Sunday, March 18, 2018

Triathlon Day without me

It's 6:10 a.m. on a Sunday morning. I should be eating a piece of toast with peanut butter and washing it down with a large glass of water.

I should be putting on my trisuit and checking my sports bag to make sure I have everything I need -- helmet, shoes, socks, sunglasses, towel, swim goggles, race belt.

I should be looking over my bicycle to make sure the race numbers are attached properly and that nothing has been knocked amiss, like stuck brakes or a whopper jawed seat.

I should be jumping up and down with excitement, my heart beating as fast as if I was actually participating in the Triathlon that is set to start in less than two hours.

But I'm not.

I'm at home with a squid-like heart monitor hanging from my neck, it's tentacle wire leads attached to my chest with suction cups, and I have this feeling that at any moment it's going to rip me apart and start to feed.

Over dramatic? Well, maybe a bit.

Thirty-two weeks of training for a Sprint Triathlon down the toilet just because my body decided to "act out" like a teenager who's been caught skipping class with his girlfriend, Rita, but "we didn't do anything, really, we just went to the lake and skipped stones and drank a few beers, it's nothing to get all upset about, everybody does it, just chill."

Last Sunday, after my wife and I got home from watching a movie, I discovered I had lost the peripheral vision in my right eye. To be looking straight ahead and not being able to see my right hand in front of my face was a really weird sensation. And then, when I tried to ask my wife where the ibuprofen was, the words coming out of my mouth came out in a different order than I had intended.

The whole episode lasted less than 20 minutes, but I spent the next two nights in the hospital.

Hospital beds suck!

I'm home now, of course. I've been home since Tuesday. But since spending two nights in the hospital is equivalent to spending two weeks in the hospital, I decided on Wednesday morning that doing a Triathlon at the end of the week -- today, Sunday -- was a bit more than I wanted to handle.

So, Wednesday morning I went for a 1.8 mile walk around the block. Oh, it felt so good to get out and stretch my legs.

Thursday I went to the gym and spent an hour on the treadmill.

Friday I went trail running at Lake Bob Sandlin State Park.

Saturday I went to our local wellness center and swam a bit.

And Sunday, today, I'll probably rest awhile, wash some dishes, and get ready to go back to work after a short but eventful spring break.

Thirty-two weeks of training down the toilet? Well, not really.

I've lost more than 30 pounds.

I feel better than I have in years.

And I'll be ready for the next triathlon that happens in May.

Monday, January 1, 2018

The first post of 2018

No resolutions.
No plans or schemes.
This year will be unlike any other.
No illusions or dreams,

but maybe I'll run a bit,
and maybe I'll knit,
I might even change jobs
or flitter and flit

from one day to the next
not caring of direction,
just go where the wind blows;
but then on reflection,

I have a few goals,
a few lofty desires,
and if I'm real lucky
a few will transpire

and the rest will come crashing down
just like past resolutions.

So I guess I'll just wait
and see how it all comes out,
no rhyme, no reason,
nothing to write home about.

And that is my first post,
the first of the year.
Sort of melancholy, I know,
but I thought I'd try to be a bit more sincere this year.

At least for today.

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Tomorrow is too late

Stan Sullivan was a friend of mine. We were stationed in the UK together during the Gulf War. After he retired from the Air Force in 1992 and I moved back to Texas, we eventually lost touch with each other. For the past couple of years I've been looking for Stan, wanting to re-connect, to get back together, share a few puns (he loved coming up with new ones), but he hated computers and technology, which made him hard to find.

Until it was too late.

I found out today that Stanton A. Sullivan died in 2007. I don't know how it happened -- car accident, health issues -- but he was only 54, and I was 10 years too late to renew a friendship that once meant a lot to me.

If you have an old friend you haven't spoken to in years, today would be a great time to get back in touch. Maybe you can call them, write, or meet each other at Whataburger and enjoy a bit of catch up with your fries.

Saturday, December 16, 2017

All I want for Christmas is a tumbleweed

I wrote this little verse several years ago with the hope of convincing my wife we needed a tumbleweed for a Christmas Tree.

I'm still hoping.

O Christmas Tumbleweed, O Christmas Tumbleweed,
your dried-up twigs are okie-doke.
O Christmas Tumbleweed, O Christmas Tumbleweed,
your dried-up twigs are okie-doke.

We rolled you in without a doubt,
When Christmas's done, we'll roll you out.

O Christmas Tumbleweed, O Christmas Tumbleweed,
your dried-up twigs are okie-doke.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

If you can't smile, fake it

I'm sure historians will look back at our time and ask,
"What they hell were they thinking?
Were they all fast asleep, or stoned out on crack,
or maybe passed out from their drinking

five shots and three beers every night wouldn't do it,
they'd have to drink gallons and gallons.
Or maybe a plague of good old fashion stupid
made all of them just throw the towel in."

Not all of us, sir, of that you can take
to the bank, if you get my expression.
For some of us fought back with knuckles and words,
and how dare you even bring up the question

of our integrity, our honor, our love for our brothers,
our knowing what's good from what's evil.
But I will admit it looks bad on the face of it;
barkeep, set us up with more refills

while I bury my face in my hands at the thought
of our progeny questioning our marbles.
"Did they have some? Who cares, they're all dead. How 'bout pizza?"
And the world moves on. It's a marvel.

Just fine

Monday, December 11, 2017

Don't just sit, learn to knit

Adventures come in all sizes, shapes, and colors. Some are short and slow, others long and fast. Some go around the world, and some stay right at home with a pair of sticks and some string trying to make useful stuff.

Ok. Yes. I'm learning to knit. So what. It's my adventure.

And as a beginner, here's the first thing I completed:

Knitted Cat Barf

Knitted Cat Barf.

Throw it down on the floor and watch the missus kick her favorite feline right out the door.

(It happened like this: I was navigating my way around knittery and accidentally dropped this abomination on the living room floor. Later that night, my wife came across it and her first thought was the cat had barfed up on the carpet again. Boy, was she surprised when she took a closer look. We both shared a good chuckle.)

That's right! KNITTED CAT BARF. Order yours today and I'm pert near positive it will get to your house sometime before it's supposed to.

The next thing I created will be useful on Talk Like A Pirate Day:

Knitted Pirate Eye Patch

Knitted Pirate Eye Patch.

All the cool kids are shunning them for some reason.

Anyway, those are my introductory knitting pieces. And who knows? Maybe I'll keep at it and make MORE useful stuff.

Anything's possible.

Saturday, December 9, 2017