Really, and other words I hate.

Really.  Well, not really, but reeealy.  Or is it just a blunt matter of fact: really.  People are using the word REALLY in ways it wasn't meant to be used.  If you're shocked by something, or aghast, or taken aback, disgusted, disappointed, mad or miffed you cannot so simply express your discontent by deforming the prosody of  the word REALLY.  For that matter YEAH RIGHT is growing in popularity and grates upon me like chalk catching the board perfectly square - or better yet a finger nail.  I hear it all the time as a means of agreement, confirming that you feel the same way.  At Cross Fit, one will say "This is going to really suck", and others will chime in 'Yeah right".  Not in the bygone days where the use of  'yeah right' meant that not all was truly right.  People say "Yeah right" now and they mean it, darn it. And that's all they have to say. That's it.   No contribution to the conversation whatsoever.  I mean, really?

There's more.  I hear them.  I watch people's lips move closely and occasionally the word 'wholenother' pops out.  Gag. Or, it pains me to even write this:  'It is what it is'.  What the fuck does that contribute to anything?   Of course it is what it is.  But why?  How did it come to be in the first place?  Really, yeah right.  It is what it is.  I might as well ask "Where you at", but that's a wholenother thing. 

Stats

Blogs have this tool where you can check the STATS of the activity.  See how many page views they've gotten, which page was most popular, etc.  My stats kind of suck lately.  One must write in order to maintain readership.  My mother doesn't even read this thing (at least I don't think so). 

So, anyway.  I'm alive.  I'm getting gray.  Really bringing on the gray.  And I think my poor vision is going poorer.  I thought my eyes had fallen off the cliff a long time ago but it turns out they can get worse.  That first cliff was just a little talus field.  Didn't see the big drop coming.  Forty is kind of sucking for me in all kinds of ways.  But there is beauty even in the bad days.  There still days anyway.   

Along those lines:  I pulled my left calf in my bootcamp workout yesterday morning.  That muscle is good for nothing.  Fails me all the time.  And then I have to sit for days on end trying to rub out the pain.  An office worker shouldn't have to endure such things.  Bootcamp has been going well this year - Crossfit set me up pretty well.  I can almost slip an extra burpie between the cadence they call out whereas in years past I was praying for the count to end.   I'm probably physically stronger upper body than I have been in years.  I can kip 100 pull-ups in short order - which is really amazing to me.

My kids are super great.  They both did amazingly well in baseball and are now putting some quality time in the water swimming for the community pool near our home.  Good days for sure. I signed up for a marathon in November.  Still enjoy a ride now and then when I can find the time.  And swimming still enters my mind on a daily basis. 

There.  I wrote something. 

The Fort Wayne Country Club vs. The Brass Rail

I had the opportunity of spending time lately at two of Fort Wayne's finest.  As I sat at the finely linened table with silver place setting, plates with silver embellishments along the edge, wine glasses, water glasses, small butter knives, cloth napkins, courteous yet phony servers, over looking a golf course like those on television I also took notice of the people.  The men particularly, as it's mostly men at the country club you know.  What happens to wealthy men?  Why the conformity?  Where does fashion go?  I took note of several of them wearing shorts, Brooks Brothers likely, no socks, with heeled dress shoes.  Leather, kind of high-end looking loafers I guess.  With tassels - leather meaningless designs tethered to the top of the shoe.  Skinny white legs.  With mostly big bellies, 'chub' as my kids would say. 

It all made me think of the Brass Rail, and contrast the two.  The Brass Rail is a bar downtown. I'd classify it as a dirty punk band bar.  A friend recently referred to the people there as 'dirty hipsters'.  They conform just as much as the country club crowd.  No doubt.  The outfits are a bit different.  The tattoo's rampant. Everyone's in close contact, real close, and loving it.  It's dirty mostly.  And loud.  And real. Or maybe it's not real.  Just as phony as the country club.  Maybe.  Just a different clik. There are no men in shorts with tassled dress shoes and Polo shirts at the Rail. But there's probably the occasional nose ring - which is also a meaningless design tethered to ones nose cartilage? Is that how those work?

Anyway...to each his own.  I feel about as 'sorry' for the skinny legged guy in dress shoes with no socks as I do the kid with the nose ring trying to be cool. Fashion is a funny thing.

I'm doing a workout on Memorial Day at CrossFit called Murph.  They're having a cookout, beer, barbeque, the whole deal.  Sounds like fun.  When I asked what Murph was I got the answer and it scared me:  run 1 mile, do 100 Pull-Ups, 200 Push-Ups, 300 Air Squats, then run another mile.  I don't know why, but I live for phsycal challenges like that.  I don't know if I have the guts for the nose ring - but I'm going sockless in a pair of these babies:


     

run for it.

Ran the Indy Mini Marathon last weekend.  Beautiful weather.  Usually starts out cold and everyone has to wear long sleeve 'throw away' shirts that you must dodge in the opening mile.  Not this year.  It was humid - which never seems to phase me. Even after a pretty good drinking night at the Vogue two nights earlier I felt mostly hydrated, as I ate the ice from my Vodka tonics as to be in top form.   I had an OK run.  I was repeating my normal mantra "all systems go" as I continually  assess heart rate, quad, calf pain, foot strike, etc.  Everything was fine until mile 8 when I planned to bust my move.  Exactly at the mile marker I got a cramp in my right calf.  "The right calf" I thought, "that's like old reliable.  Never fails.  The left is my Achilles".  Age.  And lack of training.  So I had a code red cramp.  Within a few strides I had to stop and sit down!  It's hard to really go for it when you're sitting down in a running race.  I quickly tried to rub out the ball of pain and then got back on my feet.  Then it was Kosovo pace.  No disrespect to Kosovo, in the least, or the pain those people had to endure - but I once had a running friend say to me something about Kosovo.  People had to flee that country and literally run for miles to get away from the conflict.   Running for their lives. 

All I had to do was run for five more miles with a code red burner in my right calf. So I put things in Kosovo perspective and just kept on going.  I think my pace may have quickened a bit near the end - like a horse heading for the finish line. 

When you can see the end goal you can endure a lot of pain. 

 

Gone Daddy Gone

Violent Femmes.  Sometimes my phone and the music on it plays at exactly the right time.

I've not written in a bit.  Makes for a dull blog.  Just haven't had much to say I suppose. Or time. 

I've been working out.  I swam this week and felt pretty good in the water, nailed my flip turns.  I think it's CrossFit burpies...that jumping down tuck, jumping back, jumping up move is a little like doing a flip turn.  Sorta.  I do feel a little more power off the wall.  My stroke feels a little 'musclely' though, as if I've been doing pull-ups and push-ups lately.

I ran this week, in the rain.  Started out just a nice sprinkle, but then as I finally got into motion it turned torrential on me.  Of course I was wearing my only nice pair of running shoes which I intended to wear this Saturday at the Indy Mini.  They're still soaked. I may run in my semi-running, semi CrossFit shoes, Brooks Pure Connects.  I haven't really trained a wink so what does it matter? Might as well blow my feet out in style.

Running in a warm rain is life affirming in some way.  Cleansing.  You run faster.  It seems easier and more exciting.  Jumping over puddles, or splashing through them, standing at intersections looking like a wet noodle as the vehicular passers by look on.  I had a good CrossFit workout last night, finished with the most reps in the allocated time - we had to do 200 meter sprints carrying a 20lb medicine ball over head.  Then a series of wall ball shots, dumb bell push presses and dips.  It was a burner.  Entirely burned out my quads the Wednesday prior to a Saturday half marathon?  Who knows - maybe CrossFit will improve my running?  I doubt it - my cardiovascular engine has been running at idle for so long its forgotten how to process oxygen.  Nonetheless, running the Indy Mini is kind of fun.  This is likely my 8th running of that event.  I hate running. 

Its a beautiful day.  The earth is back - all full bloom.  Warm.  May 3rd of 2012.  It really has been a long time of this.
____________________________________________________________________________

Beautiful girl,
love the dress

Pour Some Sugar on Me

I had a chocolate dipped vanilla ice-cream cone from Zesto last night after shivering at Little League practice with my kids for a couple hours. Mmmm-Mmmm. Cheap soft serve ice cream had never tasted so good.  I stood in line with all the walks of life that frequent the south side Fort Wayne ice-cream mecca.  Noticed the mostly dirty side walk, dark splotched and sticky little ponds,  from the days ice-cream spilling activity.  There is something innocent, true and genuine about the south side Zesto.  It's kinda dirty, super old, tightly placed at a relatively busy corner.  The ethnic diversity is strong. I don't think I would even flinch if shots rang out; just get the kids to the car.   My kids love the place.  Liam announced to me that we could get a better price on our goods if they had any 'Mess-Ups'.  Sorry kid,  - no mess ups last night. Had to go full price, even had to scrounge for loose change to settle the bill.  That Zesto will forever be a good memory for my children.  And me.  Sure wish they took debit though.   

I had sugar guilt later and did a series of Manbuilders.  Manbuilders you ask, suspiciously?  Why would a man such as myself need to pursue building? Nothing intellectual of course.   Manbuilders are kind of like burpies with dumbbells.  Squat down, kick back into push-up position, row with one 25lb weight, do a push-up, row with the other arm, do a push up, jump to squat position, then stand, dip with the weight, then press over-head.  Oy vay.  A very fitting name.  Sick and sweating after a while I sat with the boys and slowly did sit ups watching TV.  Some new series about a kid that sees patterns in numbers, something along those lines. The son has autism maybe, not sure, and Kiefer Sutherland, the dad, runs around telling people that he thinks his autistic son wants him to meet them for some universally parallel dimension bull shit. It's really quite interesting.  I just kept doing sit-ups. 

all I need to do with this one is something with the horizontal line, then sign it.