I wanted to write something good because I have been posting so much whinny stuff and all the danger of finding the cave and the wild animals. Monday was a pretty good day in terms of work, exercise, and food consumption. At work, I graded some papers and recorded a bunch of grades in Canvas. This time of semester is always a particularly hard time for English profs. Papers come flooding in and exams are coming up next week and the race is on to stay off the bad list. Deadlines and not real. A four o'clock deadline for Thursday afternoon means you better have your grades in by ten that morning or you get on the list. The list is an email sent to everyone who works for the school, has worked for the school, has ever attended a class there, or who had driven by in a car. The list says, "These teachers have not submitted final grades." And then a list follows. I hate the list, and consequently I make a lot of errors in my rush to get the grades in before the real deadline which we really don't know when it is.
Besides a good day at work, I had a nice long walk. Of course "long" is a contextual word, as they all are, but it was my longest over the past several months. I hobbled 5.05 miles and then spent the rest of the evening grading papers and hanging out with the cats. What I did not do was eat. No, I didn't even take my protein shake but did without. This morning I awoke to the scales telling me I weighed 179.6. I know, I know, but I am in the fight and it is going right. That gives me a little kick in the pants that I desperately needed.
Today? I might take a ride on my mountain bike. Friday when we went to Jackson, I took the front wheel in to Indian Cycle and had it repaired. It was missing four spokes (!!!!) but now it's ready to ride. That will take some pressure off my knees and give me some variety in my activity. And then maybe Wednesday I can walk farther than Monday. God give me what I need to say no to excessive food. By the grace of God, I can do this.
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Monday, November 27, 2017
11/20 - 11/26
Despite all the eating, I held serve. I did not lose the .2 pounds that I set for my weekly goal, but I weighed 183 last Monday morning and 183 this Monday morning. With all the festivities, parties, invites, and food traps, I take that as a victory. Now maybe I can actually lose some this week.
Monday I did some yard work, some air squats, and 4.49 miles of walking. Tuesday I hunted the dogs. This is when I discovered that cave. The total for the outing was 2.11 miles.
Wednesday I took John to the doctors in Jackson. In case you are wondering, that is a plural not a possessive. We saw several physicians. John has to have surgery on his right ankle, and has a case of pneumonia to boot. It was a full day and part of the night which left no time to exercise. The positive was that we were so busy we didn't have time to eat. On the way home, John opted to not stop, so although I ate some when I got home, I only had two meals.
Thursday was, of course, big food day. In the past, I would leave the house early and run all the way to Hillbilly Heaven, 15.8 miles. Will those days ever come back? I did do a little walking (2.51) with our daughter and grandchildren after lunch.
Friday, Penny and i went to Jackson. I squeezed in 2.82 miles of hobbling around some parking lots while my sweetie wife shopped. Saturday, we had our third Thanksgiving meal, this one with our son and Paul Brown. I tried to hold the consumption to just one plate, but the food was musty. I musty have more and more. Later in the afternoon, I tried to limit the damage by walking 4.51 miles.
The swimming is done. The weightlifting is done. I would never even attempt a single stroke with the way the shoulder is feeling now, and it is getting worse every day. I tried to call Dr. Culpepper today to start the MRI ball to rolling. No one answered. Do they close on Mondays? I don't know; I'll try again tomorrow. It is abundantly clear to me that there will be no Chicot Challenge in 2018. Yeah, it hits hard, but what can I do? I've been trying to think of another challenge to replace it. Maybe I could do a walk. Maybe a bicycle ride. I even thought of an eating challenge, but that is the opposite of one of the things I aim to achieve in these efforts: health and fitness. I could do a tobacco spitting contest/challenge, but I stopped all tobacco use many years ago.
Sigh.
I can't help but wonder why. Why would He let this happen to me? Maybe swimming has become too much a part of my identity so it has to be removed. I do love it, but I always thought we should relish the life God gave us, live it, get in the game. Now I am reduced to being a spectator, a wannabe, a has been.
Praise the Lord anyway. "Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the Lord."
Monday I did some yard work, some air squats, and 4.49 miles of walking. Tuesday I hunted the dogs. This is when I discovered that cave. The total for the outing was 2.11 miles.
Wednesday I took John to the doctors in Jackson. In case you are wondering, that is a plural not a possessive. We saw several physicians. John has to have surgery on his right ankle, and has a case of pneumonia to boot. It was a full day and part of the night which left no time to exercise. The positive was that we were so busy we didn't have time to eat. On the way home, John opted to not stop, so although I ate some when I got home, I only had two meals.
Thursday was, of course, big food day. In the past, I would leave the house early and run all the way to Hillbilly Heaven, 15.8 miles. Will those days ever come back? I did do a little walking (2.51) with our daughter and grandchildren after lunch.
Friday, Penny and i went to Jackson. I squeezed in 2.82 miles of hobbling around some parking lots while my sweetie wife shopped. Saturday, we had our third Thanksgiving meal, this one with our son and Paul Brown. I tried to hold the consumption to just one plate, but the food was musty. I musty have more and more. Later in the afternoon, I tried to limit the damage by walking 4.51 miles.
The swimming is done. The weightlifting is done. I would never even attempt a single stroke with the way the shoulder is feeling now, and it is getting worse every day. I tried to call Dr. Culpepper today to start the MRI ball to rolling. No one answered. Do they close on Mondays? I don't know; I'll try again tomorrow. It is abundantly clear to me that there will be no Chicot Challenge in 2018. Yeah, it hits hard, but what can I do? I've been trying to think of another challenge to replace it. Maybe I could do a walk. Maybe a bicycle ride. I even thought of an eating challenge, but that is the opposite of one of the things I aim to achieve in these efforts: health and fitness. I could do a tobacco spitting contest/challenge, but I stopped all tobacco use many years ago.
Sigh.
I can't help but wonder why. Why would He let this happen to me? Maybe swimming has become too much a part of my identity so it has to be removed. I do love it, but I always thought we should relish the life God gave us, live it, get in the game. Now I am reduced to being a spectator, a wannabe, a has been.
Praise the Lord anyway. "Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the Lord."
Saturday, November 25, 2017
Lottery
The typical response to one of my blog posts is 40 - 60 page views. My last piece of writing, "It Happened," as of this morning has been viewed 630 times. Remember, this was about my discovery of a cave in Carroll County and some weird happenings that left me and my hounds shaken, frightened, and confused. Not only has the post attracted lots of attention, but 59 times someone has commented on the Facebook link. Over and over, I am receiving responses from people requesting to be a part of the team, the group to go back and search, explore, shoot, or whatever is needed.
Due to the high interest and the excessive number of volunteers, I will be conducting a lottery to draw for five spots. I have not determined an exact date for the drawing or the precise manner to pull names from a hat? a box? or a sack? I want to give this some serious thought because I am sure some folks are going to be disappointed, but I can't take everyone.
Not only that, but I need to take the time to write up a suitable release. To make this trip, you will have to sign and have notarized a document releasing me and/or my heirs of any and all responsibility for injury up to and including death, emotional trauma, and post traumatic stress disorder. I feel that this is a reasonable requirement considering the possible dangers involved in an undertaking of this manner.
Stay tuned for more information.
Due to the high interest and the excessive number of volunteers, I will be conducting a lottery to draw for five spots. I have not determined an exact date for the drawing or the precise manner to pull names from a hat? a box? or a sack? I want to give this some serious thought because I am sure some folks are going to be disappointed, but I can't take everyone.
Not only that, but I need to take the time to write up a suitable release. To make this trip, you will have to sign and have notarized a document releasing me and/or my heirs of any and all responsibility for injury up to and including death, emotional trauma, and post traumatic stress disorder. I feel that this is a reasonable requirement considering the possible dangers involved in an undertaking of this manner.
Stay tuned for more information.
Thursday, November 23, 2017
It Happened
I had never seen it and there is no way it was there when I was a boy. I have rambled this land, these hills, this gully since I was eight years old, first with my dad hunting birds, later on my own stalking squirrels, hunting deer, chasing hounds and raccoons.
I was shocked at its size and naturally drew closer to take a look. Standing on the east edge of the gully, my gaze was transfixed on the largest Carroll County cave I had ever seen or heard of. "Wow!" I said out loud. Then my eyes began a furious search for a route down the forty foot gully and up the other side. I had to have a closer look.
Bear, my wife's full-sized, mixed-breed dog, followed as I eased over the edge, dug my heals into the side and went sideways until I found a clear path, then slid down a carpet of leave on my back for about thirty feet before dropping off a ledge to fall the final eight feet onto the soft sand below. Pee Wee, the little mixed rescue that I am attempting to make a squirrel dog of, was absent, out somewhere looking for a squirrel or something to trail to try to bite.
From the dry creek, I scanned the slope above and decided on a path I thought I could do. It started with me digging my knees into the soft soil of the steep side and knee walking up, slowly, while pulling myself from sapling to sapling. Finally, I made it to a spot at a log just below the cave. Bear was there and when I looked down, Pee Wee had shown up in the dry creek below and looked up at us with what seemed like an interest in what we were doing.
In nothing flat, Bear, Pee Wee, and me were peering over a log and into the side of the dark gash of a cave. Immediately the hackles on both hounds rose. I tried to look inside, but all I could see was darkness. I was able to make out what looked like a trail about two feet wide going into the cave. The soil was compacted there in contrast with the softer dirt on either side. I failed to find any tracks, however, and was interrupted by some sort of shuffling sound coming from the darkness before us. The dogs went crazy.
They both barked with a fervor and fear I had never witnessed. This made me nervous so I knee walked and pulled myself around the side of the cave and up over the ledge at the top.
The dogs followed and above they quieted some but continued to bark a bit. Then I, we, heard some sort of growl. I don't know what it was, but the image that popped up in my mind was a bear. The dogs went nuts again, and I began to run-- not too fast because of my aged knees-- away from the cave and towards the truck which was a little over a half mile away.
After about 150 yards, I stopped to catch my breath and look back to see if we were being followed. I didn't see anything coming after us, but while we were there, the loudest, most hideous yell rang out from the direction of the cave that I have ever heard. The dogs again went nuts and fought each other to sit on my shoes. Then another yell broke out, as if in answer to the first one, ahead and to the side of us. It sounded like it came from around Dad's shooting house.
I loaded my 20 gauge shotgun and fired back towards the cave and then towards the other yell. I wanted whatever that was to know I was armed. When I tried to walk, I kept tripping over the dogs who couldn't get close enough to me. I hate to admit it, but I kicked at them a few times trying to get room to move my legs. Finally, we got to the truck and Pee Wee, who never wants to load but rather keep hunting, couldn't wait for me to open the door. When I climbed in, I had to push and push the dogs away to get enough room to drive because both hounds wanted to be in my lap. We were a couple of miles down the road before I realized I had not shut the gate. I didn't go back.
I don't know what made those yells, but now three days later I am still pretty shaken up. I don't think I will ever feel safe out there again. I am also curious. I want to make another trip to the cave, but I will never do it alone. If you are interested in forming a team, message me on Facebook. I want two photographers (one with a video recorder), and at least two people with guns who know how to use them. We will need some strong flashlights and some rope and some walkie talkies.
Serious inquiries only, please.
I was shocked at its size and naturally drew closer to take a look. Standing on the east edge of the gully, my gaze was transfixed on the largest Carroll County cave I had ever seen or heard of. "Wow!" I said out loud. Then my eyes began a furious search for a route down the forty foot gully and up the other side. I had to have a closer look.
 |
| My view of the cave from the dry creek. Notice the leaf-covered trail below it. |
Bear, my wife's full-sized, mixed-breed dog, followed as I eased over the edge, dug my heals into the side and went sideways until I found a clear path, then slid down a carpet of leave on my back for about thirty feet before dropping off a ledge to fall the final eight feet onto the soft sand below. Pee Wee, the little mixed rescue that I am attempting to make a squirrel dog of, was absent, out somewhere looking for a squirrel or something to trail to try to bite.
 |
| Bear. He's not a hunter, but he's on the team. |
From the dry creek, I scanned the slope above and decided on a path I thought I could do. It started with me digging my knees into the soft soil of the steep side and knee walking up, slowly, while pulling myself from sapling to sapling. Finally, I made it to a spot at a log just below the cave. Bear was there and when I looked down, Pee Wee had shown up in the dry creek below and looked up at us with what seemed like an interest in what we were doing.
 |
| Pee Wee doing his thing. |
In nothing flat, Bear, Pee Wee, and me were peering over a log and into the side of the dark gash of a cave. Immediately the hackles on both hounds rose. I tried to look inside, but all I could see was darkness. I was able to make out what looked like a trail about two feet wide going into the cave. The soil was compacted there in contrast with the softer dirt on either side. I failed to find any tracks, however, and was interrupted by some sort of shuffling sound coming from the darkness before us. The dogs went crazy.
 |
| A closer look at the mouth of the cave and the log from where we tried to peer inside. |
They both barked with a fervor and fear I had never witnessed. This made me nervous so I knee walked and pulled myself around the side of the cave and up over the ledge at the top.
The dogs followed and above they quieted some but continued to bark a bit. Then I, we, heard some sort of growl. I don't know what it was, but the image that popped up in my mind was a bear. The dogs went nuts again, and I began to run-- not too fast because of my aged knees-- away from the cave and towards the truck which was a little over a half mile away.
After about 150 yards, I stopped to catch my breath and look back to see if we were being followed. I didn't see anything coming after us, but while we were there, the loudest, most hideous yell rang out from the direction of the cave that I have ever heard. The dogs again went nuts and fought each other to sit on my shoes. Then another yell broke out, as if in answer to the first one, ahead and to the side of us. It sounded like it came from around Dad's shooting house.
I loaded my 20 gauge shotgun and fired back towards the cave and then towards the other yell. I wanted whatever that was to know I was armed. When I tried to walk, I kept tripping over the dogs who couldn't get close enough to me. I hate to admit it, but I kicked at them a few times trying to get room to move my legs. Finally, we got to the truck and Pee Wee, who never wants to load but rather keep hunting, couldn't wait for me to open the door. When I climbed in, I had to push and push the dogs away to get enough room to drive because both hounds wanted to be in my lap. We were a couple of miles down the road before I realized I had not shut the gate. I didn't go back.
I don't know what made those yells, but now three days later I am still pretty shaken up. I don't think I will ever feel safe out there again. I am also curious. I want to make another trip to the cave, but I will never do it alone. If you are interested in forming a team, message me on Facebook. I want two photographers (one with a video recorder), and at least two people with guns who know how to use them. We will need some strong flashlights and some rope and some walkie talkies.
Serious inquiries only, please.
Dog Outing
Tuesday afternoon I took the dogs and headed to Carroll County. The leaves are coming down and the squirrels will soon follow. We rambled the woods and bush for an hour and a half. Pee Wee barked up a tree early after we got there. There was an open field between me and the woods he was in. Before Bear and I could get there, he met us in the field.
This brings me to a dilemma. He doesn't know what he is doing. He knows he is a hunter and he hunts. But he doesn't know how or even what he is hunting. According to a friend of mine who raises and trains mountain curs, I need to get an expensive Garmin GPS that will attach to him and show me where he is all the time. When he trees, I mark it on the Garmin, catch Pee Wee, and take him to the tree and tie him while I search for the squirrel.
The question is if it is worth it to put in 600 bucks into a device to train this dog. Not only is that a lot of money, but how long I will have a place to hunt is also in question. The land in Carroll County may be sold. My siblings and I now own it and we are in the process of determining what we will do with it. I want to keep it, but I am just one vote. Without it, I have no place to run dogs in search of something for them to bite. Let me take that back. I still have Hillbilly Heaven, but the loss of Hodge Ski Lodge would seriously constrict my rambling room.
When we finished our romp over the place, Pee Wee didn't want to get in the truck so I locked the gate and took off at over twenty miles per hour. Pee Wee loved it. he was out in front and pulling away from the auto. That dog is amazing and indefatigable. I turned in at the bottom where we sometime make a round in a forty acre section that is thick in small trees. He came back, and I once more tried to get him. But he wanted to hunt some more. He bolted down the bottom and stopped about eighty meters away. He looked back at me and looked into the bush. He knew I wanted him in the truck, but he wanted to hunt some more.
He hit the bush and I sat down away from the truck and waited. He made a loop and a few minutes later came sheepishly out of the trees and crawled into my lap. I wasn't mad. How could I be. He just has a lot on energy and a big drive to hunt. i gathered him in my arms and carried back to the truck so he couldn't bust off again. As soon as we started moving, he was from window to window with that high intensity look trying to find something to bark at. Since he couldn't find anything to bark at, he barked at nothing. Yeah, he is that full of it.
I walked 2.11 miles on our hunt. That was my exercise for the day. The dogs had fun, and I know where I am with my canine project.
Tuesday, November 21, 2017
Tis the Season to Be, Uh, Fat
You know how it is. Many won't even try this time of year. They give up, throw in the towel, tap out. Not me. Not this time.
Oh, I have done it a lot. Lately even. But finally I really did hit bottom when I hit the top of the weight scale Monday a week ago. I lost two pounds over that week. Look what I face this week:
Monday - over 60 meeting at Itta Bena Baptist, catered my Larry's Fish House.
Wednesday = a trip to Jackson with John which means at least one fast food meal.
Thursday - Thanksgiving which means way too much food times two. We eat at my in-law's for lunch, and my siblings and I meet at Mom's for supper and the Egg Bowl.
Friday - a trip to Jackson with my wife which mean at least once restaurant meal.
Saturday - Thanksgiving number three with Forrest Hodge and Paul Brown.
Sunday - we always eat lunch out.
Every time I eat out, the scale says I weight three pounds more the next morning. Really, that is not an exaggeration. That means I will gain 18 pounds this week.
I'll shoot myself first.
It is not just a matter of vanity. No, I don't want my stomach poking out. I think it looks ridiculous, and I don't want to be 'that guy.'
It's not just a matter of athletic performance. Yes, the extra weight is good for nothing except cold water swimming which I am no good at anyway.
It's not just a matter of me outgrowing all my clothes. Yes, I had to purchase new pants within the last month.
It's not just a matter of I can't stand the way this feels. Yes, I am miserable with my weight, and find it difficult to breathe and restrictive to certain movements.
It is very much a matter of health. Yes, I've heard of "healthy fat," but I'm pretty sure that with my genetics that can't be me. I just watched my mother die of a dreadful condition that was brought on by a very preventable one. She never abused her health. She never did anything to invite illness. She lived an exemplary life of love and service and sacrifice. She was only a little overweight for a few years. She paid dearly for that. If I don't change my weight and change it permanently, I fear I face the same fate, and it is not a pretty one.
Last week, an old friend phoned my and while we chatted, he revealed his recent diagnosis of the same thing that killed my mother. He has another terminal illness (lucky guy), and though I didn't tell him, in my mind I thought, I hope the first one gets him because he has no idea what he's in for with the second one.
No matter how much we may think about it, I am convinced we all take our health for granted. God forgive me for this omission and help me to be more thankful for and a better steward of the health you have gifted me with.
Hey, I had a victory, or at least a tie, this week. In preparation for Monday night, I walked 4.35 miles and did some squats. This morning? The same, my weight was the same. At least I didn't gain. Now I have another five days and six dangerous meals to deal with. My goal for the week is to lose .2 of a pound. That is almost nothing, but with the lineup I face, that will be a real victory. What do you think, will I make it?
"Thanks be to God Who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
Oh, I have done it a lot. Lately even. But finally I really did hit bottom when I hit the top of the weight scale Monday a week ago. I lost two pounds over that week. Look what I face this week:
Monday - over 60 meeting at Itta Bena Baptist, catered my Larry's Fish House.
Wednesday = a trip to Jackson with John which means at least one fast food meal.
Thursday - Thanksgiving which means way too much food times two. We eat at my in-law's for lunch, and my siblings and I meet at Mom's for supper and the Egg Bowl.
Friday - a trip to Jackson with my wife which mean at least once restaurant meal.
Saturday - Thanksgiving number three with Forrest Hodge and Paul Brown.
Sunday - we always eat lunch out.
Every time I eat out, the scale says I weight three pounds more the next morning. Really, that is not an exaggeration. That means I will gain 18 pounds this week.
I'll shoot myself first.
It is not just a matter of vanity. No, I don't want my stomach poking out. I think it looks ridiculous, and I don't want to be 'that guy.'
It's not just a matter of athletic performance. Yes, the extra weight is good for nothing except cold water swimming which I am no good at anyway.
It's not just a matter of me outgrowing all my clothes. Yes, I had to purchase new pants within the last month.
It's not just a matter of I can't stand the way this feels. Yes, I am miserable with my weight, and find it difficult to breathe and restrictive to certain movements.
It is very much a matter of health. Yes, I've heard of "healthy fat," but I'm pretty sure that with my genetics that can't be me. I just watched my mother die of a dreadful condition that was brought on by a very preventable one. She never abused her health. She never did anything to invite illness. She lived an exemplary life of love and service and sacrifice. She was only a little overweight for a few years. She paid dearly for that. If I don't change my weight and change it permanently, I fear I face the same fate, and it is not a pretty one.
Last week, an old friend phoned my and while we chatted, he revealed his recent diagnosis of the same thing that killed my mother. He has another terminal illness (lucky guy), and though I didn't tell him, in my mind I thought, I hope the first one gets him because he has no idea what he's in for with the second one.
No matter how much we may think about it, I am convinced we all take our health for granted. God forgive me for this omission and help me to be more thankful for and a better steward of the health you have gifted me with.
Hey, I had a victory, or at least a tie, this week. In preparation for Monday night, I walked 4.35 miles and did some squats. This morning? The same, my weight was the same. At least I didn't gain. Now I have another five days and six dangerous meals to deal with. My goal for the week is to lose .2 of a pound. That is almost nothing, but with the lineup I face, that will be a real victory. What do you think, will I make it?
"Thanks be to God Who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
Monday, November 20, 2017
11/13 - 11/19
It was a better week. I really don't like to do the kind of whining I did in that last weekly roundup. You know, the dated post that I do every Monday. When I posted a link on Facebook, I even wrote, "Don't read this." I meant that. The reason I put it out there was to make it available to the two or three people who really want to know, who read to keep up. The reason I wrote it was to vent, to get it out so to speak. It helped a little. I am not fully out of that rut. I am still mourning my mother, and certain body parts still aren't working correctly. I still cry everyday, and I still can't do the things that have defined my life for the last decade and a half. But I am better. Thanks be to God, I am better.
My weight was down two pounds this morning. The way I track my weight is to compare Monday morning with Monday morning. Over the years I have noticed certain patterns in my weekly weight. One pattern is that I am always heaviest on Mondays. Last week, my weight went down five pounds in three days. But I knew the real number would be what I weighed the next Monday. The real number was -2. That's not a lot, but finally something is going in the right direction.
One reason this is going in the right direction is I got out and started doing what I could. Monday, I walked a total of 2.57 miles and did some light lifting. Tuesday I did more lifting and walked 2.34 miles. Wednesday I walked 2.6.
Thursday I walked 3.3 and did some leg lifting. Friday, my exercise was confined to working in the yard where I managed to get in 1.53 miles. And Saturday I walked 4.15 and did some air squats before and during the walk. I did not swim because I was too lazy to make the drive to DSU and too wimpy to climb into the cool water at Twin Rivers. But overall, I count the week as a victory. I did 16.49 miles of walking and lifted weights three times.
I am, however, having serious doubts about Chicot next year. I plan to get the MRI and go from there, but either my shoulder is too messed up or my faith is too week, but after 21 weeks, I still can swim only a little and the shoulder is worse. This is just one of the things that has been pressing me down.
Thanks be to God anyway.
My weight was down two pounds this morning. The way I track my weight is to compare Monday morning with Monday morning. Over the years I have noticed certain patterns in my weekly weight. One pattern is that I am always heaviest on Mondays. Last week, my weight went down five pounds in three days. But I knew the real number would be what I weighed the next Monday. The real number was -2. That's not a lot, but finally something is going in the right direction.
One reason this is going in the right direction is I got out and started doing what I could. Monday, I walked a total of 2.57 miles and did some light lifting. Tuesday I did more lifting and walked 2.34 miles. Wednesday I walked 2.6.
Thursday I walked 3.3 and did some leg lifting. Friday, my exercise was confined to working in the yard where I managed to get in 1.53 miles. And Saturday I walked 4.15 and did some air squats before and during the walk. I did not swim because I was too lazy to make the drive to DSU and too wimpy to climb into the cool water at Twin Rivers. But overall, I count the week as a victory. I did 16.49 miles of walking and lifted weights three times.
I am, however, having serious doubts about Chicot next year. I plan to get the MRI and go from there, but either my shoulder is too messed up or my faith is too week, but after 21 weeks, I still can swim only a little and the shoulder is worse. This is just one of the things that has been pressing me down.
Thanks be to God anyway.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
Thanksgiving Vacation Day Two and Three
Danny Collins and I met at the Aluvian for breakfast at 8:45 Saturday morning. We do that every three or four months. This was how I began day two of the vacation. We had a nice meal, some good conversation, and managed some real catching up. It was my pleasure to be able to give him some photographs of his late brother, Howard. I worked with Howard for twenty-nine years, and we did stuff together. These pictures were from some old race albums my mom used to shoot, develop, and put together of the races Dad, Quinton, Howard, I, and others did. When I went through these albums, dating back to 1981 and found Howard, I knew right away I had to get them to Danny.
After breakfast, I did some studying for Sunday, watched college football, and hung out with the cats. It was a nice, relaxing day. About mid-afternoon, I went out for a walk and did 4.1 miles after first doing a set of air squats. I did another set at the turn around on Wade Road. The rain hit when I got home preventing me from doing some more weightlifting. No problem, there were still more games on. It was a nice day. The cats liked it, Mississippi State won, and Ole Miss lost. What's not to like?
Sunday, I preached a thanksgiving message at Centerville, and we had an eating after service. Trevor won the eating contest and Penny came in second. It was a nice time. We got home around 1:15, and I spent the rest of the afternoon taking naps and sweet talking cats. Life is good. Thank you Jesus.
After breakfast, I did some studying for Sunday, watched college football, and hung out with the cats. It was a nice, relaxing day. About mid-afternoon, I went out for a walk and did 4.1 miles after first doing a set of air squats. I did another set at the turn around on Wade Road. The rain hit when I got home preventing me from doing some more weightlifting. No problem, there were still more games on. It was a nice day. The cats liked it, Mississippi State won, and Ole Miss lost. What's not to like?
Sunday, I preached a thanksgiving message at Centerville, and we had an eating after service. Trevor won the eating contest and Penny came in second. It was a nice time. We got home around 1:15, and I spent the rest of the afternoon taking naps and sweet talking cats. Life is good. Thank you Jesus.
Saturday, November 18, 2017
Thanksgiving Vacation Day One
I've had a better week. But I'll talk about that later in my weekly roundup that I usually post on Monday. Wanting to keep the good week going, I determined ahead of time to be productive every day of my time off from work. Last year and over the summer, I let whole days slip by, days that I couldn't seem to put my car in gear, so to speak. So Friday morning I got up only a few minutes after my wife did. I should have made myself a list because I forgot something pretty important that I really wanted to do. But below is what I did get done.
After some blogging and coffee drinking with the cats, I climbed out of bed and hit the yard for some needed work. I have been wanting to clean the front up and "lay it by" as the old mule farmers used to say after the seasons last plowing. So I mowed the front, trimmed around the flower beds, and edged the driveway. It's amazing how much difference the trimming and edging make. There are still a few things I need to do in the front before I shift to the back. As far as the front yard grass goes, it is laid by for the year.
I then went to Mom's to pick up newspapers, take in the mail, and crank her truck. The truck didn't start. That battery-- several batteries in a row-- have refused to hold a charge over a few days if it is not started. So in the process of looking for my jumper cables-- which I later realized I didn't have because I burnt them up the last time I tried to jump the same vehicle off-- I locked myself out of the house with my keys inside. So I was pretty much stranded, up the paddle without a creek. Yeah, it was that bad.
About the time I was sending my sister a text, she drove up and saved the day. That allowed me to snatch my keys and head home for lunch which was milk and bread. After my meal, I took a long nap with CC and watched to Finebaum show between other cat naps. A guest host was sitting in for Paul and he must have used the phrase, "going forward" a half dozen or more times. Doofus. I'm sure he is a pretty bright guy, but he hasn't figured that one out yet. I did send a text to Finebaum's Twitter account. Finebaum is the thick skinned one not Laura Rutledge because he has not blocked me yet for expressing my displeasure at this redundancy. But then again, he may not read his tweets. I think he said as much on the show one day. But if memory serves me correctly, someone reads them. Bully bully to Paul Finebaum. If he has said, "going forward" in the last three weeks, I missed it.
Maybe I am accomplishing something.
After some blogging and coffee drinking with the cats, I climbed out of bed and hit the yard for some needed work. I have been wanting to clean the front up and "lay it by" as the old mule farmers used to say after the seasons last plowing. So I mowed the front, trimmed around the flower beds, and edged the driveway. It's amazing how much difference the trimming and edging make. There are still a few things I need to do in the front before I shift to the back. As far as the front yard grass goes, it is laid by for the year.
I then went to Mom's to pick up newspapers, take in the mail, and crank her truck. The truck didn't start. That battery-- several batteries in a row-- have refused to hold a charge over a few days if it is not started. So in the process of looking for my jumper cables-- which I later realized I didn't have because I burnt them up the last time I tried to jump the same vehicle off-- I locked myself out of the house with my keys inside. So I was pretty much stranded, up the paddle without a creek. Yeah, it was that bad.
About the time I was sending my sister a text, she drove up and saved the day. That allowed me to snatch my keys and head home for lunch which was milk and bread. After my meal, I took a long nap with CC and watched to Finebaum show between other cat naps. A guest host was sitting in for Paul and he must have used the phrase, "going forward" a half dozen or more times. Doofus. I'm sure he is a pretty bright guy, but he hasn't figured that one out yet. I did send a text to Finebaum's Twitter account. Finebaum is the thick skinned one not Laura Rutledge because he has not blocked me yet for expressing my displeasure at this redundancy. But then again, he may not read his tweets. I think he said as much on the show one day. But if memory serves me correctly, someone reads them. Bully bully to Paul Finebaum. If he has said, "going forward" in the last three weeks, I missed it.
Maybe I am accomplishing something.
Friday, November 17, 2017
The Book of Grief
There is no playbook, no instructional guide, no Cliff's Notes. Neither is there a three point plan, a support group, or an awareness day that I know of. Yet it comes for us all. We never seek it, but it finds us, overwhelms us, batters us and when the fight is over (if it does ends), we find that we know little more than before our struggle.
Grief.
I'm speaking of grief.
We all lose in life: loved ones, possessions, friends, our youth, maybe our health even. And we grieve. We all grieve and try to figure out how to get through it, how to come out happy and whole and well again.
I have now lost friends, cats, grandparents, aunts, dogs, uncles, cousins, and Dad and Mom. I have learned a little, only a little along the way. In an effort to put to paper my hard-cried lessons, I sat before keyboard and began to peck not with an outline in hand but with a heavy heart and tear-blurred eyes. What can I say about this intruder, this mysterious monster, this murderer of joy? I have a few lessons, not the kind that I think are normative, but they are personal. They may or may not have application for you, not that I think truth is in any way relative, but I think grief is, relative and personal. I invite you to consider these, chew on these, let your mind try them. Like a mule eating briers, spit out the bad and keep the good. You don't need my permission to do that, but you have it anyway.
The first lesson I've learned is that grief is not only particular to the person grieving, but also to the person, place or thing being grieved over. I have lost people that I never really grieved for. I am not sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the manner of their life, their death, and our relationship. I think of Charlie Turner, Sr. We were good friends for a long time. It no longer seems odd to say that, but once it did. He was the dad of my best friend, Charlie Turner, Jr. For a long time he was that: my friends's dad. Then he got saved, led me to the Lord, and he became my spiritual mentor. I visited him often and we talked about the Bible and he taught me doctrinal topics.
Slowly, over the years our relationship continued to change. I became a pastor and went to seminary. The student transformed into the teacher as he began to ask me more and more questions. That was really odd for me at first as our relationship shifted to a new phase. And eventually, he was not the dad of my friend, not my mentor, not my student, he became my friend, much older than me but my friend nonetheless. His passing did strike me a hard blow and made me sad for many day. But I never grieved at least not the way I have grieved at other times. I was happy for him because I had extreme confidence in his relationship with Jesus and our relationship with each other was without conflict. I was sad to see him go, but I never seemed to grieve his passing. There were other people who fell into this category, but I will hold those cards close to my chest.
Another lesson I have learned is that grief is normal, biblical. Even though the the Bible doesn't discuss the subject, it does give us plenty of examples to read and think about. For instance, when Jacob died, the Bible tells us of Joseph and his family:
And they came to the threshingfloor of Atad, which is beyond Jordan, and there they mourned with a very great and sore lamentation: and he made a mourning for his father seven days. (Genesis 50:10)
On Moses' death, we read:
And the children of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days. (Deuteronomy 34:8)
Of Jesus at the tomb of Lazarus, the Bible succinctly says,
Jesus wept. (John 11:35)
There are many other references to grieving in the Bible, but little to no discussion of it. A couple of things, however, are easily deducible. One deduction is grief is natural, normal, un-rebuked by the Bible.
One of the most important lessons I have learned is one that I think should be normative, that is it should be practiced by all: You don't have to be strong. I can't tell you how many times I have heard someone say, "I have to be strong for so and so." That dictum, by the way, is not in the Bible, not in the Works of Shakespeare, it's not even in Little Richard's Almanac. I have written in the past (see "Roses: A Tribute to Mom" in this blog, 12/27/2017) about my mother's crying over a dangerous cat we once had. That is my favorite memory of her. The sight of her being broken over the death of what few people could ever love is precious to me, and I am convinced was/is formative for my character in a positive way. You don't harm your children by showing them your heart, your pain, or your tears. In fact, it is my opinion that you help them, make them more sensitive and give them a more realistic view of what life has in store for them.
Another lesson I learned is: it's the pets and the parents that hurt the most. I am skipping over one category that I am sure is worse: losing a child. I have not, thanks be to God, experienced that so I will not address it. What I will address is what I have experience with. Maybe it's because they love us the most and they love us unconditionally that we find their deaths so devastating. They are there, always there and when they leave us, part of our comfort, our security, our joy is ripped away leaving us alone, raw, and vulnerable. Some even criticize our crying at times like this. I've heard it with my own ears. They can kiss my hinder parts. I will not stuff my humanity for the sake of people who do not understand theirs.
A fifth lesson in my view is, God wants to be involved. Sometimes I feel like I am worrying the Lord. Maybe that sounds silly to you, and I suppose it is somewhat senseless. But for some reason, I still feel that way. Consequently, I find certain passages from the Bible edifying. Things like:
3) Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort, 4) Who comforteth us in all our, tribulation, so that we may be able to comfort them which are in trouble, by the comfort wherewith which we ourselves are
comforted.
2 Cor 1:3 -4
God does care about our struggles with sorrow just like we care about our children's hurts. Well, not just like, because we cannot love like Him. Psalm 23, of course, is often used by preachers of funerals. The Word gives us the promise of going "through the valley of the shadow of death" with God. Another verse that helps in a time of sorrow is Psalm 147:3 which reads:
He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
Grief is episodic. This is one I learned the hard way. I remember people asking me after the death of my dad if I was OK. I told them yes, and I truly believed I was only to learn later that I was not. I'll give you one example. Several months after Dad left us, my truck broke down. Instinctively, I reached for my phone and started dialing up Dad. It's what I always did when I needed a hand. Then it hit me and it hit me hard that the one who was always there when I needed a hand was gone and gone for good. It was a tough day, a tough few days. Still it pops up from time to time. I think the tears are gone that they are a thing of the past. Then they come return rushing in like a flood. A thought, a memory, a place brings it all around again. That's just the way it is.
The same thing has happened several times since Mom's passing. I go in her house almost every day. I cry almost every day. Then I had two trips in a row where I did not break down. I thought, I have rounded the corner, things are getting better. But I knew that might not be the case, and it wasn't. At least this time I wasn't caught off guard.
The last lesson I think I have is, pain is the price we pay for love. This is one more reason I take umbrage with criticisms of crying over someone's death. It hurts to lose those we care deeply about. "But you are crying for yourself," some will and have said. I say, so what? If you cut your finger off, would you not cry? How would you respond if someone even hinted that it is selfish of you to shed tears during your pain. The nonsense there is plain as it should be in grieving. I have said it before in other posts, and I say it again here: It is not our humanity that God has a problem with; it is our sin. God does not despise our weaknesses, our perplexities, or our pain. Instead, the Bible says 'He saves our tears in a bottle' (Psalm 56:8). To me, that is pretty plain. Don't ever let anyone make you ashamed of your humanity. If we truly love, we truly hurt when we lose the loved one. It's part of being human.
Is there an overarching lesson in all of these words? When I try to condense it all to the essence, when I try to put a handle on the truth, so to speak, what I come away with is let the process work itself out. Don't stuff your emotions or your memories and don't expect to be well in a week or two, a month or two, or even a year or two. Some people say you never get over it. Maybe that is true; I haven't lived long enough to know. One thing I do know is that it does get easier with time and if we allow ourselves to grieve, we do grow softer, better, more sensitive to the scars and pains of those around us.
In his memoir, All Over But The Shoutin', Rick Bragg talks about a family tradition in which a newborn child is carried around the house by a family member. He writes:
"It was said that the babies would absorb all the good qualities of the person who walked them that first time around the house in which they were born, that the tiny weak thing would borrow from their strength, their character" (26).
Neither Bragg nor I know the origin of this ceremony, and I am dubious as to its efficacy. I do believe, however, that we can accomplish the same thing in reverse. We can walk with our memories and relive the good times in our minds and thus absorb the best qualities of the lost loved one we cared so deeply for. That is a noble pursuit, and one I think we all can and should make.
Grief.
I'm speaking of grief.
We all lose in life: loved ones, possessions, friends, our youth, maybe our health even. And we grieve. We all grieve and try to figure out how to get through it, how to come out happy and whole and well again.
I have now lost friends, cats, grandparents, aunts, dogs, uncles, cousins, and Dad and Mom. I have learned a little, only a little along the way. In an effort to put to paper my hard-cried lessons, I sat before keyboard and began to peck not with an outline in hand but with a heavy heart and tear-blurred eyes. What can I say about this intruder, this mysterious monster, this murderer of joy? I have a few lessons, not the kind that I think are normative, but they are personal. They may or may not have application for you, not that I think truth is in any way relative, but I think grief is, relative and personal. I invite you to consider these, chew on these, let your mind try them. Like a mule eating briers, spit out the bad and keep the good. You don't need my permission to do that, but you have it anyway.
The first lesson I've learned is that grief is not only particular to the person grieving, but also to the person, place or thing being grieved over. I have lost people that I never really grieved for. I am not sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the manner of their life, their death, and our relationship. I think of Charlie Turner, Sr. We were good friends for a long time. It no longer seems odd to say that, but once it did. He was the dad of my best friend, Charlie Turner, Jr. For a long time he was that: my friends's dad. Then he got saved, led me to the Lord, and he became my spiritual mentor. I visited him often and we talked about the Bible and he taught me doctrinal topics.
Slowly, over the years our relationship continued to change. I became a pastor and went to seminary. The student transformed into the teacher as he began to ask me more and more questions. That was really odd for me at first as our relationship shifted to a new phase. And eventually, he was not the dad of my friend, not my mentor, not my student, he became my friend, much older than me but my friend nonetheless. His passing did strike me a hard blow and made me sad for many day. But I never grieved at least not the way I have grieved at other times. I was happy for him because I had extreme confidence in his relationship with Jesus and our relationship with each other was without conflict. I was sad to see him go, but I never seemed to grieve his passing. There were other people who fell into this category, but I will hold those cards close to my chest.
Another lesson I have learned is that grief is normal, biblical. Even though the the Bible doesn't discuss the subject, it does give us plenty of examples to read and think about. For instance, when Jacob died, the Bible tells us of Joseph and his family:
And they came to the threshingfloor of Atad, which is beyond Jordan, and there they mourned with a very great and sore lamentation: and he made a mourning for his father seven days. (Genesis 50:10)
On Moses' death, we read:
And the children of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days. (Deuteronomy 34:8)
Of Jesus at the tomb of Lazarus, the Bible succinctly says,
Jesus wept. (John 11:35)
There are many other references to grieving in the Bible, but little to no discussion of it. A couple of things, however, are easily deducible. One deduction is grief is natural, normal, un-rebuked by the Bible.
One of the most important lessons I have learned is one that I think should be normative, that is it should be practiced by all: You don't have to be strong. I can't tell you how many times I have heard someone say, "I have to be strong for so and so." That dictum, by the way, is not in the Bible, not in the Works of Shakespeare, it's not even in Little Richard's Almanac. I have written in the past (see "Roses: A Tribute to Mom" in this blog, 12/27/2017) about my mother's crying over a dangerous cat we once had. That is my favorite memory of her. The sight of her being broken over the death of what few people could ever love is precious to me, and I am convinced was/is formative for my character in a positive way. You don't harm your children by showing them your heart, your pain, or your tears. In fact, it is my opinion that you help them, make them more sensitive and give them a more realistic view of what life has in store for them.
Another lesson I learned is: it's the pets and the parents that hurt the most. I am skipping over one category that I am sure is worse: losing a child. I have not, thanks be to God, experienced that so I will not address it. What I will address is what I have experience with. Maybe it's because they love us the most and they love us unconditionally that we find their deaths so devastating. They are there, always there and when they leave us, part of our comfort, our security, our joy is ripped away leaving us alone, raw, and vulnerable. Some even criticize our crying at times like this. I've heard it with my own ears. They can kiss my hinder parts. I will not stuff my humanity for the sake of people who do not understand theirs.
A fifth lesson in my view is, God wants to be involved. Sometimes I feel like I am worrying the Lord. Maybe that sounds silly to you, and I suppose it is somewhat senseless. But for some reason, I still feel that way. Consequently, I find certain passages from the Bible edifying. Things like:
3) Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort, 4) Who comforteth us in all our, tribulation, so that we may be able to comfort them which are in trouble, by the comfort wherewith which we ourselves are
comforted.
2 Cor 1:3 -4
God does care about our struggles with sorrow just like we care about our children's hurts. Well, not just like, because we cannot love like Him. Psalm 23, of course, is often used by preachers of funerals. The Word gives us the promise of going "through the valley of the shadow of death" with God. Another verse that helps in a time of sorrow is Psalm 147:3 which reads:
He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
Grief is episodic. This is one I learned the hard way. I remember people asking me after the death of my dad if I was OK. I told them yes, and I truly believed I was only to learn later that I was not. I'll give you one example. Several months after Dad left us, my truck broke down. Instinctively, I reached for my phone and started dialing up Dad. It's what I always did when I needed a hand. Then it hit me and it hit me hard that the one who was always there when I needed a hand was gone and gone for good. It was a tough day, a tough few days. Still it pops up from time to time. I think the tears are gone that they are a thing of the past. Then they come return rushing in like a flood. A thought, a memory, a place brings it all around again. That's just the way it is.
The same thing has happened several times since Mom's passing. I go in her house almost every day. I cry almost every day. Then I had two trips in a row where I did not break down. I thought, I have rounded the corner, things are getting better. But I knew that might not be the case, and it wasn't. At least this time I wasn't caught off guard.
The last lesson I think I have is, pain is the price we pay for love. This is one more reason I take umbrage with criticisms of crying over someone's death. It hurts to lose those we care deeply about. "But you are crying for yourself," some will and have said. I say, so what? If you cut your finger off, would you not cry? How would you respond if someone even hinted that it is selfish of you to shed tears during your pain. The nonsense there is plain as it should be in grieving. I have said it before in other posts, and I say it again here: It is not our humanity that God has a problem with; it is our sin. God does not despise our weaknesses, our perplexities, or our pain. Instead, the Bible says 'He saves our tears in a bottle' (Psalm 56:8). To me, that is pretty plain. Don't ever let anyone make you ashamed of your humanity. If we truly love, we truly hurt when we lose the loved one. It's part of being human.
Is there an overarching lesson in all of these words? When I try to condense it all to the essence, when I try to put a handle on the truth, so to speak, what I come away with is let the process work itself out. Don't stuff your emotions or your memories and don't expect to be well in a week or two, a month or two, or even a year or two. Some people say you never get over it. Maybe that is true; I haven't lived long enough to know. One thing I do know is that it does get easier with time and if we allow ourselves to grieve, we do grow softer, better, more sensitive to the scars and pains of those around us.
In his memoir, All Over But The Shoutin', Rick Bragg talks about a family tradition in which a newborn child is carried around the house by a family member. He writes:
"It was said that the babies would absorb all the good qualities of the person who walked them that first time around the house in which they were born, that the tiny weak thing would borrow from their strength, their character" (26).
Neither Bragg nor I know the origin of this ceremony, and I am dubious as to its efficacy. I do believe, however, that we can accomplish the same thing in reverse. We can walk with our memories and relive the good times in our minds and thus absorb the best qualities of the lost loved one we cared so deeply for. That is a noble pursuit, and one I think we all can and should make.
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
DFM Oxford Walk
Team Centerville made the trip. Trevor, Kelsey and Cory McLain, Gerald and Debbie Johnson, Sheila Mitchell, Gerry Johnson, and Penny and I all met up at Dollar General in Carrollton Sunday morning, November the 5th. This was our third year in a row to make the trip to Oxford, Mississippi, to attend and do the Diabetes Foundation of Mississippi's annual walk at the university up north. As a Mississippi State fan, I feel like I am in enemy territory when I am up there, but I do it for the cause.
On our way, we stopped at Cracker Barrel in Batesville for lunch, and except for the temperature being extremely unpleasant inside the restaurant, we had a lovely meal. After spending a few minutes in the store portion of the business, I purchases a fleece pullover for some needed warmth. I simple was not going to be able to stay inside the building. Yeah, it was that cold. After we got seated, Kelsey went back to the store and bought one also. Mine was a beautiful Mississippi State adorned garment while hers was a most unattractive Ole Miss rag. It would have looked nice in a different color and with another logo.
Sigh.
But back to the cold, can someone explain this to me? Every chain restaurant I go to, as well as a lot of others, is like that. Why do they punish their customers? Everyone who walked in instantly either complained about the cold or their body language revealed their discomfort. It must be terribly expensive to punish people in that way. I don't understand, and I truly wish someone would give me some insight on the subject. In this day and age of the bottom line, I can't understand the need to spend more.
We made it to the Lyceum about 1:40. The walk was to start at 2:00. We registered and Irena McLean of the DFM got the festivities and the walk kicked off. This year, we had a different course, staying on campus instead of looping the square downtown like we always did in the past. The route was shortened with two options: a one miler and a two miler. It turns out that the two miler was only a 1.5 miler. Rats, I needed the work. It was still a nice walk and some real exercise. Along the way, I developed a strong urge to water the roses, but of naturally I did not dare. This is one shortcoming of the walk: no easy access to a bathroom. But there was a lot of construction on campus so I managed to find a porta potty behind and construction fence. I ducked off course and almost blew lunch when the potty started to sway violently after I shut the door. I grabbed the vent stack and held on tight until things got still. Then I very slowly and carefully took care of necessary business.
The day was gorgeous with the temps in the mid 70s, some light wind that made it feel even more temperate, and splattering of cloud cover that wasn't threatening looking but rather gave the feel of fall. Of course I have written in the past about the beauty of the Ole Miss campus. This is coming from a die-hard Mississippi State fan so you know it's true. The wind, the architecture, and the amazing trees created an atmosphere of peace, of relaxation. After the walk, we availed ourselves to the refreshments and sat around, chatted, and talked about trees while enjoying each other's company.
Our team turned in $425. We plan to come back. Next year, by the grace of God, we will do better both walking and raising.
On our way, we stopped at Cracker Barrel in Batesville for lunch, and except for the temperature being extremely unpleasant inside the restaurant, we had a lovely meal. After spending a few minutes in the store portion of the business, I purchases a fleece pullover for some needed warmth. I simple was not going to be able to stay inside the building. Yeah, it was that cold. After we got seated, Kelsey went back to the store and bought one also. Mine was a beautiful Mississippi State adorned garment while hers was a most unattractive Ole Miss rag. It would have looked nice in a different color and with another logo.
 |
| Team Centerville getting geared up. |
Sigh.
But back to the cold, can someone explain this to me? Every chain restaurant I go to, as well as a lot of others, is like that. Why do they punish their customers? Everyone who walked in instantly either complained about the cold or their body language revealed their discomfort. It must be terribly expensive to punish people in that way. I don't understand, and I truly wish someone would give me some insight on the subject. In this day and age of the bottom line, I can't understand the need to spend more.
We made it to the Lyceum about 1:40. The walk was to start at 2:00. We registered and Irena McLean of the DFM got the festivities and the walk kicked off. This year, we had a different course, staying on campus instead of looping the square downtown like we always did in the past. The route was shortened with two options: a one miler and a two miler. It turns out that the two miler was only a 1.5 miler. Rats, I needed the work. It was still a nice walk and some real exercise. Along the way, I developed a strong urge to water the roses, but of naturally I did not dare. This is one shortcoming of the walk: no easy access to a bathroom. But there was a lot of construction on campus so I managed to find a porta potty behind and construction fence. I ducked off course and almost blew lunch when the potty started to sway violently after I shut the door. I grabbed the vent stack and held on tight until things got still. Then I very slowly and carefully took care of necessary business.
The day was gorgeous with the temps in the mid 70s, some light wind that made it feel even more temperate, and splattering of cloud cover that wasn't threatening looking but rather gave the feel of fall. Of course I have written in the past about the beauty of the Ole Miss campus. This is coming from a die-hard Mississippi State fan so you know it's true. The wind, the architecture, and the amazing trees created an atmosphere of peace, of relaxation. After the walk, we availed ourselves to the refreshments and sat around, chatted, and talked about trees while enjoying each other's company.
Our team turned in $425. We plan to come back. Next year, by the grace of God, we will do better both walking and raising.
 |
| Best-looking team in the walk. |
Tuesday, November 14, 2017
A Good Haiku
Samuel Lott, the great haikuist and poetry expert said this is a good one. Yes, he really said that. If he denies it, I have photographic evidence from a text message. Consequently, I thought I should include it here all alone so that it can be admired without the distraction of two other kaiku, as I normally post them as a trinity. So here it is for your viewing and reading pleasure.
A note on its construction for the future scholars who will no doubt write research papers on this and teach it to their upper level English classes: I wrote this one Sunday night past while standing in the rain on the wet leaf-strewn lawn of Centerville Baptist Church. Rain drops peppered my forehead as I gazed into the dark woods surrounding the church as listened intently for the sounds God's night creation makes. Above, a beautiful sky revealed the handiwork of God. Across the road, lights in the cemetery showed humanity's hope. The need to write bubbled up in my soul. Sam can't touch this.
183
Drizzling rain -
standing in the leaves,
darkness falls
A note on its construction for the future scholars who will no doubt write research papers on this and teach it to their upper level English classes: I wrote this one Sunday night past while standing in the rain on the wet leaf-strewn lawn of Centerville Baptist Church. Rain drops peppered my forehead as I gazed into the dark woods surrounding the church as listened intently for the sounds God's night creation makes. Above, a beautiful sky revealed the handiwork of God. Across the road, lights in the cemetery showed humanity's hope. The need to write bubbled up in my soul. Sam can't touch this.
Monday, November 13, 2017
11/6 - 11/12
This will be the shortest post ever on this blog. The reason shouldn't be hard for you to guess. I did nothing. My slide down the hill, the one I have been complaining about for months has not not stopped but continued unabated (Is that tooth dentist?) I keep thinking, I have hit bottom, but the next week keeps proving me wrong. If this is not the end of the slide, well, I can't finish the sentence.
I did a little walking, 5.38 miles. Several things prevented me from training. One is we had to be in our offices until 4:00 each day. After that, I had lots of errands to run all week. These should eventually slow down. I hope. Another, of course, is my health. Every time I get to thinking the knee is well enough to run, I start limping without any provocation. And the shoulder, don't ask.
Sigh.
I guess I need to climb atop my bike trainer, but right now that requires more discipline than I have. I feel totally worthless, I weigh more than I ever have in my life, and I am miserable in this body. My stomach is not meant to be this big and it cuts my breath off. When will I get things turned around? Help me Lord, because I am failing in my own efforts.
I did a little walking, 5.38 miles. Several things prevented me from training. One is we had to be in our offices until 4:00 each day. After that, I had lots of errands to run all week. These should eventually slow down. I hope. Another, of course, is my health. Every time I get to thinking the knee is well enough to run, I start limping without any provocation. And the shoulder, don't ask.
Sigh.
I guess I need to climb atop my bike trainer, but right now that requires more discipline than I have. I feel totally worthless, I weigh more than I ever have in my life, and I am miserable in this body. My stomach is not meant to be this big and it cuts my breath off. When will I get things turned around? Help me Lord, because I am failing in my own efforts.
Thursday, November 9, 2017
Church Drives
183
church morning brings joy,
a nice ride to Centerville
we worship with friends
184
we ride, thoughts on God,
preaching over radio,
we pass flock of sheep
185
a few gather in
His name. Centerville worships,
light floods through windows
church morning brings joy,
a nice ride to Centerville
we worship with friends
184
we ride, thoughts on God,
preaching over radio,
we pass flock of sheep
185
a few gather in
His name. Centerville worships,
light floods through windows
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
"One in a Million"
He is a great mystery. Great. I know so little of him. I should say rather, I know so little of his background, his breeding. Recently I asked my son if the man he got him from might be able to shed some information on the little rascal. "That man is crazy, Dad," my son relayed to me. "My understanding is he was a found puppy and the crazy man chained him to the porch until he started eating too much. Then he let him loose for the neighborhood to feed."
I was hoping to get some insight into his breeding, his genetic makeup. Officially he is a mutt. But if I had to guess, I would call him part feist and possibly part Mountain Cur. Dr. Andy Johnson agrees with my guess, having looked him over and examined his mouth he said, "Yeah, I think he's part Mountain Cur." I wonder if his makeup is a series of accidents or the result of purposeful planning, selective breeding. His kind of qualities and instincts don't just happen. Do they? Maybe God made him, a designer dog, just for me. That is often how I perceive him, a dog God opened up and poured full of energy, speed, drive, intelligence, sweetness, and hunting instincts and then placed him in the path of a string of people who would eventually funnel him to me.
My son was working for the Greenwood Leflore Public Library. They have a branch library located near the "home" of the little dog they came to know as Pee Wee, a small, reddish brown thing weighing about 25 pounds with a face that should be in movies and eyes that can melt my heart and yours. Forrest, my son, and his coworkers took note of the creature and quickly came to care for him. They looked for him every time they worked that branch. They took him food. They petted him. They talked to him. They even let him inside the library where Pee Wee was, my son assured me, "Always a perfect gentleman. I saw right away he was a one in a million dog."
Then one day my son saw a terrible sight. Despite a leash law in Greenwood, that neighborhood has a roaming population of large dogs. Forrest looked out a window and saw a big pit jump on Pee Wee. Forrest promptly went to the "owner" and asked if he could have the dog, the little one. The "owner" said yes, so Forrest and co-workers took the little thing to the vet, Andy Johnson, and got his shots and procured some de-fleaing. Andy guessed him to be about nine months old at the time which was February 2017. Then Forrest took the little fellow home.
To make a short story long, my son called me. It wasn't working out with the other dogs, could I take Pee Wee? he couldn't turn him back loose on the streets, he had to find the fellow a home. Bear, our outside dog, needed a companion, so I drove over to my son's and picked up Pee Wee whom they were attempting to rename Oliver. Immediately the little fellow started working on my heart.
On the drive home, I tested his responses to "Pee Wee" and "Oliver." He didn't turn his head when I said, "Oliver" but he responded strongly to Pee Wee so I stuck with that name. At 333 West Monroe Ave, he quickly became the king of the back yard. Not that he is mean or that he is in any sense of the term a watch dog, but he is proud of his domain and patrols it constantly. Not even a butterfly crosses that yard that he doesn't know about. A squirrel doesn't scoot down a limb without him seeing. A bird never lights nearby without his knowledge. He is that attentive.
Bear had been making trips with me to the catfish pond where I train for my charity swim. He knew the drill, to run behind the truck and hang out or follow me when I swam. The first time I took Pee Wee to the pond, I was instantly amazed. From the first I saw that he loved to run. Bear likes to run. Pee Wee loves to run. He is fast, 25 mph is no problem for him. Despite his diminutive size, his stride is strong, smooth, and stunning to watch. Sometimes I cry just seeing his joy as he runs like the wind only for the pure fun of it. His mouth seems to smile while he races along, eating up the ground, barking at the birds that rise from the fish ponds. It also makes me emotional to think of my dad and how he would have loved to see this fellow run and work a field like his bird dogs used to.
At the pond, he followed me dutifully while I swam and made every lap. Bear makes one lap and lounges for the rest of the time. Pee Wee, on the other hand, makes all the laps, but he doesn't just follow, he hunts along the way. He sniffs, chases birds, runs off to check out an adjoining ditch, comes back, gets a drink, rolls in dead stuff. In short, he has the time of his life.
That first day at the pond, we took a walk after I swam. That is when I knew he had something special besides energy, speed, and intelligence. Instead of walking along with me on the pond levee like Bear, he stayed in the ditches in the thickest stuff he could find. It didn't take a socket rientist to see he had hunting instincts. You can't teach a dog to hunt. You can work with them, encourage them, give them opportunities for it to come out, but they have to have those instincts inside them. He has them. He's a one in a million dog.
As soon as squirrel season opened, I took him and Bear to Carroll County where we walked around. Pee Wee rared up on a tree, though he did not bark. He also trailed something trying hark to unravel the scent puzzle something had laid down. He ran and sniffed and hunted. He had the stuff but he was raw. He knew he was a hunter but he really did not know how or what he was hunting, but he was hunting.
As of this writing, I have had him out only a few more times. I quickly learned that he had another instinct that can't be taught. He hunts in circles and always comes up behind me after making a large loop. He has treed a couple of times, but he leaves the tree. He doesn't know he is supposed to stay there. We have fun when we go out. I don't know if I can make a squirrel dog of him or not, but we will go out and chase stuff, the wind even, as long as I have him. It's his nature to hunt, and I am determined to take him as far as I can. If he never gets properly trained, we will still go out, still hit the bush and woods and have fun.
Daddy did that. In his final years of hunting, he and his dog dutifully hit the bush in search of "birds" as quail are called around here. When he was younger and the bird population higher and his dogs were well trained, he averaged killing around 250 birds per year. Slowly that number went down and down and down until his yearly totals became two or three. The last year he hunted, he didn't kill a one, but he and his dog went hunting anyway. I'll do the same with Pee Wee. We will go to the woods and tromp and stomp around. We will have fun. We will hunt. He deserves it. He's a one in a million dog.
I was hoping to get some insight into his breeding, his genetic makeup. Officially he is a mutt. But if I had to guess, I would call him part feist and possibly part Mountain Cur. Dr. Andy Johnson agrees with my guess, having looked him over and examined his mouth he said, "Yeah, I think he's part Mountain Cur." I wonder if his makeup is a series of accidents or the result of purposeful planning, selective breeding. His kind of qualities and instincts don't just happen. Do they? Maybe God made him, a designer dog, just for me. That is often how I perceive him, a dog God opened up and poured full of energy, speed, drive, intelligence, sweetness, and hunting instincts and then placed him in the path of a string of people who would eventually funnel him to me.
My son was working for the Greenwood Leflore Public Library. They have a branch library located near the "home" of the little dog they came to know as Pee Wee, a small, reddish brown thing weighing about 25 pounds with a face that should be in movies and eyes that can melt my heart and yours. Forrest, my son, and his coworkers took note of the creature and quickly came to care for him. They looked for him every time they worked that branch. They took him food. They petted him. They talked to him. They even let him inside the library where Pee Wee was, my son assured me, "Always a perfect gentleman. I saw right away he was a one in a million dog."
Then one day my son saw a terrible sight. Despite a leash law in Greenwood, that neighborhood has a roaming population of large dogs. Forrest looked out a window and saw a big pit jump on Pee Wee. Forrest promptly went to the "owner" and asked if he could have the dog, the little one. The "owner" said yes, so Forrest and co-workers took the little thing to the vet, Andy Johnson, and got his shots and procured some de-fleaing. Andy guessed him to be about nine months old at the time which was February 2017. Then Forrest took the little fellow home.
To make a short story long, my son called me. It wasn't working out with the other dogs, could I take Pee Wee? he couldn't turn him back loose on the streets, he had to find the fellow a home. Bear, our outside dog, needed a companion, so I drove over to my son's and picked up Pee Wee whom they were attempting to rename Oliver. Immediately the little fellow started working on my heart.
On the drive home, I tested his responses to "Pee Wee" and "Oliver." He didn't turn his head when I said, "Oliver" but he responded strongly to Pee Wee so I stuck with that name. At 333 West Monroe Ave, he quickly became the king of the back yard. Not that he is mean or that he is in any sense of the term a watch dog, but he is proud of his domain and patrols it constantly. Not even a butterfly crosses that yard that he doesn't know about. A squirrel doesn't scoot down a limb without him seeing. A bird never lights nearby without his knowledge. He is that attentive.
Bear had been making trips with me to the catfish pond where I train for my charity swim. He knew the drill, to run behind the truck and hang out or follow me when I swam. The first time I took Pee Wee to the pond, I was instantly amazed. From the first I saw that he loved to run. Bear likes to run. Pee Wee loves to run. He is fast, 25 mph is no problem for him. Despite his diminutive size, his stride is strong, smooth, and stunning to watch. Sometimes I cry just seeing his joy as he runs like the wind only for the pure fun of it. His mouth seems to smile while he races along, eating up the ground, barking at the birds that rise from the fish ponds. It also makes me emotional to think of my dad and how he would have loved to see this fellow run and work a field like his bird dogs used to.
At the pond, he followed me dutifully while I swam and made every lap. Bear makes one lap and lounges for the rest of the time. Pee Wee, on the other hand, makes all the laps, but he doesn't just follow, he hunts along the way. He sniffs, chases birds, runs off to check out an adjoining ditch, comes back, gets a drink, rolls in dead stuff. In short, he has the time of his life.
That first day at the pond, we took a walk after I swam. That is when I knew he had something special besides energy, speed, and intelligence. Instead of walking along with me on the pond levee like Bear, he stayed in the ditches in the thickest stuff he could find. It didn't take a socket rientist to see he had hunting instincts. You can't teach a dog to hunt. You can work with them, encourage them, give them opportunities for it to come out, but they have to have those instincts inside them. He has them. He's a one in a million dog.
As soon as squirrel season opened, I took him and Bear to Carroll County where we walked around. Pee Wee rared up on a tree, though he did not bark. He also trailed something trying hark to unravel the scent puzzle something had laid down. He ran and sniffed and hunted. He had the stuff but he was raw. He knew he was a hunter but he really did not know how or what he was hunting, but he was hunting.
As of this writing, I have had him out only a few more times. I quickly learned that he had another instinct that can't be taught. He hunts in circles and always comes up behind me after making a large loop. He has treed a couple of times, but he leaves the tree. He doesn't know he is supposed to stay there. We have fun when we go out. I don't know if I can make a squirrel dog of him or not, but we will go out and chase stuff, the wind even, as long as I have him. It's his nature to hunt, and I am determined to take him as far as I can. If he never gets properly trained, we will still go out, still hit the bush and woods and have fun.
Daddy did that. In his final years of hunting, he and his dog dutifully hit the bush in search of "birds" as quail are called around here. When he was younger and the bird population higher and his dogs were well trained, he averaged killing around 250 birds per year. Slowly that number went down and down and down until his yearly totals became two or three. The last year he hunted, he didn't kill a one, but he and his dog went hunting anyway. I'll do the same with Pee Wee. We will go to the woods and tromp and stomp around. We will have fun. We will hunt. He deserves it. He's a one in a million dog.
A note to the reader: I have written about Pee Wee before and I probably will again. But I penned this piece as part of a competition I am having with each of my current Comp I students. I have five sections of the first semester of freshman English. We are writing about the best dog we ever knew and the best essay in each class will be rewarded with a good grade and a Snickers Bar. I plan on gaining weight next week.
Monday, November 6, 2017
10/30 - 11/5
Life is good even if training is not. I don't want to sound like a complainer so I won't. I lifted weights Monday and Wednesday easing the bench press up each time. I wrote about those days already. Tuesday I went to Twin Rivers and swam outdoors for a mind blowing 700 meters. It was cold. I don't like being cold. I wrote about that already also.
Thursday I went home and rested up for going back to Masters for the first time in months. I wrote about that already. Friday I went back to DSU because I did not get to swim Thursday night. I wrote about that already.
Saturday, we went toe the Sweet Potato Festival with Gerald and Debbie. We always have a good time with them. I got in 1.65 miles of walking which was kind of sad because last year I won my age group in the 5K. This year, I could not run and am at least twenty pounds heavier. But I did have fun walking around looking at all the ugly people. When I go to these events, I always wonder what I would do if I were a judge and they were having an ugly person contest. How could you possibly choose?
Sunday Team Centerville went to the DFM walk in Oxford. I haven't written about that. I will soon. For the week, I
swam 2,300 meters,
lifted weights two times, and
walked 7.35 miles.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Thursday I went home and rested up for going back to Masters for the first time in months. I wrote about that already. Friday I went back to DSU because I did not get to swim Thursday night. I wrote about that already.
Saturday, we went toe the Sweet Potato Festival with Gerald and Debbie. We always have a good time with them. I got in 1.65 miles of walking which was kind of sad because last year I won my age group in the 5K. This year, I could not run and am at least twenty pounds heavier. But I did have fun walking around looking at all the ugly people. When I go to these events, I always wonder what I would do if I were a judge and they were having an ugly person contest. How could you possibly choose?
Sunday Team Centerville went to the DFM walk in Oxford. I haven't written about that. I will soon. For the week, I
swam 2,300 meters,
lifted weights two times, and
walked 7.35 miles.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Broken Yo Yo
The yo yo was at the top when I drove to Delta State Thursday night. I had forgotten how much I missed the trip, how I reflected on the way, worked out my mental tensions. The drive there and back has always been a therapy session as much or more than the swim itself. But once I walked into the building, I knew right away something was wrong. Coach wasn't there, Ricky wasn't there, Mark wasn't there. I sent a text and promptly received an answer: no practice tonight.
No big deal. It's only a 100-mile round trip. I couldn't use that time for anything else and since I am working for $1,000 per year less than I was 14 years ago (actual dollars not including inflation), I certainly did not need the gas money. Sorry about the complaining. I really got ticked.
So I drove home in a bit of anger and ate food when I got there and gained weight. My life, it seems, is out of control. The yo yo is back to the bottom.
I drove back Friday and swam. The shoulder hurt from the first stroke. It hasn't been doing that so I was pretty shocked. The string on the yo yo not only went to the bottom, but it broke. It did get better, as I warmed up, stopping periodically on the wall to stretch. I swam slowly up a ladder and stopped after 2,300 yards. I stopped when all the discomfort had disappeared and everything was still feeling well. The next day, however, things didn't feel so good. What the heck? Sadly, I think I need the MRI. I just refuse to pay for it right now. Chicot may not be. That causes me some real sorrow because it has taken six years to build the swim to the place it is now. I hate the thought of not being able to use a God-given talent to help others and have fun doing it. But if I never swim another stroke, I will praise Him. But I want to swim and I want it bad. Please pray for me, my shoulder, and my fragile mind.
No big deal. It's only a 100-mile round trip. I couldn't use that time for anything else and since I am working for $1,000 per year less than I was 14 years ago (actual dollars not including inflation), I certainly did not need the gas money. Sorry about the complaining. I really got ticked.
So I drove home in a bit of anger and ate food when I got there and gained weight. My life, it seems, is out of control. The yo yo is back to the bottom.
I drove back Friday and swam. The shoulder hurt from the first stroke. It hasn't been doing that so I was pretty shocked. The string on the yo yo not only went to the bottom, but it broke. It did get better, as I warmed up, stopping periodically on the wall to stretch. I swam slowly up a ladder and stopped after 2,300 yards. I stopped when all the discomfort had disappeared and everything was still feeling well. The next day, however, things didn't feel so good. What the heck? Sadly, I think I need the MRI. I just refuse to pay for it right now. Chicot may not be. That causes me some real sorrow because it has taken six years to build the swim to the place it is now. I hate the thought of not being able to use a God-given talent to help others and have fun doing it. But if I never swim another stroke, I will praise Him. But I want to swim and I want it bad. Please pray for me, my shoulder, and my fragile mind.
Friday, November 3, 2017
Haiku
180
cat purrs and naps close,
man quietly watches game,
warm socks and hot tea
181
birds fly and sing,
small church sits amid trees,
voices rise to God
182
dark sky, cold water
dog follows swimmer and swims
they train together
cat purrs and naps close,
man quietly watches game,
warm socks and hot tea
181
birds fly and sing,
small church sits amid trees,
voices rise to God
182
dark sky, cold water
dog follows swimmer and swims
they train together
Thursday, November 2, 2017
More Yo Yo
Did you read that last blog post? What do you think? Did I go back to the outdoor pool? Did I force myself once more into that cold water? Nah. I wimped out and lay on the bed after getting off work watching worthless TV.
I did, however, take a walk (1.84 miles) and then go to Plate City Gym and give myself a thorough workout. It seems I am dialing in on how hard to work the shoulder and it is thanking me for it. Just this morning, I got up without feeling the thing at all and thought, it is really getting well now. Then it stuck me with a bolt of pain that was both as frightening as it was shocking. Sigh.
At the gym I upped the bench press a little more:
20 X 65
15 X 75
12 X 80
10 X 85
8 X 90
Every time I bench, it feels just a little bit better. There is no pain now not even discomfort. On the Swim Pull I did
10 X 22.5
20 X 22.5
30 X 22.5
12 X 22.5 + 2 washers
I also did a lot of lateral raises, seated rows, lat pull downs and other stuff. Slowly the pain is going away, the strength is creeping up, and with it all my long lost confidence is wondering back home. The yo yo has gone back to the bottom and come to the top again.
Tonight, I think I will bite the bullet and go back to Delta State. I need to swim and the cold water stuff is restrictive as well as challenging to my mind in more than one way. The last swim, Tuesday, left me with the yo yo at the bottom. The shoulder did not feel good. I think the coldness is tightening everything in a not-so-good way. Swimming in warmer water should help me relax. Also, a short course pool may be just what the doctor ordered. Short course gives the shoulders a break much more frequently while flipping to go the other way. So maybe I can begin to rebuild the swimming. I still have Twin Rivers for short dips when I want to take the dare.
Thanks be to God who gives hope.
I did, however, take a walk (1.84 miles) and then go to Plate City Gym and give myself a thorough workout. It seems I am dialing in on how hard to work the shoulder and it is thanking me for it. Just this morning, I got up without feeling the thing at all and thought, it is really getting well now. Then it stuck me with a bolt of pain that was both as frightening as it was shocking. Sigh.
At the gym I upped the bench press a little more:
20 X 65
15 X 75
12 X 80
10 X 85
8 X 90
Every time I bench, it feels just a little bit better. There is no pain now not even discomfort. On the Swim Pull I did
10 X 22.5
20 X 22.5
30 X 22.5
12 X 22.5 + 2 washers
I also did a lot of lateral raises, seated rows, lat pull downs and other stuff. Slowly the pain is going away, the strength is creeping up, and with it all my long lost confidence is wondering back home. The yo yo has gone back to the bottom and come to the top again.
Tonight, I think I will bite the bullet and go back to Delta State. I need to swim and the cold water stuff is restrictive as well as challenging to my mind in more than one way. The last swim, Tuesday, left me with the yo yo at the bottom. The shoulder did not feel good. I think the coldness is tightening everything in a not-so-good way. Swimming in warmer water should help me relax. Also, a short course pool may be just what the doctor ordered. Short course gives the shoulders a break much more frequently while flipping to go the other way. So maybe I can begin to rebuild the swimming. I still have Twin Rivers for short dips when I want to take the dare.
Thanks be to God who gives hope.
Wednesday, November 1, 2017
The Road Less Traveled, Uh, Swum
Every fall begins the same way. I am going to swim outdoors through the winter. I don't care how cold it gets. I can do this. It's just a matter of want to. I want to. It will be worth it. Mind over matter, or water. Just watch me.
These are the thoughts I have in the comfort of my own bedroom while I am warm and dreaming and determined. And I mean it. Tuesday afternoon, I had my coolest swim of the year: 61 degree water on a 65 degree day. A mere 700 meters was just about enough to send my courage and determination running for a spot in front of the space heater.
Now I am in that going back and forth mode, between, I'm just not made to be a cold water swimmer to Maybe I can make another swim or two before I totally tap out. Do you hear it? Do you hear the self talk of defeat? And then I have these thoughts: What difference does it make? Why put myself through the torture? It has no bearing on Chicot or the Heart O' Dixie or any of the events that are important to me.
I guess it doesn't. Have any impact on my big goals, that is. But something inside keeps pushing me. What is that something? Honestly, I am not sure. Is it pride? Do I smart that some people can really do this cold water thing and I can't? Is it the challenge? Is it the mystic allure of something so weird so off the wall something so subculture? If I had to testify in court, I would say it's the latter. I have always been attracted to the roads less traveled, metaphorically and literally.
These roads less traveled have led me into marathons, ultra-marathons, all day bicycle rides, multi-day bicycle rides, triathlons, marathon swimming, and journey runs. Not that I have ever been very good at any of this, but I have had a lot of fun playing, going to new places, and meeting new people. My only regret in all of this is that I started much of this too late in life.
The cold water stuff is sort of in the same vein. It's odd, little known, off the radar screen of the general populace. And I suppose another push this year is the fact that for the first time ever, Twin Rivers is leaving its pool up all winter. I don't have to drive to the pond to try a cold water swim. I have a 50-meter pool less than a mile from my house and it is mine and mine alone. Would it not be a sin not to avail myself of that? Has not God given me this? set the table and invited me to "Come and dine"?
Usually this is the time of year I give up and start back going to Delta State to swim indoors under the tutelage of a well-qualified coach. One problem with that is I am a bit ashamed to show up over there because I am so fat right now. OK, color me vain, but you put on a jammer and walk out over there in front of what seems like the whole world when we have practice. I know it doesn't make any difference, but it does bother me.
So what will it be? How long will I hold out in the outdoor pool? Even if I do swim outdoors all winter, I need the indoor pool because I won't be able to do the distance I need in the cold. Tuesday, I came home from my short 700 meter swim and my left foot froze after I got home, and I was cold for about forty minutes despite being heavily bundled in clothes and tucking myself under the bed covers. I'm just not good at this. My body doesn't like it. When I stick my foot into that cold water, I always think This is the most unnatural thing on earth. It hurts. Cold water hurts, and I am not a fan of pain. Why do it? No one else around here does. I don't have a training buddy to try this with me since Randy Beets moved away. I could be home with the cats. Why do it?
I can't answer that question.
Tomorrow I think I'll go back to Twin Rivers and try it again. I don't know why, but I will dip my foot into the cold water, cringe, and pray, Help me Lord.
These are the thoughts I have in the comfort of my own bedroom while I am warm and dreaming and determined. And I mean it. Tuesday afternoon, I had my coolest swim of the year: 61 degree water on a 65 degree day. A mere 700 meters was just about enough to send my courage and determination running for a spot in front of the space heater.
Now I am in that going back and forth mode, between, I'm just not made to be a cold water swimmer to Maybe I can make another swim or two before I totally tap out. Do you hear it? Do you hear the self talk of defeat? And then I have these thoughts: What difference does it make? Why put myself through the torture? It has no bearing on Chicot or the Heart O' Dixie or any of the events that are important to me.
I guess it doesn't. Have any impact on my big goals, that is. But something inside keeps pushing me. What is that something? Honestly, I am not sure. Is it pride? Do I smart that some people can really do this cold water thing and I can't? Is it the challenge? Is it the mystic allure of something so weird so off the wall something so subculture? If I had to testify in court, I would say it's the latter. I have always been attracted to the roads less traveled, metaphorically and literally.
These roads less traveled have led me into marathons, ultra-marathons, all day bicycle rides, multi-day bicycle rides, triathlons, marathon swimming, and journey runs. Not that I have ever been very good at any of this, but I have had a lot of fun playing, going to new places, and meeting new people. My only regret in all of this is that I started much of this too late in life.
The cold water stuff is sort of in the same vein. It's odd, little known, off the radar screen of the general populace. And I suppose another push this year is the fact that for the first time ever, Twin Rivers is leaving its pool up all winter. I don't have to drive to the pond to try a cold water swim. I have a 50-meter pool less than a mile from my house and it is mine and mine alone. Would it not be a sin not to avail myself of that? Has not God given me this? set the table and invited me to "Come and dine"?
Usually this is the time of year I give up and start back going to Delta State to swim indoors under the tutelage of a well-qualified coach. One problem with that is I am a bit ashamed to show up over there because I am so fat right now. OK, color me vain, but you put on a jammer and walk out over there in front of what seems like the whole world when we have practice. I know it doesn't make any difference, but it does bother me.
So what will it be? How long will I hold out in the outdoor pool? Even if I do swim outdoors all winter, I need the indoor pool because I won't be able to do the distance I need in the cold. Tuesday, I came home from my short 700 meter swim and my left foot froze after I got home, and I was cold for about forty minutes despite being heavily bundled in clothes and tucking myself under the bed covers. I'm just not good at this. My body doesn't like it. When I stick my foot into that cold water, I always think This is the most unnatural thing on earth. It hurts. Cold water hurts, and I am not a fan of pain. Why do it? No one else around here does. I don't have a training buddy to try this with me since Randy Beets moved away. I could be home with the cats. Why do it?
I can't answer that question.
Tomorrow I think I'll go back to Twin Rivers and try it again. I don't know why, but I will dip my foot into the cold water, cringe, and pray, Help me Lord.
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