How does a coach get aggressive play out of players who, by nature, are not aggressive individuals? As a youth sports coach I find myself asking this question all the time.
But lately I have been thinking that maybe I have been asking the wrong question.
I mean, seriously, how often do you come across a kid with that killer instinct that every coach craves? That hard nosed, gritty, take no prisoners mentality that can inspire those around them to pick up their games? A vocal leader willing to put the team on his or her back?
Honestly, at any age before high school, I have yet to coach that type of player. This is leading me to believe that perhaps I should be asking "how do I get the most out of my players?" instead. Or at least something to that effect.
(I will say that I have seen those aggressive types in wrestling. But I don't coach wrestling. Those athletes are a whole different breed entirely.)
I've been convinced for years that to be a good youth coach you damn near need a degree in psychology. These are the buttons you push to get Player A motivated and these are the buttons you have to push to get Player B motivated --- and here is the rather complex combination required to get both Player A and Player B to work together. (working together harmoniously costs extra)
Another thing that I have learned about coaching is that you simply cannot treat every kid the same. There are those kids that need a good ass chewing on occasion; my daughter being one of them. Not only does she have a bit of a temper that she struggles to control at times, but she has this incredible, almost super power, ability to blow off subtle hints. Every once in a while you can see the "I think your full of shit" look on her face as your try to coach her.
Tera: "Hmm, I don't like what I'm hearing. Ignore powers ON......"
(Yeah....I acted just like her when I was a kid. And, actually, she's in a good place. A little bit of a temper is not a bad thing in sports if you can work it to your advantage --- if you can mold it into a controlled rage. I have no doubt that she is going to turn out just fine.)
So, I have to occasionally raise my voice and get on her to get her going/keep her in line.....
Then there are those kids that if you raise your voice too much.......
Man, I can't handle it when a little girl cries. That just tears me up.
Crying little girls is my kryptonite, and God forbid if any of the girls on the team figure that out and start using that knowledge against me.
Which, from a coaching standpoint, kind of complicates things. I know there are going to be times that I have to be stern, times when I have to call them out and let them know that I need more out of them than what they are giving. But in the back of my mind, I'm always worrying as I'm giving them an earful. If half the kids respond to my rant by playing harder that's great.....But if the other half are partially paralyzed and indecisive ---- then overall I have done the team absolutely no good.
I do worry, when I get on kids, if I come out sounding harsher then I should. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a yeller. I played for a yeller and to this very day I still hate him. But I do call it like I see it, occasionally wishing that I used a little softer approach, that I had chosen my words a little more carefully.
Because what is most important to remember at the youth level is that if you're not having fun then you've kind of missed the point in playing the game. There has to be that balance between teaching about the values of good discipline and hard work ---- and taking the time to have a good laugh....... I don't EVER want to be so rigid in my approach that I end up being responsible for a kid not wanting to play.
So, every now and then, I will make a point to talk to the girls about something other than softball. I will give in to the occasional fit of goofiness to help keep things loose.......(Belching works great in this situation.....Yes, I'm a barbarian, but it makes the girls laugh)
On a side note, coaching girls has made me much better when it comes to restraint. I don't cuss near like a used to -- in fact, for anyone familiar with the cartoon Chowder, I have taken to using what I call the Schnitzel approach to obscenity. Radda, radda, radda......
(I come from a long line of potty mouths....I don't have to be angry to burn someone's ears)
Still, it would be nice to have some kind of little soundproof room in the dugout where I can escape, scream, slam my head repeatedly against a soft pillow, have a beer and listen to the relaxing sounds of the rain forest or ocean waves to help me decompress.........Yeah, I'm totally kidding. But since the thought popped into my head I may as well use it.
Anyway, back to the original question. It came about after a particularly rough tournament last weekend. Game one started off with rain and a biting cold wind. To be completely honest, the girls didn't want to there and I didn't either. When you can look into the stands and see your wife bundled up in a sleeping bag you know it's freaking cold. The girls were miserable, not mentally prepared, and played flat ---- and that unfortunately seemed to set the tone for the rest of the weekend. Simple things, like covering your bag, that they were executing well in practice suddenly became a lost art. The winning run in the last game we lost happened when our catcher (my kid) forgot to check the runner at third, who then stole home as Tera tossed a lollipop back to the pitcher.
It's this kind of stuff --- stuff that coaches work so hard to teach in practice --- that just drives you up a wall.
Now, I say it all the time. These are little girls that will have a lot of ups and downs as they go about learning how to play the game; there is no such thing as a well oiled machine at this level. Even the best teams falter from time to time.
But despite being aware of that knowledge all coaches. after a rough tournament, will stay up late on a Sunday night trying to figure out what he/she needs to do to fix the broken machine. Coaches, whether they will admit it or not, take rough tournament outings personally. We obsess over our current approach and wonder if we need to try a different one. We wonder if we aren't using the right motivational tactics. We worry that perhaps, when we got on the kids, we were being too negative.
Which honestly, in a strange and somewhat neurotic sort of way, is great.......If your coach is a slightly obsessed worry wort that means that his/her heart is in the right place. These kind of coaches do not abide by the "It's my way or the highway" philosophy because they, generally speaking, find that coaching style too over bearing and lacking in flexibility. That's not saying that we aren't control freaks ---- we absolutely are. But we are control freaks that aren't so set in our ways that we are unwilling to recognize and make changes for the good of our players.
After all, at the end of the day, we realize that what we are teaching is about a lot more than just softball. We know that the lessons kids learn on the field can be carried over and applied in life. Which is why we constantly preach about hard work, strong communication, and being mentally tough ---- all skills necessary to achieve success in life --- the toughest game they will ever play.
I have said it before and I will say it again. If I've made you a better player, but I haven't made you a better person ---- then I have failed you as a coach.
Perhaps that is an extreme way of thinking but that's honestly how I feel.
In closing -- I have come to the realization that I have indeed been asking the wrong question all this time. I think that I have skipped a vital step on the way to creating an aggressive player. If you look at all the really good players out there you will find that they all have a certain air about them; they walk with a little bit of a swagger. They aren't nervous, don't worry about the crowds, and relish being put in a pressure situation. In short, they are confident, bordering on cocky.
I realize, that the question "how do I get aggressive play out of my players?" should be put on the back burner until I answer the question that I should have been asking all this time ---
"How do I build a confident player?"
I believe that I have always had the basic blueprint to build confident players......I just need to update the blue print and make a few tweeks to the machine.......
Practice can't get here soon enough.....
Monday, April 27, 2015
Friday, March 13, 2015
I'm a pimpy what?
Shopping with the Kids...
I got a new pair of shorts this week; and not a pair that I would typically buy.
But Toby, my fashion conscious fifteen year old, persuaded, no, more like goaded me into buying something out of my price range/comfort zone.
During my last shopping trip I reached for a plain pair of black Nike shorts and the word "BOOORING!!!!" exploded in my ears, rattling my brain. I jumped back and turn around to see Toby shaking his head in disapproval and Tera laughing at, well, I don't know why she was laughing. It's not like she ever really needs a reason to laugh.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"Those shorts are boring." Toby said, "No color, no strips, just.....blah."
"Yeah, and I can get two of these for the price of one of the shorts that you would buy."
"Boring"
Ugh.....Whatever.
I put the shorts back on the rack and the kids and I proceed to play a game I like to think of as the clothing equivalent of operation. Every time I touched something that was deemed unacceptable by my children I would get zapped with "BOOORING!!!!"
And it wasn't a brand loyal thing either....Just about everything I touched --- Adidas, Nike, Under Armor, Reebok --- all got the boring treatment. The only ones that didn't receive boring rating were hanging on racks placed upon a wall; sporting bright colors and a price tag that made me do a double take.
Toby pulls a pair of Adidas off the wall display. "You should get these. They are awesome."
"Dude," I said as my bugged out eyes, "I could buy a new pair of jeans for what those shorts cost. That's too much money for too little material."
This is where adolescent logic kicks in.
"But it's awesome." he said. Which in the mind of a fifteen year old is an irrefutable point.
"Man, the letters on the side of those shorts are huge," I said, "I don't want to be a walking billboard. Put 'em back."
"Dude," Toby said, visibly disappointed as he put them back on the wall.
But he didn't give up. He immediately grabbed another pair of Adidas shorts.
"Here, try this." he said.
They were a black pair of Adidas with three stripes ---- but only on one leg.
"Where are the stripes for the other leg?" I asked.
"That's the way that they are supposed to be," Toby said.
"It doesn't look right," I said, "It makes it look off balance.....I'll have one leg that looks skinny and the other will look fat."
"Dude, what the hell is the matter with you?"
I put the shorts back on the wall and our game of clothing operation continued. "BOOORING!!!!"
By this point in our little shopping adventure Tera's "BOOORING" along with her hyena like laughing got so loud that everyone in the store could hear her. I started to think that maybe I should come back some other time to shop.......Preferably BY MYSELF!
"Hey, dad." said Toby
"What?"
"Close your eyes."
"What for?"
"Just close them."
"Dude, whatever." I closed my eyes and planned out my next move should I become the victim of adolescent humor.....I genuinely feared getting nut tapped.
My hat disappeared off the top of my head and was replaced by a new, bright, fluorescent orange hat that said "Elite" across the front. On top of being to small the bill wasn't bent, which made the hat look even worse as it sat atop my head.
"This looks stupid," I said, "Give me my hat back."
"Hold on, let me take a picture."
After Toby took the picture he sent it to his mother.....Her response?
"DOOFUS."
"Alright, that's it." I said, "Maybe I'll come back later when I don't have you two to badger me."
"Then you'll look like a boring old man." said Toby. Little sister finds this comment hysterically amusing.
Boring old man I may be.....But I don't want to look like an old man trying to be a kid either; which I think is infinitely worse.
I then saw a pair of black Nike Elite shorts on the wall. The "Elite" on the side of the shorts was only big as opposed to obscenely huge like the letters on the Adidas shorts. Plus, these Elite's were black and white. No loud colors, no camo.....Hmmmm. Maybe.
I reach for the shorts and Tera yells, "BOOORING!!!!".......Which I'm sure caused the all the windows in the department store to rattle.
Toby quickly jumped in, "NO, Tera, those are good."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Oh...Okay." said Tera quietly....Then said "NOT BOOORING!!!"
Christ, I need a beer.
"So these are acceptable," I ask
Toby's response was that I would look pimpy swag....Or was it swagging pimp? Pimping Swaggy?
Shit, I don't know....They were acceptable.
"Okay. I need to try these on."
"You don't need to try them on. Just get them." Toby encouraged as he was practically pushing me to the check out counter.
Against my better judgement I gave in and bought a pair of shorts that were twice the price of what I would normally buy. On each shoulder stood a small Dave Ramsey. The devil Dave Ramsey prodded me with his pitchfork...."DO IT....Be a free spirit!!!"
The angel Dave Ramsey was down on his knees and pleading with me. "Tom, remember your budget!!!"
Toby, and the evil Dave Ramsey, won out.....I bought the shorts and instantly felt guilty for doing so....I'm going to financial hell for sure.
But when I got the shorts home and tried them on I had to admit that I really liked them. They could have been a bit shorter, but I liked them.
"What do you mean shorter?" Toby asked.
"I would like the world to know that I have knees."
"That's not the style."
Yeah? Tell that to the guys who wear Dockers shorts. (Personally, the only pair of Dockers shorts that I ever owned Karla bought on sale. I wore them once......I hated them,)
Anyway.....Despite the fact that my new shorts were only about six inches away from being male capris I have to say that I liked them -- and I didn't look like an old man trying to blend in with the younger generation.
Still.....For what I paid. It's probably a good thing that Karla, Queen sale rack, (that's actually a compliment) didn't come to shop with me and the minions. We may have had to call an ambulance.
I wonder if those Elites come in maroon and white?
I got a new pair of shorts this week; and not a pair that I would typically buy.
But Toby, my fashion conscious fifteen year old, persuaded, no, more like goaded me into buying something out of my price range/comfort zone.
During my last shopping trip I reached for a plain pair of black Nike shorts and the word "BOOORING!!!!" exploded in my ears, rattling my brain. I jumped back and turn around to see Toby shaking his head in disapproval and Tera laughing at, well, I don't know why she was laughing. It's not like she ever really needs a reason to laugh.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"Those shorts are boring." Toby said, "No color, no strips, just.....blah."
"Yeah, and I can get two of these for the price of one of the shorts that you would buy."
"Boring"
Ugh.....Whatever.
I put the shorts back on the rack and the kids and I proceed to play a game I like to think of as the clothing equivalent of operation. Every time I touched something that was deemed unacceptable by my children I would get zapped with "BOOORING!!!!"
And it wasn't a brand loyal thing either....Just about everything I touched --- Adidas, Nike, Under Armor, Reebok --- all got the boring treatment. The only ones that didn't receive boring rating were hanging on racks placed upon a wall; sporting bright colors and a price tag that made me do a double take.
Toby pulls a pair of Adidas off the wall display. "You should get these. They are awesome."
"Dude," I said as my bugged out eyes, "I could buy a new pair of jeans for what those shorts cost. That's too much money for too little material."
This is where adolescent logic kicks in.
"But it's awesome." he said. Which in the mind of a fifteen year old is an irrefutable point.
"Man, the letters on the side of those shorts are huge," I said, "I don't want to be a walking billboard. Put 'em back."
"Dude," Toby said, visibly disappointed as he put them back on the wall.
But he didn't give up. He immediately grabbed another pair of Adidas shorts.
"Here, try this." he said.
They were a black pair of Adidas with three stripes ---- but only on one leg.
"Where are the stripes for the other leg?" I asked.
"That's the way that they are supposed to be," Toby said.
"It doesn't look right," I said, "It makes it look off balance.....I'll have one leg that looks skinny and the other will look fat."
"Dude, what the hell is the matter with you?"
I put the shorts back on the wall and our game of clothing operation continued. "BOOORING!!!!"
By this point in our little shopping adventure Tera's "BOOORING" along with her hyena like laughing got so loud that everyone in the store could hear her. I started to think that maybe I should come back some other time to shop.......Preferably BY MYSELF!
"Hey, dad." said Toby
"What?"
"Close your eyes."
"What for?"
"Just close them."
"Dude, whatever." I closed my eyes and planned out my next move should I become the victim of adolescent humor.....I genuinely feared getting nut tapped.
My hat disappeared off the top of my head and was replaced by a new, bright, fluorescent orange hat that said "Elite" across the front. On top of being to small the bill wasn't bent, which made the hat look even worse as it sat atop my head.
"This looks stupid," I said, "Give me my hat back."
"Hold on, let me take a picture."
After Toby took the picture he sent it to his mother.....Her response?
"DOOFUS."
"Alright, that's it." I said, "Maybe I'll come back later when I don't have you two to badger me."
"Then you'll look like a boring old man." said Toby. Little sister finds this comment hysterically amusing.
Boring old man I may be.....But I don't want to look like an old man trying to be a kid either; which I think is infinitely worse.
I then saw a pair of black Nike Elite shorts on the wall. The "Elite" on the side of the shorts was only big as opposed to obscenely huge like the letters on the Adidas shorts. Plus, these Elite's were black and white. No loud colors, no camo.....Hmmmm. Maybe.
I reach for the shorts and Tera yells, "BOOORING!!!!".......Which I'm sure caused the all the windows in the department store to rattle.
Toby quickly jumped in, "NO, Tera, those are good."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Oh...Okay." said Tera quietly....Then said "NOT BOOORING!!!"
Christ, I need a beer.
"So these are acceptable," I ask
Toby's response was that I would look pimpy swag....Or was it swagging pimp? Pimping Swaggy?
Shit, I don't know....They were acceptable.
"Okay. I need to try these on."
"You don't need to try them on. Just get them." Toby encouraged as he was practically pushing me to the check out counter.
Against my better judgement I gave in and bought a pair of shorts that were twice the price of what I would normally buy. On each shoulder stood a small Dave Ramsey. The devil Dave Ramsey prodded me with his pitchfork...."DO IT....Be a free spirit!!!"
The angel Dave Ramsey was down on his knees and pleading with me. "Tom, remember your budget!!!"
Toby, and the evil Dave Ramsey, won out.....I bought the shorts and instantly felt guilty for doing so....I'm going to financial hell for sure.
But when I got the shorts home and tried them on I had to admit that I really liked them. They could have been a bit shorter, but I liked them.
"What do you mean shorter?" Toby asked.
"I would like the world to know that I have knees."
"That's not the style."
Yeah? Tell that to the guys who wear Dockers shorts. (Personally, the only pair of Dockers shorts that I ever owned Karla bought on sale. I wore them once......I hated them,)
Anyway.....Despite the fact that my new shorts were only about six inches away from being male capris I have to say that I liked them -- and I didn't look like an old man trying to blend in with the younger generation.
Still.....For what I paid. It's probably a good thing that Karla, Queen sale rack, (that's actually a compliment) didn't come to shop with me and the minions. We may have had to call an ambulance.
I wonder if those Elites come in maroon and white?
Friday, February 27, 2015
Pain first, coffee later...
Pain First...
Working out with Tim has taken me places that I would never voluntarily go myself. Recently this man, whose sanity I will occasionally question, introduced me to a workout that he called "The Murph".....
The Murph is a cross fit training routine named in memory of Navy Lieutenant Michael Murphy. My understanding is that this routine was one of his favorites.
(Sadly, Lieutenant Murphy made the ultimate sacrifice for his country while stationed in Afghanistan in 2005. God bless him.)
So after a 500m swim Tim and I made our way over to Rock Chalk Park to do the Murph:
1 mile run
100 pull ups -- 20 sets @ 5 reps
200 push ups -- 20 sets @ 10 reps
300 squats (no bar) -- 20 sets @ 15 reps
1 mile run
Tim is the max effort guy of this not so dynamic duo. I'm more like the reluctant hero -- (quick, to the bat couch) --- but anyway. Tim stressed to me that there are to be no breaks in between sets; pull ups into push ups into squats and back into pull ups.
"You think we can do the entire workout in 45 minutes?" Tim asked.
"I think you should quit smoking crack." I replied.
"Right!!!! Let's go." said Tim... (Dah da-da DA!!!!)
I ran the first mile in 7m 6s; it wasn't graceful, but it was done. However I am proud to say that that was my best time since I started running with Tim.....It was a good pain. Now, on to the weight room.
It only took about three sets into the Murph for me to realize that there was no way I was going to be able to do the pull ups. I changed over to a modified pull up, which is basically me lying on the floor and pulling up on a bar laid out on a squat rack. With one third of my body weight eliminated from the pull up I was able to continue.
The pushups and the squats I just managed to gut out......But only because Tim was there to push me. I would have stopped at 10 sets had I been by myself.
To make a long story short it was a difficult routine. I was ready to quit at set number eight, by set fifteen I really had to ratchet down mentally to keep going. It was ugly....But we got it done.
The fatigue I felt took up every square inch of my body....I was more than ready to lay on a bench, curl up in a ball, and take a nap.
"Okay, ready to run?" Tim asked.
Uh.....God.
I was so tired that I couldn't think of a good smart ass remark. I barely managed to mutter, "Ayuh....."
So the first run was bad. But the second run was hell from the very first step.
"C'mon Tom!!!"
Huff, huff, grunt....."Ayuh."
Picture a screaming, slurring drunk, one legged man attempting to perform a ballet routine and you might get a general idea for how I at least felt that I may have looked when I ran that horrible mile.
With every step I took I just knew that both my ass cheeks were going to explode. I almost felt sorry for those who would be within range of the blast area once my fiery ass cheek grenades detonated.
Another part of me felt very sorry for myself. I mean, after all, one cannot wear blue jeans comfortably without ass cheeks to hold them in place. I grimaced at the thought of a life with suspenders and overalls in them.
(Yeah, this is the kind of crap I think about when I'm in pain....I guess it's how I cope.)
It was the longest 9 m 40s mile of my life.
I am not going to be able to move tomorrow, I thought. I was bent over, hands on my knees and ready to fall over. I hurt......
But then Tim mentioned coffee......and suddenly all was right with the world.
Coffee Later...
Nothing makes the world a sunnier, happier place than a really good cup of coffee. As tough as the workouts are I look forward to them because I know that afterwards we get to go out for a cup of joe....
Does that mean that I've been conditioned? This whole thing suddenly has a kind of Pavlovian feel to it.
Eh....Whatever. I just know I get coffee --- that's good enough for me.
So Tim and I have decided that we are going to try and hit every single coffee shop that Lawrence has to offer.
So far we have hit:
Dunn Brothers -- salted caramel -- two happy Pino's (Tim and I are half Filipino, in case you didn't know)
Starbucks -- annoying self absorbed prick aside (customer, not barista) the coffee was good. I would say though that it's a little too mainstream for us. 1 and a half happy Pino's
Alchemy -- very aptly named. It was like watching a chemist at work. Great entertainment value with very tasty results. 2 very impressed and happy Pino's
Scooters -- Not bad. It's a drive through that can work well in a pinch. 1 and a half happy Pino's.
J & S coffee -- if you're looking for something to satisfy your sweet tooth, then the Grasshopper is the drink for you....It's almost too sweet --- almost. 1 and 3/4 happy Pino's
Henry's -- Maybe I caught them on a good day, but it seems that Henry's had the strongest coffee that I have had compared to every where else I've been. A very good dark coffee with two shots of espresso. 2 happy and very wide awake Pino's.
Honestly, Tim and I would make very poor coffee house critics.....We just love coffee too much. The coffee would almost have to be the equivalent of boiled worm dirt for us not to like it......(But with enough cream and sugar I believe that even boiled worm dirt could possibly be made acceptable.)
I think Tim and I have achieved the proper balance. Gut it out and get through a tough and occasionally shitty workout --- then reward ourselves with coffee. Yeah, I can live with that.
But I will say this about the workouts. No matter how tough they are we both walk away feeling great about what we accomplished. We both know that, in time, the workouts will get easier -- and that's what keeps us going. (And, no, not all the workouts are like the one I just mentioned.)
So even if you took the coffee away, it's still a good day....
But if we can have coffee........ Well.... :)
Working out with Tim has taken me places that I would never voluntarily go myself. Recently this man, whose sanity I will occasionally question, introduced me to a workout that he called "The Murph".....
The Murph is a cross fit training routine named in memory of Navy Lieutenant Michael Murphy. My understanding is that this routine was one of his favorites.
(Sadly, Lieutenant Murphy made the ultimate sacrifice for his country while stationed in Afghanistan in 2005. God bless him.)
So after a 500m swim Tim and I made our way over to Rock Chalk Park to do the Murph:
1 mile run
100 pull ups -- 20 sets @ 5 reps
200 push ups -- 20 sets @ 10 reps
300 squats (no bar) -- 20 sets @ 15 reps
1 mile run
Tim is the max effort guy of this not so dynamic duo. I'm more like the reluctant hero -- (quick, to the bat couch) --- but anyway. Tim stressed to me that there are to be no breaks in between sets; pull ups into push ups into squats and back into pull ups.
"You think we can do the entire workout in 45 minutes?" Tim asked.
"I think you should quit smoking crack." I replied.
"Right!!!! Let's go." said Tim... (Dah da-da DA!!!!)
I ran the first mile in 7m 6s; it wasn't graceful, but it was done. However I am proud to say that that was my best time since I started running with Tim.....It was a good pain. Now, on to the weight room.
It only took about three sets into the Murph for me to realize that there was no way I was going to be able to do the pull ups. I changed over to a modified pull up, which is basically me lying on the floor and pulling up on a bar laid out on a squat rack. With one third of my body weight eliminated from the pull up I was able to continue.
The pushups and the squats I just managed to gut out......But only because Tim was there to push me. I would have stopped at 10 sets had I been by myself.
To make a long story short it was a difficult routine. I was ready to quit at set number eight, by set fifteen I really had to ratchet down mentally to keep going. It was ugly....But we got it done.
The fatigue I felt took up every square inch of my body....I was more than ready to lay on a bench, curl up in a ball, and take a nap.
"Okay, ready to run?" Tim asked.
Uh.....God.
I was so tired that I couldn't think of a good smart ass remark. I barely managed to mutter, "Ayuh....."
So the first run was bad. But the second run was hell from the very first step.
"C'mon Tom!!!"
Huff, huff, grunt....."Ayuh."
Picture a screaming, slurring drunk, one legged man attempting to perform a ballet routine and you might get a general idea for how I at least felt that I may have looked when I ran that horrible mile.
With every step I took I just knew that both my ass cheeks were going to explode. I almost felt sorry for those who would be within range of the blast area once my fiery ass cheek grenades detonated.
Another part of me felt very sorry for myself. I mean, after all, one cannot wear blue jeans comfortably without ass cheeks to hold them in place. I grimaced at the thought of a life with suspenders and overalls in them.
(Yeah, this is the kind of crap I think about when I'm in pain....I guess it's how I cope.)
It was the longest 9 m 40s mile of my life.
I am not going to be able to move tomorrow, I thought. I was bent over, hands on my knees and ready to fall over. I hurt......
But then Tim mentioned coffee......and suddenly all was right with the world.
Coffee Later...
Nothing makes the world a sunnier, happier place than a really good cup of coffee. As tough as the workouts are I look forward to them because I know that afterwards we get to go out for a cup of joe....
Does that mean that I've been conditioned? This whole thing suddenly has a kind of Pavlovian feel to it.
Eh....Whatever. I just know I get coffee --- that's good enough for me.
So Tim and I have decided that we are going to try and hit every single coffee shop that Lawrence has to offer.
So far we have hit:
Dunn Brothers -- salted caramel -- two happy Pino's (Tim and I are half Filipino, in case you didn't know)
Starbucks -- annoying self absorbed prick aside (customer, not barista) the coffee was good. I would say though that it's a little too mainstream for us. 1 and a half happy Pino's
Alchemy -- very aptly named. It was like watching a chemist at work. Great entertainment value with very tasty results. 2 very impressed and happy Pino's
Scooters -- Not bad. It's a drive through that can work well in a pinch. 1 and a half happy Pino's.
J & S coffee -- if you're looking for something to satisfy your sweet tooth, then the Grasshopper is the drink for you....It's almost too sweet --- almost. 1 and 3/4 happy Pino's
Henry's -- Maybe I caught them on a good day, but it seems that Henry's had the strongest coffee that I have had compared to every where else I've been. A very good dark coffee with two shots of espresso. 2 happy and very wide awake Pino's.
Honestly, Tim and I would make very poor coffee house critics.....We just love coffee too much. The coffee would almost have to be the equivalent of boiled worm dirt for us not to like it......(But with enough cream and sugar I believe that even boiled worm dirt could possibly be made acceptable.)
I think Tim and I have achieved the proper balance. Gut it out and get through a tough and occasionally shitty workout --- then reward ourselves with coffee. Yeah, I can live with that.
But I will say this about the workouts. No matter how tough they are we both walk away feeling great about what we accomplished. We both know that, in time, the workouts will get easier -- and that's what keeps us going. (And, no, not all the workouts are like the one I just mentioned.)
So even if you took the coffee away, it's still a good day....
But if we can have coffee........ Well.... :)
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Veteran...
The elderly man and his wife walked into Constitution Hall together. He was very thin and walked slightly hunched over; giving him a frail appearance. But his eyes suggested that he was anything but frail. Even in his advanced years his baby blues blazed brightly and his smile was so big that if he were to tell me that he were the luckiest man on Earth I would not have doubted him.
The man and his wife had come to see a speech/reenactment of a part of the Bleeding Kansas series; one of six reenactments that the curator and his friends put on every year.
"So are you a historian?" the old man asked.
"Well, I'm kind of new to this era," I said, "I still have a lot to learn. I know more about World War Two and have been reading up a little bit on World War 1."
"Ah," said the bright eyed old man, still smiling, "I served in World War Two."
My heart skipped a beat and I was temporarily speechless. I get excited about meeting World War II veterans much the same way as people get excited about meeting a movie or rock star.
I haven't met many World War II vets (that I know of) --- four to be precise. So when I suddenly found myself talking to a fifth veteran, I really had to work to stay under control.
As soon as the old man mentioned he was in the war I noticed the World War II pin on the lapel of his jacket; it had been tucked away beneath his trench coat before.
And I must say that the gentleman was dressed very sharply, only enhancing his bright eyes and winning smile.
"I served in the Pacific," he said.
"Really?" I said, "That's where my granddad served."
"Who was he with?" the gentleman asked.
"The seventh division."
"Marines?"
"No. Army."
"Ah....That's good." he nodded.
He then pulled an old photograph out of his wallet and showed it to me. His face beamed as he presented it.
"Here is a picture of me and my lovely bride of seventy years."
Seventy years? I was thunderstruck. In this day and age where twenty years seems a momentous accomplishment it took a while for what he said to sink in.......Seventy years. Wow.
They were a stunning couple. (Still are actually) My memory is hazy but I know for sure that I saw the gentleman in his Navy dress uniform but I sadly can't seem to remember what his wife was wearing. Regardless, they were so young and full of life.
I smiled as I stared at this beautiful photograph.
"It's good that you have this," I said, "My granddad didn't hang on to any of his things. When he came home from the war all he kept were his discharge papers." (He did hang on to a few photographs, but I was a little nervous and forgot that minor detail,)
"When I made his shadow box," I continued, "Everything that I put in it was a replica."
"Well," said the gentleman, "When I came home from the war I put everything in a box and put it away."
"He buried it in a drawer," said his wife, "He never looked at it."
The gentleman shook his head and smiled, "I didn't look at it again until I was eighty years old."
When he said that it answered the long lingering question that I had been carrying with me ever since the day granddad died. That was seventeen years ago.....
For seventeen years I had always agonized and wondered if I should have brought up the war with granddad. I wondered if I had just blown an opportunity to learn some very valuable family history.
But after hearing how this man shoved his memories into a box and refused to relive them for almost sixty years it confirmed to me that I had done the right thing by my granddad by not bringing it up.
It sucks not knowing about everything my granddad saw and all that he did. But I would never want to learn about his time in World War II if it were to come at the cost of his piece of mind.
"I suppose I we had better find our seats" said the gentleman. "It's been nice meeting you."
I reached out and shook his hand. "Yes, sir. Nice to meet you."
The old man, with his bright blue eyes, nodded and smiled as he released my hand to take a seat at the reenactment with his wife.
As he walked away I couldn't help but smile myself....I just met another member of the greatest generation. What a great day....A great day, indeed.
The man and his wife had come to see a speech/reenactment of a part of the Bleeding Kansas series; one of six reenactments that the curator and his friends put on every year.
"So are you a historian?" the old man asked.
"Well, I'm kind of new to this era," I said, "I still have a lot to learn. I know more about World War Two and have been reading up a little bit on World War 1."
"Ah," said the bright eyed old man, still smiling, "I served in World War Two."
My heart skipped a beat and I was temporarily speechless. I get excited about meeting World War II veterans much the same way as people get excited about meeting a movie or rock star.
I haven't met many World War II vets (that I know of) --- four to be precise. So when I suddenly found myself talking to a fifth veteran, I really had to work to stay under control.
As soon as the old man mentioned he was in the war I noticed the World War II pin on the lapel of his jacket; it had been tucked away beneath his trench coat before.
And I must say that the gentleman was dressed very sharply, only enhancing his bright eyes and winning smile.
"I served in the Pacific," he said.
"Really?" I said, "That's where my granddad served."
"Who was he with?" the gentleman asked.
"The seventh division."
"Marines?"
"No. Army."
"Ah....That's good." he nodded.
He then pulled an old photograph out of his wallet and showed it to me. His face beamed as he presented it.
"Here is a picture of me and my lovely bride of seventy years."
Seventy years? I was thunderstruck. In this day and age where twenty years seems a momentous accomplishment it took a while for what he said to sink in.......Seventy years. Wow.
They were a stunning couple. (Still are actually) My memory is hazy but I know for sure that I saw the gentleman in his Navy dress uniform but I sadly can't seem to remember what his wife was wearing. Regardless, they were so young and full of life.
I smiled as I stared at this beautiful photograph.
"It's good that you have this," I said, "My granddad didn't hang on to any of his things. When he came home from the war all he kept were his discharge papers." (He did hang on to a few photographs, but I was a little nervous and forgot that minor detail,)
"When I made his shadow box," I continued, "Everything that I put in it was a replica."
"Well," said the gentleman, "When I came home from the war I put everything in a box and put it away."
"He buried it in a drawer," said his wife, "He never looked at it."
The gentleman shook his head and smiled, "I didn't look at it again until I was eighty years old."
When he said that it answered the long lingering question that I had been carrying with me ever since the day granddad died. That was seventeen years ago.....
For seventeen years I had always agonized and wondered if I should have brought up the war with granddad. I wondered if I had just blown an opportunity to learn some very valuable family history.
But after hearing how this man shoved his memories into a box and refused to relive them for almost sixty years it confirmed to me that I had done the right thing by my granddad by not bringing it up.
It sucks not knowing about everything my granddad saw and all that he did. But I would never want to learn about his time in World War II if it were to come at the cost of his piece of mind.
"I suppose I we had better find our seats" said the gentleman. "It's been nice meeting you."
I reached out and shook his hand. "Yes, sir. Nice to meet you."
The old man, with his bright blue eyes, nodded and smiled as he released my hand to take a seat at the reenactment with his wife.
As he walked away I couldn't help but smile myself....I just met another member of the greatest generation. What a great day....A great day, indeed.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
It doesn't have to be graceful...
My workouts with Tim has turned out to be a mini (maybe two mini's) triathlon for two days out of the week. Every Monday and Tuesday we start with a swim, move on to a run, and finish with the stationary bike. Yeah, that's out of order, but at this point I fear that my run will turn into a jello-legged crawl if I try to use the bike first.
Finish up with an ab workout and a quick burnout session in the weight room (weight room has been off an on, depending on if we have anything left in the tank) and the ensuing Wednesday afternoon turns into awesome nap day. I haven't slept this good for a very long time.
Anyway, I have to say that when Tim first suggested the mini (mini) triathlon my first thought was "This is not going to end well for me."
But, to my surprise, I'm hanging in there. I'm nowhere near where Tim is, but I'm hanging in there. The sense of accomplishment I feel has made all the grunts, groan, aches and pains worth it. It hasn't been graceful ---- but that's okay. I wouldn't know what to do with style points anyway.
What makes this workout difficult for me is the fact that:
1. Compared to Tim, I am not a distance runner. and
2. I am not a good swimmer --- at all......
But it doesn't have to be graceful....It just has to be done.
The Run...
It's amazing how much your time improves when you run on an indoor track. No hills, no traffic, no cold weather and, most importantly, no raspy lungs. It's nice knowing that I can go for a run indoors and not have to take a puff on my inhaler.
My 5k run outside with Tim resulted in an average nine minute mile; along with some hacking, coughing, and wheezing. The mucous factory was working overtime on that run. A good time was not had.
My 5K run inside was significantly better. The first time Tim and I ran we averaged 8m 23sec a mile -- a noticeable improvement. And while I had a knife in my side and my legs were wobbly I was breathing just fine, sort of --- and that was after a swim.
The second indoor run Tim looked at me and asked "Get it under 8?"
I had assumed that there were two ways to answer this question. But then I remembered who I was talking to.......
If yes, Tim will say "Awesome."
If no, Tim will say, "We can do it."
So since there is really only one answer to the question I said yes.
As soon as Tim set the pace I knew that I had my work cut out for me. I passed a mother who was running and pushing her baby in a stroller.
"Wanna trade?"
"You wanna push this?" she asked.
"No, I'm talking to the baby."
"Can you keep this pace for a mile?" Tim asked
(yes -- awesome no---you can do it)
"Yes."
"Awesome."
There are a lot of words that I could use to describe that mile run and "awesome" would not be one of them. But when I found out that we ran it in 7m and 47sec?
Yeah, that's pretty awesome.
The rest of the 5k went to shit and I actually had to stop and walk couple of times. But it certainly didn't take away that great feeling (mentally, not physically) that I had about running the first mile in under 8.
Meanwhile, Tim wasn't even breathing hard. I found out later through casual conversation that Tim once ran nine miles at around a 7m/mile clip.
First off --- nine miles....Why?
Secondly....That's incredible. Why did Tim have no interest in sports? Probably because there isn't a gun involved.....But that's another story for another time.
7m and 47sec.......Wow. It hurt....But it was worth it.
Still. I'm in no hurry to do that again. I would like to go at a pace where I can run an entire 5k without stopping. Which would put Tim to sleep.
I told him once that if he needed to go to just leave me......He hasn't yet. He's blown me away with his sprint to finish the run (I don't have a kick left in me by that point) --- but he's never left me.....He pushes me --- and I'm not ashamed to admit that I do better when he is there to push.
It wasn't graceful....But I got it done.....
The Swim.....
I may not be built for long distance running --- but I'm even worse at swimming. I'm slow, I'm awkward and, for some reason, I always manage to choke at least once or twice by getting water up my nose. It's safe to say that I have no future as a lifeguard.
Fortunately, the indoor pool where Tim and I go to swim laps has lanes that are only four to five feet deep. Had the lanes been deeper when Tim told me that we were going to attempt 500m I would have said I'm out. I'm just not that comfortable in the water.
But the 500m actually didn't go that bad. I was tired, but I felt that I could have gone further. Granted I didn't keep pace with Tim; who easily doubled me --- but I felt really good about what I accomplished.
So much so that on the day when I was working out on my own I decided to set the bar high. I was going to swim 1600m.
And by God, I did it!!!! I looked like a sloth on valium wading through mud (it took just over an hour to swim 1600m) --- but I did it.
Man.... (Cue James Brown) I feel good!!!
Working out with Tim has kick started the long dormant motor within me. I had reached a point where, physically, I was "okay" with where I was at in my life. (Even though I really wasn't)
When complacency appears, goals disappear. And when goals disappear ---- so does ambition.
I kind of lost my way there for a bit. But now I'm back in the saddle and, as difficult as it has been at times, I am amped up and raring to go.
A conversation that Tim and I had before one particular workout stuck with me and serves as a reminder every time I think I can't go any further.
We talked about reasons to stay motivated.
When I thought about what would motivate me I thought about my own kids and all the kids that I coach. Every practice, every game I preach "Effort and Attitude".
"Give me your best effort along with you best attitude and all is right with the world."
Then I thought about me standing there and coaching first base with a pot belly. I thought about my son or daughter or any one of the kids that I coach out running me around the bases.
I thought of how much of a hypocrite I would be if I didn't practice what I preach.
It was a good conversation. One I would've never had if not for Tim.
Yes.....I definitely found a reason to stay motivated.
I will run...I will swim. I'm not very good at either --- but that's not going to stop me from trying.
It doesn't have to be graceful......It just has to be done.
Finish up with an ab workout and a quick burnout session in the weight room (weight room has been off an on, depending on if we have anything left in the tank) and the ensuing Wednesday afternoon turns into awesome nap day. I haven't slept this good for a very long time.
Anyway, I have to say that when Tim first suggested the mini (mini) triathlon my first thought was "This is not going to end well for me."
But, to my surprise, I'm hanging in there. I'm nowhere near where Tim is, but I'm hanging in there. The sense of accomplishment I feel has made all the grunts, groan, aches and pains worth it. It hasn't been graceful ---- but that's okay. I wouldn't know what to do with style points anyway.
What makes this workout difficult for me is the fact that:
1. Compared to Tim, I am not a distance runner. and
2. I am not a good swimmer --- at all......
But it doesn't have to be graceful....It just has to be done.
The Run...
It's amazing how much your time improves when you run on an indoor track. No hills, no traffic, no cold weather and, most importantly, no raspy lungs. It's nice knowing that I can go for a run indoors and not have to take a puff on my inhaler.
My 5k run outside with Tim resulted in an average nine minute mile; along with some hacking, coughing, and wheezing. The mucous factory was working overtime on that run. A good time was not had.
My 5K run inside was significantly better. The first time Tim and I ran we averaged 8m 23sec a mile -- a noticeable improvement. And while I had a knife in my side and my legs were wobbly I was breathing just fine, sort of --- and that was after a swim.
The second indoor run Tim looked at me and asked "Get it under 8?"
I had assumed that there were two ways to answer this question. But then I remembered who I was talking to.......
If yes, Tim will say "Awesome."
If no, Tim will say, "We can do it."
So since there is really only one answer to the question I said yes.
As soon as Tim set the pace I knew that I had my work cut out for me. I passed a mother who was running and pushing her baby in a stroller.
"Wanna trade?"
"You wanna push this?" she asked.
"No, I'm talking to the baby."
"Can you keep this pace for a mile?" Tim asked
(yes -- awesome no---you can do it)
"Yes."
"Awesome."
There are a lot of words that I could use to describe that mile run and "awesome" would not be one of them. But when I found out that we ran it in 7m and 47sec?
Yeah, that's pretty awesome.
The rest of the 5k went to shit and I actually had to stop and walk couple of times. But it certainly didn't take away that great feeling (mentally, not physically) that I had about running the first mile in under 8.
Meanwhile, Tim wasn't even breathing hard. I found out later through casual conversation that Tim once ran nine miles at around a 7m/mile clip.
First off --- nine miles....Why?
Secondly....That's incredible. Why did Tim have no interest in sports? Probably because there isn't a gun involved.....But that's another story for another time.
7m and 47sec.......Wow. It hurt....But it was worth it.
Still. I'm in no hurry to do that again. I would like to go at a pace where I can run an entire 5k without stopping. Which would put Tim to sleep.
I told him once that if he needed to go to just leave me......He hasn't yet. He's blown me away with his sprint to finish the run (I don't have a kick left in me by that point) --- but he's never left me.....He pushes me --- and I'm not ashamed to admit that I do better when he is there to push.
It wasn't graceful....But I got it done.....
The Swim.....
I may not be built for long distance running --- but I'm even worse at swimming. I'm slow, I'm awkward and, for some reason, I always manage to choke at least once or twice by getting water up my nose. It's safe to say that I have no future as a lifeguard.
Fortunately, the indoor pool where Tim and I go to swim laps has lanes that are only four to five feet deep. Had the lanes been deeper when Tim told me that we were going to attempt 500m I would have said I'm out. I'm just not that comfortable in the water.
But the 500m actually didn't go that bad. I was tired, but I felt that I could have gone further. Granted I didn't keep pace with Tim; who easily doubled me --- but I felt really good about what I accomplished.
So much so that on the day when I was working out on my own I decided to set the bar high. I was going to swim 1600m.
And by God, I did it!!!! I looked like a sloth on valium wading through mud (it took just over an hour to swim 1600m) --- but I did it.
Man.... (Cue James Brown) I feel good!!!
Working out with Tim has kick started the long dormant motor within me. I had reached a point where, physically, I was "okay" with where I was at in my life. (Even though I really wasn't)
When complacency appears, goals disappear. And when goals disappear ---- so does ambition.
I kind of lost my way there for a bit. But now I'm back in the saddle and, as difficult as it has been at times, I am amped up and raring to go.
A conversation that Tim and I had before one particular workout stuck with me and serves as a reminder every time I think I can't go any further.
We talked about reasons to stay motivated.
When I thought about what would motivate me I thought about my own kids and all the kids that I coach. Every practice, every game I preach "Effort and Attitude".
"Give me your best effort along with you best attitude and all is right with the world."
Then I thought about me standing there and coaching first base with a pot belly. I thought about my son or daughter or any one of the kids that I coach out running me around the bases.
I thought of how much of a hypocrite I would be if I didn't practice what I preach.
It was a good conversation. One I would've never had if not for Tim.
Yes.....I definitely found a reason to stay motivated.
I will run...I will swim. I'm not very good at either --- but that's not going to stop me from trying.
It doesn't have to be graceful......It just has to be done.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Video games....Maybe I shouldn't...
Note: Writing with the flu has proven to be quite the challenge. It's not my best work....but I'm just proud that I did it at all.....
This week has been the calm before the storm; a slow week that has allowed me to take some much needed down time before the Spring ball schedule swings into high gear. I took advantage of the extra time by playing a couple of video games and, now that it's over, I probably shouldn't have.
Minecraft…
I never really had an interest in playing Minecraft. Having watched the kids play it I found the games graphics dull and the music annoying as hell.
But Tera talked me into playing it one day -- you know -- that whole parent child bonding thing, and for about the first ten minutes I was like “I have no clue what I’m doing”. But then, for reasons still unbeknownst to me, I became completely obsessed with building up my little hole in the side of the hill.
First, the dirt had to be replaced by cobblestone…..Oh, and windows would be nice because it gets kind of dark in here. Maybe after that I could put in a second floor and some carpet. OOOOOHHHH!!! Carpet would be awesome. Or at the very least a big throw rug….Yeah.
That rug really tied the room together --- (Quick, name the movie!!!!)
Six hours later I have a three story cobblestone house with carpet, a crafting table, a bed, a chest, and a furnace on each floor; the second and third floors had a ton of windows.
Wow….I really need to stop -- my butt is numb and I think I may have lost circulation in my legs.
The next day Toby gets on to play --- and he accuses me of having OCD.
I do NOT have OCD. I just like things to be neat and organized. Especially my chests, where this whole OCD thing became a conversation.
Me: “Dude, what are you doing?”
Toby: “What?”
Me: “You dumped everything into one chest.”
Toby: “Yes. Chests are used for storage.”
Me: “How do expect to keep everything organized? Look. Food stuffs and seeds go in the first floor chest, tools and weapons in the second floor chest next to the trap door, miscellaneous items go into the second floor chest furthest away from the trap door and dirt, stone, iron, etc go into the chest in the third floor.”
Toby: “Really?”
Me: “Yes, really.”
So Toby would occasionally put like an apple or something in the tool chest and grin when I got pissed.
Toby: “Dude, I could keep you busy for hours.”
Me: “Man, don’t mess with my chests. I mean, seriously, why do ya gotta be like that?”
Later, we began working together on a combination house/mine when we got into an argument over bed placement.
Me: “Dude, you can’t bump four beds up against each other like that.”
Toby: “What are you talking about?”
Me: “Sleeping shouldn’t be a communal thing. Don’t you know you can get lice or something doing that.”
Toby was incredulous: “Dude, what the hell? There are no lice in this game.”
Me: “Yes, I know. But would you bump beds together in real life?”
Toby: “No.”
Me: “Then don’t do it here….That bothers me.”
He did it anyway…..Grrrrr……
Overall, things in my little Minecraft world were peaceful and organized. I had my three story cobblestone house, a pen for sheep, cattle, and chickens, and I had a nice little wheat crop going.
Then one evening Toby and his cousin Allen played on my account. By the time they were finished all of my tools were missing, I was out of food, and all of my livestock got out through a hole in the fence that was supposedly the work of a creeper.
What’s more is one of the little hoodlums caught the forest on fire and burned down all the trees around my house….I was…….soooo…...angry.
I told Toby that I was starting a new game and that he could fix my old one…….
Yeah….Here I am, a grown man (well, at least physically) all riled up over a child’s game. It would be kind of embarrassing if I were to have a stroke over what is really meaningless entertainment. But if it did happen my family would not be shocked... NO......I do not have OCD....
Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag
I have never been good at dealing with plot twists. It’s why I can no longer watch M. Night Shamalayan movies (aside from the fact that they kind of suck). His movies plod along and have you thinking one way and then towards the end of the movie --- BAM ---- a plot twist occurs that basically tells you that everything you saw previously was a lie. I can’t handle that; it drives me up a wall. It makes me fell as if I had been duped.
So I’m playing Assassin’s Creed and I’m really getting into the game; I’m totally immersed in the story. I eat up the opening storyline of battle in the open sea between enemy ships and am fascinated when the hero is washed ashore and begins to his transformation from pirate to assassin.
Then --- BAM --- the next thing I know the pirate becomes some geek taking a tour of the high tech, modern day facility that he will be working in. The pirate is only real inside an online game.
“Whoa…..What the hell?” I yelled.
“What?” asked Toby.
“Why am I suddenly a tech weenie?”
“Because it’s part of the game?”
“Dammit, I don’t like it. I was feeling all piratey and shit. AARGH!! YOU KNOW?! Why did they have to go and do that?” "Holy crap, Dad, relax....."
But I couldn't relax. I was so aggravated that I shut the game off and haven’t played it since.
Okay, maybe I'm just not meant to play video games. The next time I have a slow week maybe I should go to the gym instead. Yeah, who am I kidding. Game on....Game on....
I never really had an interest in playing Minecraft. Having watched the kids play it I found the games graphics dull and the music annoying as hell.
But Tera talked me into playing it one day -- you know -- that whole parent child bonding thing, and for about the first ten minutes I was like “I have no clue what I’m doing”. But then, for reasons still unbeknownst to me, I became completely obsessed with building up my little hole in the side of the hill.
First, the dirt had to be replaced by cobblestone…..Oh, and windows would be nice because it gets kind of dark in here. Maybe after that I could put in a second floor and some carpet. OOOOOHHHH!!! Carpet would be awesome. Or at the very least a big throw rug….Yeah.
That rug really tied the room together --- (Quick, name the movie!!!!)
Six hours later I have a three story cobblestone house with carpet, a crafting table, a bed, a chest, and a furnace on each floor; the second and third floors had a ton of windows.
Wow….I really need to stop -- my butt is numb and I think I may have lost circulation in my legs.
The next day Toby gets on to play --- and he accuses me of having OCD.
I do NOT have OCD. I just like things to be neat and organized. Especially my chests, where this whole OCD thing became a conversation.
Me: “Dude, what are you doing?”
Toby: “What?”
Me: “You dumped everything into one chest.”
Toby: “Yes. Chests are used for storage.”
Me: “How do expect to keep everything organized? Look. Food stuffs and seeds go in the first floor chest, tools and weapons in the second floor chest next to the trap door, miscellaneous items go into the second floor chest furthest away from the trap door and dirt, stone, iron, etc go into the chest in the third floor.”
Toby: “Really?”
Me: “Yes, really.”
So Toby would occasionally put like an apple or something in the tool chest and grin when I got pissed.
Toby: “Dude, I could keep you busy for hours.”
Me: “Man, don’t mess with my chests. I mean, seriously, why do ya gotta be like that?”
Later, we began working together on a combination house/mine when we got into an argument over bed placement.
Me: “Dude, you can’t bump four beds up against each other like that.”
Toby: “What are you talking about?”
Me: “Sleeping shouldn’t be a communal thing. Don’t you know you can get lice or something doing that.”
Toby was incredulous: “Dude, what the hell? There are no lice in this game.”
Me: “Yes, I know. But would you bump beds together in real life?”
Toby: “No.”
Me: “Then don’t do it here….That bothers me.”
He did it anyway…..Grrrrr……
Overall, things in my little Minecraft world were peaceful and organized. I had my three story cobblestone house, a pen for sheep, cattle, and chickens, and I had a nice little wheat crop going.
Then one evening Toby and his cousin Allen played on my account. By the time they were finished all of my tools were missing, I was out of food, and all of my livestock got out through a hole in the fence that was supposedly the work of a creeper.
What’s more is one of the little hoodlums caught the forest on fire and burned down all the trees around my house….I was…….soooo…...angry.
I told Toby that I was starting a new game and that he could fix my old one…….
Yeah….Here I am, a grown man (well, at least physically) all riled up over a child’s game. It would be kind of embarrassing if I were to have a stroke over what is really meaningless entertainment. But if it did happen my family would not be shocked... NO......I do not have OCD....
Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag
I have never been good at dealing with plot twists. It’s why I can no longer watch M. Night Shamalayan movies (aside from the fact that they kind of suck). His movies plod along and have you thinking one way and then towards the end of the movie --- BAM ---- a plot twist occurs that basically tells you that everything you saw previously was a lie. I can’t handle that; it drives me up a wall. It makes me fell as if I had been duped.
So I’m playing Assassin’s Creed and I’m really getting into the game; I’m totally immersed in the story. I eat up the opening storyline of battle in the open sea between enemy ships and am fascinated when the hero is washed ashore and begins to his transformation from pirate to assassin.
Then --- BAM --- the next thing I know the pirate becomes some geek taking a tour of the high tech, modern day facility that he will be working in. The pirate is only real inside an online game.
“Whoa…..What the hell?” I yelled.
“What?” asked Toby.
“Why am I suddenly a tech weenie?”
“Because it’s part of the game?”
“Dammit, I don’t like it. I was feeling all piratey and shit. AARGH!! YOU KNOW?! Why did they have to go and do that?” "Holy crap, Dad, relax....."
But I couldn't relax. I was so aggravated that I shut the game off and haven’t played it since.
Okay, maybe I'm just not meant to play video games. The next time I have a slow week maybe I should go to the gym instead. Yeah, who am I kidding. Game on....Game on....
Thursday, January 22, 2015
FEEL THE BURN!!!
Tim, by far, is the best athlete in our family. He's not very tall, maybe 5'6" or 5'7", but has wide shoulders, thick legs, and heavy hands. Add to that he's very quick and has a motor that just.....doesn't......stop.
And yet, in high school he had no real interest in sports --- go figure. He spent his days working on his truck and wandering about town riling people up. In fact, he took great joy in riling people up.
I don't know if Tim is actually the one who did it -- but it's a great story and it sounds like something Tim would do. So I'm going to share.
One Saturday night a girl was complaining about her car. She couldn't put her finger on it but something about it just wasn't right. Tim, (if it was Tim --- he's never claimed responsibility) walked around the car once and said, "Yup, I see your problem."
"Really?"
"Yes, you need muffler bearings.....Just go to the auto parts store and ask the guy at the desk for two of them. He'll know exactly what you're talking about."
For those who are not mechanically inclined (like myself), there is no such thing as muffler bearings. Tim just sent her to the auto parts for a good laugh. The girl spent the next Saturday evening looking for him. She was going to kill him.
But that's just Tim; he loves a good laugh. Did I by chance mention that seeing others suffer also makes him laugh? Oh, yeah.....Let me tell ya.
I had just finished my 5K walk. Yes, I said walk. I'm the kind of person that doesn't see the point in running unless there is a ball involved, an axe wielding psychopath giving chase, or beer at the finish line. Not saying that I don't try to run --- I'm just not a fan of it.
Anyway, as I'm finishing up my walk I get a text from Tim:
"Do you have any special plans during the day?"
Oh boy.....What fresh new Hell is this? Any time you see him ask a question in this manner you just know there is going to be some pain and suffering involved. I can just see him smiling as he typed up the text.
"No plans," I text, "What's up?"
"Are you interested in a light run and a workout?" He text, "Just a few miles and then a light lift."
I quickly noticed he said "light" twice. That can only mean one thing ---- burnout.
But, as much as I shuddered, I was well aware that I have not been very motivated over the last few months. I push the kids constantly about staying physically active, so I knew that I would be a hypocrite if I declined this offer. Plus, as much pain as I'm sure he will put me in, I know that I will walk, well, maybe crawl away from this experience having learned something new. That is the great thing about Tim -- I can't think of anyone that can vary a workout the way he can. He's always talking about some new exercise that he's using.
So I accepted the offer and within thirty minutes Tim was at my door ready to go.
As we walked out the door I warned him that I haven't been keeping up on my workouts and that I'm out of shape.
Tim thought nothing of it --- "Eh...You'll be fine."
I think we both knew that that was a lie.
Before we go any further allow me to give you just a little background. Tim is a police officer who happens to be well trained in the art of hand to hand combat, loves to scuba dive and I believe is l working to become a dive master. He also likes to take his dogs on "short" two mile "motivational" runs. There are other things that he does as well but I digress --- I think you get the idea. Tim is a very physically active man. Ok, moving on.....
When we first get to Tim's place he tells me that his two dogs want to go for a walk. Would I be ok with that?
OK? Absolutely I'm ok with that!!!! Go pooches.
So we went on a two mile walk with the dogs, who kept a nice pace. I was very happy to walk; my only complaint being that the dogs were horribly gassy.
"Man," I said as I choked back tears, "You didn't tell me that their back blast area wasn't secure."
"Oh, yeah," said Tim, "That's why I walk beside them"
Ah......Thanks for the heads up.
We get back to the house, and I am happy. Hell, I think Tim is starting to mellow.
"Ok, ready to run?"
Um, what?
It turns out that the dog walking was just a warm up. I pulled the inhaler out of my sweatshirt and took a few puffs. I just knew that this was going to suck.
And Tim did not disappoint.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yeah, (no, not really) let's go."
Somewhere during Mom's gestation period, God has forgotten to put in a neutral, first, and second gear in Tim. And the rest of us have been paying for it ever since.
The pace Tim had us start off at immediately had me thinking of race horses shooting out of the gates.
"AAAAANNNDDDD THEIR OFF!!!!"
A half a block later I was certain that I was going to die.
Meanwhile Tim is talking throughout the entire run as if we're just sitting on the beach and drinking Mai-Tai's.
Tim: Yeah, I haven't been running as much as I would like.
Me: (huff, huff) yeah....
Tim: Yeah, these hills kind of suck, don't they?
Me: (wheeze) yup......
Tim: I'd like to get my mile back down to six minutes and thirty seconds. I used to run it at that.
Me: (cough, gasp) Dude, (huff, huff,) If I keep (wheez) a nine minute pace (wheez, cough) I'm happy.
Tim: Well that's what we'll shoot for then.
Me --- thinking: Shit, I didn't mean TODAY.....
Me: Let me know when we get to a mile....I'm gonna throw up.
We got to a mile and I'm proud to say that I didn't throw up. But I didn't get to stop either.
Tim: Ok, keep walking...
No problem, I thought, that will be that much less that I have to run ---- or so I thought.
Tim: Let's backtrack to the sidewalk over there. Once we get there we can turn around and resume our run.
Shit.........Ok.
I used up everything I had in the first mile, making the second mile an absolute Hell. The pace had slowed way down and Tim kept talking to me, kept me moving.
Toward the last half mile a man on a bicycle rode up beside us and yelled good morning.
I didn't have the energy to say anything. I just, grunted, nodded and concentrated on picking up and putting down my feet.
Tim, on the other hand, started up a conversation with the man; completely unaware that he had picked up his pace to match that of the man on the bicycle. The gap between Tim and I grew larger as he chatted away with the man on the bicycle.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Ah, yeah, great day to be out."
(huff, puff, wheeze)
"What's the road construction over there for?"
"Their putting in a new intersection."
(hack, spit, wheeze)
"They sure are taking a long time."
"Oh, yeah....Just annoying the hell out of everyone."
(gasp)
"Yup."
"Well, hey, this is my turn. Been nice talking to you."
"You take care."
Tim then turns around and sees ----- nobody.
Yeah, (wheeze) I'm back here.
Tim slows down and waits for me. And when I get there?
"You gotta sprint left in you?"
Holy shit --- did you really just ask me that?
"I don't know."
"Last half block. You can do it." Tim encouraged, "Gotta get this sprint in to make your nine minute mile."
I looked at the oncoming traffic.......I could get a lot of rest in a hospital bed.
"GO!!!" Tim yelled
Ah, God......I ran as fast as my dead legs would take me. Tim finished way ahead of me and I could see him watching the clock. I tried like hell to summon my inner Forrest Gump.
"I'm just runningguh......"
The very second I reached Tim's driveway I stopped and place my hands on my knees......That sucked.
Then Tim can over with the watch....Nine minute mile.
Well, maybe it didn't suck that bad after all.
I stood up, feeling victorious. All I have to do now is lift weights. I can handle that.
"Are you ready for Bring Sally Up, Bring Sally Down?" Tim asked
Um, what?
Bring Sally Up is a song by Moby that is also used in a pushup challenge. The concept is simple; you start in a down push up position and go up when you here the lyrics, "Bring Sally Up". You then go back down when you hear "Bring Sally Down."
Yes, simple concept......The execution however......
Tim: "Remember, you can't let your chest touch the ground."
That lasted about forty five seconds before my arms gave out. My chest and face hit the ground, and not delicately.
"Sally can go to Hell," I said, "You're not looping this song are you?"
From forty five seconds to the one minute fifty second mark where Tim finally gave out I floundered. I think I may have did one push up for every three of Tim's. Thank God we only did one set.
"Okay," said Tim as he shut off the music, "Ready for the ab workout?"
Uh.....
Hold legs six inches off the ground, followed by flutter kicks, followed by leg raises, followed by bicycles, followed by a plank ---- thirty seconds each, no break in between.
I did okay until I hit the bicycle. When I first started I couldn't feel my thighs; I had to looked down just to confirm that my legs were, in fact, still moving.
Man, I thought, I wish I could feel my thighs.
Wish granted.......Poof!!!
Both my thighs seized up at the same time. I let out a tiny shriek as my thighs cramped and curled up my legs.......I wish I couldn't feel my thighs.....I wish I couldn't feel my thighs.
I looked like a dead bug, laying on it's back with all it's limbs curled up and dangling in the air. I struggle to straighten my legs out and had just got them straightened when Tim said PLANK.....
I rolled over into a plank.
"This plank feels pretty good." Tim said.
"In a comparative sense I suppose so." I said.
"Are you ready to do two more."
I didn't even hesitate. "NO....."
"Okay, let's go lift"
After all this you would think that the weight room would have been a disaster when, in reality, it was the best part of the day.
I'm very stubborn about my weight room routine. I have always been a low weights, high reps kind of guy. I have never had any real interest in bulking up. Plus, at my age, I firmly believe that low weights and high reps is the way to go.
So whatever it is that Tim and I did, Tim went to the point of near failure while I did my low weights, high reps.
There were a few times he would tell me as I got ready to quit, "You got one more in you."
And he was right, I did.....But that would have meant that I would have stopped on an odd number.....And I can't do that.
I don't know where I picked up this superstition, but when I work out -- unless it's divisible by five, I cannot end on an odd number. When Tim was telling me I had enough for one more rep he was right ---- but that would have put me at an odd number indivisible by five. Nope, I can't do that.
Yeah....I don't know.
Anyway, I'm glad we finished the day with weight lifting because it ensured that the days workout would end on a high note.
Now that it's over.....would I do the same routine all over again? By myself? Honestly, probably not.
But if Tim were there to push me.....Yeah, I would.
When he dropped me off at the house he told me that he had one more run to go.......I thought he was nuts.
That was two days ago......and I'm still sore. But, oddly, it feels good. I think Tim may have sparked some long dormant workout embers residing deep within my soul. This weekend I will plan out a whole new routine. It won't be as crazy as Tim's, but I will say this. The next time he calls I plan on doing much better. Well, unless he calls next week......Cough, gasp, wheeze.
And yet, in high school he had no real interest in sports --- go figure. He spent his days working on his truck and wandering about town riling people up. In fact, he took great joy in riling people up.
I don't know if Tim is actually the one who did it -- but it's a great story and it sounds like something Tim would do. So I'm going to share.
One Saturday night a girl was complaining about her car. She couldn't put her finger on it but something about it just wasn't right. Tim, (if it was Tim --- he's never claimed responsibility) walked around the car once and said, "Yup, I see your problem."
"Really?"
"Yes, you need muffler bearings.....Just go to the auto parts store and ask the guy at the desk for two of them. He'll know exactly what you're talking about."
For those who are not mechanically inclined (like myself), there is no such thing as muffler bearings. Tim just sent her to the auto parts for a good laugh. The girl spent the next Saturday evening looking for him. She was going to kill him.
But that's just Tim; he loves a good laugh. Did I by chance mention that seeing others suffer also makes him laugh? Oh, yeah.....Let me tell ya.
I had just finished my 5K walk. Yes, I said walk. I'm the kind of person that doesn't see the point in running unless there is a ball involved, an axe wielding psychopath giving chase, or beer at the finish line. Not saying that I don't try to run --- I'm just not a fan of it.
Anyway, as I'm finishing up my walk I get a text from Tim:
"Do you have any special plans during the day?"
Oh boy.....What fresh new Hell is this? Any time you see him ask a question in this manner you just know there is going to be some pain and suffering involved. I can just see him smiling as he typed up the text.
"No plans," I text, "What's up?"
"Are you interested in a light run and a workout?" He text, "Just a few miles and then a light lift."
I quickly noticed he said "light" twice. That can only mean one thing ---- burnout.
But, as much as I shuddered, I was well aware that I have not been very motivated over the last few months. I push the kids constantly about staying physically active, so I knew that I would be a hypocrite if I declined this offer. Plus, as much pain as I'm sure he will put me in, I know that I will walk, well, maybe crawl away from this experience having learned something new. That is the great thing about Tim -- I can't think of anyone that can vary a workout the way he can. He's always talking about some new exercise that he's using.
So I accepted the offer and within thirty minutes Tim was at my door ready to go.
As we walked out the door I warned him that I haven't been keeping up on my workouts and that I'm out of shape.
Tim thought nothing of it --- "Eh...You'll be fine."
I think we both knew that that was a lie.
Before we go any further allow me to give you just a little background. Tim is a police officer who happens to be well trained in the art of hand to hand combat, loves to scuba dive and I believe is l working to become a dive master. He also likes to take his dogs on "short" two mile "motivational" runs. There are other things that he does as well but I digress --- I think you get the idea. Tim is a very physically active man. Ok, moving on.....
When we first get to Tim's place he tells me that his two dogs want to go for a walk. Would I be ok with that?
OK? Absolutely I'm ok with that!!!! Go pooches.
So we went on a two mile walk with the dogs, who kept a nice pace. I was very happy to walk; my only complaint being that the dogs were horribly gassy.
"Man," I said as I choked back tears, "You didn't tell me that their back blast area wasn't secure."
"Oh, yeah," said Tim, "That's why I walk beside them"
Ah......Thanks for the heads up.
We get back to the house, and I am happy. Hell, I think Tim is starting to mellow.
"Ok, ready to run?"
Um, what?
It turns out that the dog walking was just a warm up. I pulled the inhaler out of my sweatshirt and took a few puffs. I just knew that this was going to suck.
And Tim did not disappoint.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yeah, (no, not really) let's go."
Somewhere during Mom's gestation period, God has forgotten to put in a neutral, first, and second gear in Tim. And the rest of us have been paying for it ever since.
The pace Tim had us start off at immediately had me thinking of race horses shooting out of the gates.
"AAAAANNNDDDD THEIR OFF!!!!"
A half a block later I was certain that I was going to die.
Meanwhile Tim is talking throughout the entire run as if we're just sitting on the beach and drinking Mai-Tai's.
Tim: Yeah, I haven't been running as much as I would like.
Me: (huff, huff) yeah....
Tim: Yeah, these hills kind of suck, don't they?
Me: (wheeze) yup......
Tim: I'd like to get my mile back down to six minutes and thirty seconds. I used to run it at that.
Me: (cough, gasp) Dude, (huff, huff,) If I keep (wheez) a nine minute pace (wheez, cough) I'm happy.
Tim: Well that's what we'll shoot for then.
Me --- thinking: Shit, I didn't mean TODAY.....
Me: Let me know when we get to a mile....I'm gonna throw up.
We got to a mile and I'm proud to say that I didn't throw up. But I didn't get to stop either.
Tim: Ok, keep walking...
No problem, I thought, that will be that much less that I have to run ---- or so I thought.
Tim: Let's backtrack to the sidewalk over there. Once we get there we can turn around and resume our run.
Shit.........Ok.
I used up everything I had in the first mile, making the second mile an absolute Hell. The pace had slowed way down and Tim kept talking to me, kept me moving.
Toward the last half mile a man on a bicycle rode up beside us and yelled good morning.
I didn't have the energy to say anything. I just, grunted, nodded and concentrated on picking up and putting down my feet.
Tim, on the other hand, started up a conversation with the man; completely unaware that he had picked up his pace to match that of the man on the bicycle. The gap between Tim and I grew larger as he chatted away with the man on the bicycle.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Ah, yeah, great day to be out."
(huff, puff, wheeze)
"What's the road construction over there for?"
"Their putting in a new intersection."
(hack, spit, wheeze)
"They sure are taking a long time."
"Oh, yeah....Just annoying the hell out of everyone."
(gasp)
"Yup."
"Well, hey, this is my turn. Been nice talking to you."
"You take care."
Tim then turns around and sees ----- nobody.
Yeah, (wheeze) I'm back here.
Tim slows down and waits for me. And when I get there?
"You gotta sprint left in you?"
Holy shit --- did you really just ask me that?
"I don't know."
"Last half block. You can do it." Tim encouraged, "Gotta get this sprint in to make your nine minute mile."
I looked at the oncoming traffic.......I could get a lot of rest in a hospital bed.
"GO!!!" Tim yelled
Ah, God......I ran as fast as my dead legs would take me. Tim finished way ahead of me and I could see him watching the clock. I tried like hell to summon my inner Forrest Gump.
"I'm just runningguh......"
The very second I reached Tim's driveway I stopped and place my hands on my knees......That sucked.
Then Tim can over with the watch....Nine minute mile.
Well, maybe it didn't suck that bad after all.
I stood up, feeling victorious. All I have to do now is lift weights. I can handle that.
"Are you ready for Bring Sally Up, Bring Sally Down?" Tim asked
Um, what?
Bring Sally Up is a song by Moby that is also used in a pushup challenge. The concept is simple; you start in a down push up position and go up when you here the lyrics, "Bring Sally Up". You then go back down when you hear "Bring Sally Down."
Yes, simple concept......The execution however......
Tim: "Remember, you can't let your chest touch the ground."
That lasted about forty five seconds before my arms gave out. My chest and face hit the ground, and not delicately.
"Sally can go to Hell," I said, "You're not looping this song are you?"
From forty five seconds to the one minute fifty second mark where Tim finally gave out I floundered. I think I may have did one push up for every three of Tim's. Thank God we only did one set.
"Okay," said Tim as he shut off the music, "Ready for the ab workout?"
Uh.....
Hold legs six inches off the ground, followed by flutter kicks, followed by leg raises, followed by bicycles, followed by a plank ---- thirty seconds each, no break in between.
I did okay until I hit the bicycle. When I first started I couldn't feel my thighs; I had to looked down just to confirm that my legs were, in fact, still moving.
Man, I thought, I wish I could feel my thighs.
Wish granted.......Poof!!!
Both my thighs seized up at the same time. I let out a tiny shriek as my thighs cramped and curled up my legs.......I wish I couldn't feel my thighs.....I wish I couldn't feel my thighs.
I looked like a dead bug, laying on it's back with all it's limbs curled up and dangling in the air. I struggle to straighten my legs out and had just got them straightened when Tim said PLANK.....
I rolled over into a plank.
"This plank feels pretty good." Tim said.
"In a comparative sense I suppose so." I said.
"Are you ready to do two more."
I didn't even hesitate. "NO....."
"Okay, let's go lift"
After all this you would think that the weight room would have been a disaster when, in reality, it was the best part of the day.
I'm very stubborn about my weight room routine. I have always been a low weights, high reps kind of guy. I have never had any real interest in bulking up. Plus, at my age, I firmly believe that low weights and high reps is the way to go.
So whatever it is that Tim and I did, Tim went to the point of near failure while I did my low weights, high reps.
There were a few times he would tell me as I got ready to quit, "You got one more in you."
And he was right, I did.....But that would have meant that I would have stopped on an odd number.....And I can't do that.
I don't know where I picked up this superstition, but when I work out -- unless it's divisible by five, I cannot end on an odd number. When Tim was telling me I had enough for one more rep he was right ---- but that would have put me at an odd number indivisible by five. Nope, I can't do that.
Yeah....I don't know.
Anyway, I'm glad we finished the day with weight lifting because it ensured that the days workout would end on a high note.
Now that it's over.....would I do the same routine all over again? By myself? Honestly, probably not.
But if Tim were there to push me.....Yeah, I would.
When he dropped me off at the house he told me that he had one more run to go.......I thought he was nuts.
That was two days ago......and I'm still sore. But, oddly, it feels good. I think Tim may have sparked some long dormant workout embers residing deep within my soul. This weekend I will plan out a whole new routine. It won't be as crazy as Tim's, but I will say this. The next time he calls I plan on doing much better. Well, unless he calls next week......Cough, gasp, wheeze.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Young man...Old(er) man...
The Bridge...
While back in my old home town I showed Tera the bridge that I jumped off of when I was in high school. Her response:
Other examples of how the passing of time can change a man......
The Gridiron...
Football is great a way to illustrate the clear differences between young and old.
As a young man who just saw a teammate de-cleat an opponent:
"OOOOHHHHHH!!!! YEAH! THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT, BABY. THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT. WOO!!!"
As an older man who just witnessed the same de-cleater:
"OOOOHHHHH!!!! Jesus that looked painful. Is he gonna get up? I wouldn't.....I bet he has a concussion....
Diet (or lack thereof)...
Young man: Yeah, I'll have two big mac meals, supersized, and a Dr. Pepper with each. Thanks.
Older Man: I'll have the 6 oz. ribeye -- and can I get a box? I'm only going to eat half.
(Toby can eat not one, but TWO Chipotle burritos in one sitting --- and then go for ice cream afterwards. I'm insanely jealous.)
Music...
Young Man: Dude, check out my car stereo system. I got 6.5 Bose speakers in the front and back, a Pioneer head unit, 10 inch Rockford Fosgate subs with a Fosgate amp.....It's killer.
Older Man: You know a hearing aid is cheaper, right?
Young Man: Dude, check out the bass on this on song. Doesn't it hit hard?
Older Man: Your music shouldn't feel like it's punching you in the chest. Am I having heart palpitations?
(Okay....I have to admit. Toby has his first car and I'm just as geeked up about decking out his car as he is.....We are going to drive Momma crazy.)
Physical Fitness:
Young Man: Gotta work out at least four days a week. Gotta do that killer ab routine. Gotta get that v shape, the six pack, gotta get that separation between the biceps and triceps......
Older man: I gotta quit hurting myself. Shit, how long is this going to take to heal?
Young Man: Gotta work the core. Planks and crunches man.....Gotta lose the love handles.
Older man: I fear these love handles are a permanent fixture....Sigh. But, you know, should I ever get stranded in the wilderness that six pack, that lack of body fat, won't do me a lick of good. I mean, what if my love handles are the difference between dying in the woods or surviving to see my family again.
I better have another doughnut.
Drinking...
Young Man: Case of beer, bottle of Jack. Let's drink and watch the sun come up.
Older Man: Six pack. Drink one, fall asleep on the couch at 8:30 while only halfway through the second beer.
I'm sure I can think of more examples. But you get the idea.
If it sounds like I'm complaining I'm really not. I actually like being older. Sure, I don't move worth a shit anymore, my metabolism has slowed, and I can't drink like a I used to (actually don't miss that.....moderation is good) but as on older man I'm a lot more comfortable in my own skin.
Let the young ones run wild. I'll be content with sitting at home with a cup of coffee (or wine) and a book......A book that I have to hold far away from my face so that I can read it.
Bifocals anyone? Shit.....
While back in my old home town I showed Tera the bridge that I jumped off of when I was in high school. Her response:
As I gazed down and looked at the muddy greenish water below me I kind of wondered the same thing.
"Honestly, pumpkin, I have no idea what possessed me to take a leap ----- several times."
But that is me thinking as an older, middle aged man. There is something about losing that shroud of youthful invincibility that changes your perspective on the world. Which, in my case, turned out to be a very good thing.
Young man: Woooo!!!!
Older man (I'm not going to OLD just yet): There could be anything floating beneath the surface.....I could, like, get impaled by a large tree branch or something.
Young man: Hold on, I gotta take off my shoes...These are my good Nikes.
Older man: I bet that river water is going to make my car smell.
Young man: Do you wanna live forever? Woo-hoo! (splash)
Older man: I'd like to survive today....
I was once told that before I jumped I needed to be on the look out for any groups of v shaped waves --- Gar.
Young man: No problem.
Older man: Yeah, shit on this. I'm out.
"Honestly, pumpkin, I have no idea what possessed me to take a leap ----- several times."
But that is me thinking as an older, middle aged man. There is something about losing that shroud of youthful invincibility that changes your perspective on the world. Which, in my case, turned out to be a very good thing.
Young man: Woooo!!!!
Older man (I'm not going to OLD just yet): There could be anything floating beneath the surface.....I could, like, get impaled by a large tree branch or something.
Young man: Hold on, I gotta take off my shoes...These are my good Nikes.
Older man: I bet that river water is going to make my car smell.
Young man: Do you wanna live forever? Woo-hoo! (splash)
Older man: I'd like to survive today....
I was once told that before I jumped I needed to be on the look out for any groups of v shaped waves --- Gar.
Young man: No problem.
Older man: Yeah, shit on this. I'm out.
Other examples of how the passing of time can change a man......
The Gridiron...
Football is great a way to illustrate the clear differences between young and old.
As a young man who just saw a teammate de-cleat an opponent:
"OOOOHHHHHH!!!! YEAH! THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT, BABY. THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT. WOO!!!"
As an older man who just witnessed the same de-cleater:
"OOOOHHHHH!!!! Jesus that looked painful. Is he gonna get up? I wouldn't.....I bet he has a concussion....
Diet (or lack thereof)...
Young man: Yeah, I'll have two big mac meals, supersized, and a Dr. Pepper with each. Thanks.
Older Man: I'll have the 6 oz. ribeye -- and can I get a box? I'm only going to eat half.
(Toby can eat not one, but TWO Chipotle burritos in one sitting --- and then go for ice cream afterwards. I'm insanely jealous.)
Music...
Young Man: Dude, check out my car stereo system. I got 6.5 Bose speakers in the front and back, a Pioneer head unit, 10 inch Rockford Fosgate subs with a Fosgate amp.....It's killer.
Older Man: You know a hearing aid is cheaper, right?
Young Man: Dude, check out the bass on this on song. Doesn't it hit hard?
Older Man: Your music shouldn't feel like it's punching you in the chest. Am I having heart palpitations?
(Okay....I have to admit. Toby has his first car and I'm just as geeked up about decking out his car as he is.....We are going to drive Momma crazy.)
Physical Fitness:
Young Man: Gotta work out at least four days a week. Gotta do that killer ab routine. Gotta get that v shape, the six pack, gotta get that separation between the biceps and triceps......
Older man: I gotta quit hurting myself. Shit, how long is this going to take to heal?
Young Man: Gotta work the core. Planks and crunches man.....Gotta lose the love handles.
Older man: I fear these love handles are a permanent fixture....Sigh. But, you know, should I ever get stranded in the wilderness that six pack, that lack of body fat, won't do me a lick of good. I mean, what if my love handles are the difference between dying in the woods or surviving to see my family again.
I better have another doughnut.
Drinking...
Young Man: Case of beer, bottle of Jack. Let's drink and watch the sun come up.
Older Man: Six pack. Drink one, fall asleep on the couch at 8:30 while only halfway through the second beer.
I'm sure I can think of more examples. But you get the idea.
If it sounds like I'm complaining I'm really not. I actually like being older. Sure, I don't move worth a shit anymore, my metabolism has slowed, and I can't drink like a I used to (actually don't miss that.....moderation is good) but as on older man I'm a lot more comfortable in my own skin.
Let the young ones run wild. I'll be content with sitting at home with a cup of coffee (or wine) and a book......A book that I have to hold far away from my face so that I can read it.
Bifocals anyone? Shit.....
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