Can of Do

So maybe 3 am isn't the best time to write.

The prose is catharsis. I want to sleep not die. My brain won't let me. It is whirring like a jet engine, especially at night. The tension knots and pulls from my eyebrows to my neck causing headaches that worsen as I whir making sleep even harder. When it's dark and quiet it's hard to suppress the buzz. Throwing it out there is for me, it forces me to be honest with myself and deal with these issues and thoughts and not bottle it up. It helps ease some of the pressure. Kinda like dealing with grief, only I get to not just deal with grief, but get to give myself grief at the same time. Some might say "win win"? - though I've never been exceptionally good at nomenclature, I'm more visual representation. I can draw it or make it, but have a hard time recalling it's proper name or terminology.

It's not solely the loss of the job that is eating away at me, it's trying to come to terms with some of the things said to me, some of the anger present, and the suddenness of the situation. The power 2 little words can wield is mighty impressive.

Not that getting fired will ever fall into the "good timing" category, but it's not particularly the best timing for this and has just added to the mounting pressure. Causing more brain whirs and keeping me up at night with additional worry, stress, and tension. And a few chinks in my self-esteem armor.

However, in the daylight, when the Sun is out and the sky is blue it is easy for me to do as my little friend says and open my "can of do". Yes my can do attitude isn't lost. I'm just grieving the loss of my old life. I'm well aware life is what you make it and it's up to me to decide coffin or a chrysalis*.

*Note: my bikes have butterfly stickers on them and no coffins (or coffers for that matter)

Time heals most wounds and like H. always says "all bleeding eventually stops".

Unquiet Mind

I am my own worst enemy. Nighttime is the worst. My mind keeps racing, looping and replaying. Since last Wednesday, I go about 2 hours of sleep then it kicks back in. Whirring. Punching. Beating me down. I've got to quiet it.

Will one pill make me sleep? Two? A handful? A bottle?

Shh... shh... shh...

breathe

Thank God the Sun will be up soon. Morning breaks the loop, I can hide in the Sun. In the darkness, I am weak.

breathe.

Exodus

Open your eyes and look within:
Are you satisfied (with the life you're living)?
We know where we're going,
We know where we're from

-Bob Marley "Exodus"

The number 3 has always played a significant role in my (and ironically my dad's) life.

• 8Ball and I got 3rd this weekend at the Jailbreak off-road triathlon.
  
• We were 3 minutes off of the teams that specialize in these types of events, some top 5 nationally ranked Xterra pros. Us showing up with no canoe or run training, but a lot of heart, integrity, drive, and desire to compete and have fun.
• We were team number 3.
• There were only 3 people we didn't catch and pass on the bike portion.
• We were 2 of 3 single speeders out there (the other was on a relay team).
• I was racing on my 3rd mountain bike.
• I was the third employee hired at my job.
• It was the third company I'd worked for since moving to Nashville.
• I was the third fired from the company.

Yeah I was let go Friday. I can't say that I didn't see it coming and I have no one to blame but myself. The guys I worked for are stand-up people and I enjoyed being there. No matter if you've been thinking and feeling what they were saying, when confronted with the truth, it is a bitter pill to swallow and I think one that is natural to cause hackles to come out. I am sad about the poor communication, especially in light of some of the things said in the exit meeting, but communication is a 2-way street and once again no one to blame but myself. It's like my 3rd grade teacher use to say "whenever you point your finger remember there are 3 more pointing back at you". Would better communication have changed the outcome? I don't think so, but it would have changed the way we all walked out of the room. The friendship loss is what hurts the most.

Ever since Downieville, I've known I wasn't doing what I wanted to be doing. I don't really know what that is, but I knew I was just going through the motions of life and I had been for several years. It's been a long time coming, this transformation, this wake-up, this kick in the ass to get on the right path.

Thanks to some competitive effort this weekend, some manual labor around the farm (nothing beats throwing hay for easing frustrations), and a good friend knowing how to listen and that no matter how bad of a day I've had, a bike ride (even just spinning through town to get ice cream), will always put a smile on my face, no matter how temporary. A friend like that is a life line to keep one from drowning and helped put my head in the right place.

The hard part will be getting my heart there. I'm the worst when it comes to forgiving myself and will keep beating myself down for a while. I've never been fired before, in 20 years of working life, this failure will be hard to let myself accept, forget, and forgive.

"Everything is all right."
-Bob Marley "Exodus"

Burning Pit of my Being

It is my belief that your parents, grand parents, the people who love you, shape the center of your being. The center that governs and guides you to become the person you are or should be. The ethics, morals, strengths, the lines for right and wrong.

Once you enter school you are shaped by prejudices. Society pushes it's collective view upon you and tries to label, box, organize you. This is comforting to society. Everyone in it's place. If you don't fit into a box, this causes society concern so it pushes prejudices upon you in an attempt to try to control.

Hopefully, the center your parents provided is strong enough to overcome and not succumb to these prejudices. To provide you with the knowledge, belief, and desire to push past prejudice.

This touches the driving force, the center core, the firey pit that has driven me more than anything else in life to achieve my goals. For no one but me. Not for attention, not for admiration, not for merit, not for credit, nor accolades. For me and for me alone.

Always trust your gut. Keep up the fight.

Seeing Spots

What does one do when you and your buddy are both riding home, legs thrashed, grinding along the false flats, on the verge of bonking after long days of work and riding and still many miles to go?

Simple. Call out "phone pole" and take the spot sprint! Then repeat for the next 26 phone poles.

J5: Kickin' OldGreg's butt in Spot Sprints since 6 PM Sept 23, 2008.

Riding in the Bikepool Lane

I've been enjoying company on the ride into work the last 2 days, while others live the life and still more wait in line. Starting the morning off meeting up with friends at Bongo has been a refreshing way to start the monotony of the work week.

I had a post all worked out in my head. It was mostly about work and some things weighing heavily on my mind. I started to tell Hannah about it on our drive home from Vandy. She offered a hearty laugh and told me I needed to stop riding my bike because it afforded me too much time to psychoanalyze everything. It made me smile. So I won't bore you with all that drivel. Instead, be entertained by a photo of a well adjusted and behaved child who brightened our Monday morning. (mtb kids rule). Here's to little Scarf.


I will, however, bore you with this:

If I have one regret about college, it is not applying myself as much as I could have. I had so many different areas of interest that I wanted to exceed in, I never really focused on a singular entity. Looking back, there are some areas where I excelled, but only because it was easy to without having to apply much effort, that I wish I would have applied more effort. Work is kind of that way, not so much that I don't apply myself, just that I don't feel there's much challenge in a growing sort of way. My brain is equal halves, one creatively driven and inspired, the other logically driven. Whether it's a pen or a keyboard, I love to create something. The area of computer programming that I enjoy encompasses both, where even if it's not graphical art, the logical solution offers creativity in design and implementation. I also absolutely love debugging problems. It's like puzzles that constantly rely upon creative thought and processes. It's rather addicting. I kinda feel like I'm in a slump, then again, maybe I'm just not trying hard enough. Perhaps rather than thinking negatively and losing interest, I need to think more creatively and apply myself... more fodder for the ride home, huh Hannah? ;-)


For those whom have asked:

The origins of OldGreg. Note: I have a friend who says there are 2 types of people when it comes to British humor, those that get it and those that don't. And those who do are generally faking it. Still, it's a quid or two up on Canadian humor though, eh?


*Edit: Oh the irony. Shortly after posting this appeared in my inbox.

Thanks from the Goom

Laser adventure is the coolest game ever! It's hard to beat running around blasting your friends on 5 acres of open and wooded field with barriers, blinds, and hay bales to duck behind. 10 of the 18 invitees showed up and a 5 on 5 team set up was randomly chosen by Duane, the leader and medic gun operator. A couple rounds of just attack the fort to learn the game and weapons, then capture the flag ensued, followed by 2 on 2 on 2 on 2 on 2 battle royal, some speed course 5 on 5, some speed course all against all, to finally last man standing.

We found out that they will come out to your work or home and set up for you. There will definitely be a game or two hosted at the farm. A camp over party with laser tag in the cooler winter months (my birthday is in January, hint hint).

Weapon Selection:

My first hostage:


H. , Monster, Keith, and Beth take in the instructions:


Shooting each others retinas out (aka learning the kill shots):


After 15 hits the gun screams "ahh man down! man down!":


Monster McConnell taking cover on capture the flag:

"Bang! You're dead 8Ball!"
"But I'm on your team!!"


Taking a short break before entering the speed course:


OldGreg and Beth enjoying post speed course pizza:


T.roy and his mad face: Rambo or Cheech? You decide:


Gearing up for mini golf:


OldGreg about to sink the first hole in one:


Mini putt phenom Jeanie:


H. lining up the putt (8ball checking out the girl next door):


Cade and his Caddy, er Daddy (note: Cade's first shot he made a hole in one):


Ever the competitor, Monster tries feebly to redeem himself for getting soundly beat by a toddler at mini putt:


H.'s new (and only) Walz cap:


Coolest Walz caps ever? Dunno, but mighty damn slick. Thanks Mike, Jeanie, and Jen!

Oh The Guilt

After a pleasant week of commuting and unexpectedly fun adventures presenting themselves each day, Thursday night we had one of those stuffy, boring, no one really wants to be there but it is an honor and it's good to make a presence kind of fancy business dinners. Although it's not the most fun event, it is really fun to get out and bond with the office mates in a non work environment. It gives a fresh coat of paint to the relationships and also allows some walls to be down and access to the person behind the office version.

The dinner wasn't so hot. The dressing had a rubbing alcohol/gasoline flair to it, my chicken was less than done, and the only "imported beer" they had was Heineken or Corona. I opted for a Budweiser (probably should have gone for the Heineken in retrospect). The conversation was fun as was bonding as a group of friends and non typical office workers within a typical stuffy business affair.

Post awards some of us headed over to the Saucer for a few beers and more conversation. Two rounds (1554 and a Belgian offering Kevin suggested) and a hot pretzel later, we were ready to call it a night. So we walked back to the cars and said our goodbyes. Friday morning I wake up with stomach pains and severe nausea. I slowly made a smoothie but it didn't want to settle in, nor did water want to stay down. I figured it'd all subside after some water and as I woke up, so I headed in to work. As the day progressed, so did the nausea. I thought perhaps it was because it was nearing noon and I hadn't eaten, so Kevin and I head over for a burrito. Each bite the nausea gets worse, to the point of near hurl. We head back to the office, I sit down and that's when the hurl decided it wanted to play. Fun times.

Since I had 3 beers over the course of 4 hours, which is less than I have per lap at DSG, I'm suspecting:

a. the chicken
b. the dressing
c. the budweiser
d. the queso from the saucer

On the up side, Friday was a negative calorie day for me. Not the most fun way to maintain race weight, but what can ya do? I've now have more important things to prepare for: taking recent birthday boy 8Ball down in Lazer quest. Think I'll choose the Sentinel as the go to weapon of choice.


I've been taking tactical survival notes from Rambo, Deliverance, The Cowboy Way, Snatch, The Angry Beavers, and Invader Zim while juicing up with some Death Magnetic and practicing some of El Grapadura's moves. I just need to focus on keeping food down and not letting gRant burn out my retinas with his lazer thingy. Now, what would Oxnard Montalvo do?

My Kind of Week

Aside from realizing I had spent $193 in diesel within the last week, this week has being rolling along smoothly. Well that is until one project at work today which had me bent out of shape faster than a derailleur hanger at Hammy.

Anyway, great cool morning and evening commutes, 2 night rides, running into a friend on a bike out in the country, having company on a ride in to work, and biker breakfast. I don't feel as though work and cars consumed my week this week.

Scott "Monster" McConnell: Recent 2nd Place SS Solo 12 Hours of Canal finisher ran into me at the corner of Vaughn and Sneed as I rode towards Percy after work for some evening laps with OldGreg:


The sky was indigo, the sunset gorgeous, but the dusk setting on the camera made it look like 5PM instead of 7Pm.


Old Greg in the paved woods:


Monster McConnell sporting what I like to call "the Hodge": Mismatched socks (and mismatched arm warmers too, early morning eh Scott?)


Bongo mmm....

Full Moon Fever

8Ball sent a text mid-day yesterday: Night laps at the Lock. Hmm... I still hadn't recharged my light from last week's ride. Quick call to the commune, but no answer. Looked to be no ride, then moments later, the phone rang. Hannah was home and plugged my light in for me. Woot! Ride was on and not even a spastic call from some old feeble dude about support hose was going to stop me!


Down side is my SS version replacement of the old faithful Truvative Stylo Teams, that suffered an untimely demise, are crap. Left crank arm comes loose no matter how hard you crank it. Think it's shot. Damn.


About to head for home now, though taking a different route. Meeting OldGreg out at Percy for some cool weather, full moon laps in the park. Fall time weather rocks! Looks like I'll have company on my commute in tomorrow too, Greg has to work in Franklin. Biker Breakfast, double woot!

8Ball Du's the Tri

H. and I headed out Sunday morning to cheer on the 8Ball as he attempted yet another triathlon alongside 787ish other fools. The remnants of Ike were blowing in and the strong winds had white caps on the lake. We showed up about 1/2 hour late for the start to find out the swim had been called off by EMS due to the sheer number of rescues performed for the early waves.


We got there in time to see the grueling beach stand portion. 8Ball is in a black and white striped swim getup with a yellow swim cap. Can you see him? Hard to miss as his gargantuan size has him towering over the crowd. No wait, my bad, that's the light house.


Here he is checking his rat tail placement as he races out of the beach stand to bike transition:


While waiting for him to return from the wild, we spotted a pair or white Swiftwick Ole 12's come zooming in, obviously more than 5% faster than 8ball.


Support staff crew leader Sexpot Jeanie waiting on the 8Ball:


The wind was ripping and had torn the tape, confounding already confounded runners (if it's taped don't go that way, how hard is that?). I found the girls repairing one such section:


8Ball nearing the end of lap 1, check out the flag, the wind was crazy:


I shot the finish with the video setting on the camera, I need to compress it so it'll play online (I'll try to get to it this week). It's a pretty funny finish.


Mike, Jeanie, and Mike's parents after the race, they made it down from Illinois to see him compete:


Swiftwick and Wings, goes together like "cold" and "beer":


9th out of 52?! How did you do it? What's your secret?


Magic socks, duh.


Nice work on the Tri/Du 8Ball, I really "expected better" out of you ;-) At least you weren't 3th.

Blimey!

The sun has set on yet another week, where is the time going?

View from Vandy's parking garage as I cycle around waiting for my car ride back home

I know some readers were concerned that I was off suffering from a bout of Scand-hand (a nasty disease caused by riding Scandahoovian flax seed rigid bikes) or similarly wicked ailment, but all is well, just busy and not inspired to write much. I have a lot of thoughts I'd like to share, but I'm keeping them close to the vest at the moment. In the meantime, buy some Swiftwicks. These socks rock and you'll want the woolies or the ole 12's if your doing the Swank. (Note: Every time I mention Swiftwick I get .0000000000001% of a 1922 wheat penny, someday it'll all be mine!)


Nothing really out of the ordinary to report this week, although 8ball, OldGreg, and I did manage to get out for some night laps Weds. I love night trail rides, few things beat bouncing off trees in the dark. I also swung by to help Scott "Monster" McConnell swap forks and prep his Sir9* for his spectacular domination of the 12 hours of Canal (closest thing to Tsali this side of Tsali) this Saturday (disclaimer: if he suffers from bad mechanicals, "he" did all the work - wink wink)

A little father son derby action

*: Does that video really say "3th team overall"? 3th?