I promise to be a better person (fingers crossed!)

On my honor, I promise to be a better person. Can I stop there? Here are my 2009 resolutions (and since this is the end of January, I guess 'stop procrastinating' should be #1) . . .

1. Blog at least once a week. I've gotten out of the habit (and nothing ever sounds quite right). Current status: it's the end of January, and this is my first blog.

2. Run in the White Rock Half-Marathon. Thank God it's not until December. Daughter #1 and I talked about running it together. Fortunately, she's a worse runner than I am. Current status: I'm thinking about buying a pair of running shoes this weekend.

3. Lose 20 pounds: I started off the year about 206 pounds. Current status: Last week, I weighed in at 210 pounds.

4. Complete at least one home improvement project every weekend: I probably need to add 'finish painting the porch railing (started in 1997)' and 'finish trim on front porch (started in 2004).' Current status: I helped my wife re-decorate the living room by putting up crown molding and replacing the baseboards. Unfortunately, she said, 'while you have your tool belt out . . .' and I ruined my home improvement plans for the next three weekends.

5. Plant a garden. Actually this is my wife's idea, but I do all the grunt work. The evening sun fries our backyard, and our ground is like concrete. Other than that, it should fun. Current status: I bagged some leaves and hope they'll compost themselves.

6. Value time. This one's all encompassing. I can't even begin to estimate the amount of time I waste screwing around on the computer or not doing what I should be doing because I don't think I have time. Current status: See current status on most everything above.

7. Spend more one-on-one time with daughter #2. Daughter #2 is an attention sucker, but most of her earlier life was spent at her sister's soccer games and volleyball games and basketball games. We've been spending more time together on the weekends, and I've been 'forcing her' to practice her French Horn while I 'listen.' Current status: I'm blogging and she's watching TV.

8. Don't worry; be happy. I think I've aged more in the last 3-5 years than during any period in my life. Money, daughter #1, money, daughter #2, money, son and money. Probably need to adhere more to my WWJBD philosophy: What would Jimmy Buffett do? Current status: Just bought daughter #1 a new car. Company bonus is going to build a new fence (hey, see #4). Guess I better work on this one, too.

9. Join a church. Why do they have to meet on Sunday mornings? Or Saturday evenings? My wife and I need this for our own peace of mind, and daughter #2 needs it to build a stronger foundation, spiritually and socially. A friend describes our church life as flavor of the week. I grew up Catholic, my wife Southern Baptist (in Maryland?). We've attended Church of Christ, Methodist, Southern Baptist, Interdenominational, Non-denominational, and a few others. Current status: why do they have to meet on Sunday mornings?

10. Bring joy to others. This is the easiest one and the hardest one. It's simple to smile or say a nice word to someone, but what about someone who really needs it? And being needy, high maintenance and all about me, I love to be told that I'm a nice guy. Current status: I've shopped at the neighborhood WalMart the last two evenings after work. This one's going to have to wait.

Okay, check off #1 (at least until next week).

The Wall is Real; or Bonking the Blog

This is not about running, BUT . . . The Wall exists.

During decades of on-again, off-again underachieving as a runner, I didn't believe The Wall existed. Runners, especially marathoners, speak of The Wall as if it's lurking just around the corner, waiting to throw itself in the path of an unsuspecting, under-prepared runner; but, to borrow from Ghostbusters, 'I ain't afraid o' not ghost.'

Running experts associate hitting The Wall, or 'bonking,' with the depletion of Glycogen, which is the energy source for running up until about 18-20 miles (depending on training). Somewhere around that point, muscles begin to burn fat, which produces less energy, slowing you down, and eventually you slam right into The Wall.

Bonk . . .

Those experts say that better training will help maximize the use of available Glycogen and allow the body to supplement it earlier by burning fat (at least that's what I think I they said). They also recommend energy drinks and carbo-loading to provide additional sources of energy during the run.

I didn't believe in The Wall . . . until Mile 17 of the Austin Motorola Marathon in 2001. The Wall not only smacked me in the face, it fell on me.

Just a reminder for you non-runners or bored runners: This really is not about running.

As a runner, I'd learned how to compensate for fatigue or pain in one part of my body by stressing another part; but after The Wall fell on me, I hurt in places that had never hurt before, and I didn't have a clue what to do.

Fortunately, marathons, depending on their popularity, are lined with well-wishers who'll toss out words of encouragement and lie to you about how good you're looking or how close you are to the finish line. After meeting The Wall, I broke into tears every time anyone even acknowledged my presence.

The Wall had physically, mentally and emotionally crushed me.

Then, running advice jokingly offered by my couch-potato brother-in-law came to mind: 'Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot.'

I finished the marathon, carrying Wall bricks for last nine miles, in about five hours. For those of you who are not runners, a marathon is 26.2 miles, and five hours is somewhere south of mediocrity.

But I did finish, and I somehow sprinted across the finish line. And I must've looked good (HA!). While I was recuperating, wrapped in a silver, thermal blanket and drinking whatever athletes drink, an African-looking runner (Kenyans are the best) approached me and asked if I knew where the elite runners were meeting. Yeah, and Elvis and I will be singing with The Beatles right after the meeting.

Why is this not about running?

I think I've bonked on my blog. I've started 2-3 different posts and haven't finished any. The Wall seems to be waiting for me every time I sit down at the keyboard.

I do remember learning to type. The method was to type: ffffffffjjjjjjjjjfffffffjjjjjjjj, etc. That's even more basic than 'right foot, left foot. right foot, left foot.'

So if I can bonk, then 'right-foot-left-foot-right-foot-left-foot' it to the finish line and then be asked for directions to the elite runners' meeting, then I can get fffffffjjjjjffffffjjjj it to cranked back up on this blog.

And if you cheer, I promise not to cry.

Junior High Running Advice II

One of the best bits of running advice I ever received was on my one (yes, one) day of football tryouts in 8th grade. I eavesdropped on two coaches as they watched a classmate, Harris White, run 50-yard sprints. Harris was a Black kid whose running style was very relaxed, most noticeably, his palms open instead of fists clenched.

I finished this post on my running blog with a look at my own running style, but here I'd like to think more about Harris and why those coaches noticed him.

A LITTLE BACKGROUND

Port Arthur schools first integrated, more or less, when I was in junior high, some time around 1968-69 (I say more or less because I think PAISD has been under a federal court order to get it right for about 20-30 years).

My dad was a boilermaker at Texaco and had grown up dirt poor in Kentucky; and, as we watched America's civil rights wrestling match on TV, he talked about his Black friends (but Black wasn't his word of choice early on) that he grew up with and worked with. As a result, it never occurred to me to get angry because Blacks were at MY school (in all fairness, right in line with the times and region, we did talk about how those kids came all the way from n----- town to go to our school . . . in Port Arthur, all the way had to be maybe a couple of miles). Unfortunately, a lot of people were angry, and hallways would explode with the bump of a shoulder or a misunderstood look. Although tempered a little (but not much), those kinds of fights continued through at least my senior year (if you were at Thomas Jefferson in 72-73, you may remember All-State quarterback (and moron) Larry Meyer tossing a Black kid over the railing and down the stairwell).

Pretty sad, too. Even those of us who avoided trouble still ignorantly stepped on toes. I remember losing the key to my gym locker and innocently asking one of the Black guys if he could break into my locker for me. His look told me that I could have just as easily been telling him to move to the back of the bus. STUPID! (as a I write this, I'm thinking about Ray Lyons, a chess teammate -- manly men! -- and wonder how I may have treated him)

BACK TO HARRIS WHITE AND THOSE COACHES . . .

Ken Jenkins works out with me some evenings at the Y. He's an assistant principal at the alternative high school in Irving ISD, and we've talked a lot about the integration of schools when we were kids. Ken's Black and grew up in a small town near Corsicana, Texas. He's a few years older than I am and was on the first integrated football team at his high school. He's shared stories that are torn from the Remember the Titans script about mixing Black and white athletes. Ken ran track at TCU (I think) about the same time that Jerry Levias broke the color barrier in football at SMU.

He told me that white fans soon warmed up to the idea of having Black players. Most had never seen football played that way. Their team had figuratively gone from 0 to 60 over the summer, from farm boys playing three-yards-and-a-cloud-of-dust to wide-open FAST football. I believe now that's why those junior high coaches noticed Harris White. They'd never seen an athlete move so quickly and smoothly and so relaxed.

A SIDE NOTE . . .

The first game of Ken's season was against an all-white school, and he fielded the opening kick-off. His return of the kick-off for a touchdown probably is what swayed a lot of those East Texas fans. Unfortunately, a white cheerleader ran onto the field and hugged him after he crossed the goal line. Both were in the principal's office Monday morning.

The funniest part of that game is the first play from scrimmage. Ken was the running back, and the coach called his number on that play. Ken said that when he heard the play, he stepped out of the huddle, looked in shock at his coach, pointed at himself and mouthed 'ME?' I believe everyone in the stadium understood his question, including the opposing defense. Ken never said how far that play went.

FOLLOW-UP

I'm a REALLY slow runner; but if I ever see Harris again, I'd like to thank him for a relaxed running style that makes me at least feel like I'm running fast.

I'm not sure if Harris played football in high school. He was really fast, and I'm pretty sure he ran track. Thomas Jefferson's football teams (in Port Arthur, before I offend anyone) were REALLY bad in the early to mid-70s, so I kind of doubt if his speed had been tapped.