkin' across the stage" ceremony took place the next morning, and everyone cheered loudly and tried not to laugh at the funny hats.

The rest of the trip included adventures I won't recount here. Olathe, Kansas features a great mall (at least that's how it's advertised...I didn't actually go inside). The Kansas Turnpike features abundant greenery and endless vistas of cheerful cattle. Wichita features a bounty of oppressive heat and humidity. And the drive across I-70 back to Denver is...well, it's an experience that really makes you appreciate your return to the shadow of the foothills.

Anyway, congratulations, Julie, and thanks for inviting us to share in your graduation. We're all proud of you, and hope to see you again soon!

Freedom

Hey, it's good to be back. I must've started a couple dozen blogs over the last 3 weeks, but never was able to string together enough coherent sentences to finalize a post.

Whaddaya mean, lack of coherence never stopped me from posting before? C'mon, man, that's totally uncalled for. (Well, maybe not totally...)

Anyway, if I were a hack writer, this is where I would throw in a cliché about a "perfect storm" of personal events that conspired to spin my peaceful existence into the churning whirlpool of the toilet bowl of life...threatening to flush my very existence down into a sewer of self-pity and ill health.

But thanks to my first-class KU Journalism education, I consistently endeavor to avoid such language, and will instead provide concise descriptions of the actual circumstances that led to the extensive drought that so egregiously afflicted my normally fertile fields of fun-filled bloggery, leaving nothing but parched and arid silence where literary excellence formerly grew.

Here's what happened:

• Since I apparently have the exact opposite of the Teela Brown gene, my efforts to obtain retirement financing via lottery purchases have thus far gone unrewarded.


• This government/big-oil conspiracy to keep me from my rightful life of decadent leisure has necessitated my continued participation in the American workforce, which includes a continuing obligation to show up at the office and perform the tasks listed within my job description.


• My job description includes working on proposals. And since the proposal teams I typically work with subscribe to the "ain't no reason to ever leave the office" philosophy, I spent the majority of the last 6 months or so chained to a desk engaged in activities designed to enrich psychotherapists, carpal tunnel surgeons, and/or morticians.


• Without the benefit of weekends off, relaxing evenings, or exposure to sunlight, several key body systems begin to deteriorate. Nutritious meals are forgone in favor of quick calories. Workouts are skipped in the interest of catching up on work backlog. Brain cells are sacrificed at the alter of status meetings and futile repetition. Orson Welles intellects are reduced to Emo Phillips mentalities, while body proportions move in the opposite direction. In other words, I got out of shape, gained weight, dropped dozens of IQ points, and lost touch with friends. All of this made me pretty grumpy.


• With apologies to Hemingway and Andy Rooney, I would assert that being grumpy does not lead to productivity or quality in writing. Ergo, my blogging has suffered.

But the nonstop string of proposal assignments has temporarily been broken, and I have a brief reprieve. Therefore, I plan to return to semi-regular posting, and will strive to explore the topics that no one else has the guts to touch...such as "Why does Yoplait have such wierd containers?" Sure, I suppose there is some market-distinction value in having a recognizable product shape; but I would think it would be offset by the consumer annoyance generated by having such a small opening at the top. Like most manly men, I prefer to eat my yogurt with a tablespoon (as opposed to using a girlish teaspoon), and the darn utensil barely fits. I guess my ultimate preference would be to procure yogurt (or pudding, or any other non-solid food item) in a container you could disassemble to allow access to every last ounce of creamy pie-like nutrition. Rather than struggle to manuever a large spoon in an enclosed space, you could spread the thing apart like an Eskimo Pie wrapper and go at it until it's so clean you don't even have to rinse before tossing it in the recycling bin.

So -- In addition to food packaging debates, I will also share a report of my recent trip to Kansas, an update on my recovery from shin splints, an introduction to the American Patriots History Association, and an article about the start of the bicycling season. There is much to discuss, my friends, and I'm looking forward to staying in touch. Please feel free to bug me if it looks like I'm going back into slacker mode -- every little bit of support is appreciated. Thanks, and have a great day!

Healthcare

I'm not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV. But there are a few things I've learned over a lifetime of bumps and bruises and bugs.

• Most real doctors are not lovable cut-ups like Hawkeye Pearce or the guys from Scrubs, and real nurses are rarely the sassy "slap you upside the head" characters that you see in every single TV hospital. Oh, you might run into the occasional Marcus Welby type, or somebody who resembles one of the minions that Dr. House abuses...but most doctors present absolutely no danger of going all Patch Adams on you. They're just regular guys who worked really hard in school, and now are just trying to get through the workday without having anyone vomit on them.


• Doctors have plenty of tools for dealing with acute and obvious problems, but have a much harder time dealing with chronic and/or hidden maladies. In other words, if your leg is bent 90° at some point other than your knee (ie, Joe Theisman syndrome), then they'll patch you right up, and are likely to be 100% successful. If you accidentally drink a quart of Janitor-in-a-Drum, they'll hook you up to various pumps and IVs, and will have you back on the job quicker than you can say "Pat Robertson". But if you show up and say something like "It hurts when I swim butterfly", they'll more than likely answer with "Then don't swim butterfly." If you say "I think I have shin splints from running," they'll most likely say "That's what happens when you eat so much ice cream, ya lard ass. Deal with it."
  
  In other words, if there's no bleeding, and you're not exactly sure what caused your problem...well, you're likely to get a pretty vague diagnosis. "Um...I guess you should rest. And heck, why not take a few generic drugs for a while? Couldn't hurt. And just for good measure, why don't you stop watching "Glee" for a week or two."


• Kids today think that the expression "An apple a day keeps the doctor away" means that they can use their iPad to search for medical advice online. They probably don't even realize that there was a time in ancient history (ie, during my youth) when doctors actually would come to your house...and when any legitimate physician would certainly own a small black satchel containing a stethoscope, a bundle of sterile fat popsicle sticks, and assorted glass vials full of potions and pills.


• OK, I'll confess -- I know I don't eat enough apples, and probably won't ever be able to make myself do it, either...unless I bake them with cheese and pepperoni toppings, or coat them in chocolate and peanuts. But if I've learned anything from the media over the years, it's that my health problems are not the result of my own negligence in nutrition, or mistakes in exercise form...they are 100% caused by inadequate legislation. If we can just get more congressional control over doctors, restaurants, clothing manufacturers, and the weather, then we'll all be fine.

The march of modern medicine continues. My employer now provides free access to on-site medical care. They're hoping to minimize employee healthcare costs by getting folks to obtain their antibiotics and Viagra from the company doctor instead of creating all the insurance paperwork that spews forth from a visit to a private practice. It's win-win; there's no co-pay nor offsite trip required from the employees...and everybody gets back to their desk sooner so there's less lost time.

I'm taking advantage of this. Since my self-treatment (RICE) hasn't yet cured my shin splints, I thought I'd see if the professionals might have better luck. They don't have X-ray equipment, but the staff was friendly and professional, and after poking and prodding me for a bit, concluded that I probably didn't have a stress fracture. The diagnosis was "inflammation", and therefore the treatment is anti-inflamatories. So...I'll be taking massive doses of Naproxen for the next week or so, and am hoping that my leg stops bugging me and I can return to full-spectrum activity.

I'll also try to maximize apple intake, and cut back on the chocolate and ice cream. I'll let you know if any of these treatments make any difference. In the meantime, I'll take my drugs and hope for the best!

Theo LeSieg

When Tanner was young and still listening to his parents, one of the books we used to read together was called "Maybe You Should Fly a Jet -- Maybe You Should Be a Vet". While not quite up to "Cat in the Hat" standards, it presents a charmingly-rhymed overview of potential career options. Most of the choices are presented in pairs, thus helping the youngsters narrow down their preferences. Here's an example I remember fondly:

Would you sooner be a ballooner...or a grand piano tuner?

Unfortunately, there are no reference materials to help the kid understand the education/training needed to excel in these professions, nor a chart showing the relative payscales. While balloners and tuners each get to travel and have a really cool set of occupational tools, I somehow doubt that they typically wind up in the same tax bracket as jet pilots and veterinarians.

I wonder if it's time to make an updated version of the book, with a few occupations that might have more appeal for today's youth. Maybe I'll take a shot at it...

Perhaps you'll be the Dalai Lama,

Or join the Seals to whack Osama.
Or star in films with Kevin Bacon?

Perhaps you'll be the next Clay Aiken.
Can you throw your voice, like Señor Wences?

Or would you rather be a princess?
Or Lady Gaga, rude and skanky?

Or run the Fed, like Ben Bernanke?

OK, there probably is a reason I don't get paid the same as Dr. Seuss. But you may not know that the good doctor had some demons in his head that were even more sinister than the Grinch. Check out the link in the poetic line below.

Would it be greater to be Darth Vader...or an elevator operator?

Anyway, when I started writing this post, I was intending it to be a discussion of options I might choose if I were to seek a new career. But at this point, I'm kinda freaked out, so I think I'll leave that for a future date. For now, I'll just ask you to take a moment to remember your favorite childhood reading material. Let me know what you liked best from those carefree times. And if you have small children now, well...go find something fun to read with them. And have a great day!

You Say Potato...

I bet Prince William and his new bride are glad to be bumped off the headlines for a day or two. But at least everyone knows how to spell his name. (Not so sure about his wife. I've seen "Kate" spelled "Cate", and "Katharine" spelled about a dozen different ways...which I figured was just one of those "chicks can't make up their minds" things. I'm not going to worry about it.)

Anyway, the point is that most of the news broadcast services are now spelling the recently deceased Al Quaeda leader's name as "Usama". It used to be "Osama". And come to think of it, I'm not so sure about "Al Kayda", either. Or Ghaddafi. It's all very confusing. I'm supposed to be pretty good at spelling, but Middle Eastern names can certainly be a problem.

I do know how to spell "Hell", though, and I hope that many of Usama/Osama's closest friends will be joining him there very soon.

But I'm not going to go into great detail sharing my opinions about how our soldiers totally kick butt, or about the global impacts of having one less evil scumbag polluting the planet. Dozens of people around the globe will be discussing those topics, and though my opinion is surely more valuable than that of Geraldo Riviera or George Snuffleupagus, I'm pretty sure that my readers come here for athletic insights and advice about mutant invasions from outer space, etc.

So...here is today's medical news flash: Shin splints aren't necessarily healed just because your legs feel good for a day or two.

The good news is that I have started running again. Slow, short distances only...but at least it's a form of bipedal leg-powered locomotion intended to help me regain my fitness. The bad news is I still have a dull ache in the right shinbone, and am pretty sure that any doctor I saw would tell me to take another month off and slosh down a handful of Vicodin. I don't intend to do either, though I certainly won't be running long distances or pounding the pavement with any intensity for a while yet.

If you have any advice on my continuing stuggles with running rehab, let me know. (Don't bother if it's just "rest, ice, compression, and elevation" -- I'm well aware of that formula.) I'm looking for alternative cures...like "hot fudge sundaes" or "the winning Lotto ticket". I may even be willing to try sleeping under a pyramid or eating seafood -- after all, desperate times call for desperate measures. It's time to get creative. I look forward to hearing your ideas. In the meantime, if you see any current military, veterans, or folks from the intelligence services today, please give 'em a high-five and thank them for their service. And have a great day!

D

I tend to see everything in the world in terms of Kevin Bacon. I'm not sure whether it's a gift or a curse. It probably goes a long way to explain why I don't have a girlfriend.

Anyway, those who inhabit this alternate world with me instantly understand what I mean. For those of you who don't (ie, the "normal" people), let me explain: You see, there's a mathmatical theory that states that all things in the world can be related via "Six Degrees of Separation". In other words, every movie actor in the world is only six actors away from someone who's been in a movie with Kevin Bacon.

Let me give you an example: Let's say I choose Tom Hanks. Here's how the Six Degrees equation would be constructed.

1. Tom Hanks was in Forrest Gump with Sally Field
2. Sally Field was in Smokey and the Bandit with Burt Reynolds
3. Burt Reynolds was in Cannonball Run with Adrienne Barbeau
4. Adrienne Barbeau was in Escape From New York with Kurt Russell
5. Kurt Russell was in Big Trouble in Little China with Victor Wong
6. Victor Wong was in Tremors with Kevin Bacon


So there you go. Six degrees of Kevin Bacon. (And yes, I know that Kevin Bacon and Tom Hanks were both in Apollo 13, so we could've been there in one step...but where's the fun in that?

Anyway, the answer to yesterday's trivia question is "D". When seeing the letter "D" standing alone, some people (like Jack Black for instance) think of the word "Defense" (or D-Fence, as footballs fans and Englishmen might want to spell it). Others think of scientific terms, such as debigulator or defenestration. Or Devo. But in this case, I'm talking about first names.

What's the connection between Night of the Lepus and Twisted Sister? Well,the big star in the giant killer rabbit movie is the actor who played Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy in Star Trek--DeForest Kelley. Known to his friends as "Dee", the good doctor shares the first name of the lead singer/transvestite from the notorious hair band: Dee Snider. And if that's not connection enough, consider this: Twisted Sister's most famous music video featured a guest appearance by Mr. Mark Metcalf, who played the sadistic frat brat Niedermeyer in Animal House, which also featured...you guessed it: Kevin Bacon! It's pretty amazing how it all fits together isn't it?

Wow! I mean, I wonder what people of the far distant future will think of Kevin Bacon, and of the myriad connections that tie all humanity together in his honor. I suspect there will be statues erected, songs written, and historical documentaries flooding whatever media exists in that era. But that's just speculation—In the meantime, I will leave you with one other item to ponder: The fellow to the right is Mr. Heavy D, who was in the movie "Big Trouble" with Tim Allen, who was in "Toy Story" with Tom Hanks, who has the previously-mentioned Baconic connections. Coincidence? I don't think so. Anyway, feel free to ponder this troubling development as you finish out your weekend. And have a great day!