Let's Run

Let me preface this post by admitting that I've become the annoying person who does what I said I wouldn't ever do.

I run.

I run races.

Well, let's be honest about my 'running' to say that I intermittently ran two races. I walked the first one, and interval walked/ran my way through the second one. This time three months ago, I scoffed at the notion of running any sort of race. I hated to run. I never ran unless forced. I'm still wrapping my brain around the idea that I've become the person I admired (a runner) and swore wouldn't do unless my life depended on it. You're probably wondering, "what changed?"

(Left to Right) Linda, me and Sena upon finishing the
Hot Chocolate 15k in San Diego, CA

Nothing. It could be peer pressure and timing. Stupid, plain timing. My neighbor, had an extra bib. She and her friend were going to do a 15k and mostly walk it. I could walk a 15k. Why not?? We did run a few stretches. Some longer than others. We talked about life, and somewhere along the way I started to enjoy the process. At the end, we drank hot coco and gave each other high-fives for finishing.

That was the kicker. The feeling of working towards something and seeing it through to completion. A test of your resilience and desire to overcome an ache and fatigue. Get 'er done. We've all heard the term, "runner's high". I had never experienced it before because I hadn't done any races. I stopped playing sports a long time ago and like most athletes, most of my running was contained to the hardwood and the occasional 1.5 mile run. Several of the runs, I totally shaved a tenth of mile (or few) too.

Now I've downloaded an app. I've started doing a training program. I have run 2x week for the last few weeks. I'm planning on running 3x week starting this week. I ran this morning. It feels good to finish something that I hate to do. I like my job. Most other things I do must be done to function, like cooking or doing laundry. Healthy people would say we need physical activity to function as well. I would respond by saying, we need it to function well, but we don't need it to function. Hence why so many of us are too tired to do it.

I'm going to ride this high for as long as it lasts. The best thing is that it comes back after I complete my next run.

Life is Beautiful

Some days cause you to squeeze the kid a little longer and tighter, and to be present and appreciate the moment. I'm reminded that life changes for some in an instant. If you love someone never hesitate to tell them. Hug them often. We assume so many things about the future. Who shall be there sharing it with us. In this life God doesn't give guarantees, only time. It is up to us how we spend the time not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. Through moments shared with others we leave impressions. We choose how deep and meaningful.

I hope at the end of my story, or an important chapter - the vast emptiness becomes the Universe, with its stars and planets and debris. The memories of times spent laughing and crying and in stillness can be seen for its beauty; and appreciated by those who remain to gaze upon it.

I'm going to sit or sleep for 23 1/2 hours beginning today!

A colleague at work sent this along and I encourage you to watch it. It is about 9 minutes, but fun to watch (besides educational). Yes, I used the word educational. Take action and join me in sitting or sleeping for only 23 1/2 hours everyday!

What the future will hold

The last few months, it is wildly apparent that I no longer have a baby, but a full-fledge little guy. Upon our last visit to Disneyland, the Dude was tall enough (and willing at least once) to ride the Tower of Terror and Space Mountain. When I saw this picture posted, I flashed forward to a teenage Dude, hanging out in garages rocking out. It quickly changes, the present when one realizes it isn't always what we think. When we are confronted with growing abilities and levels of comprehension that is the moment that changes everything. Looking at this picture, life changed just a little. It forces me to slow down and appreciate the times when the Dude wants to be cuddled and climb onto my lap. One day he'll be too cool to do these things. He'll not need my cuddles, nor want to sit on my lap. BUT, for now I'm lucky he wants to do both. And until he's too cool - I'm going to enjoy my little cuddle monster.

Prepping for National Novel Writing Month

I'm using The Daily Post to prepare for National Novel Writing Month which begins November.

Topic #268:
Recently I updated my status with my thoughts about the dealth penalty on Facebook. Boy, did it take a life of its own (pun intended). I do understand that like religion and politics, the right to kill and carry arms seem to be topics that people feel strongly about one way or the other. I'm in the camp that killing people, even those who may deserve it is wrong. It is legal revenge that feeds into the part of people. The cry coming from anger turning into agression.

My belief in the evils of capital punishment are not born from virtue or the bible, but the idea that it doesn't accomplish anything. It doesn't serve a purpose other than to exact revenge. It isn't a Right. It is a law, and laws are made by people. Historically speaking, specifically white men who are human, flawed and with limited perspectives.

There is something about bringing life to this world that changes a person. Maybe not every person, but it certainly added a dimension to me. A level of compassion and caring for humanity that I never thought about before having had Wy. A real desire to teach him values in life that will grow his character in ways that will not only serve him, but be a reflection upon me. A legacy that will continue long afterwards.

Do I agree with capital punishment? Not for a second. And not because we have a flawed legal system. Not because I'm against killing (although I am). I don't agree with it because condemming someone to death, to find peace in killing is unattainable. The only outcome is that we lose ourselves and our humanity with each verdict that takes a life.

Ode to Mom

Mom and I don’t have one of those traditionally complicated mother-daughter relationships, full of dysfunction, discontent or animosity. Naturally as I writer I wish there existed a little more drama, but I suppose I get a double-dose from my parents’ relationship and the prat-falls that ensured from being their child. Oh wait; do dysfunctional parental relationships make writers or serial killers? I digress.

It was a rather immediate metamorphosis (if you consider a nine-month waiting period, immediate) into a different person with access to places most sane people avoid; and knowledge of bodily functions, development charts that only the insane talk about in wild rants standing on a milk crate in the intersection at Downtown Crossing. A member of an all-inclusive club called “Motherhood”. Considering how many of us exist, I should expect that we are a powerful political/economical/social block with which all others should bow and listen to; and clean up after oneself while you are at it. Instead, we are the ones standing on the street corners heading warnings at passer-bys, who are just to busy to get where they need to go to listen. I’ve gathered this experience and wisdom from a mere three years of paying dues, just wait until I have another five or ten under my non-existent belt (after discovering holes in shirts around my belt-buckle, I suspect the cause to stem from picking up exhausted kid who uses the buckle as some sort of perch). Ever try to talk to a three-year-old? My advice, get a recorder and put it on repeat while they are sleeping. I witnessed a friend trying to ask her son what he did today. His response was to collapse, falling to the brown tufted-carpet pleading, “Mom, why are you talking to me?” Enough said.

I get it now. I’ve made my decisions and my fair share of mistakes. I’ve followed some of the rules and chose to actively ignore others, disregarding my much-too-wise-mother’s opinions. As I said before, we never had mother-daughter angst that my other friends survived. Understanding my place in the family, my own personality and desire to please (both my parents, not just my mom) offers some insight; additionally, not living with her from 15 until 19 adds another element and potential explanation as to why our relationship never stained. Since this history, alternate paths can’t be tested and theories will remain unproven, either way. The cliché of us turning into our mothers is very true. As least, I see it occurring within my girl friends. It is impossible for me to say the same for me because I don’t believe myself to have ever been so different. The need to rebel never existed. Perhaps Mom is a master chess player, knowing when to sacrifice a pawn to take a rook. She rarely said no, rather why not. She instilled Asian-mom guilt, “how can you do that. Do you not respect me? How could you shame me?” looking back at my seven-year-old self, I can easily say that I was wrong to take that last drumstick of chicken knowing that my younger cousin would only eat drumsticks, causing a waterfall of tears at my Aunt and Uncles’ dinner table while on holiday.

Consequence. Cause and effect. I understood the theory in practice well before I studied it formally later in school. She didn’t need to stand over me because I believed it all came back to her. In some way, shape or form, it would reflect upon her because I do. Although, this notion viewed by some as an extension of ones ego, and for some I truly believe it is. For me, it serves me well as my conscience. A favorite movie of my younger brother was Pinocchio. “Let your conscience be your guide,” says Jiminy Cricket to help keep Pinocchio on the straight and narrow through his journey to becoming a real boy. Like Pinocchio partying in Treasure Island, playing pool and smoking cigars, I’ve celebrated a time or two (or two hundred); but the point is to understand limits and know when to leave the party before turning into an ass. My mom is my Jiminy Cricket. As I see it, if I do turn into her or if I am already, it would be all right with me. Of course I’m biased but I think she did a pretty good job; but just again, may she played tapes while I was sleeping.