The roads we travel

Every time I drive to Portland, I can't help but think of the more winding STP bike route. Flying past the exit signs along the freeway, I never knew the small towns of Winlock and Vader before riding through them more slowly. Never knew how perfectly Centralia was named until it was the overnight, halfway point for the two day ride.

I drove to Hillsboro outside of Portland for car shopping on Sunday, and all those great moments and memories were right there with me. On the way home, the GPS routed me along Highway 30 to Longview, likely to avoid a traffic logjam through Portland, so I got to see that part of the course, headed in the opposite direction. I remember the hotter years, the harder years, the moments we didn't think we could go on, and those glorious moments of triumph. Not sure I knew how high the Longview bridge was until I saw it in profile, but the narrow shoulder and long climb are burned into memory.

Sometimes we travel roads together, sometimes alone. Each time is a little different. Just the city of Longview has meant something new nearly every time through since that first ride more than 20 years ago, and it was different yet again yesterday. Each time down the path informs the next, memories providing texture to the present.

It was a long, tiring, but beautiful day on Sunday, and it will add another element to the road next time through.

It will be new, different, and familiar at every turn.

By any other name

Like many of us, I have had a number of nicknames over the years. Fortunately, most have been kind, or at least I have forgotten any mean ones in those awkward days of growing up. A lot of them came from work friends, one of which I have hung onto for myself, even though no one calls me it anymore, but my first nickname and my latest nickname have the same sort of origin story. 

When I was an infant/toddler, I had a cousin who was just three months older than I was. Charlie (soon to be Chuck) couldn't pronounce the name Sean, so I became "Na". My brother Kevin came a long a year later, and it was another name Charlie couldn't pronounce, so Kevin became "Beebee" for baby. The name Na stuck, Beebee did not (which I think Kevin is grateful for). 

The name Na was most enthusiastically used by my Uncle Jim, Charlie's dad. To be honest, I can't really remember him calling me Sean, but I can still hear his voice saying my nickname, always punctuated with an exclamation point, every time we saw each other well into adulthood. My dad and my brothers still use the name Na regularly, and I have been signing my emails to them with Na for several years now. 

I can remember when neighborhood kids or kids from school would hear the nickname, and try to tease me with it. When my only reaction was that I liked the nickname, the teasing stopped. I would like to think I was clever to steal their thunder, but I was honestly just, "Yeah? And?" There were plenty of teasing opportunities, because kids can be cruel sometimes, but this was not what I was self-conscious about.

My latest nickname, more than fifty years later, is from another young child who hasn't quite figured out how to say Sean. It would be even worse if I showed him how my name is spelled. I don't get the pronunciation out of that spelling either buddy. 

My friends Matt and Jenica's son Connor has started calling me "Uncle Han", and I love it. I mean, I already love this kid, and whatever he wants to call me is fine by me, but to be (accidentally) paired up with this guy is pretty great.

My Honda Element is a rather distinctive looking car, and apparently a red one has been semi-regularly parking across the street from Matt and Jenica's house, and Connor will point out the window and say, "Uncle Han!". So freaking adorable. A few week ago, I was over at their house for Jenica's birthday, and as Connor was going to bed, he asked Uncle Han to read him a bedtime story. 

It could melt a heart frozen in carbonite. 

Habit check in

Had another Dry January this year. 

Last year a group of us participated in Dry January together. The motivation was to (in a small way) support our friend who was pregnant and giving drinking up for a much longer period. This time around there was less of a concrete reason, but the same group was in just the same. 

It was another easy go of it. Last year I had a brain fart and drank while out with my brothers, but this time around there were no slip ups. No drinking without thinking this year. 

One activity I have enjoyed through the two years of pandemic is getting out for a round of golf with friends, picking up the sport again after all our bike events were cancelled. Since we are out of doors the entire time, the risks are much lower. It has been a bit of a savior of sanity. About the only real thing I missed related to this Dry January was the post round beer and debrief. 

One big difference this time around is the ever increasing non-alcoholic (NA) choices. Cutting back on alcohol is having a bit of a moment. A few years ago your choice was basically O'Douls, which is a non-alcoholic version of a style of beer I don't care for in its "real" version. Now much like how the explosion of microbreweries brought increased variety and quality to regular beer, more and more companies have sprung up to produce interesting non-alcoholic beer. 

Non-alcoholic wine has been around for quite some time, but from what I had heard, it has been pretty terrible in the past. Now there are more choices for wine substitutes as well, but I didn't try any this year so I can't vouch for their improvement.

However, one of the options I enjoyed the most was the Hoppy Refresher from Lagunitas. It is basically a hop flavored seltzer and was actually created for the Lagunitas employees. One of the perks of working for a brewery is free beer, but that doesn't work out so well when you are on the clock. The company created this to hand out instead, and it was such a hit they started selling it to the public.

The hop seltzer is its own thing, not trying to pretend to be beer. Often a substitute that isn't trying too hard at replication is actually more interesting. For example, I would much rather have a Garden Burger than an Impossible Burger. The Hoppy Refresher even has this great, non-Surgeon General warning. 

click to embiggen

One new addition to the lineup this year was gin substitutes. I do love me a gin and tonic, and I have found a couple of NA substitutes that are quite enjoyable in a mocktail. One odd thing is that the non-alcoholic versions are more expensive than the real thing, sometimes almost double the price. Clean(ish) living isn't cheap. 

Were there any lessons or morals to the story in not drinking for a month? Not really. No epiphanies were had, I didn't lose a bunch of weight, and I didn't feel more rested in the mornings. As with previous Dry Januarys I have participated in, it was mostly concrete goal to start the year, and a check against habits running in the background. You can't change habits you don't pay attention to, and over all it is just good to pay attention.

There was one clear benefit this year. When I was mostly separated from friends in January, it was nice sharing this common goal with the group. We'd check in through text or through video on Marco Polo, swap stories and drink suggestions. It was good excuse to reach out. I kept us connected in a different way during a month that is statistically the most depressing.  

Will I do it again? Probably. But there are plans this weekend to see friends and enjoy an adult beverage together. In person. 

Planning for failure, and still falling short

 So to recap from my last post (you may want to read it first), I:

• Went to the Oceanside Half Iron seriously under-trained.
• Planned not to do the run, so I was never going to "finish".
• Still had mild delusions of grandeur.
• Had a tough go of the swim, including five minutes of cramping and treading water.

The last leg of the swim was in the harbor and was more protected, so the water was less choppy. I swam slowly, trying not to set off another cramp, and made my way toward the boat ramp and finish line. Even with my slow going, there were still plenty of other swimmers around me, so at least I wasn't going to finish dead last.

I reached the boat ramp and was finally able to stand up again. Instead of heading across the finish line and timing mat, I made my way to the small dock to the right of the ramp. I was very nauseous and did not trust myself to stay upright. A volunteer was at my side almost immediately and asked what was wrong. I said I just needed a few minutes, but she stayed by my side. 

When the nausea did not pass, they encouraged me to get up on the dock. As soon as I did, I felt like throwing up, so I stretched out flat on the dock. Then my leg started cramping again. When that cramp settled down, another would fire up. I spent a long time vibrating in pain, flopping around like a fish out of water, all the while trying to roll over on my stomach so I could throw up (never did though). 

Medical staff was there, again almost immediately. They kept asking what was wrong, but I was at the mercy of the pain of misfiring muscles, and couldn't get out much more than a couple of words. Calves and hamstrings seized and cramped while they tried to stretch things out. I felt helpless, though I was surrounded by people trying to help. 

After what seemed like ten minutes, they got me upright and walked me to the medical tent. They set me down on a cot, asked questions, and peeled off my wetsuit so they could take my blood pressure. Various muscles would cramp, but things were starting to settle down. I eventually sat up, and they handed me a Gatorade to get some sugar and electrolytes in my system. 

In the cot next to me was another swimmer. I am not great at guessing ages, but she was probably my age or maybe a bit older. She was shivering violently as the medical staff tried to warm her up. I saw her hand trembling and reached out to hold it. I just wanted to let her know someone was there. I put my head down and started weeping. 

I held her hand for a while. Her body stopped shaking quite so much and was down to a slow shiver.  I left my cot to free up space in case there was someone else who needed it. I gathered up my wetsuit and goggles, thanked everyone I could make eye contact with, and limped back out to where my bike was parked. Someone asked if I was planning on riding and I laughed. No, my day was done. 

It probably wasn't all that cold, but I was shivering in my wet clothes. I had sent off my dry clothes to the finish line, but fortunately I had left a hoodie behind. I dried up the best I could, put on my running (walking) shoes and made my way out of the transition area. I had about three hours to kill before my buddies would be finished with their bike ride. 

I found some breakfast, found a pub with some tables right next to the course, chatted with another person waiting to cheer on a friend, and sent texts to the people who were following me online to let them know why my tracker wasn't moving. And I tried to digest what had just happened. 

After talking to someone later, I think I had a rush of adrenaline when I was cramping and treading water, and my body did not have time to clear it until I hit dry land. As soon as I was safe, it crashed down on me, and my body let me know in no uncertain terms that I needed to listen to it. 

Ironman has a pretty good tracking app so I was able to estimate when my buddies would be passing by. I saw both of them come in on the bike and then head out for the run. I walked along the course toward the finish line to pick up my dry clothes, and spectators kept cheering me on as if I was still a participant. After the first few it was just easier to thank them rather than explain what was going on. 

I was able to see my buddies a couple of times on the run course, and then headed to the finish line to watch people come in. A finish line is really something special. All the stories of how their day went, and what it took to get there, are often written on their face. I cheered every one of them on. Some were coming in strong, some were stumbling. Some wore a face of determination, others you could tell were about to cry. When they cried, I cried. 

When my buddies crossed the line, we swapped stories of our days, the good and the bad. That part is always great. People run the same course, but everyone runs a completely different race. 

After having time to think about my experience, I don't really regret trying. I was never going to do the run, so it was always going to be a DNF (Did Not Finish) for me. It took the pressure off of any sort of goal time or performance. I planned to take it really easy. I wanted to just enjoy participating at an event after more than a year and a half of shutdown, and doing the event with friends. 

Still...

Grit has carried me through difficult events before, but grit and determination can only go so far. I never want to show up that unprepared again. I think I am also done with any event that involves an ocean swim. Difficult events always involve a bit of suffering, but I don't ever want to have that feeling again of hating what I am doing. Now in the future when I utter the phrase, "Well, I've done stupider things...", I think this will be the 'thing' that pops to mind

I hope to never eclipse it. 

You belong, among the wallflowers

 This popped up in the old Facebook memory feed today.

Yep, still awkward. 

Natural introvert, I have done my best to feel more comfortable with people and crowds by jumping in feet first (on rare occasions to be honest). I have been blessed for my efforts almost every time. I guess the first major plunge was the charity bike ride down the Pacific Coast back in 2006. Didn't know a soul, but ended the two week ride feeling like I had known many of the riders most of my life. 

The more recent one is the North Bend Beer Runners. Again, didn't know a soul, but showed up alone, ready to run, less ready to mingle. As per usual, I built it up in my head, it is a totally welcoming group, and I have been rewarded over and over with community and friendship for just showing up that first time. I feel comfortable most of the time, but still almost every Thursday in the time before we start running, and the first fifteen minutes of gathering together afterward, I am the picture of the awkward wallflower. I don't know why this feeling persists, but it does.

If you see me in the corner, know I am doing my best to work my way out of it.

Looking back on parts of 2020

A friend of mine recently posted this on Facebook:

Name a good thing that happened during 2020.

For me I made a bunch of new friends that I would have never known were it not for this year.

I drew a blank when trying to answer this seemingly easy question. After reading through the many responses, small and good things that had happened to people I didn't know, my comment to the post was simply, "this thread" because I appreciated so much the question and the answers. 

Our memories seemed pre-disposed to remember our struggles more than our victories, the bad over the good. On top of that, my memory is chronically poor so 2020 (maybe more so than other years) is all just a haze. But on this last day of the year I sat down and tried to remember some of the more positive things that happened this year among all the general suffering. Since my memory is terrible, this is by no means a complete list, and I look forward to people reminding me of things I forgot. 

• When the shelter-in-place orders came in, so many were stuck at home. Some were fortunate to be able to work from home and thus keep their jobs. However, cabin fever still exists and with few places open and many outlets restricted, many took to walking around the neighborhood. Many seemed to adopt dogs to give them an excuse to get outdoors. Since they were now home more than ever, it was also a great time to help the new pups adjust. While walking around the neighborhood, most everyone was more friendly, exchanging waves and greetings from a distance, deftly maneuvering off and onto the sidewalks to give each other space. The neighborhood felt more neighborly this year.
  
  
• The neighborly feeling also extended beyond the neighborhood. There are obviously endless stories of how people are not taking Covid seriously, and just generally behaving as if providing even the smallest amount of concern for their fellow man is beyond them. However, I have seen so many small gestures of kindness that made me see the care in other people. All the small things that said that though were are not all in the same boat, that we see that we are all weathering the same storm. That we are all in this together. 
  
  
• This was to be a huge fitness year for me. My 2020 schedule included Ramrod, two Half Ironman events, and my first full Ironman. All were ultimately postponed to 2021. As I have mentioned here previously, having an event on the calendar provides the motivation to get out there running, biking and now swimming. The literal finish line gives me something to shoot for, and a proper deadline to make sure the workouts happen. Without the deadlines this year, it was easier to stay on the couch, but various virtual challenges helped keep me from falling too far off the wagon. My regular Thursday night running group the North Bend Beer Runners stuck together all year online. People posted pictures and stories of their runs, as well as pictures of them toasting each other, now at a distance instead of gathered in local pub or brewery. Northwest Trails also held a trail running challenge over the summer. Each week there were new routes and scavenger hunts that kept us outdoors and engaged. Even the silly challenges on Strava (workout four days a week, run a solo 5k or half marathon, etc.) helped keep me moving forward. While I definitely missed the atmosphere and comradery of in-person events, the virtual version definitely did some good.
  
  
• And speaking of virtual communities, it was the year of Zoom and the like. For a number of weeks in the summer, several long time friends from the Keg Restaurant would have a weekly Zoom gathering on Fridays. It was nice to see all the faces and hear their stories once a week. My biking group also "gathered" somewhat less formally on the Marco Polo app. The app lets you send short video messages to individuals and groups. Sometimes we would send random clips of what we were doing, but there would also be semi-regular gatherings with Jenica kicking things off with a "Roll call, watcha drinking?" Of course nothing will replace being able to see each other in person, but in this strange year of distancing, there was still some connection.
  
  
• For about a month I did a "Friends in Photos" project on Facebook and Instagram. I posted a photo each day of a different friend, most often a picture of the two of us side by side. The project was intended to run until we could gather in person once again, but of course this has gone on longer than most of us anticipated. Sometimes I would write a little note with the picture, sometimes they were posted with little context, but it was great to revisit all the faces and places and remind myself how fortunate I am. 
  
  
• At the end of last year I purchased something called a Five Year Journal. The journal is set up with a page for each day, but with room on the page for entries for five consecutive years. My writing habit has obviously been neglected these past few years, and I suppose I decided to begin using this journal to jump start it a bit. It was also meant for me to pay more attention. As noted above, I often have trouble recalling the smaller things that brought me joy in the moment. In previous years I have tried writing the smaller things down on strips of paper and putting them in a jar to read back again at the new year, but after the first month or two I would forget and lose the habit. This journal has been more successful, but again there are weeks here and there where nothing was written down. I finally put a daily reminder on my calendar so at 8:00 each night it pings me to recall the day. It ended up being a very strange year, and I am glad to have this journal as a small window into all that that 2020 was, and to have it continue to keep me paying attention in the years ahead. 

This was such a terrible year in so many respects. Global and personal suffering. Hardships for friends and myself. People we have lost, and beliefs that have been fractured. 2020 is a year that we will all be glad to have in our rearview mirror. However, a flip of the calendar page will not wash it all away, and 2021 will also be difficult for many of the same reasons. The light at the end of the tunnel can seem far off, but I will continue the effort to look for the small joys that bring us light. 

Favorite Christmas Memory

The holidays in 2020 may go down as the least memorable. Well, they may be memorable, but not in a positive way. I was recently reminded of one of my favorite Christmas memories, so I thought I would share it here. 

I was living in my first apartment with a buddy of mine. It was a two bedroom in the Crossroads area, with a shared laundry in another part of the building, and had this strange rollaway dishwasher that you connected to the sink with a hose. I remember the messy lesson that you when you are out of dishwashing soap, you shouldn't substitute dish soap. I can still picture the soap suds pouring out of the dishwasher and filling the kitchen. 

We both worked at the McDonald's down the hill. We could walk, or in my roommate's case skateboard, to work. We worked early morning shifts to open up the place, unloaded the delivery trucks each week, and had closing shifts where we were there past midnight. I remember I started at $3.35 an hour and we couldn't have been making much more than four or five dollars an hour when we moved in together. Things were obviously cheaper back then, but we were still just scraping by. We took advantage of the free meal each day we were at work, and our cupboards were filled with Top Ramen and Campbells soup. There was certainly no money for much of a Christmas. 

We were both working the night shift a day or two before Christmas. When we arrived home, there was a Christmas tree set up and decorated in our living room. Our girlfriends had sweet-talked a guy at a Christmas tree lot into giving them a Christmas tree for free or nearly so. Since it was almost Christmas, maybe he wasn't going to sell any more trees anyway. Maybe the trees were all headed to the woodchipper by that point. Maybe our girlfriends were particularly charming or told a great story. Somehow they made it happen even though they were about as broke as we were. 

They decorated the tree with ornaments and tinsel they had swiped from their parent's trees. It was probably a bit of mess of mismatched and sparse decoration, but even then all I could see was the beautiful tree through Charlie Brown eyes, and fill my lungs with that wonderful fresh pine tree smell. It was such a wonderful gesture, and one of those little Christmas miracles. 

I have had grander Christmases, and many special moments shared with wonderful friends and family who I love. There have been other gifts that were perfectly chosen, sometimes revealing how well someone knows me. Still, I cannot recall a Christmas gift or moment that meant quite as much as that one thirty five years ago. 

Lake Meridian Olympic Triathlon, part two

After crossing the finish line I wandered over to Ann to say hello and briefly debrief on the race. I hung out for a few minutes until Angie crossed the finish line and then made my exit so she could have the finish to herself. Smile on my face, I wandered through the crowd making my way back to my station to get rid of some things and grab my phone for some pictures.

After gathering my breath and letting the day sink in, I found my way over to where the volunteers were dishing out baked potatoes. It didn't sound all that tempting, but I knew I needed to eat. I only ended up finishing about half of it before tossing it out. My stomach is always a bit messed up after any long event. Even though I never seem to take in enough calories while on the road, I never feel much like eating when I finish.

I found some open grass among the crowd and listened as the event organizers went through the awards and raffles. There were actually three events/distances on the day, a Sprint, Super Sprint and Olympic triathlon. They also broke up the age groups in five year increments so the award ceremonies went on for a long time. Every so often they would raffle off some prizes to keep people around and interested.

Many people had left by this point, so when they called out a bib number and no one responded, they would toss that number aside and draw another. They mentioned that even if you won one of the smaller things, your name would still go back into the hat for the grand prize. Part way through Ann sent me a text and then waved me over to join her and a couple of her athletes/trainees. We swapped stories about how the day went, enjoying the day again in the retelling.

As they made their way through the various events and age categories, I kept looking at the clock. I had left the house sometime around 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning and it was already going to be eight plus hours that Izzy would be cooped up in her crate. I kept debating ducking out, but I was enjoying the sorta-after-party, and hey you never know.

When they finally got to the Olympic distance, and then to my age group I was surprised to find that I had finished fifth. At that point I didn't know how many were actually in my age group, but I was hoping it was at least six. I later found out it was twelve, so not too shabby for my second tri and first time at the distance.

To speed things up a bit, they announced both the men and women in each age group and had them go up to the stage together to get their prize. Angie had placed third in her age group, and the way they had the stage set up we were standing side by side to get our pint glasses. Weird coincidence.

I made my way back up the hill to Ann and her group and shared my amazement that I had placed. It was not a couple of minutes later than one of Ann's friend's name was called. as she placed in her age division as well. Smiles all around. 

Once the awards were finished it was time for the grand drawing. They added back the previous winners, but left all the non-responses sitting on the grass where they had been tossed aside. To add a bit of suspense, the announcer called out the winning bib number one digit at a time. When he started with a 2, I knew I was out. He called out 2, 1, 5...  No response. The person who had won had already left, so that number floated down to the grassy dead pile. 

They dug into the hat again and slowly read off the next number - 3 (me)...9 (also me!)...4 (holy shit, that's me!!). I tossed up my phone in surprise and leapt up raising my hands in the air to make sure they saw me before drawing another number. I jogged down to the front as people clapped and probably started gathering up their things. I showed them my bib to verify I had not misheard, and they waved me up on to the make-shift stage. There waiting for me was Brad from the local bike shop. Also waiting for me was a very nice Cannondale road bike. 

While they were snapping some photos, Brad and I chatted. I noted that the bike was a size too large for me, but obviously this was sort of a placeholder. After chatting for a bit longer, he asked something along the lines of "do you even need a bike?" I guess he has given away a bike at several previous events, and sometimes the winner already has several bikes. Not this guy. 

I mentioned that I already had a road bike that although it wasn't as nice as this one, I didn't feel that it was exactly holding me back. I mentioned that I was just getting into triathlons, but I was hoping to get a triathlon specific bike at some point. He said he couldn't provide a tri bike at the price point of this one, but I could apply the credit to get me partway there. 

Deal.

I hadn't planned on getting a tri bike until at least next year, and even then I would be likely shopping for a used bike. But damn, sometimes you get lucky. 

It was a doubly, triply successful day. I drove home still a bit worried about Izzy, but it turns out she was just fine. When I let her out she just sat down on the lawn and stared out at the lake, very zen-like and apparently not needing to pee. Glad I stayed for the drawing. 

Next, bike shopping. This tri thing is starting to get serious. 

Lake Meridian Olympic Triathlon, part one

Immediately after the Seafair sprint triathlon, I signed up to do the Olympic distance four weeks later. The Olympic distance is roughly twice the distance of the sprint with a 1.5k swim, 40k bike ride and 10k run (roughly .9 mile swim, 25 mile bike and a 6.2 mile run). Though I did pretty well at Seafair, I wasn't overly confident I could double the distance in less than a month.

In the weeks in between races I began to feel a bit better swimming in open water. I started swimming at Lake Sammamish State Park where the swim area is wide enough to get some long laps just swimming along the ropes. My new friend Ann who has done many triathlons, including now 10 Ironmans, joined me one Saturday. She has been a bit of a Godsend, with endless encouragement and advice. The day she joined me we swam roughly the Olympic distance and then hopped on our bikes to ride around the lake we just swam in. I almost always train alone, so having a friend along for the ride was a treat.

A week before the race I went on my (nearly) annual backpacking trip. We have done it each year since I moved back, but couldn't get our schedules to line up last year. I was really looking forward to the trip, but of course it meant one less week to train. It was a great trip, escaping to the woods to disconnect and reconnect, and of course there was a bit of exercise along the way. Unfortunately, I also came home with a strained calf, so that was not the best thing leading into the race.

It was another early morning on race day to get to the start. Parking was available near the start, but they suggested it would fill up by 6:15. I arrived around 6:00 and there was already a long backup to get in, so I moved onto one of the offsite parking areas at the local fire station. I walked my bike to the start, slowly warming up sleepy muscles.

Along with avoiding last minute stress, getting to the start line early allows you to have a better pick of where you get to set up your station. I picked a good spot and wandered around a bit to check out the area. I met Kathleen who had run the volunteer spot at Ramrod a few weeks earlier. She was volunteering here as well and helped me get checked in. She would later help feed us by manning the food station at the finish. Volunteers really do make these events possible.

Another familiar face was Angie. I had found out a few days earlier that she was participating in the same race. We ran into each other as I was wading into the lake for the start and exchanged an awkward wave.

Speaking of waves, unlike Seafair where there were multiple start waves broken up by age and gender, the Lake Meridian Tri only had two waves per event, one for the men and one for the women. It was a much more crowded start, so as soon as the gun went off there was lots of bumping into each other and jostling for space.

Watching Ironman events on TV, and hearing all the stories of people thrashing against each other at the swim start, I had always had this trepidation about the swim. Many describe it as being in a washing machine as soon as the gun goes off. This wasn't anything like that, but where at Seafair the swimmers spread out eventually, there always seemed to be several people around me throughout the race.

I did a bit better job of sighting the buoys we were to swim around, so didn't add too much distance to the swim this time. I also didn't have any panicky feelings, though I did fall in and out of rhythm on a regular basis while pulling up to avoid running (swimming) into other people. The women started only three minutes after the men, so it didn't take too long for the speedier ladies to catch up to me. As I exited the water, I thought that I saw Angie just in front of me, but it turns out it is easy to mistake people hidden behind wetsuits and swim caps. I did a speed walk to the transition area and swapped out gear and headed out for the bike.

My stomach was again feeling pretty poor for the first bit of the ride, so it was difficult to get any fluids much less any food down. I tried to spin up to speed slowly and wait for my body to come back online. The first several miles were a bit of passing and being passed until we all sort of settled into our paces.

The bike course is basically a set of three out and backs so once you made the first right turn there were faster bikers already coming back from the first leg. Again at Seafair there were so many start waves that there were going to be people well ahead of you regardless of your speed, but here it was clear that the people headed the other way were just on another level of fitness and talent. I did not find this discouraging, and just enjoyed having something to look at while pedaling.

Having felt like I pushed it a little too hard on the bike at Seafair, I tried to ease off a bit to save something for the run. Even so, my average speed was similar to last time, so pacing is something I still need to work on.

About sixteen miles into the ride I stood up out of the seat to take a break and stretch my back and legs. A few seconds after returning to pedaling, my right calf seized, knotting with a painful cramp. I actually cried out in pain and veered over to the shoulder of the road. My right foot is the one I always clip out of the pedal first, and with it locked up in a cramp I almost didn't get it out in time. The revenge of backpacking.

Once safely stopped, I hung my head over the handlebars and tried to will the muscle to relax. After a minute or two it did, so I started to slowly pedal again, pressing on without pressing too hard. If I am not going to learn to pace myself, my body is going to painfully intervene until I do.

I finished the bike without further incident and headed back into transition. I changed shoes, grabbed the belt that holds my race bib and headed out over the grassy hill to find the run course. Again it felt like I was shuffling, but I did feel better starting out than at Seafair. I had a bit over six miles to go, so I was happy to slowly ramp up.

The run course was mostly on a paved park path with some small ups and downs in terrain. There was one longer downhill near the start, and I told myself that I would walk it on the way back in. There was a guy dressed in a Tyrannosaurus costume running up and down the hill cheering people on. It is such a wonderful thing to have people dedicate their mornings, dressed up in a silly costume, just to encourage complete strangers. Getting to experience these random bright spots of humanity are one of the many reasons I do these events.

The run course was a completely out and back course, so you ran about three miles in one direction, turned around, and ran the three miles back on the same path. Not the best set up for variety of scenery, but again you were running past other people on your way out and in. There were smiles, some vacant stares, but lots of nod and waves of acknowledgement and encouragement. When I was headed back I saw Angie coming the other way, and we gave each other a much less awkward greeting and some atta boys/atta girls.

When I reached that hill, I walked just as I planned. The Tyrannosaurus guy was still there and cheered me on to get running again, but I smiled and told him this was my promise to myself. It was less than a mile to the finish, so I tried to pick up the pace a bit when I was back running again. I don't know if I went any faster, but the increased swing of my arms made me feel like I was digging in.

Around the grassy hill the finish line appeared. My neighbor had talked about possibly coming down to see me at the finish, and asked me what time I thought I might run. Having only just done the one tri and never this distance, it was a bit of a wild ass guess, but I thought somewhere between three hours and three hours twenty. When the finish line came in sight, I saw the clock and one more smile crossed my face. I finished in 2:52:49.

I am really happy with how the day went. The swim was a much better experience than last time, other than the calf cramp the bike went well over a more hilly course, and I didn't blow up on the run, running a pace I would be happy with without all the swimming and biking preceding it. All in all a great day.

But it would get better... Details in the next post

My long road to triathlon

I have wanted to (run?) a triathlon for a very long time, at least as far back as 2006. I actually did do a sprint triathlon that year, but had not done one since.

I really enjoyed that first experience, even though I messed up on the swim and had a flat tire on the bike. Sometimes when we fail the first time, it inspires us to try, try again. That was certainly the experience with my first bike event (which I did not finish) and with my first marathon attempt (which I also did not finish). Yet for some reason the triathlon dream/plan lay mostly dormant.

I did plan on attempting another tri in 2009. By that point I had been biking and running for a few years, so I started going to the pool to train since this would be my weakest link. But 2009 would be the year of unraveling, so it did not happen.

No real excuse for the intervening ten years, though.

Still, the dream was there in the background. I have the 2006 and 2007 Ironman Championships on DVD and I regularly watch them whenever I needed inspiration for an upcoming event. Over the years I have run nineteen marathons, twelve half marathons and ridden in several biking events that surpassed one or two hundred miles, but for some reason the triathlon remained a back of my mind/someday sort of thing.

A couple of things finally pushed it from "someday" to the desire to make it finally happen.

The first was when I went down to St George Utah to run the marathon with Sean, Marci, Jonathan and BG in October of 2016. That event and long weekend was a wonderful reunion of great, long-running friends. Sean had found this great place to rent when he had run the event a few years earlier, so as a part of the weekend we all got to hang out on the patio for several nights to catch up on all things great and small since we now lived a couple of states away from each other.

Some months previously Sean shared that he and BG had participated in their first sprint triathlon. They both had a great time and could see themselves doing it again. There on the patio in St. George, Sean let me know that they had both signed up for the Oceanside Half-Ironman Triathlon the following April. I was both rather blown away that Sean was taking on this distance, and bummed when I logged on to find that it was sold out.

We chatted excitedly about the Half-Ironman on their horizon. I can't even remember if this was before or after we ran the marathon that weekend, but the enthusiasm for this future endeavor almost grabbed attention away from the present challenge/accomplishment. I've had this goal percolating in the background for at least a decade, and here I had someone I had run many (many) miles with set to take on the challenge. It made it more real, somehow more realistic. If Sean could do it, maybe Sean could do it.

The second thing that finally pushed "someday" to "this year" was when I was dating Angie. She had done several Half-Ironman and full Ironman events. When we were still in the excited, planning stage of things, she let me know that she was going to do the Half-Ironman in Coeur d'Alene in June of this year. I had tax season and the marathon in Big Sur in April, but I believed I could half-ass my way into training to at least complete the thing. That was the final spark I needed.

Although Angie, and by extension Coeur d'Alene, did not work out, the seed long planted was set to bloom. 2019 would be the year. After the marathon in April, I had no other major running/biking events on the calendar. It wasn't really now or never, but damn it, just shut up and make it happen.

More to follow..

The gift of music and friendship

I was in the last mile of my ten mile training run and this song came on. I had not heard the song in years, but I was instantly transported back some 20 years to the first time I heard it

My dear friend Holly had told me to listen to this song, but after a few weeks of me not getting around to it, she intervened. We were in my car, in a parking lot, and she had me sit with the song and the lyrics, while she sang along in the passenger seat. It was such a gift.

This morning I ran along with those lyrics and memories, that wonderful tingling wave of a runner's high washing over me. All of the feels. All of it such a gift once again.

2018 Carlsbad Marathon

Before I run the Big Sur Marathon tomorrow, I thought I would look back at the last one - The Carlsbad Marathon run in January of 2018

~

Do you listen to your head, your heart, or your doctor? The answer is almost always your doctor, but...

As I mentioned in previous posts, I didn't take care of myself very well physically in 2017. With few events on the calendar to set a deadline, I couldn't get my butt off of the couch.

Then a gauntlet was thrown.

The other Sean/San Diego Sean/Bizarro Sean sent out an email on October 18th. It was a copy of his verification that he had signed up for the January 14th Carlsbad Marathon with the simple message:

See you there! :)

-Sean

PS: Price increase tomorrow.

With no real fitness base and less than three months to the marathon I had no business picking up the gauntlet. I could throw out my back just reaching for it. But I had somehow mustered a solid half marathon on a few weeks of training a month earlier, and as I am fond of saying, "I've done stupider things." I signed up on the spot. Now I had a deadline to meet, and it was a great excuse to get down to San Diego to see friends and bask in the sunshine before tax season kept me shut away.

I compressed the first two months of a typical training calendar into one and was soon caught up. The training was harder than it used to be, but at least it was happening. Some hurdles presented themselves - torrential downpours on my 16 miler, having to cut my 18 miler short when I found out on the day of the deadline that I suddenly wasn't going to have health insurance the next month and had to rush home to a computer. You know, the usual.

Then I got sick on Christmas Eve. I rallied for a day or two, but the flu slapped back and would not be ignored. No final 20 miler and no running for the three weeks leading up to the marathon. Most of the ill feelings went away in the last week but there was still crap in my lungs that I couldn't shake.

The Wednesday before the marathon I went to the doctor. Pneumonia was ruled out, but the doctor still said a marathon was not the brightest idea, though I could tell from his eyes he sort of knew I was going to try anyway. I promised both him and a friend of mine I wouldn't do anything stupid. Well nothing really stupid.

Marathon morning had Sean, Marci, their friend BG and me standing on the start line together. I planned to run with Marci and left the headphones at home. I will say that though I was ill-prepared, I was not particularly stressed about it. I did none of the meticulous planning that I used to do before these events. Part of it was the low expectations, part of it was that this would be the third time I had run this marathon, but another larger part was a mindset that I would need to lean on later in the day.

It was a beautiful morning, as most southern California ones are. We set off before sunrise, but stopped for some pictures at mile two to try and capture the gorgeous hues before us.

I ran with Marci for the first half of the race. I had run side by side with her at my first marathon finish, and we ran with Sean as a group of three at the Santa Clarita Marathon just a couple of weeks before I moved back to Seattle. She practices the run/walk strategy and I thought that might be the best plan to get me to the finish that day.

We ran and chatted as the miles ticked by, but by the twelve mile mark it was clear that I was not going to be able to keep up. You never want to leave someone behind, but we have run enough of these things to know the difference between someone who doesn't have it that day vs. just going through a rough patch that could clear with some encouragement. I waived her on and set about to run my own race for the next fourteen miles. It was the best decision for both of us as Marci would go on to set her personal best that day.

My IT bands were tightening badly, and my lungs were still a bit junked up. I started the infamous "run til it hurts too much and then walk for a bit" strategy. Along the way I met two women who were working medical support and they sprayed my legs down with BioFreeze. I wanted to give them each a big sweaty hug for this miracle potion. Back to run/shuffling.

My pace was obviously slower but not terrible. On a normal day I probably would have just gone to that place of suffered effort to get through to the end, but as I mentioned earlier I had made a promise to not to do anything (too) stupid. So at mile twenty I made a decision.

I would walk. The last six miles.

And I was surprisingly OK with it.

I had listened to a podcast by Two Gomers Run For Their Lives a few days earlier. In it they talk about their One Words for the new year. Sort of a crystallization of their goals in bit they stole from Oprah. Steven's word was "Love". Though he felt a bit cringy about selecting such a broad and overused word, he went on to talk about how he wanted to refocus on why he runs and does the other things in his life. To find the positive reasons instead of acting out of duty or guilt. I settled into the walk and thought about all the great things running has brought me, not the least of which are the friends I had set out with on this adventure. It didn't hurt that it was a sunny day, and I was walking near the ocean with palm trees dotting the horizon.

But it was still a long way to walk.

I cheered on other runners as a walked with a smile on my soul. I met the medic ladies once again and took another BioFreeze bath. After walking for some time, I thought about picking it back up to a run, but quickly set aside that thought and stayed in my previous decision. I took my time and I took some pictures.

The time goals started falling away. 4:30 was long gone and soon after that 4:45. Then I started doing more math in my head. If I kept my current walking pace, I might exceed 5:15 and it would be my slowest marathon ever, slower than that first finish in D.C. eleven years earlier. I did a little power-walking.

I still remember a year later walking around a corner about a mile from the finish and hearing music blaring up ahead. A Bon Jovi song I can't remember was ending and the song "Call Me Maybe" started up. I don't know why, but that fluffy bouncy song blasted at eleven put a goofy smile on my face.

Soon the finish line was just one more corner away. Runners run-shuffled past me to cross their first, fourteenth or fortieth finish line. Each one is something special and it gives you a boost to allow you to find one last bit of energy to speed up. I clapped as each one passed. I had come this far walking and resisted the urge to break into a final run myself. It took me long enough to get down the finishing chute that the announcer called my name twice, which made me smile one more time.

I crossed in 5:12:36, just sneaking in under my D.C. time of  5:14:46. It was strange to finish so relaxed, still in pain but strangely refreshed. I found my friends in the finish area. Sean had had a rough day himself, but more typically pushed through it and was still trying to recover. I found out that not only Marci had run her best marathon, but BG had as well. I had been looking for him but did not see him go by. We later figured out it must have been about a mile from the finish as he recalled hearing "Call Me Maybe" at full volume as well.

If the marathon had been a local one, without a trip to see friends built around it, I don't know if I would have run. The way the day turned out, initially disappointing and then strangely rewarding, I am so glad I decided to run. It is an experience I will never forget, and I hope to find that peaceful mindset the next time I am struggling.

Quite possibly tomorrow.

Treading water

I have had some form of depression for much of my adult life. It manifests at different levels, and in different ways at different times, but it is always there running in the background.

It has overall been less powerful over the last decade, primarily a result of the counseling I went through as a part of my divorce. Though you cannot rationalize your way out, talking about it nonetheless helped (and helps) tremendously. Just having someone on the outside, looking at it with you, can alter your perspective.

Two other things came out of the counseling that have helped in the intervening years. One was the realization of the effect my depression has on others. This thing I thought lived only in my head, and only made my own life miserable, had toxic effects on those around me. I know this should have been obvious, but in the thick of it, it wasn't. I was surprised to see how this misery I thought I was internalizing, brought others down with me despite my best efforts to spare them. There were many contributors to my divorce, most of which I can only speculate on, but I have no doubt that my depression was a big factor.

The other somewhat related lesson was that trying to internalize everything, to try and go it on your own is a short-sighted response. Depression can make you feel isolated and unworthy, but you are cheapening your connections and relationships by not trusting those that love you. They believe in you, even when you cannot. Where a decade ago I would not think to share my internal spiraling thoughts, I now let people know when I am struggling. Not always, but certainly more than before. I have not been to a counselor in almost a decade, but now I am more honest with my friends and share a larger part of my head and heart with them. I do this in person and also here online.

In sharing stories here someone recently reached out to me to talk about depression. That same night, YouTube coincidentally suggested a couple of videos about depression. The following morning I was crying uncontrollably in the shower.

Depression has hit me in waves before, often feeling like a physical weight on my chest, but I have never felt so out of control as I did that morning about a month ago. I know for many, depression is a chemical thing. Though I had read this and believed it to be true, I had never experienced it a way that made that knowledge felt, made it real. There were thoughts running through my head as the wave crashed, but it didn't feel like they were the quake that set off the tsunami. This felt very different, something apart from thought. And I felt helpless.

One thing that made the helpless feeling a bit stronger was I felt that I had lost one of one of my ways to respond to it. This breakdown in the shower was about a week after throwing out my back, and I could not turn to running as an outlet. There would be no solace on the road where I could try to sort things out. The feeling of being physically broken as well only added to the height of the wave. Also adding to it were the long hours of work in the month and a half ahead. How was I going to get through them feeling this broken.

The tide eventually washed out and I pulled myself together enough to continue getting ready for work.

How the rest of that March day went will follow in the next post.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...

It was the day before Christmas last year and I was over at my friend's house. His daughter, also my great friend, had gotten engaged just days before, to someone who is also a great friend (so many interconnected friends). These three have all brought me in like family, and this was one of several times they have included me in holiday celebrations. 

We were toasting the newly engaged and listening to the proposal story. After a bit, the couple pulled me aside in the kitchen to talk. They said they had something to ask, but then hesitated a bit, looking at each other. The soon-to-be-bride had some tears welling up and told the groom-to-be to do the asking. I had been in weddings before so I thought maybe they were going to ask me to be one of the groomsmen. 

They surprised me by asking me to perform the ceremony.

I was stunned, confused, honored, touched, and even mildly freaking out, all in the span of a couple of seconds. They continued by saying that when they had previously talked about hypothetically getting married, that for at least a couple of years they had known they wanted me to perform the ceremony. At hearing this, I was beyond moved. After some hugs and excited chatter, I half joked that I would need to have a stiff drink before the ceremony to be able to speak in front of a crowd. Whenever I have had to do a speech or make a presentation, I have spoken too fast and stumbled over words in a rush to get off stage. But that was the problem for ten months-from-now-Sean. 

Over the next several months, I would jot down thoughts as they came to me - "Shower Thoughts" as one of the bridesmaids called them.  I would copy down good turns of phrase from videos or books, save pictures from Instagram that had thoughts about love and relationships, and bookmark web pages with good wedding poems. Themes appeared but it was nothing close to coherent writing, much less a wedding ceremony. 

A month or two before the wedding, Matt, Jenica and I went away for a weekend. We took the dogs and stayed in a family cabin on Vashon Island. There was good food, drink and conversation. We talked about the ceremony in general terms, but what I would say was pretty much up to me. They did not want to hear it ahead of time. They trusted me, which was awesome, but again a little scary being the only one who would shape it. 

We also took a trip to Bellingham a few weeks out to check out some vendors and so I could see the venue. Like previous road trips with these two it was a fun adventure, but like the cabin trip before, it was just so wonderful to be part of the process. I had been to a wedding back in April. It was a wonderful ceremony and a joy to be there to witness the excitement and possibility of this new beginning for a friend. Matt and Jenica's wedding was always going to be different though.

Of course both the bride and groom were very important to me, but I had forgotten how different the experience is when you are a member of the wedding party. You are sort of in the inner circle, getting to help with all the behind the scene details, witness the small moments, and maybe lend a voice or ear when needed. As honored as I was to be asked, the actual experience of being a part of it was that much better. 

Now the wedding was a week away and for all the note taking, I had yet to put pen to paper on the actual ceremony. Part of it was my normal procrastination habit, but I think an even greater part was the feeling that I can never quite adequately translate the thoughts in my head to the word on the page. There is always a disconnect. While the thoughts remain only in my head, they are perfect, so I hesitated to shatter that illusion. 

But you can't re-write a blank page.

I combed through the snippets and phrases. Certain ones worked, others felt important but I couldn't get them to fit. Once I got going though I re-discovered a bit of love for writing. The past year or so has been one of malaise and stagnation, but in this wedding and writing the ceremony I found excitement again. It was the first thing I had written in years that I cared so much about getting right. Not since finishing my book really, and at one point I realized that what I was writing for the wedding would probably be heard by more people than had read my book. 

I revised each day, cutting and pasting, winnowing and sharpening. Many versions were saved. A few days out, I was randomly scrolling through my Instagram saves and found a forgotten piece that helped tie together part of what I was trying to say. The day before and the day of there were multiple trips to coffee shops to write, and to Fed Ex/Kinkos to print out the latest version. Even an hour before the ceremony when I was sitting in my car rehearsing, things were being crossed out and moved. Given the chance I would endlessly keep re-writing, but it is never really done, you just run into a deadline. 

But what a beautiful deadline. 

Though I was still re-writing an hour before the ceremony, I was pretty happy with what I had written. It was heartfelt, at times personal but it also touched on love and connection in general. I felt reasonably comfortable up in front of everyone and did my best to speak slowly and be in the moment. Mostly I focused on the happy couple and pretended it was just them I was talking to. 

People were very kind after the ceremony, complementing me on what I had written and several were surprised this was my first time. I don't know if I will ever perform another ceremony, but you never know.

At any rate, with this being my first, and for my connection to the couple, this one would be a tough one to top.

Wedding Presents

I was recently at a wedding. The groom was the son of a friend of mine. Though the groom and I don't hang out independent of the rest of his family, I would consider him a friend as well. He is one of the people I go with on the annual four day backpacking trip, and we figured out that I have known him since he was three years old. His mom, then a single mom with multiple jobs and school on her schedule, would sometimes bring him to our work where he would sit and color until his grandparents came to pick him up. Many of the restaurant staff got to see this young boy grow into a wonderful man, and some were there to celebrate his step into a new life with his wife. Beautiful, wonderful.

A week ahead of the wedding (cause I like to procrastinate) I was shopping for the traditional wedding present online. So easy these days. The present could even be shipped directly to them so they wouldn't have to gather them all up after the wedding. One less moving part on the day of the ceremony.

They are in their mid-twenties, creating a brand new home so every dish and fork is a piece of that. Though I am sure everything is greatly appreciated and all one small piece of the whole, it is always odd to buy a single dish, place setting or towel. I opted for a divided sauté pan that I had not seen before, if only because I thought it was cool.

My own wedding was more than seventeen years ago. We have now been apart for about as much time as we were together, and it is hard to wrap my head around the amount of time that has passed. All these years later I am still eating off our dishes, brewing coffee in our coffee pot, and having pancakes stick on our Teflon weary pan. They were long ago left to me so they are no longer "our" things. There are plenty of talismans that remind me of our marriage, but the kitchen things are now just kitchen things. I had a hand in picking them out and I still quite like them.

I am sorry to say that I don't remember who was nice enough to give us each item on that September day, but know that your gifts are still being used and appreciated almost two decades later.

Before the recent wedding I had been thinking about wedding presents in a different way. You bring not only yourself to each new relationship, but also your friends, family and all the history you have created together. Jennifer and I had a few mutual friends when we began, and over the years many more became "our" friends. I would say that most of mine became ours, but for some reason there were a few that remained distinctly hers. I don't know why this was, but not everyone is going to like you.

When we split, friends could have been caught in the middle. I am sure many divorcing couples try to avoid this, but I feel that we made a special effort to try and prevent it from happening. Ultimately I don't know how successful we were, and I honestly don't know what the relationships with our friends and Jennifer have been like in the intervening years. However I have the sense that I was left with most of the friends, as I was with the household goods.

Something sort of odd but wonderful has happened in these post-marriage days. I have become good friends with a few of "her" friends. Some I know better now than I did then, and I am blessed that the failure in one relationship did not take out another. For a while I felt the oddity of this gift, but now I am only reminded of it when someone asks, "so how do you know each other?"

The event that started this rambling train of thoughts was an invitation from a friend who was coming to town. She began as a friend of Jenn, then she was ours, but then I hadn't seen her much recently. She now lives in another state so our connection is very Facebook dependent. Anyway, she was going to be in town and rather than trying to coordinate multiple meetings, she planned a gathering at a local brewery and invited a bunch of people. Tax season was not in its full abusive mode yet, and thankfully the brewery was near work, so I was able to join them for an hour and a half. It was wonderful seeing her, meeting her new(ish) husband, and catching up on things awesome and trivial.

There was another couple there that I had met a couple of times but didn't know all that well. When the guy said, "I think the last time I saw you was at your wedding," elephants were acknowledged, so initial connections could be recognized and forgotten. We settled in for a great evening and sort met for the first time, for the second time. It was one of those evenings where I just sat back and enjoyed the mystery and beauty of it all.

Since that evening, and while this post has been rattling around in my head when I was too busy/tired to put pen to paper, I found out that Jennifer re-married. She had reached out to me previously to let me know she was engaged, but I didn't know when the wedding was, and last weekend I noticed her last name had changed on Facebook. Though I knew it was coming, and we have been a long time apart, I was still hit with a deep sadness. A reminder of all that I lost when the thing that was Us came to an end.

It was great seeing Dalton getting married earlier this month - to see the love in the room and to bear witness the start of a new life. I don't know if this is strange or not, but I continue to say (and believe) that my wedding day was one of the best days of my life. So many friends and family brought together in a single place to celebrate hope, love and community. Even all these years later, after all that has changed, I am reminded of the gifts that it brought, and occasionally still get to open a present.

Missed connections

My cousin Liz wrote a beautiful post the other day.  She and her husband Rick (OK, he is technically the cousin) are in Thailand for a couple of years, and Liz is a counselor at an international school there. Now that their own kids are grown, they sold their house and took this two-year left turn on their path because they could.

Rick is headed back stateside for a month to attend to some family matters and Liz wrote her post about the coming separation. It is longer than they have ever been apart, and the foreign residence must certainly add to the disconnected feeling she will experience. She wrote honestly about what she is feeling, and sharing these vulnerable moments is what brings people closer together.

I don't think I have ever felt this sort of separation, and that is my loss. I think I am a little too comfortable being alone. I also don't know that I have ever shared my whole being with someone, at least not at a time when it mattered. I am always sort of disconnected.

I am a pretty classic introvert. I am that nerd that flags passages in books with sticky note flags and carries a tiny notebook in my jacket pocket in case a good moment or phrase crosses my path. I am more comfortable in the company of a few than in a crowd. I have no problem spending the day doing things by myself. I go to restaurants, movies, hikes, etc. flying solo. I seem to run out of social energy if I hang out with others for too long. I can be awkward at times, saying the wrong thing or not saying enough. At parties, I will gravitate toward the dog.

I have been sick the past few days, holed up at home with Nyquil and a Neti Pot. I typically get sick very slowly, recover just as slowly, but the sick doesn't usually hit me all that hard. Basically it is a long shallow curve, but this one has taken me down for four days so far. Living alone of course has its advantages and disadvantages. I am not currently grossing anyone out with my pile of Kleenex or by washing out my sinuses over the kitchen sink. I have never really wanted anyone to "take care" of me when I am sick, but I do find the lack of human interaction creating some cabin fever. Even a brief conversation with a barista would give a boost of energy making the $2 cost of a cup of coffee more palatable.

I guess I am sort of a social introvert now. A man that at times keeps people at arm's length, yet somehow maintains close connections. I have been blessed with having a number of good friends in my life. Much of this can be traced/attributed to my time in restaurants. The work atmosphere not only brings lots of different people together, it seems to encourage closeness as you engage in the daily battle. And of course you are forced to speak to strangers on a regular basis. Through practice and exposure, you are brought out of your shell.

I was at a surprise birthday party a month or so ago for a longtime friend. We have worked together, lived together, been a part of each other's weddings, but more recently we see each other only once a year or so. Another great friend with the same longtime connection would be there along with his wife and son, and I couldn't recall the last time I had seen him. It had obviously been a while since his son was now about five and I recalled him as a toddler.

It was a great evening. All the years faded away as we fell into funny and meaningful conversation. I got to know one of the wives a bit better, and I enjoyed talking to the little boy. When it was time to go, my friend and I were exchanging a hug. I have a reputation for giving a good strong hug, but when I went to pull away, by friend held on and said, "I'm not done yet."In that simple phrase and moment I felt the beauty of deeper connections.  I still struggle with keeping people at arm's length, but I also know I am doing better, and light years from where I used to be.

Earlier, while the adults were chatting away, sharing stories under a tarp cozied up to heat lamps, the little boy came up and asked his mother if there was any paper he could draw on. We weren't at their house so she said she wasn't sure. I reached into my pocket and handed him my pen and little notebook, saying it was sort of small but he was welcome to it. When he returned the notebook later in the evening, it came with a gift.

Sometimes it pays to be a little nerdy.