Wellness Writ Large

We interrupt the Youth Sports Mania series (which will continue in a day or two) with this emergency query: have I totally lost it?  The last two years I’ve spent the last Thursday in July cycling around Mount Rainier in what’s known as RAMROD.  Both rides were a highlight of both summers because 1) I trained hard from mid-April or early May and 2) I had two excellent wingmen, T and D, stronger riders than me who I often tucked in behind to conserve energy or to manage the final 25 miles when running on fumes, 3) the scenery is unrivaled, and 4) we rode really well and passed people all day long.  

Fast forward to this year.  I returned from Europe in late May, and began cycling, but because I was something like 199th on the RAMROD wait list, I wasn’t terribly motivated to go long, especially since I’m training for the Portland Marathon.  My longest ride of the season so far is 59 solo, fairly hill miles.  Even that ride involved a big brunch with the fam and in-laws in the middle.  I’m riding really hard twice a week (averaging just over 100 miles/week), but compared to 06 and 07, my mileage is way down.  For an event like this, I’m seriously under-trained.  On top of that, T is in Washington D.C. mountain biking with President Bush on the weekends (22 times so far) and D has gotten too damn strong for me to try to ride with this year.  

Fast forward to yesterday when I learned I made it into the ride.  Does the fact that I’m even considering doing the ride, mean I’ve lost touch with reality.  Any of you who have lost your sanity see the same telltale signs in me?  

Here’s my plan.  Spend six hours in the saddle Friday with ample climbing.  Then the question is can I ride extremely conservatively to the first climb, and then conservatively up to Paradise, and then conservatively through Backbone Ridge, and then conservatively up Cayuse.  I think I can do it if I stay within myself and repeat this mantra, “No heroics.”  I’ll suffer mightily, but that provides the opportunity to develop more mental toughness which will make me a better endurance athlete.

So, I’m leaning towards attempting it.  Let me know if I’m totally crazy, I suspect those who are most crazy are the last to know.  

Here’s last year’s race report:

143.3 miles.  10,406’ elevation gained.  10,027 calories burned.  Total time, 8:50-8:55.  Riding time, 8:03:49.  Average speed, 17.8.  Maximum speed, 42.7.  Average heart rate, 132.  Max, probably mid 150’s.

Last year I overinflated my tires and had to change tubes, ran out of tubes, and then tipped over all between 3:30a.m. and our start at 5:40a.m.  This year prerace prep went perfectly and I even stayed upright as they checked our numbers at the start.

Like all endurance events, this one is all about preparation.  This summer I’ve totaled about 90-95% of last summer’s miles.  Despite the slight dip, I went 103 miles by myself a few weeks ago.  Thanks to the wettest July in ages, a lot of this month’s miles were solo.  When it’s warm and not windy, I really don’t mind riding in the rain.  Of course that’s only when it starts mid-ride.   

Rode with three friends, one who had three additional friends who we waited for at the start, but dropped almost immediately.  That’s a nice segue to the line of the day, which ironically occurred at the 2 mile mark.  My plan was to effortlessly spin for 10 miles, slowly increase it over the next 30, until hitting the base of the first extended climb when I knew it would be every man for himself to the top.  Ease into it and reduce it to a damn hilly century.

Problem is D (former professional marathoner) has gotten crazy strong and he’s hardwired to go hard all the time.  So I happened to lead us out and I’m crawling along at 15mph on what is actually a 40 mile 2% grade run up to the base of the first climb.  We actually pass and pick up a few riders when T says to D, “How you doin?”  To which D replies, “Hemmed in.”  A club passes us hard in matching kits and he pulls out, passes me (I had decided to let them go) and quickly closes the gap.  At my advanced age, I still bowed to peer pressure, and followed suit.  We used those guys for 10-15 miles until they stopped for some sissy reason no doubt.  We put time into them all day. 

Last sentence requires an explanation.  Normally, we ride up, down, and around the mountain, meaning you have no idea how many people are in front of you or behind you.  This year it was an out and back due to major winter storms and road damage/closures, with three major climbs off the main out and back highway.  Therefore, we saw a handful of riders descend before us and 98% climbing behind us as we descended the three big hills.  Out of 800 riders, maybe 10-15 finished before us.  And they may have started before us.  Start was open from 4-6 and we rolled at 5:42. 

Long story short, D and T dropped the hammer for 8 hours and I hung on for my dear life.  T climbed Sunrise with me, the first, longest, and most scenic of the three climbs.  It was nice to have someone to talk to, especially someone who knew the road and was able to tell me what was ahead.  We blew off the 25 mile rest stop so I stopped for two minutes at the base of Sunrise (mile 40 I think) to drink, swallow a few salt tablets, and pop a few dried mangoes in my mouth.  That gave Steve, friend three, just the separation he needed, but T and I caught him 3/4^ths of the way up.  We passed person after person.  I told two guys we came up on, “The coach told us to bring some water bottles up to you” and they cracked up.  Most other guys didn’t find being passed so amusing. 

The views were incredible, but I was working too hard to really enjoy them.  The descent was one of the best ever.  Air temp most of the ride was in the 60’s, so perfect, and probably 50 with wind chill on the descents.  Some guys were cold on the descent even with arm warmers, but I went without and was only borderline chilly, which again was perfect.  Couldn’t have asked for better weather.  Climbs 2 and 3 were mid-day and in the sun and the only times I sweated quite heavily.  Hours 1 and 2 were so quick I struggled to drink enough.  I was worried about the medium and long-term effects of that, but I compensated by drinking a ton mid-ride.  That plus 8 salt tablets kept me from cramping. 

We regrouped at the bottom of descent one and rode together to climb 2.  We separated on climb 2 fairly early on and regrouped again at the top.  Same pattern for climb 3.  Climb 3 began at mile 100 and was 10 miles long.  The first 4 were relatively gentle and I sat in our group of 5-6 (having picked up two riders).  Then as they started to pull away I said, “Meet you at the top.”  At mile 107 we came upon a 12% grade sign.  Kid you not, I was as close to unclicking as I’ve ever been.  I probably slowed from 7-8 to 5 mph and still pulled away from the two guys I was riding near.  Had to stand most of the way and after somehow making it over borrowed from Kurt Warner after his SuperBowl victory, “Thank you Jesus.”  Almost immediately though, there was a 12% descent which I couldn’t enjoy at all because all I could think about was climbing it very shortly.  We took a nature break at the top and immediately started descending.  Hit the 12% climb right at 112!  I said to Steve, “I just love hitting 12% climbs at 112 miles in.”  I also told him I’d have to swear him to secrecy if I had to unclick.  We both made it, all of us reformed at the main highway at mile 120, and continued to the infamous deli stop at 123. 

Amazing organization and volunteers.  The deli stop is actually a sandwich bar.  I had turkey on wheat with mustard, mayonnaise, and a tomato.  Throw in a Diet Coke, oatmeal chocolate chip cookie, and 20 miles suddenly seemed doable.  We told some guys we were leaving and we formed an 8-9 person paceline.  Now it’s a 2% downgrade, but it’s into a pretty strong headwind, so the two neutralized each other.  First guy starts pulling at 17 and I’m behind D just cracking up.  I’m loving it because I’ve been riding way too hard for way too long.  I had no pride at that point and would have sat in the whole way home!  The guy pulls and pulls and pulls and I know D in front of me and T behind me are like restless thoroughbreds in the gate.  Then the guy pulls off, drops back two riders and cuts in right on top of D.  D somehow avoids the ditch and just shakes his head.  Apparently, the guy had no idea we were back there.  That’s all T needed to snap, saying, “Come on, let’s go” and took off into the wind. 

Leaving the deli stop I had told D and T that they could easily blow me off the back, and I reminded them that I had the car key.  It worked out because they pulled a lot farther/longer than I did.  After one of my puny pulls, I barely got back on and then started to fall off, but I told them and they sat up for 45 seconds which was all I needed to recover.  At that point we picked up two equally strong riders and flew over the last 15 miles. 

Positive peer pressure.  As we approached the finish, I eased off to cool down.  D and T accelerated.  They couldn’t be nicer guys, but I sure wish they’d learn the joy of spinning.

I was extremely proud of how well all of us rode, but I know there’s a whole other category of riders that would humble us.  We ride with some cat 1-5 guys most weeks and we know we’re just a bunch of Cutters.  Increasingly though, D pisses off those guys by hanging with them to the very end of our club rides.

Next year, T will be living in D.C. until September 08, and I return from Europe on May 23^rd.  So I won’t have anywhere near the necessary miles in, and therefore, won’t extend my streak*.  D is already preparing to go solo.

* Or will I?

First in a series.  I’ve done a lot of thinking about youth sports, mostly while sitting on the sidelines at my daughter’s soccer games.  Just because I’ve done a lot of thinking about youth sports doesn’t mean that what follows is “the truth,” it’s simply my subjective perspective based upon my particular life experiences.  I welcome opposing viewpoints and I’m curious if my perspective resonates with anyone.  Like Ben Stein said in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, “Anyone? Anyone?”

Some context.  I grew up playing sports all the time, switching sports with the seasons.  I was decent in most every sport, but didn’t distinguish myself in any.  I think positively about my sports experiences and I would describe myself as sports-minded.  

I have a hunch that I may be different than most sports fans in that I tend to root for the underdog even if “my” team is favored.  Between 1985-1989, I taught at four high schools in Los Angeles, one in the inner city, one in an upper middle class section of the San Fernando Valley, and two in between.  When watching basketball games at the well-to-do school, I recall silently rooting for the visiting inner city teams.  Similarly, if I read a compelling story about a foreign athlete before the Olympics, I’ll typically root for him/her even if they’re going head-to-head with an American. 

My daughters are privileged, as are most of their teammates.  Sometimes they play teams that appear to be less privileged, imperfectly measured mostly by the number of adults in attendance.  Sometimes my daughters’ teams thump less privileged teams and I feel alienated from the parents who continue to cheer lustily after each successive goal.  I’ve been on the other side too, having watched my daughters’ teams get spanked, and was amazed at how oblivious the other parents were to the larger context as they cheered wildly for goal eight, nine, ten.  

My first youth sports experience as a parent was unequivocally negative.  L and I signed up A, at age four, for soccer.  Good thing I have a modest blog readership because that’s a difficult admission.  If three seconds ago you didn’t stop and say to yourself, “What the hell were they thinking signing up their four year old daughter for organized soccer?” you should have.  And in case you didn’t, I will, “What the hell were we thinking signing up our four year old for organized soccer?” 

I guess the sad truth of the matter is we did it because we were human lemmings mindlessly following the lead of our peers.  I’m not proud of that, but at least I’m owning up to it.

Stay tuned.

My dad was a successful executive.  In contrast, I’ve been content to work with students in high school and college classrooms.  I don’t think I have any fatal flaws that would spell administrative disaster; I just haven’t felt the call of administration.  Recently though, I’ve agreed to coordinate our Masters Program with Teacher Certification for the next three years.

L, far from objective of course, says she’s certain I will be successful.  I appreciate her confidence.

I’ve worked with a gaggle of administrators, some who were effective that I respected, others that made you wonder how on earth they rose to their positions of leadership.  I’ve reflected on all of their strengths and weaknesses; as a result, I have leadership intuitions that that I’m sure I’ll refine over the next three years.  Maybe my goal should be for no one to mutter, “How on earth did Byrnes become Program Coordinator?”

Given my new responsibilities, I read a recent Wall Street Journal bio about a technology CEO a bit more closely than normal.  One year older than me at 47, his leadership philosophy consisted of three things: work hard, treat people well, and listen.  Love it.  Substantive and simple.

Before heading out for last Sunday’s training ride, I downloaded a few podcasts including a recent CarTalk episode, a favorite Saturday morning National Public Radio program of mine. 

While listening to the hosts, brothers Tom and Ray, it dawned on me that their success is also a template not just for administrative success, but workplace success more generally.  The three keys to their success: know your stuff, connect with people before getting down to work, and don’t take yourself too seriously.  

What do you think of these frameworks?  How would you boil down the keys to successful leadership?

Early Wednesday morning, before TP (Training Partner) and I had left the hood on our tempo run, the talk turned to new taxes, economic growth, Governor Christine Gregoire, inflation, and tenure.  Tenure? 

TP doesn’t think I understand the negative consequences of tax increases on people like him.  More than that, he thinks I’m incapable of understanding the negative consequences because my paycheck isn’t contingent on how many students I recruit and retain.  His annual salary is based in part on bonuses that are based upon steadily increasing sales.  Steadily decreasing sales means he’s looking for work.

I counter that lower taxes don’t always lead to increased economic growth (see 2005-2008).  And economic analysts agree that both JM’s and BO’s economic plans will add to the deficit which of course has negative medium and long-term economic consequences.  Rather than simply repeating that we need lower taxes, we need to discuss national, state, and local priorities and how we’re going to pay for any tax cuts. 

Ultimately, TP and I disagree about the role of the government; consequently, we usually finish our runs/debates agreeing to disagree.

Intellectually at least, I understand that people will purchase fewer of TP’s products since they’ll have less disposable income.  But what TP was trying to communicate is that I can’t truly empathize with him.  And I admit I don’t understand his day-to-day work experience in a “deep down in the gut” sense.

I think his frustration is I can’t fully appreciate how stressful his work world is and I wouldn’t be quite so liberal if I had to walk in his work shoes.

In my early twenties, I decided socially redeeming work and meaningful interpersonal relations were more important than making lots of money.  By the time I received tenure seven/eight years ago, I had developed a sense of professionalism that hasn’t changed since receiving tenure.  In TP’s thinking, employees are motivated almost exclusively by economic incentives.  As a result, he struggles to understand what motivates educators like me to continue trying to improve.

Just like me, TP tends to generalize from his own experience; nonetheless, I don’t want to say he’s incapable of understanding what motivates me because that’s a conversation stopper.  When he pulls out the “free market business” card and says I can’t understand the impact of higher taxes, it’s a conversation stopper.  Instead, I want to be a good friend and listen and learn by saying, “Teach me. What’s it like to get increasingly more difficult sales targets? What’s it like to feel like your customers won’t be able to afford your product? What’s it like to feel you can’t take an afternoon off without fear of falling behind your targets?  Are the rewards worth it?  Why or why not?”

TP and I have a unique friendship.  We often get into passionate disagreements that we’ve learned to quickly put behind us.  I may never understand the world of a salesperson as deeply as he would like, but as a result of our long running friendship (pun intended) I have a little better feel for life outside the Ivory Tower.  And for that, I’m thankful.

I was teaching in Yakima, WA last week.  On the way into Yakima there’s a sign that proclaims, “Yakima, The Palm Springs of Washington.”  While it’s often sunny and hot in Yakima, its self-perception is a bit skewed.  I like Yakima, but it’s working class, has few golf courses and swimming pools, and according to newspaper reports, is a huge international drug hub. 

Imagine if only saying it made it true.  Maybe I should make some signs for my yard.  “Ron Byrnes, Ironman World Champion.”  “Ron Byrnes, British Open Champion.” “Ron Byrnes, Husband and Father of the Year—Again.”  “Obama-Byrnes 08.” 

Clearly I’ve underestimated the power of positive signage for far too long.  For the Mall in D.C., “Energy Independence.”  For the White House lawn, “Inspired, Enlightened Leadership.”  For Wall Street, “We’re Rallying Now.”  For the Seattle Mariners’ Safeco Field, “The Team to Beat.”  For the Chevron station down the street, “Gas is Cheap.”  For the side of McCain’s Straight Talk Express, “More Inspired, Enlightened Leadership.”

I digress.  When I’m in Yakima, I run on a bike trail by a river.  It’s a pretty nice vibe.  Last Monday night I felt good, so I picked it up, passed the normal turnaround, a junk yard/chop shop, and kept going.  The physical toll of the previous day’s drive and the psychic toll of that day’s teaching fell away as I entered into half marathon-zone, a mod-hard sustainable pace.  Mid-run, drenched in sweat, I started to wonder what it would be like to be sedentary and never have the sensation of extending myself physically.  Never cut wood, never do yoga, never lift weights, never run, never walk a long ways.  I assume you lose touch with your physical self.  I think that disconnect or “physical deadness” would be worse than the all of the negative health effects of a sedentary life combined. 

Over the last fifteen years, as I’ve developed an active lifestyle, I’ve grown increasingly in-tune with my body.  In the water, on my bike, running, I have a good feel for the effects of distance and geography on how hard I can push it and how long it will take my body to bounce back. 

After the run, I filled my water bottle and collapsed into a chair in my hotel room.  The air-conditioner revived me in short order.  If pressed, I couldn’t really explain the science of the “runners high” although I know endorphins play an important part.  My explanation is simpler.  My runners’ high is the result of the sudden contrast between extending myself physically to an uncomfortable point and then completely stopping.  Subconsciously (at least it was subconscious before I wrote this sentence), I make a deal with my body, extend yourself for x number of miles or minutes or hours and then I’ll stop, promise.  That night, post run, no sedentary person on the planet could appreciate as much as I did the joy of sitting perfectly still, drinking water, watching the NewsHour.  Similarly, neither could they relate to how amazing it feels to collapse in the grass in front of Enumclaw High School after cycling up, down, and around Mount Rainer. 

When it comes to fitness, as I’ve written previously, people focus too narrowly on weight loss.  For me, there’s a spiritual component to it. I feel more alive as a result of knowing my body.  As in Yakima, I regularly push my body to the point of uncomfortableness; as a result, I’m a happier, more complete person. 

I had some time today so I started the redesign way ahead of schedule.  There’s more to do, but what you see is a start.  New name, same plan, post on Mondays. As always, I value your input whether in person, via email, or a blog comment.

Back to Zimbabwe.  In April, in Norway, I attended a talk by Namibia’s ambassador to Scandinavia (her office is in Stockholm and she travels regularly to Finland and Norway).  There were probably forty of us gathered to listen to the ambassador in the small Namibian non-profit cooperative that sold Namibian goods and raised money for development projects.  The ambassador summarized recent Namibian history, highlighted the progress made since Independence, and then explained Namibia’s ongoing challenges.  Afterwards, she encouraged us to ask anything that was on our minds. 

So after waiting for a few Namibia-specific questions to be posed, I asked, “What, if anything, can your neighboring countries and your government do to pressure Mugabe to respect his citizens’ basic human rights and reverse Zimbabwe’s tragic downward spiral?”  I don’t remember every word of her response, but I vividly recall the analogy she used to explain Southern Africa’s passivity.  She smiled and said, “It’s like my husband and me.  We might not always get along perfectly, but when we argue we want to do so in the privacy of our home.”  Most in the audience viewed that as an imminently reasonable response, but her analogy begs important questions.  Is the right to personal, group, and national privacy unlimited?  Or does one earn the right to privacy by upholding agreed upon international human rights?  The alternative is to say it’s the rule of the jungle within our houses and the survival of the most heavily armed within our political borders and to hell with interventionist neighbors on our streets and just over our borders. 

Just as our first amendment rights to freedom of expression aren’t unlimited, neither are our rights to privacy.  I can’t grow marijuana in my house nor can I excuse physical abuse based upon my “right to privacy.”  Mugabe has been physically abusing his citizens for a decade.  Or maybe, if we extend the ambassador’s analogy, he’s just exercising his right to privacy on a national scale.  Intervention obviously raises a host of challenging questions with probable complications, but we need to urgently raise the questions and confront the probable complications before more people die from starvation and political violence.  How would WWII have turned out if Germany’s neighbors had upheld the German’s right to “national privacy?”  How many more Rwanda’s would there have been and how many more will there be?  

The most important political insight is “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”  We make a mistake when we think differences in human nature explain why some nations are dysfunctional and we’re so together.  We’re relatively together for one overarching reason: our constitutional system of checks and balances that limits power and minimizes corruption. Recently, a Wall Street Journal writer made a case for military intervention in Sudan, Burma, Tibet, and Zimbabwe.  If I was grading his commentary, I would have assigned an “Incomplete” because he didn’t address the dilemma of what foreign military powers can do, if anything, to create conditions which will give rise to governmental institutions—specifically substantive checks and balances—that will increase the odds of troubled countries creating positive momentum.  Without checks and balances, a new group of oppressors will begin surfacing as soon as the western militaries return home. Five plus years later, I do not believe Iraq has turned the corner in this regard despite a tremendous loss of American and Iraqi lives and the continuous and unsustainable expenditure of military and financial resources.

Post #26, 13.1 miles into the marathon that is “52 Mondays.”  Most marathoners take their split at the midway point, begin self-assessing how everything is going, and often make adjustments to the pre-race plan.

Well, how is everything going?  Mom likes the blog and says dad would be proud.  That’s more than enough motivation to continue running, I mean writing.

Thanks to the detailed and insightful feedback of a much more experienced and knowledgeable blogger, I am going to make several changes to 52 Mondays, the majority of which will take awhile to implement because of my technical limitations.  Hopefully, I’ll launch a “new and improved” site by the end of the year.  One immediate change is not writing more, but in the interest of shortening my posts, posting mid-week on occasion.  

Transition 1.  A few weeks ago I told a friend of mine at work who oversees our First Year Program that I might create a new writing seminar based upon the positive psychology/happiness studies literature.  I think 18-19 year olds are at the perfect age to seriously explore what’s most important to them and how they want to live their adult lives.  My friend’s response was hilarious because I could tell he was trying to mask his gut reaction.  It was as if I had punched him in the gut.  This is what I read into his squeamish smile, “Are you kidding me?  I can’t believe you’re not just lending credence to that fluff, but you’re considering subjecting unsuspecting students to it too?”

His preconceived notions about positive psychology probably parallel many people’s thoughts when they hear the word “wellness.”  In contrast to a phrase like “social justice,” “wellness” conjures up images of people sitting in a circle, sharing their feeeeelings about all sorts of personal issues, and then sharing a group hug before going out to drink white wine together.

Social justice. . . Che Guevara, in your face street protests, dark beer, youthful, U2, cigarettes, piercings, tats, levis, birkenstocks.  Wellness. . . Oprah, group therapy, strawberry lemonade, middle-aged, Enya, vitamins, pleated Dockers, Topsiders.

So given that baggage, why the subtitle, “Wellness writ-large week-by-week?”  Because I don’t think about wellness as a watered-down version or weak alternative to social justice.  In my thinking, it should incorporate political well-being and be edgier and more substantive than people expect.

Transition 2.  Free Zimbabwe.

In the spring of 1990, while teaching in Ethiopia, L and I spent the week of spring break traveling throughout Zimbabwe.  We were amazed by how excellent the roads, hotels, and housing were, especially in the cities.  Quality of life in Kenya was much higher than in Ethiopia and the quality of life in Zimbabwe was much higher than in Kenya.  Among other highlights, it was awe-inspiring to hear the roar of Victoria Falls from a few miles away and then stand near its edge soaked by the mist.  As suggested, we rented bikes and road over to the Zambian side for an even better view of the falls.  We also visited an artists’ cooperative and bought a beautiful soapstone statue from the artist who made it.  Like in most sub-Saharan countries, there were pictures of Mugabe everywhere.  Even during this golden age of Zimbabwe’s development, some of our guides were critical of his leadership.  Also, one day on a Harare sidewalk, we saw a member of the security forces clubbing a person who had allegedly committed a petty crime.  Still, despite that disturbing scene and the criticisms of Mugabe, we had no clue of the tragedy that lied ahead.

Since then, Mugabe, age 84, has single-mindedly focused on maintaining his grip on power at the expense of everything else.  As a result, no citizens in any country on the planet have experienced a more precipitous drop in quality of life over the last ten years.  In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the pace and extent of the cataclysm is unprecedented in world history.  In the last few weeks and months, Mugabe has ignored the results of an election he lost and vowed to ignore the results of the “runoff.”  His henchmen have killed at least 86 opposition politicians, illegally detained 2,000, injured and maimed 10,000, and internally displaced 200,000.  Mugabe can match credentials with any dictator on the planet, yet he flies under the radar because the U.S. and other western powers don’t think of Southern Africa as important and Zimbabwe doesn’t export oil.  To make it into George Bush’s “Axis of Evil” you have to be located in a strategically important place and/or have natural resources the West is dependent upon.

How many things do you own?  Think you could live with 100?  Some people are trying in what’s termed the 100 Thing Challenge.

Not sure of the catalyst really, but I’ve been growing increasingly minimalist in orientation for some time and I’m intrigued by the challenge.  Establishing a baseline could be tough and time consuming.  I’m pretty confident I own fewer things than most adults in my socio-economic strata and far more than one hundred things. 

If I do take up the challenge, how should I count?  If I have to count each book, each compact disc, each golf ball, and each golf tee; game over, no point of continuing.  With your approval, I’m going to employ the “collective noun” provision meaning books, compact discs, and golf accessories count as three possessions.  Yes men, of course I’ve considered eating with my fingers exclusively, but then it may be tough to get a good grip on the golf clubs.

Also, with your approval, I’m going to ignore consumable items like food and drink.  Of course that still leaves a boatload of Tupperware, kitchen appliances, Ziploc bags, silverware, etc.  No one said it was going to be easy.

Those last possessions bring to mind the issue of shared possessions.  For example, the double X’s and I watch two televisions, so I’m going to divide four by two and count television as one-half a possession.

I stand no chance of getting anywhere close to 100 without sharing more things with more people.  Would I be violating some unspoken American law of individualism if I suggested to my three neighbors that we sell three of our lawn mowers and share the remaining one so that it will only count as a .25 possession or will they drag me before the Homeowners Association for the insidious crime of Norwegian-like socialist sensibilities?

The trick, it seems to me, is not just getting down to 100 possessions, but staying there for longer than a year.  I’ve seen friends trim their possessions only to replace them, thus spending more money in the end.  Seems to me the question isn’t how much weight can you lose, but can you fundamentally change your lifestyle and keep it off in the medium and long-term?

Also, I wonder what percentage of the 100 possessions should contribute to some semblance of personal and family history?  I’m probably guilty of parting too easily with sentimental stuff. For example, please don’t ask me where my Father’s Day card is.  For a lot of people I suppose, sentimentality is the biggest obstacle to genuine simplifying.

I don’t know if I’ll take up the “100 Thing Challenge” or not because my focus has been on reducing the absolute volume of my material footprint more than reducing the absolute number of possessions owned.  My personal motto might be, “smaller, lighter, better.”  If I do decide to take up the challenge, I’ll create three piles. . . “definitely in,” “definitely out,” and the largest no doubt, “undecided.”

Here are a few “definitely ins” that immediately jump to mind.

1) Mountain Hardware down jacket fondly known as “Puff Daddy.”  Any possession with a name of course makes the cut.  I may look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy in Puff Daddy, but I couldn’t care less.  It’s revolutionized my winter life.  I don’t have a lot of body fat, but with PD, that doesn’t matter.  No more standing at butt-cracking cold soccer games in a light drizzle freezing my ass off.  Enuf said.  Welcome in Puff. 

2) Bose radio, old school, no CD.  When I was five years old, chillin’ in Louisville, Kentucky waiting for the first grade to start, I’d fall asleep listening on the radio to the Kentucky Coronels in the American Basketball Association.  Louie Dampier, Dan Issel, Goose Givens, good times.  Ever since, I’ve loved radio.  I listen to everything, Rush Limbaugh (in small doses granted), Dave Ramsey, sports talk, NPR, the BBC, and even music sometimes.  One day, about fourteen years ago, I was driving down Friendly Boulevard in Greensboro, NC, with my precocious daughter snuggly tucked into her car seat.  In the smallest, squeakiest voice imaginable she asked, “Hey Dad, Is that Car Talk, Money Talk, or Sports Talk?”  I darn near drove off the road.

3) 2006 Honda Civic Hybrid.  Nameless thus far.  Regrettably, I live too far from work to cycle, so this is a practical decision.  Also, I’m so close to my first 50 mile per gallon tank that I’m not going to stop until I achieve it.  I average about 42-45 miles/gallon during the cooler months, but in the summer the mileage improves.  A few times lately I’ve registered 49+ miles per gallon, but I can’t break the coveted 5-0.  Right now, I’m two-thirds empty and sitting at 50.6, the highest I’ve ever been this far into a tank.  So next week I will be the guy sweating profusely, doing 55 in the far right lane on Interstate 5, using cruise control until I’m midway up my driveway, and finally doing a celebratory jig at the Costco pump next to you.

4) Macbook laptop.  Without it I couldn’t blog as conveniently and my legion of faithful readers would suffer in ways I couldn’t stand to bear.  Hey wait a minute, it’s the university’s laptop.  Sweet, still at three.

4) Douglas Matrix road bike.  This enables me to maintain my fitness and some nice friendships since I ride with others.  Of course, for fitness, a pair of running shoes would probably be a better choice since I can run year-round.  And with the bike comes a longer list of accessories . . . helmet, gps computer, pump, spare tubes/tires, etc.  Once again, I’m going to lay claim to the collective noun provision and label those 5) bike accessories. 

6) A pair of running shoes.  These will have to do double, triple, or quadruple duty no doubt, meaning I’ll have to sprinkle baking soda in them to manage the odor (you’re welcome for the tip) and I’m making the unilateral decision that baking soda falls under the heading of “consumable item.”

7) Contact lenses.  The value of clear vision goes without mentioning and achieving it without glasses distracting from my natural good looks is an added bonus.

8-9) Two pairs of pants.  One pair will have to be jeans since they don’t have to be washed as often as most others.  The other I will have to think about very carefully.  I wonder if any of those zipper pants that turn into shorts come in versions where the zipper isn’t that visible so that they might work in professional settings.  

10) A swimsuit, polyester jammers specficially, which will have to do double duty as underwear.  I hereby promise to wash them nightly and they can dry as I sleep.

Related to 10, can I please add a pair of swim goggles to 7?  Be forewarned, if you don’t approve that request, I may have to wear prescription swim goggles both in and out of the water. 

I know, I know, I know, I’m still shirtless, sunscreenless, and sockless, but maybe I can work at home more, and if not, I still have another 90 to go.  Admittedly, the list is a bit fitness-heavy, but I think I’m off to a solid start.

A “friend” of mine must have recently made a donation in my name to the Republican Party because I’ve been getting letters from the likes of Dino Rossi and John McCain.  Last Monday’s was “From the Desk of John McCain.” 

Hard to believe, but a reputable institution of higher education pays me to teach writing on occasion.  I last taught a writing seminar in the fall of 2007 and I’m not scheduled to teach another until the spring of 2009.  So, to stay fresh, I’ve decided to grade the letter “From the Desk of John McCain.” 

When I assess my students’ writing, I always start with three or more strengths.  Sometimes that’s easy, sometimes, not so much.  Next, I identify what I term “next steps” which helps create more positive momentum than the more conventional “weaknesses.”  I limit myself to three “next steps” so as not to overwhelm the student or presidential candidate.  Often, as in today’s example, that requires prioritizing.  Finally, I close with a summary sentence and the only thing some students and presidential candidates care about, the almighty letter grade.

Dear John,

I enjoyed reading your letter.  It’s obvious you spent a lot of time on it, which is admirable given the fact that you have been traveling a lot lately.  Among other strengths, the following four stood out.  First, you do an excellent job of masking your age.  For example, when you refer to your “vision for our country,” when you explain your need to “hit the ground running” given the “Democrats’ battle-tested fundraising machine—fueled largely by liberal special interest groups” and when you promise to “listen to the people of our nation,” the subtext is obvious, you can still see, run, and hear.  You subtle dog, all I can say is I’m down with that anti-aging literary trifecta.  Very nicely done.

Second, as I’ve emphasized in class, you do a great job of using details instead of vague generalities.  One of several examples is when you ask for “a generous contribution of $2,300, $1,000, $500, $100, $50, or $25 today.”  That’s much clearer and more engaging than your initial draft references to “heaps of money” and “bucketloads of cash sometime soon.”  

Third, you graciously acknowledge your readers intellectual limitations by zeroing in on three main ideas—keeping taxes low, cutting wasteful government spending, and ensuring our troops come home victorious and with honor—and then repeat each main idea three times.  Nice application of the KISS principle—Keep It Simple Senator. 

Finally, I was touched by the warm “Dear Friend” salutation (that’s the first line in the letter) and could hardly believe the “Monday Morning” date when I received it in my mailbox that same afternoon.  The fact that you hand delivered it shows extraordinary care and commitment.

At the same time, as always, there are a few next steps.  First, your postscript, “Please make a generous contribution of $2,300, $1,000, $500, $100, $50, or $25 to support my campaign to become your next president” is an exact restatement of the second to the last sentence that almost immediately precedes your postscript.  Postscripts should communicate an altogether new point, something you forgot until the very last minute.  For example, “Barack Obama’s middle name is Hussein.”

Second, and more importantly, try to pay closer attention to the internal consistency and logic of your arguments.  For example, on the top of page 2 you write, “I know the voters want more than petty partisan bickering.”  But then only four sentences later you write, “Whether it’s the rising costs of food and gas, the mortgage crisis, out-of-control government spending, the war in Iraq, or soaring health care costs, the Democrats’ proposed solutions to these problems have proven time and again that they are out-of-touch with the beliefs of most Americans.”  Since your letter is in effect a monologue it doesn’t necessarily come across as “petty” or “bickering”, but it’s clearly partisan.

Third, in terms of the substance of your ideas, I want to encourage you to highlight other issues—climate change, domestic and international poverty, the need for a national energy plan—that are of interest to many voters.  Also, when you say you want to “keep taxes low” you should follow through more and explain what governmental programs you intend on cutting and why. 

In short John, this letter shows genuine improvement.  If you continue to work hard, and show this type of progress, there’s a chance you may pass the course.  To borrow from the last African-American presidential hopeful, I’m going to “keep hope alive.”  Please come to office hours if you have any questions and remember you have one week from today to resubmit for a higher grade.

Ron

Final Grade:  C-

Best shower ever?  Easy, the first one after a weeklong backpacking trip in the High Sierras many moons ago.  Why?  Because I don’t think I’ve ever been as dirty, and afterwords, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as clean.  The impossibility of showering made me appreciate a daily activity I’d come to take for granted.

Best road ride of the year (so far)?  The first one upon returning home from Europe, May 25th.  Despite the lack of fitness, I felt like the seven year old kid I once was cycling to the park to prepare for baseball tryouts. 

On the other hand, as a Pacific Northwesterner, I’m certain I appreciate sunny dry weather more than my brother and friends who live in Southern California.

It seems like it’s human nature to gradually take for granted those things—health, close friendships, sunshine, romantic love, nature, warm showers—that enrich day-to-day life.  I get frustrated with myself for only appreciating my health after I fall ill.  Similarly, I take working out too much for granted.  That is unless my back gives out or I develop a micro-tear in one of my calf muscles.

What’s the secret to appreciating more consistently and deeply those people and things that enrich day-to-day life?

Three weeks ago LAJ and I were hiking in Grindelwald, Switzerland in the Swiss Alps.  We decided to travel to Grindelwald based on the recommendation of a close friend.  “Come on,” I said to our friend, “we live next to Mount Rainier, how much nicer can it be?”  “Imagine three Mount Rainers,” he replied, “and you’re right in the middle of them.” 

We had a tough time getting to Grindelwald, arriving at 10:30p from Cinque Terre and Milan, Italy.  Since it was pitch black we struggled to figure out which mountain path led to our hostel until some friendly people helped us get going in the right direction.  The next morning I immediately pulled the curtains back and looked out the window at. . . fog. . . we were socked in.  My first (and only) task of the day was to hike back down the hill to the train station to purchase our next set of train tickets.  As I hiked down the hill, the fog began to lift.  It was like sitting in the nicest performing arts center imaginable and watching gigantic curtains open.  By the time I hit the train station, it looked like I could reach out and touch the peaks.  Spectacular, awe-inspiring beauty.  Indeed, Rainier times three (with cows). 

Later that afternoon, during our hike, L and I stood wide mouthed at the sight of the most amazing mountain peak we’d ever seen.  [A and J were in “Yeah nice whatever, three more days until we get to see our friends” mode.]  Standing there, I said to L, “You know, the amazing thing about this view is the locals probably get used to it and take it for granted.”  To which she replied, “Oh no, impossible.”  To which I replied, “I’m not so sure.”  I let it go, too transcendent a setting to play one of our favorite games, “Whose most stubborn?”

Fast-forward three-four hours to a very nice hotel restaurant where  L’s parents treated us to an amazing meal.  While eating, we befriended the waiter/maitre de, a middle-aged local cook/mountain climber who grew up in Grindelwald.  In the middle of some mountain climbing talk, L asked, “Having grown up here, do you take the incredible views for granted?”  I took some pride in the fact that my thesis was nagging at her.  To which he said, “Yes.  I’ve lived here my entire life except for about ten years when I left to attend cooking school and then cook in different places in Europe.  When I returned home, it wasn’t until I began listening to visitors talk about the mountain views that I realized how special they are.”  At this point, L shot me a telepathic message that only people married two decades plus are able to transmit.  “Wipe that smirk off your face.” 

One way to stay appreciative of the people and things that enrich daily life is to take purposeful breaks from them.  You’re probably familiar with the “voluntary simplicity” movement.  I’m thinking of something related, “voluntary deprivation.”  This could be tricky, in this economy in particular, where a lot of people are fighting involuntary deprivation.  What about starting out small, and quietly and humbly giving up driving, caffeine, eating out, or television (after the US and British Opens of course) for a day, week, month, or year?  

Cynicism and semi-abrupt transition alert.  Modern parenting in the burbs seems to be based on the complete opposite notion of “immediate gratification”.  For example, there are some movie franchises (Harry Potter, Chronicles of Narnia, Pirates) that 99% of my friends take their children to within the first seven days of a release.  Guaranteed.  Similarly, several years ago, in the course of a few days it seemed, every parent in my neighborhood bought their children Razor Scooters.  Young people are no different.  I think they’d appreciate going to the movies with friends or families more if they did it less often.  Similarly, I think they’d appreciate their material possessions more if they had fewer of them and had to work longer and harder for them.

Admittedly, proposing voluntary deprivation is counter-cultural, but I’m going to continue to think about it until you convince me there are better ways to be truly and continually appreciative of the people and things that enrich our daily lives.