The rejuvenated Poet goes Old School

Lately, I have gotten a serious bug to get back into writing poetry.  I was a fairly serious poet in high school (Thank you, Mr. Joseph Wilson, Creative Writing/Humanities teacher my senior year), and even served as the editor of the Senior poetry publication for my school. 

In the intervening years between those heady days and the encroachment of middle-age, however, the poems have been rather sparsely scattered.  The last poem of any real work and revision came at the time of my engagement to my beautiful wife-- I wrote a rather long ballad poem that for the proposal, and it ended up being set to music by her brother and sung at the reception.

With that exception and the occasional haiku jotted in the journal, one can pretty much sum up my life poetic as pathetic.

Time to change that.

As the Muse sticks her cattle prod into my hindquarters, though, there has been one rather interesting twist:  I matriculated into poetry in a world of free verse and blank verse... it is rather the dominant form over the last century.  It is certainly what I know the most, and is by far the most popular in the current day.

So, of course, what do I do?  I want to go back to some traditional forms.  Maybe it's the Tolkien lover in me... all of his 'rhyming' poetry embedded in his works.  Maybe it's the budding musician in me, desiring to write poetry within the constraints of rhyme, rhythm and meter, or maybe it's just me wanting to be different.   Any of the reasons works as far as I'm concerned.

There is one small problem, though... I'm not terribly versed on the canon of traditional forms other than the haiku, which we Westerners really only attempt facsimiles of anyway, since English is not Japanese.

So, as I endeavor to embark on this trek through Thumb-my-nose-at-the-rest-of-the-world-Land, I have hit the library and gathered a pile of books to learn about traditional forms.  I'm very excited about this process.  It's going to be fun.

But don't expect to see much of the efforts on this blog... I don't expect to make the results available to many besides myself.  At this stage in my life, doing this is for my soul and spirit, not for reading at poetry slams or cafes or attempts at publishing.

Some rebel, huh?  Go against the grain but never let anyone see the results!   LOL

Riddles and signs at the gym...

Some random thoughts from the gym this morning:

• I get tickled at myself when I solve one of life's little riddles, especially if it's one that should not have been such a poser to my silly self.  At my gym, there is a steam room in the pool area.  There are glass windows, but you can't see through them into the room (wouldn't be much of steam room if you could).  Well, I have wondered many times why some people, prior to entering the steam room, go and get 2-3 of the foam kickboards from the pool area.  It's been something I've idly wondered many times, but never put much thought into-- and then the answer hit me this morning.. they are lying down on the boards in there and using the foam kickboards as a pillow.  DUH
• One of the great things about being someone who really doesn't care too terribly much about what everyone else thinks is that you can do things that might mortify more intrepid souls...and things that may have *never* been done before at a particular place!   This morning, I forgot to grab one of my magazines that I read while I work out on the treadmill and bicycle, so once I arrived, I grabbed my ASL textbook from the book bag.  I wonder if anyone has ever been seen before, at that particular gym in that particular city, signing to himself as he walked off the pounds  :)
• I had forgotten what fantastic exercise rowing is... I used to own a Concept 2 rowing machine, but sold it at one point because I needed the money back.  My gym has two of them though, and I've incorporated it back into my cardio routines.  It is an absolute beating.. 10 minutes of it, and I'm wiped out....
• Unlike some guys, I'm a big fan of the shower "skooshie" when using the liquid soap they provide.  Much better suds that way.  Which makes it irritating when said skooshie goes AWOL from the gym bag.  It's even more irritating when I discover later that I put the skooshie in the wrong pocket of the bag and it was there all along!
• I think I'm finally starting to turn the corner on the exercise thing again.  It's becoming habit.  I hope it stays that way... I like the way I feel in terms of energy and self-confidence when I workout on a regular basis!

Why is everyone so dour?

This morning, as I was leaving my gym, I passed a lady who was on her way in, and was struck at how less-than-happy she looked.  She wasn't angry, or sad, or obviously rushed... she just wasn't smiling.  At that exact moment of time, she couldn't have been aware that I was observing her, so her look could not have been one of feminine defense against advancement.  She just looked... dour.

As I reflected on this, I thought back on all the people I had seen that morning, and even accounting for the effects that having to exercise might have had on one's countenance, I remembered frowns, and strained faces, and very little laughter and smiles.  As I broadened the sweep of my musings, I began to think about all the people that I encounter on a daily basis, and I wondered when I last met someone out in the daily world who walked in joy.

I could recall some at church, but even some people there seem to be infected... and I wonder at where we are-- as a people, as a country, and human brothers and sisters.

As a Christian, I know the source of true joy, and yet I often find myself struggling to laugh and enjoy this beautiful world around us.  I have been recently struggling with a very serious case of the down-in-the-dumps myself.

One would be tempted to place the blame squarely on the sagging shoulders of the economy, but I believe it goes deeper than that.  I certainly recall having noticed these same strains among people further back than the collapse of the US home market.  Regardless of the current fiscal state of the union, I have begun to think that we just simply don't take the time to relax, to share good time with people we love, and to fill our souls with the things that speak to our hearts and enrich us.

The other day, I had lunch at an out-of-the-way German restaurant, a wonderful little place that turned out to be a local foci for peoples of German origin here in the DFW area.  On their menu, they had a delightful little statement about their what they desired to bring out in their patron's lives.  It said, in effect, that if one was looking for a fast restaurant to get in and out of rapidly as possible, then they were not the place... but if you wanted to learn to slow down, and dine and converse with companions, then the true German spirit would be conveyed along with the meal.

It was a statement to take to heart, and I wish I had written it down.  (It would not be unusual for me to pull out my moleskine and do exactly that!)  As I rush from housework to yardwork to studying to violin practice to work to church to soccer... I, too, need to remember to slow down, and sit around the table of life with good friends, and some "Jäger Schnitzel mit Spätzle und gemischtem Salat", and stimulating conversation...  and allow these wonderful things to bring some balance back in my life.   May my fellow race-runners find such a respite too!

Reflections on a 5k

This past Saturday I participated in my first 5k.  The race was hosted in Plano, TX, by the Heroes for Children organization.  This wonderful cause was created by two ladies who lost kids to childhood cancers, and the organization provides assistance to families who are enduring similar troubles in their life.   I am very proud and honored to have run my first-ever 5k (and first ever athletic event of any kind) in support of this organization.

I did pretty good on the 5k, considering that I had never done one before and am nursing a balky knee.  I am not quite far enough along in my training regimen to run 3 miles yet, so I walked about half of it and ran what I could.  I did finish on a run, though, and logged a "chip time" of 40:41.   I'm quite pleased with that, as my only goals for this were to finish and attempt to finish in less than 45 minutes.  I was just below the average for runners in my age/gender division.  

Some random thoughts from the events of the day:

1.  I was saddened that my family was not able to attend the event and watch me run.  The vagaries of the fall soccer season for my boys prevented that... but I know my lovely wife and handsome boys were cheering me on in spirit.

2.  Some guys would scoff at this, but I could have sworn some moisture from Hurricane Ike got in my eyes during the pre-race ceremonies as we heard the tale of the founders' kiddoes that died from cancer, and were introduced to children who are currently fighting the greatest fight of their young lives.   Somehow the moisture got there about an hour before it started raining.  Go figure.

3.  A young man named Carson, who is battling cancer, has a LOT of people who love him.  They were all there, in powder-blue tshirts emlazoned with "Carson's Crusaders" on it.   I think I counted at least 30 or more.   My prayers are with that young man... he is looking great right now, and I hope that he continues to kick his adversary right in the teeth.

4.  I saw one of the Geico cavemen there.  I kid you not, there was one guy in the crowd with quite a beard and hairdo.....

5.  And then there was the guy in the kilt... and he ran the 5k.  I passed him at one point.  Fortunately, the tropical storm winds had not arrived yet... I had no desire to see how authentic his mode of dress was.....

6.  In mile 3 of the run, I figured out that I was a "pacer".  I powerwalked most of the third mile before running the final 1/8 or so to the finish.  However, when I powerwalk, I am really booking it.  Consequently, I would pass people all the time who had dropped to a walk as well.  I would get a ways ahead of them and then they would run again, just a little bit past me, then drop to a walk again... and I would pass them again in short order.    I began to get the sense that they would say  "Hey!  the fat guy is passing me again... I gotta run!"  :-)

7.  Doing athletic things makes you appreciate food afterwards.   The body has a sense that you've earned it to some degree.   A sausage biscuit with egg NEVER tasted so good as it did Saturday morning.

8.  Finally.... my feelings about my first 5k are in no way reflected by my spot in the final rankings.  I knew I was not ready to 'compete' in any fashion.   But this 5k is the first milestone that I can point to in my quest to live a more active, healthy life.  I entered a running competition and I finished, and finished on my terms with a good run.  It is something that I am extremely proud for having done, and I can't wait to do another one.... and to someday do one after having climbed off my bike, 2/3 of the way through a triathlon!

Phelps still has nothing to worry about...

But the swimming is finally getting better!  I finally have figured out how all the parts work, and now I'm swimming pretty consistently.  There is still a lot of refining to do, and I keep a constant eye on my mechanics, but now the basic stroke is built, and I'm toodling down the pool in good fashion.

The key was the breathing.  I finally settled on a "2" breathing pattern.  (Breathing on the same side, every time that arm comes up out of the water over your head).   The trick to it was learning to take smaller breaths, rather than gulping a big lungful, which is what I was doing before.  This didn't work because I didn't have time to exhale it before it was time to breathe again, and you need to have it timed where you have exhaled it all through your nose and are ready to inhale as soon as your head comes out of the water.  Once I learned to "half-breathe", it all started to fall into place.

I'm no speed demon, but I was surprised at how quickly I can get down the pool now that I have the basic stroke down.  Feels pretty good, actually.  Now, I can really start to train for this portion of the triathlon, working on refining the mechanics and stretching my endurance.  

I still have a long way to go, but now I can really get started on the journey.

A long-expected day

Yesterday, I watched with pride as my son Matthew finally got to experience a day he has anticipated for the better part of three years.  In the second half of his first soccer game of the season, my son pulled on a keeper's jersey, put on his gloves, and played his first game as a goalkeeper.

As I said earlier, he has wanted this for years.  He fell in love with the defensive aspects of soccer as soon as he was old enough to appreciate the game.  However, the recreational soccer organization in our city does not use GK's until the boys reach the U9 stage.  For awhile now, my son has played sweeper, and has been the last line of defense for his team despite the fact that he could not use his hands.    In the last couple of years, the team has played on a much larger field, with a 6'x12' goal... and no keeper.  We have seen **a lot*** of goals scored from the midline or worse.

And so, I've watched him as he tried to defend this huge goal without being able to use his hands.

That changed yesterday, and it was a joy to see one of my sons get to fulfill a dream.  Granted, he's young, and it's not quite the equivalent of starting in goal for ManU, but it's still his dream.. and he had waited almost half his lifetime to see it realized.

In order to make his debut the best we could for him, we sent him to a top-notch goalkeeping camp this summer, and have arranged for him to get keeper training from specialized coaches throughout the season.  He threw himself into the training with gusto, and it showed as he stepped into his goal.   He walked like a keeper, stalked like a keeper, and played like a keeper.  He had just a touch of that attitude-- "this is MY goal, and you stay out".

And he played very well in his debut.  He allowed three goals, but saved many more, proving to be quite fearless the whole time.  After only one game, his teammates dubbed him "Brick Wall".  Even the opposing coach, whose team is one of the best in the whole association, took time in the congratulatory handshake line to compliment him on his play.

Needless to say, I was brimming with pride.  But even more than pride... I was filled with satisfaction.  Pride comes hand-in-hand with the dangerous train of thought that I am watching, in my son, the future keeper for the US national team, or maybe Chelsea or Real Madrid, etc, etc.

But the satisfaction was for him, and the joy I could tell that he was feeling.  My son realized a dream yesterday, and it was everything he had ever hoped it would be, and he had fun doing it... and it showed.

It doesn't get much better than that for a Dad!

Michael Phelps I'm not....

About a month ago, I decided that just losing weight and getting into better shape was no longer good enough.   In a moment of contemplation and thinking about my personal goals and life-dreams, I had a temporary lapse of sanity and decided that I was going to train for a...... triathlon.

Yes, you read right.  A triathlon.

Now, before you go off looking for a burial plot for me, understand that I have no pretensions about doing an "Ironman".  That is the one that most people think of when they think "triathlon".   2.25 mile swim, 113 mile bike ride, and 26 mile marathon.

I don't think so, scooter.

Nope, I'm shooting for a "sprint" triathlon, something a little more in the realm of us mere mortals.  1/2 mile swim, 13 mile bike ride, 3 mile run.  Much more doable.  Really.  Surely.   Just...... too bad the swimming comes first!   Ah, swimming- that glorious realm of the "I could swim to save my life if I needed to, but I don't really want to admit that if I fell off a boat, I would probably freak and drown in plain site of the life ring floating next to my head"

The swimming is the only portion of the triathlon that gives me the sweats.  The portion that sometimes makes me think-- "what on earth am I doing?!?"   I can ride a bicycle.  I may come in last over 13 miles, but I know how to ride a bike.  I can run... and if I'm tired, I can walk.  Been doing that for 38-some odd years or so.  But swimming-- ah, therein lies the rub.

And so... now I'm training to be a competitive swimmer.  Now I need to get ready for an 800m swim.  That's 8 laps in an Olympic-length pool.   16 laps at the pool in the 24-hour Fitness gym I frequent.  And I have found out that competitive swimming is HARD.  15 minutes in the pool is far more exhausting than 45 on the treadmill.  Hands down.

My coach (my beautiful wife, a former Water Safety Instructor), is teaching me, helping me develop a better crawl technique.   My previous crawl (read:  flopping thrash) would be the equivalent of a Picasso... all the parts are in unexpected places.  So now,I'm trying to work on bettering 15 million parts of a swimming crawl stroke, and put them all together sometime soon enough to actually start swimming using this new-fangled crawl and build up my endurance for the triathlon.  Somewhat like this:

1. Head down
2. Left arm back, elbow tight to the body, rotating the upper torso.
3. Left elbow out of water, bent above line of spine and head.
4. Left arm enters the water, hand at an angle, directly on the centerline of my spine just in front of my head
5. Left hand turns slightly, catches the water, as I pull back.
6. Meanwhile, the right arm is already pulling back, elbow in, ready to come out of the water.
7. Oh yeah... I'm supposed to be kicking.  Divert mental resources to the legs, ah, there they go... they are moving again, participating in this madness rather than acting as a sea anchor
8. Right arm forward, centerline, catch....
9. Left arm back, elbow in, up, centerline, catch....
10. Right arm forward, centerline, catch....
11. Still kicking?  Yes, good!  I'm forgetting something... what the heck is it?  Oh yeah... I NEED TO BREATHE!
12. Ship a mouth full of water and stop the lap, gasping.....

Happens all too often, unfortunately....

sigh

I'll get there.  I've given myself a lot of time to do this, and I've got determination like you wouldn't believe.   This triathlon goal means a lot to me, maybe more than any goal I've ever set for myself.   And, if nothing else, I have a new found respect-- above and beyond what I already possessed-- for the men, women, boys, and girls who do this *swimming* thing for competition.

I may not be Michael Phelps, but suddenly he seems even a little bit more like a Swimming Superman.