On the 20th of October, 2018, I checked another goal of mine off the list: a half-Mudder, or a five mile jaunt through excessively muddy hills, valleys, and wooded trails. This wasn't your typical Tough Mudder event where pools are dug to create obstacles, or walls are built in an effort to facilitate teamwork and camaraderie; on the contrary, God helped muddy the land further by having it rain the night before and the day of the event.
Here's a breakdown of the day's events and how I perceived them as I ran and trudged through mud and muck:
At the start line:
We stood as a singular group staring straight up a hill, which was the exact course we were to take. Maybe I should have down more up-hill/down-hill road work, I think to myself. The hill looked daunting and I immediately began questioning my cardiovascular conditioning. After topping the hill, I was correct in doing so. My lungs were promptly afire!
The one mile mark:
This wasn't too bad, at least after that first uphill jaunt we took at the start line. There's a chubby girl outpacing me, and I can't have chubby girls getting to the finish line before I do. Time to pick it up a bit!
Once I passed the one mile mark, I was feeling pretty good. My knees were in decent shape, I wasn't sweating profusely, but the rain was falling again like it did the night before. I passed the chubby girl up and smiled to myself. The guy running to my right gave me a I ain't getting passed by a chubby guy look. Damn him!
The two mile mark:
After the first mile, the trail took us into the woods, up and down small hills. The scenery was nice, but the trail was beaten to a mushy pit of mud and gunk, mixed with a large portion of sweat and despair. I slipped two or three times, almost falling, but managed to keep my footing through a very difficult part of the course.
This sucks!
I ran from the woods onto firmer ground and saw the two mile marker. Another smile crept across my face.
No Man's Land:
Just past the two mile marker, a large, muddy hill loomed in front of us. Behind me I heard screaming and calls for a medic. Someone fell and broke a leg. I hope it wasn't the chubby girl I passed earlier, elsewise I would feel horrible.
I begin the slow trek up the muddy hill. The footing is treacherous and slow. I watch as two or three people fall and tumble down the side of the steep clay terrain, while making a mental note to be careful.
At long last, I reached the precipice (if you can call it that) and began the arduous decent back to lower ground and firmer footing. The trail zig-zagged down the hill. I felt my right foot slip and widened my legs to create a stronger base. In an instant, both feet flew from under me and my left hand shot out in a senseless attempt to break my fall. I slammed to the ground, simultaneously driving my left hand and butt into the merciless ground. The pain was instantaneous. At different times in my life, I've had each shoulder operated on--the pain shooting through my rebuilt left shoulder is amazingly sickening. My stomach lurches, but worse yet, is the feeling that I ripped two inches of my anus into the next century.
Even though my shoulder was sending waves of agony to my brain, all I could think about was getting hauled out on a stretcher and having a couple honeymoon stitches literally placed in No Man's Land. Never mind dealing with the gloriously hilarious "friends" I have who follow me on social media; the thought of work-place retribution on Monday when my peers learned of my dilemma was enough to get me back on my feet and jogging again, despite my injuries.
Where is Mile Three?:
Either I passed it and didn't see it, or it was MIA. Either way, my aching shoulder and delicate starfish had me running like a cast member from The Walking Dead. I noticed other participants getting out of my way; it was probably the look of agony on my face, or quite possibly a fear of me biting them and turning them into an injured Tough Mudder zombie.
Mile Four:
After wading through some more sloppy mud, and belly crawling under another obstacle, I see the four mile marker. My aching anus wants nothing more than a cushioned donut to sit on, and my teeth get closer to my shoulder to begin the self-starter surgery process. I wanted to chew my own arm off, but the mile marker assured me I was close to the end.
My knees were now screaming at me, and I questioned what I was thinking by even showing up to this event. Dozens of young adults ran past me, some shooting sideways glances in wonder that the old injured guy was still in the game. If any of them had bumped into my shoulder or buttocks, I would have stomped them into one of the mud pits lining the running trail.
The End of the Line:
The last obstacle was called Electric Shock Therapy, or some such nonsense. A guy with a microphone was shaming people to run through it, and I figured what the hell, I'm already injured, so a little electric shock won't hurt. Right?
I enter the make shift structure with wires hanging from the overhead beams. The first one I encounter touches my head. I feel the rip in my anus seize up and my right knee buckled. Down into the mud-slop I fell. Shaking the cobwebs from my brain, I stand up and catch another ten volts in my (thankfully) right shoulder. I stumble once more into the pit of despair wanting nothing more than to punch every living soul in my sight.
At last I emerge from the house of pain and cross the finish line. I'm hurt, I'm aching, my heart is pounding, but by God I finished.
I can't wait until next year!
P.S. My shoulder still hurts, but my anus was just in shock and, you'll be happy to know, uninjured.
Friday, October 26, 2018
Monday, October 15, 2018
Hanging out in Pittsburgh
Many who follow me on social media know I'm involved in the martial arts. It's a passion of mine--something that transcends what most believe to be a hobby. It's a part of who I am and how I think and act. And for the majority of my life, it's been exactly that to me--my go to, my happy place, my New York state of mind.
I also realize that the majority of folk who read my blog don't have a passing interest in the Okinawan or Japanese martial arts (what those of us in the trade refer to as budo), so I won't bore you with those details in this entry. I do, however, sometimes pen a martial arts blog, so if you'd like to read it, just let me know and I will include you in that particular distribution list one I write the next entry.
No, the purpose of this article isn't to reflect on the weekend's training, but to discuss one of my favorite topics--human interaction with people from different areas of the United States and Canada, as well as those with varying interests and political affiliations.
Before we traverse that glorious road, I want to first focus on this anomaly we call social media. On its surface, "places" like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and other such cyber locations offer us connections with those we otherwise would never have made. That side of the cyber world is wonderful.
The dirty side of social media is how we treat certain topics. We (most of us) tend to focus on singular topics and overplay them to the point of annoyance. A couple years ago, I came to terms with how I was doing that very thing. Yes, I engage in political dialogue on my Facebook page, and yes I love to discuss that very topic. But like martial arts, not everyone is interested in politics or my opinion of them. It took me a long time to realize that, because some people do enjoy that very thing, but I soon realized I was losing more friends than making them.
Losing friends to a given topic sometimes means they simply disagree completely with my political perspective, and other times it means they are just sick of reading the same old thing. Many times, though, they just aren't interested in reading about the very thing that inundates their lives every waking second.
What does any of that have to do with my trip to Pittsburgh this past weekend? Nothing, and a bunch! We gathered, almost sixty of us I think, to share and sweat together on the dojo floor. We learned from some of the best instructors I've had the pleasure to be around, and we shared some of our own knowledge when called upon to do so.
Here's the really interesting thing though--a few of us have had run-ins with one another on social media. One fellow in particular is a great guy, and one I've let go of on Facebook. Our politics don't mesh and we rub each other the wrong way on-line, so I figured it was better to let him go on social media in order to preserve a friendship. It worked too. He and I spent hours together training, telling jokes, and just generally cutting up. I love him to death, and I think he feels the same way.
Another fine gentleman blocked me on Facebook. We all had a good laugh about it too. He is a great guy, but we don't see eye to eye on politics. The lesson here is a great one, I believe: it's okay to spend real, human time together and be friends, than to force yourself to read someone else's opinions day-in and day-out that you don't necessarily agree with.
This past weekend was another great one! More memories made, tons of laughter, and just good old fashioned hard work on the dojo floor. For me, there are few things finer.
Love, peace, and chicken grease, y'all.
I also realize that the majority of folk who read my blog don't have a passing interest in the Okinawan or Japanese martial arts (what those of us in the trade refer to as budo), so I won't bore you with those details in this entry. I do, however, sometimes pen a martial arts blog, so if you'd like to read it, just let me know and I will include you in that particular distribution list one I write the next entry.
No, the purpose of this article isn't to reflect on the weekend's training, but to discuss one of my favorite topics--human interaction with people from different areas of the United States and Canada, as well as those with varying interests and political affiliations.
Before we traverse that glorious road, I want to first focus on this anomaly we call social media. On its surface, "places" like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and other such cyber locations offer us connections with those we otherwise would never have made. That side of the cyber world is wonderful.
The dirty side of social media is how we treat certain topics. We (most of us) tend to focus on singular topics and overplay them to the point of annoyance. A couple years ago, I came to terms with how I was doing that very thing. Yes, I engage in political dialogue on my Facebook page, and yes I love to discuss that very topic. But like martial arts, not everyone is interested in politics or my opinion of them. It took me a long time to realize that, because some people do enjoy that very thing, but I soon realized I was losing more friends than making them.
Losing friends to a given topic sometimes means they simply disagree completely with my political perspective, and other times it means they are just sick of reading the same old thing. Many times, though, they just aren't interested in reading about the very thing that inundates their lives every waking second.
What does any of that have to do with my trip to Pittsburgh this past weekend? Nothing, and a bunch! We gathered, almost sixty of us I think, to share and sweat together on the dojo floor. We learned from some of the best instructors I've had the pleasure to be around, and we shared some of our own knowledge when called upon to do so.
Here's the really interesting thing though--a few of us have had run-ins with one another on social media. One fellow in particular is a great guy, and one I've let go of on Facebook. Our politics don't mesh and we rub each other the wrong way on-line, so I figured it was better to let him go on social media in order to preserve a friendship. It worked too. He and I spent hours together training, telling jokes, and just generally cutting up. I love him to death, and I think he feels the same way.
Another fine gentleman blocked me on Facebook. We all had a good laugh about it too. He is a great guy, but we don't see eye to eye on politics. The lesson here is a great one, I believe: it's okay to spend real, human time together and be friends, than to force yourself to read someone else's opinions day-in and day-out that you don't necessarily agree with.
This past weekend was another great one! More memories made, tons of laughter, and just good old fashioned hard work on the dojo floor. For me, there are few things finer.
Love, peace, and chicken grease, y'all.
Thursday, October 4, 2018
Is Open Dialogue Still a Thing?
Social media is the devil! With all the glorious connections it's brought to the world, its very existence has ushered in an inability for two humans to have a logical, polite conversation about ANYTHING. This is truly a sad time in our history, as colloquial as that may sound.
I have tried to temper my written tone. Although my dry, sarcastic, bombastic, and deplorable political perspective is gently and cerebrally strained like a house through a giant sinkhole in a Florida neighborhood, it often comes through as harsh and condescending. Yeah, chew and swallow on that simile for a few moments. 👀
Our emotions get this best of us when we engage in debate, whether the discussion be about religion, politics, sports, and now...social reform. I would go so far as to put each of these topics into one sports bucket; religion, politics, and social reform have all taken on similarities to beach volleyball. You know, we slap a topic back and forth until we find a weakness in our opponent's defenses, then we slam that thing into sand with all the ferociousness of an African lion assaulting a young zebra for his evening meal.
No longer are we capable of casual or intellectual discourse. In our wake of debate comes the win at all cost mentality. We do not seem physically able to shut our mouths for a few minutes while someone else shares an opinion. Becoming a better listener, even if you cannot be dissuaded, is a learned trait, and a gift from the hearing gods. Two ears, one mouth...you know the rest.
Don't get me wrong. I'm a practicing martial artist and a lover of all things boxing. The sweet science, as boxing is called, is a favorite of mine. Two men engaged in an act of pummeling one another into submission is my kind of entertainment. However, verbal sparring has lost its finesse, its suave, and its swagger.
Open debate is healthy and educational, but when you shut another person down, just because you can, you should ask yourself what you have accomplished. Was your goal to demonstrate your wonderfully acquired verbal skills, or was it to show another how attuned to a particular topic you are? Those of us who throw verbal jabs at others should consider the means to the end. The art of persuasion is subtle, yet strong. At its core, persuasive argument should give the individual you are arguing with some room to maneuver before you demonstrate your intellect and fact-finding skills.
Ultimately, if we find ourselves in political banter, we should keep in mind that we want to win a person to our side of the debate, rather than push them away. I am the first to admit that I fall victim to low-road verbal tete-a-tete, but I am working hard to overcome that character flaw. Let us work hard to position ourselves to win over an individual who may seem hard and politically sallow. Who knows, maybe we will find ourselves on the real winning side of debate?!
I have tried to temper my written tone. Although my dry, sarcastic, bombastic, and deplorable political perspective is gently and cerebrally strained like a house through a giant sinkhole in a Florida neighborhood, it often comes through as harsh and condescending. Yeah, chew and swallow on that simile for a few moments. 👀
Our emotions get this best of us when we engage in debate, whether the discussion be about religion, politics, sports, and now...social reform. I would go so far as to put each of these topics into one sports bucket; religion, politics, and social reform have all taken on similarities to beach volleyball. You know, we slap a topic back and forth until we find a weakness in our opponent's defenses, then we slam that thing into sand with all the ferociousness of an African lion assaulting a young zebra for his evening meal.
No longer are we capable of casual or intellectual discourse. In our wake of debate comes the win at all cost mentality. We do not seem physically able to shut our mouths for a few minutes while someone else shares an opinion. Becoming a better listener, even if you cannot be dissuaded, is a learned trait, and a gift from the hearing gods. Two ears, one mouth...you know the rest.
Don't get me wrong. I'm a practicing martial artist and a lover of all things boxing. The sweet science, as boxing is called, is a favorite of mine. Two men engaged in an act of pummeling one another into submission is my kind of entertainment. However, verbal sparring has lost its finesse, its suave, and its swagger.
Open debate is healthy and educational, but when you shut another person down, just because you can, you should ask yourself what you have accomplished. Was your goal to demonstrate your wonderfully acquired verbal skills, or was it to show another how attuned to a particular topic you are? Those of us who throw verbal jabs at others should consider the means to the end. The art of persuasion is subtle, yet strong. At its core, persuasive argument should give the individual you are arguing with some room to maneuver before you demonstrate your intellect and fact-finding skills.
Ultimately, if we find ourselves in political banter, we should keep in mind that we want to win a person to our side of the debate, rather than push them away. I am the first to admit that I fall victim to low-road verbal tete-a-tete, but I am working hard to overcome that character flaw. Let us work hard to position ourselves to win over an individual who may seem hard and politically sallow. Who knows, maybe we will find ourselves on the real winning side of debate?!
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