A strong gust of wind blew down the Potomac as I went to ground for the fourth time trying to cross the Route 1 bridge toward the Pentagon under a steel-gray sky. In the river below, police boats patrolled back and forth, to ensure the security of the bridge I guess. About 25 minutes before I'd passed the 20 Mile mark, but I still couldn't see the sign for Mile 21. With legs propped against a concrete barrier, I rubbed my calves vigorously in hopes of coaxing them through the final 10km of the 2012 Marine Corps Marathon. For the last hour, those same muscles felt as though they were embedded with broken glass, each step a wince-worthy moment which in the end brought me to tears, the 21 mile mark, and the notice of marine on the Crystal City side of the water. Within 5 minutes a golf-cart was summoned, and tucked into the front seat with blanket to keep back the wind, I sat as a fireman cleared a way through the mass of runners toward the medical tent a few kilometers down the road. 5.2 miles from the finish, my 2012 Marine Corps Marathon was over.
24 hours before, I sat in the back seat of my dad's Prius, watching the landscape go by as we covered the 166 miles to Jatin's house in Germantown, a suburb of D.C. We left the house on Saturday at about 9:45 in the morning, under the same gray sky we'd had the past week. I hoped the sun would appear during our travels, and in this regard at least I wasn't disappointed.
Some time ago my friend Cj made the claim that the state of Maryland is covered with swamps. In truth, while I saw a number of swamp-like environments passing through Delaware (and in some of the estuaries around Baltimore), the same could not be said for the rest of Maryland proper, at least of those portions which I observed. In fact, one of the striking things about the coastal areas of Maryland was the brilliant foliage of the woodland and hill-country along the highway. At one point while cresting a hill, we observed a wide panorama of hills and lowland woods completely bathed in so many shades of red, orange, yellow, and gold. Coupled with the first sunshine I'd seen in days, the effect proved nothing short of spectacular.
Another thing I noticed was the way election signs change as one passes from one district to the next. Naturally the national and state-wide candidates remained constant, but each new stretch of highway seemed to yield a new congressional contest. It's a minor thing perhaps, but something I hadn't noticed before.
We arrived at Jatin's house about an hour after turning west from the Baltimore harbor tunnel. My dad made the curious observation that as we moved further inland, the trees became more bare, and the brilliant colors of the coast made way for duller, "tired" looking leaves of the interior. I wondered if perhaps inland Maryland experiences the Autumn color change sooner than the coast, which would makes sense since the leaves would have been changing and falling off the trees sooner. But alas, I do not know.
The route we took to Germantown becomes very agricultural, a bit like some places around Gettysburg and Lancaster, which I've seen in other times. The ground itself becomes more hilly, and some heights I observed in the distance looked to be high enough to be called mountains in this part of the world (though some fellows out west might disagree). In any case, the one town name I remember along our route was called Damascus. Upon seeing the "Welcome to Damascus" sign, I remarked to my dad, "I wonder if the Asad family is running the marathon." To this my dad replied, "Maybe if the rebels are chasing them." Later I learned from Jatin that the high school in Damascus has long been a big rival with his old high school, Clarksburg. In fact, the Clarksburg kids have a curious way of saying "Damascus" amongst themselves, pronouncing it "Dumb-Ass-cus." Who knew?
In any case, after an exchange of pleasantries Jatin and I proceeded to navigate the DC metro system, and arrived at the DC armory by mid-afternoon. I first had to pick up my bib, which turned out to be more difficult than expected because I'd forgotten to write down my number from the e-mail. I made to ask a marine at the information table, who said, "Okay, to get your number you need to call 1-800-show-me-your-ID." Alas I didn't notice the joke, which the marine explained a moment later. I handed him my drivers' license, and had my number a minute later. Sometimes I can be pretty dense.
Housed in the armory building adjacent to the tent where I got my bib, the running expo proved an interesting place to wander. Jatin and I roved the booths, sampling whatever energy gels, bars, or beans the various booths offered. At one point we found a wall on which one could write a message for someone running in the race. It was largely full, but Jatin managed to squeeze in near the top, "Good luck, Jeff!" In an even smaller space underneath, I wrote, "Thanks :)." It was a good time.
I spent the night at Jatin's other house in Fredrick, a curious town several miles north of Germantown with a fascinating old-city full of little shops, cafes, pubs, and several highly elaborate (and old) churches. We walked the old-city for a time, looking for a cup-cake shop from which Jatin had won a dozen free cup-cakes in a recent 5k. I found the experience both exhilarating and stimulating, since old architecture almost always puts me in a thoughtful mood. We found the cup-cake shop, acquired the prize cup-cakes, and returned to Jatin's house.
We didn't sleep long that night, having to make an early start for DC the next morning. We drove into the city to a major metro hub, and took one line down to the Pentagon station, about a mile from the start of the race. I must say that coming up the stairs of the metro with the Pentagon rising to my left proved quite a way to start the morning. A little ways beyond Jatin pointed out to me the Air Force monument, and overhead we watched passenger jets taking off from nearby Ronald Reagan International. From the top of a steep rise we could see the the lines of grave markers in Arlington National Cemetery. To the right, the Potomac flowed peacefully toward the sea.
The non-wheelchair portion of the Marine Corps Marathon began at 7:55am with the firing of a howitzer. I won't lie, a howitzer shot is quite a way to start a race. It is faintly reminiscent of a Paul Short 8km race years ago which began with the firing of a shot-gun. Needless to say, the howitzer proved a bit more muscular, but that is the Marine Corps for you.
I took the early stretches of the race easy, climbing the long hills through Rosslyn with caution and care. In training I typically started a marathon session with hills to mimic this portion of the course. The pace was a bit slow all the same, but I think the preparation in this regard paid off. I repeated the exercise on the hills west of Georgetown, and had similar success.
Unfortunately, I started having problems on this second hill. On the inside, bottom portion of the second (left) toe, I began to feel a rub after about 4 miles. Strangely enough I'd never felt such a rub in training, even when using the same pair of socks on a wet run. Rubs are never good in races, particularly long ones; they usually lead to blisters, altered running form, and in some cases, injuries. I couldn't think of anything to do, so I just kept going on it.
After the Georgetown hill I felt my stride really open up, and soon I was clicking away at a happy gallop, glad to have those hills behind me. My left foot became increasingly stiff, however, though for the next few miles I managed to ignore it. Everything else was going well, and soon we entered the parts of DC I'd always read about in books.
At about mile 14 things began to fall apart. My stiff foot forced me to run only on the left side of the road, so as to limit the amount it had to pronate on each step. I could feel a mighty blister growing, and increasingly I had to run on the outside of the foot. My gallop slowed first to a trot, and around mile 16 a walk. At this point the "broken-glass-in-the-feet-and-calves" feeling began, and when I ran into my parents I walked off the course and admitted that I probably couldn't go on. My dad insisted I just try and finish, even if only at a walk, but I really didn't want to take another step. After a minute or two of sitting on the curb, however, I felt a little revived and rose to continue--as my dad put it, even if only at a walk.
So up I went past the Washington Monument, through the National Mall, and past the Smithsonian museums and the Capitol building, clicking away at about 15-minute/mile pace. At times I walked and at times I jogged, trying to cover the distance and end what had become an increasingly tortuous experience. By now my left foot was really in a bad way, and my right foot began to follow suit. Under my breath I muttered obsessively, "You're okay, you're okay," in rhythm every four strides.
I clicked the "split" button on my watch as I passed the 20 mile mark, a point only a few hundred meters short of the Jefferson Memorial. By now I closed my eyes most of the time, trying to imagine being somewhere else. The Route 1 bridge appeared with its bright, concrete road-bed and terribly long span. The crossing afforded little protection from the wind, which soon had me shivering and seemed to put an even sharper edge on the metaphorical broken glass in my muscles. Four times along that span I stopped and tried to nurse those suffering sinews. Eventually I realized my socks were rather tight, and when I removed them the pain subsided a little. The blister on my left foot was about the size of a chick-pea. A few steps later everything hurt as before, and having finally arrived at the far end of the bridge I told the marine there on station that I'd had enough.
There's really no getting around it; I'm disappointed I couldn't make it to the finish line today. Going in I thought the final stretch might be run through the opening salvos from Hurricane Sandy, but it turned out the weather held just fine. Aside from a little wind, conditions were about perfect for a good race, and I felt ready to take advantage. It didn't happen though, and that is disappointing.
Yet I believe that much can be learned from failure, even if they are lessons dearly bought. I learned that by drinking a little less I could avoid the problems (possibly hyponatremia) which caused me to slow in the latter third of last year's race. I also learned that one should avoid rubs on the foot if at all possible. And finally, I learned that the socks I'd been using constrict my feet too much during long races, and should probably be substitutes from something looser. These are good things to know, and in time I'll probably realize others. The point is, I'll be a little better prepared next time, and that's the idea really. So while I'm upset about dropping out, the experience proved both worthwhile and illuminating. Next time, we'll do better.
Special thanks to my parents for helping me with logistics and coming to watch the race; to Jatin and his family for having me; and to everyone else who supported me through the training. Also, my apologies to Mr. Seth (who ran a 6 minute PR today--go Seth!) for not getting the chance to meet again. We shall do so the next time.
Happy Sunday, friends :)
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
A brief response to "Varsity Teams and Athletes Overvalued at Ursinus"
An opinion piece from my old college's student newspaper made waves today. Entitled, "Varsity Teams and Athletes Overvalued at Ursinus," its author Mr. John Parry seeks to characterize Ursinus as "a school for jocks, by jocks," where "student athletes must take responsibility," and, with regard to the importance of varsity sports, "the culture at the top must also change."
As a former student-athlete of the college, I am not so much offended as disappointed by Mr. Parry's broad generalizations regarding athletes and athletics at the school. A liberal education--such as that found at Ursinus--offers many things, but perhaps none is as important today as a humble appreciation of the world's complex and ever-changing nature. Generalizations may help us to make sense of that complexity, but they are no substitute for a thorough grounding in individual cases.
I suppose that my disappointment stems from the fact that as an Ursinus student I feel Mr. Parry should know better than to generalize a large (as he cites, 34% of enrolled students) and diverse portion of the student body, particularly when he admits to having no experience of the challenges with which that large, diverse group must daily contend. And while I do not know Mr. Parry or the circumstances under which he labors, as a student (and now alumni) I know many student-athletes at Ursinus who not only have higher GPAs than him (3.7+), but who also serve(d) the college as leaders of organizations, RA's, EMS personnel, Grizzly columnists, Greek Officers, Student Government officers, or who worked jobs at the Myrin library, Admissions, Wismer, Campus Safety, and yes, the Floyd Lewis Bakes athletics facility. A number of student-athletes also undertake independent and/or honors research, such as I did as a senior in 2010-11. Such pursuits are challenging by themselves, but particularly so when accompanied by the demands of athletic, academic, and other community duties.
I do not mean to personally attack Mr. Parry here, but I do not understand why he would chose to unfavorably label so many members of the Ursinus community simply because they play varsity sports. Many of them are certainly as hard-working and dedicated as him, and decidedly not "in the bottom third of the class" despite the time they spend each day away from academics. Furthermore as a Division III institution Ursinus athletes do not receive scholarships for their services, only the satisfaction of representing their school around the region (and, in the case of that 3.6 average GPA field hockey team, the country), and the experience of working alongside others toward a common goal. I should think given the divisive political environment we currently face that cooperative experiences would be encouraged.
Student-athletes and college varsity athletics are not perfect; in general, too many college athletes are overtrained, suffer major injuries, or fail to strike a wholesome balance between sport and studies. Yet to argue that varsity athletics at Ursinus is "overvalued" simply by virtue of the fact that 34% of the student body participates in it; that 1/4 of the school newspaper is dedicated to covering it; or that nearly as many people follow 'Ursinus Athletics' on Twitter as 'Ursinus College' is just ridiculous. Student-athletes have contributed so much to make Ursinus the inspiring, stimulating, and diverse place it is. I can only hope that future classes will continue to benefit from the presence of so many dedicated, driven, and vibrant individuals as Ursinus athletics has had the pleasure of helping grow not only as athletes, but also as people.
As a former student-athlete of the college, I am not so much offended as disappointed by Mr. Parry's broad generalizations regarding athletes and athletics at the school. A liberal education--such as that found at Ursinus--offers many things, but perhaps none is as important today as a humble appreciation of the world's complex and ever-changing nature. Generalizations may help us to make sense of that complexity, but they are no substitute for a thorough grounding in individual cases.
I suppose that my disappointment stems from the fact that as an Ursinus student I feel Mr. Parry should know better than to generalize a large (as he cites, 34% of enrolled students) and diverse portion of the student body, particularly when he admits to having no experience of the challenges with which that large, diverse group must daily contend. And while I do not know Mr. Parry or the circumstances under which he labors, as a student (and now alumni) I know many student-athletes at Ursinus who not only have higher GPAs than him (3.7+), but who also serve(d) the college as leaders of organizations, RA's, EMS personnel, Grizzly columnists, Greek Officers, Student Government officers, or who worked jobs at the Myrin library, Admissions, Wismer, Campus Safety, and yes, the Floyd Lewis Bakes athletics facility. A number of student-athletes also undertake independent and/or honors research, such as I did as a senior in 2010-11. Such pursuits are challenging by themselves, but particularly so when accompanied by the demands of athletic, academic, and other community duties.
I do not mean to personally attack Mr. Parry here, but I do not understand why he would chose to unfavorably label so many members of the Ursinus community simply because they play varsity sports. Many of them are certainly as hard-working and dedicated as him, and decidedly not "in the bottom third of the class" despite the time they spend each day away from academics. Furthermore as a Division III institution Ursinus athletes do not receive scholarships for their services, only the satisfaction of representing their school around the region (and, in the case of that 3.6 average GPA field hockey team, the country), and the experience of working alongside others toward a common goal. I should think given the divisive political environment we currently face that cooperative experiences would be encouraged.
Student-athletes and college varsity athletics are not perfect; in general, too many college athletes are overtrained, suffer major injuries, or fail to strike a wholesome balance between sport and studies. Yet to argue that varsity athletics at Ursinus is "overvalued" simply by virtue of the fact that 34% of the student body participates in it; that 1/4 of the school newspaper is dedicated to covering it; or that nearly as many people follow 'Ursinus Athletics' on Twitter as 'Ursinus College' is just ridiculous. Student-athletes have contributed so much to make Ursinus the inspiring, stimulating, and diverse place it is. I can only hope that future classes will continue to benefit from the presence of so many dedicated, driven, and vibrant individuals as Ursinus athletics has had the pleasure of helping grow not only as athletes, but also as people.
Friday, October 19, 2012
On Samuel Smiles' "Self-Help"
Sometimes our interests lead us to interesting people, and/or the books they write. As a runner who likes reading, I've had the pleasuring of "meeting" all sorts of characters through their books, including Arthur Lydiard, Percy Cerutty, and Timothy Noakes to name a few. Their "company" is almost always highly stimulating, and seems to waken within me a kind of restless, adventuring energy, even if I don't agree with all the ideas they espouse. Indeed, I find it is not only what a book says, but also what it means to me that defines a work's value. That may sound a bit cheesy and "new age," but we'd probably be fools to underestimate the potency of emotions a book or idea inspires.
With that in mind, I'd like to discuss a work I've recently started reading entitled "Self-Help" (1859), by the nineteenth century Scottish author Samuel Smiles.
My first "meeting" with Mr. Smiles dates back almost two years ago, when an excerpt from "Self-Help" appeared in a reader for a class on European intellectual history. I found it mildly ironic that an author espousing so much confidence in positive and "can-do" attitudes should be named "Smiles." Despite the wry jokes I and my classmates made at his expense, Mr. Smiles' captured my attention fully and didn't let it go until the excerpt finished. It began like this:
"'Heaven helps those who help themselves,' is a well-worn maxim, embodying in a small compass the results of vast human experience. The spirit of self-help is the root of all
genuine growth in the individual; and, exhibited in the lives of many, it constitutes the true source of national vigor and strength. Help from without is often enfeebling in its effects, but help from within invariably invigorates. Whatever is done for men or classes, to a certain extent takes away the stimulus and necessity of doing for themselves; and where men are subjected to over-guidance and over-government, the inevitable tendency is to render them comparatively helpless" (Samuel Smiles, Self-Help [1859] in Franklin Le van Baumer, Main Currents in Western Thought, 4th Edition, 512).
The opening paragraph felt like jumping into a cold pool; it snapped my senses awake, and recalled my mind from its wondering. All the authors mentioned above tend to have that effect on me in their work. Like Lydiard, Cerutty, and Noakes, Smiles got me thinking, which seems to me a good thing.
Just in this opening paragraph, Smiles touches a number of themes we've examined on this blog before: on learning optimism, changing society without the government, and growing through discomfort toward resilience. The basic idea here seems to be that people accomplish far more when the things which motivate them comes from within rather than without; that we tend to become helpless when not left to figure out our own problems. As we concluded in the post "From discomfort to resilience," there appears to be a point at which a little support from without can go a long way in helping someone learn from difficult situations; that we grow when we learn to help ourselves, but a little support can make the lesson more wholesome and less traumatizing.
In a later passage Smiles goes on to say:
"Daily experience shows that it is energetic individualism which produces the most powerful effects upon the life and action of others, and really constitutes the best practical education. Schools, academies, and colleges, give but the merest beginnings of culture in comparison with it. Far more influential is the life-education daily given in our homes, in the streets, behind counters, in workshops, at the loom and plough, in counting-houses and manufactories, and in the busy haunts of men. This is that finishing instruction as members of society, which Schiller designated the 'education of the human race,' consisting in action, conduct, self-culture, self-control, -all that tends to discipline a man truly, and fit him for the proper performance of the duties and business of life,-a kind of education not to be learnt in books or acquired by any amount of mere literacy training" (Source).
The main idea from this passage centers on the value of "life education," which is to say the education we get outside school, by doing complex things while living in a complex world. I've grown rather sympathetic to this idea in recent years, if for no other reason than I've had to teach myself a lot of new things simply by doing them, messing up, and doing better the next time. Blogging is one example of an activity which I found (and still find!) challenging, but which through practice, trial-and-error, and a little patience has become an activity which I very much like to do, even as I recognize that it is a practice and process without end. We learn many things in school, but we learn many from our experiences and failures in life. As Mr. Smiles says elsewhere, "It is a mistake to suppose that men succeed through success; they much oftener succeed through failures. Precept, study, advice, and example could never have taught them so well as failure has done."
In the end, I like "Self-Help" because it describes a mechanism by which we tend grow as people; that is, by learning how to help ourselves overcome difficult situations, thereby becoming more independent. It seems to capture a sense of how some types of difficult situations leave us personally stronger, much like a strenuous workout leaves a body stronger. Yet as a body which is always worked but never rested does not not become stronger, so I suspect that a person left to always fend for themselves may not grow as person, but instead collapse under the strain of an unsupported burden. So at times a little support is good as we learn, grow, and by experience come to help ourselves.
Happy Friday, friends :)
With that in mind, I'd like to discuss a work I've recently started reading entitled "Self-Help" (1859), by the nineteenth century Scottish author Samuel Smiles.
My first "meeting" with Mr. Smiles dates back almost two years ago, when an excerpt from "Self-Help" appeared in a reader for a class on European intellectual history. I found it mildly ironic that an author espousing so much confidence in positive and "can-do" attitudes should be named "Smiles." Despite the wry jokes I and my classmates made at his expense, Mr. Smiles' captured my attention fully and didn't let it go until the excerpt finished. It began like this:
"'Heaven helps those who help themselves,' is a well-worn maxim, embodying in a small compass the results of vast human experience. The spirit of self-help is the root of all
genuine growth in the individual; and, exhibited in the lives of many, it constitutes the true source of national vigor and strength. Help from without is often enfeebling in its effects, but help from within invariably invigorates. Whatever is done for men or classes, to a certain extent takes away the stimulus and necessity of doing for themselves; and where men are subjected to over-guidance and over-government, the inevitable tendency is to render them comparatively helpless" (Samuel Smiles, Self-Help [1859] in Franklin Le van Baumer, Main Currents in Western Thought, 4th Edition, 512).
The opening paragraph felt like jumping into a cold pool; it snapped my senses awake, and recalled my mind from its wondering. All the authors mentioned above tend to have that effect on me in their work. Like Lydiard, Cerutty, and Noakes, Smiles got me thinking, which seems to me a good thing.
Just in this opening paragraph, Smiles touches a number of themes we've examined on this blog before: on learning optimism, changing society without the government, and growing through discomfort toward resilience. The basic idea here seems to be that people accomplish far more when the things which motivate them comes from within rather than without; that we tend to become helpless when not left to figure out our own problems. As we concluded in the post "From discomfort to resilience," there appears to be a point at which a little support from without can go a long way in helping someone learn from difficult situations; that we grow when we learn to help ourselves, but a little support can make the lesson more wholesome and less traumatizing.
In a later passage Smiles goes on to say:
"Daily experience shows that it is energetic individualism which produces the most powerful effects upon the life and action of others, and really constitutes the best practical education. Schools, academies, and colleges, give but the merest beginnings of culture in comparison with it. Far more influential is the life-education daily given in our homes, in the streets, behind counters, in workshops, at the loom and plough, in counting-houses and manufactories, and in the busy haunts of men. This is that finishing instruction as members of society, which Schiller designated the 'education of the human race,' consisting in action, conduct, self-culture, self-control, -all that tends to discipline a man truly, and fit him for the proper performance of the duties and business of life,-a kind of education not to be learnt in books or acquired by any amount of mere literacy training" (Source).
The main idea from this passage centers on the value of "life education," which is to say the education we get outside school, by doing complex things while living in a complex world. I've grown rather sympathetic to this idea in recent years, if for no other reason than I've had to teach myself a lot of new things simply by doing them, messing up, and doing better the next time. Blogging is one example of an activity which I found (and still find!) challenging, but which through practice, trial-and-error, and a little patience has become an activity which I very much like to do, even as I recognize that it is a practice and process without end. We learn many things in school, but we learn many from our experiences and failures in life. As Mr. Smiles says elsewhere, "It is a mistake to suppose that men succeed through success; they much oftener succeed through failures. Precept, study, advice, and example could never have taught them so well as failure has done."
In the end, I like "Self-Help" because it describes a mechanism by which we tend grow as people; that is, by learning how to help ourselves overcome difficult situations, thereby becoming more independent. It seems to capture a sense of how some types of difficult situations leave us personally stronger, much like a strenuous workout leaves a body stronger. Yet as a body which is always worked but never rested does not not become stronger, so I suspect that a person left to always fend for themselves may not grow as person, but instead collapse under the strain of an unsupported burden. So at times a little support is good as we learn, grow, and by experience come to help ourselves.
Happy Friday, friends :)
Monday, October 15, 2012
Moderation
In his essay, "Of Moderation, " the sixteenth century writer Michel de Montaigne begins by saying:
"As if we had an infectious touch, we, by our manner of handling, corrupt things that in themselves are laudable and good: we may grasp virtue so that it becomes vicious, if we embrace it too stringently and with too violent a desire."
I find this a curious line. After all, if Socrates is right when he says that "Virtue does not come from wealth, but wealth, and every other good thing men have, comes from virtue," is it then possible to pursue a virtuous course so vigorously as to render it unvirtuous?
Experience may offer some clues. When I am hungry for example I find much pleasure in eating, particularly foods for which at the time my pallet craves. If I eat nothing the desire for food typically grows until it is not only unpleasant, but also threatening to life. Yet when my appetite is sated it is plainly torturous to eat more, even food which at another time might inspire pure delight. The same appears true for thirst. While running my first marathon last year I made sure to drink at every aid station, which so happened to appear at the start of every mile. By mile 9 I felt terribly bloated, and could not bring myself to drink another sip. By mile 15 I could no longer continue running, a condition which continued another 2 hours without drinking, after which I felt well enough to race once more. Yet in a training run earlier that summer, during which I became fatigued and had to walk the long way back to the house, I became so thirsty that I could think of little else beyond a glass of pleasantly chilled and exquisitely fresh water.
As such one might conclude that food and drink--like virtue--are good when delivered in the right form, at the right time, and in the right amount; both scarcity and excess somehow miss the mark of nourishment and happiness, or as Montaigne describes later in his essay, "The archer that shoots over, misses as much as he that falls short, and 'tis equally troublesome to my sight, to look up at a great light, and to look down into a dark abyss."
Yet as plain as the value of moderation seems to be, it is not the easiest way for most of us to act. I do not know why this is, but it is true for many (myself included). Sometimes we eat more than our bodies tell us is required. Sometimes we exercise intensely, despite the pain we feel in our muscles. And sometimes we pursue goals which our rational minds have long ago decided cost more to achieve than the expected benefit to be gained.
I suspect it is also true that, of the many messages, ideologies, and sayings we daily hear, many compel us away from moderation. Growing up, I remember hearing one story about diligent ants and a lazy grasshopper. It went something like this:
Once upon a time there was a colony of diligent ants, and a lone, lazy grasshopper living by a pond. That year summer proved particularly beautiful, and the land was fat with food. The grasshopper revelled in the easy living, and spent his days eating and enjoying the sunshine. On the other hand, the ants spent the summer in back-breaking labor, gathering food, repairing the colony, and generally ignoring the sun and the weather. Their purpose in preparing for winter was singular--relentless you might say--and nothing would distract them from that purpose.
Finally winter did arrive, and the ants settled down to a cozy, comfortable position. The grasshopper, on the other hand, found himself without food, shelter, or warmth of any kind. Now he bemoaned his lack of diligence during the time of plenty, and only survived by asking charity of the ants, who provided him with food and a warm place to sleep. From that winter forward, the grasshopper declared he would too would be diligent when summer came again.
I've long found that story interesting, though also a bit odd. Yes the grasshopper probably would have benefited by working a bit more during the summer, but unlike the ants he enjoyed life in a nice place while he could. And for all their efforts, the ants seemed to miss something about that warm and wonderful summer. That they made out well in the end does not mean they did not lose something too. One wonders if the ants and the grasshopper might have been happier had the former worked a little less and the latter worked a little more. But then who are we to judge how anthropomorphic animals live their lives?
On the other hand, the grasshopper's lazy ways did leave him hungry and cold when the air got cold. Sure, he had a great summer full of plenty and good times, but when winter came he found himself in a bad position. Say what you will about the ants and their hard-nose ways, but at least they were ready and comfortable winter came, and on top of that had enough to spare some for their less-prepared neighbor.
So we see that by observing both sides of the story, advantages and disadvantages can be derived from each. Which is the "better" course would almost certainly depend on your perspective and what you value. Yet since the course followed by the ants and that followed by the grasshopper are extremes in diligence and laziness, it seems possible that a healthy measure of each may result in a mixture of favorable outcomes from each side. One might characterize such a course as "moderate."
It can be difficult to follow such a course, for it requires an appreciation of the advantages and disadvantages derived from various possible actions. We may go this way and enjoy this benefit, or go that way and enjoy another. Sometimes we wish we could go one way and enjoy the full benefits of the other possibilities, yet most of the time this does not seem feasible. Instead it would seem we must judge how much of one good we are willing to give up in order to enjoy some portion of another good, such that we may end up enjoying many small pleasures, but rarely anything grandiose or transcendent; or to put it like an old music teacher once put it to me, "You'll only get good at music by committing to that, and maybe one another thing. But if you do music, sports, and say schoolwork, the most likely outcome is you'll be mediocre at everything, and great at nothing." This was curious advice, and it took many years before I began to see how a plethora of commitments can leave a person spread thin.I think it is something to remember perhaps as we figure out what exactly we want to do with the life we've been given.
So it seems we have a rather muddled conclusion, perhaps best encapsulated in the old saying "All things in moderation...including moderation." Something to think about maybe.
Happy Sunday, friends :)
p.s. Happy Birthday to my friend, DK
"As if we had an infectious touch, we, by our manner of handling, corrupt things that in themselves are laudable and good: we may grasp virtue so that it becomes vicious, if we embrace it too stringently and with too violent a desire."
I find this a curious line. After all, if Socrates is right when he says that "Virtue does not come from wealth, but wealth, and every other good thing men have, comes from virtue," is it then possible to pursue a virtuous course so vigorously as to render it unvirtuous?
Experience may offer some clues. When I am hungry for example I find much pleasure in eating, particularly foods for which at the time my pallet craves. If I eat nothing the desire for food typically grows until it is not only unpleasant, but also threatening to life. Yet when my appetite is sated it is plainly torturous to eat more, even food which at another time might inspire pure delight. The same appears true for thirst. While running my first marathon last year I made sure to drink at every aid station, which so happened to appear at the start of every mile. By mile 9 I felt terribly bloated, and could not bring myself to drink another sip. By mile 15 I could no longer continue running, a condition which continued another 2 hours without drinking, after which I felt well enough to race once more. Yet in a training run earlier that summer, during which I became fatigued and had to walk the long way back to the house, I became so thirsty that I could think of little else beyond a glass of pleasantly chilled and exquisitely fresh water.
As such one might conclude that food and drink--like virtue--are good when delivered in the right form, at the right time, and in the right amount; both scarcity and excess somehow miss the mark of nourishment and happiness, or as Montaigne describes later in his essay, "The archer that shoots over, misses as much as he that falls short, and 'tis equally troublesome to my sight, to look up at a great light, and to look down into a dark abyss."
Yet as plain as the value of moderation seems to be, it is not the easiest way for most of us to act. I do not know why this is, but it is true for many (myself included). Sometimes we eat more than our bodies tell us is required. Sometimes we exercise intensely, despite the pain we feel in our muscles. And sometimes we pursue goals which our rational minds have long ago decided cost more to achieve than the expected benefit to be gained.
I suspect it is also true that, of the many messages, ideologies, and sayings we daily hear, many compel us away from moderation. Growing up, I remember hearing one story about diligent ants and a lazy grasshopper. It went something like this:
Once upon a time there was a colony of diligent ants, and a lone, lazy grasshopper living by a pond. That year summer proved particularly beautiful, and the land was fat with food. The grasshopper revelled in the easy living, and spent his days eating and enjoying the sunshine. On the other hand, the ants spent the summer in back-breaking labor, gathering food, repairing the colony, and generally ignoring the sun and the weather. Their purpose in preparing for winter was singular--relentless you might say--and nothing would distract them from that purpose.
Finally winter did arrive, and the ants settled down to a cozy, comfortable position. The grasshopper, on the other hand, found himself without food, shelter, or warmth of any kind. Now he bemoaned his lack of diligence during the time of plenty, and only survived by asking charity of the ants, who provided him with food and a warm place to sleep. From that winter forward, the grasshopper declared he would too would be diligent when summer came again.
I've long found that story interesting, though also a bit odd. Yes the grasshopper probably would have benefited by working a bit more during the summer, but unlike the ants he enjoyed life in a nice place while he could. And for all their efforts, the ants seemed to miss something about that warm and wonderful summer. That they made out well in the end does not mean they did not lose something too. One wonders if the ants and the grasshopper might have been happier had the former worked a little less and the latter worked a little more. But then who are we to judge how anthropomorphic animals live their lives?
On the other hand, the grasshopper's lazy ways did leave him hungry and cold when the air got cold. Sure, he had a great summer full of plenty and good times, but when winter came he found himself in a bad position. Say what you will about the ants and their hard-nose ways, but at least they were ready and comfortable winter came, and on top of that had enough to spare some for their less-prepared neighbor.
So we see that by observing both sides of the story, advantages and disadvantages can be derived from each. Which is the "better" course would almost certainly depend on your perspective and what you value. Yet since the course followed by the ants and that followed by the grasshopper are extremes in diligence and laziness, it seems possible that a healthy measure of each may result in a mixture of favorable outcomes from each side. One might characterize such a course as "moderate."
It can be difficult to follow such a course, for it requires an appreciation of the advantages and disadvantages derived from various possible actions. We may go this way and enjoy this benefit, or go that way and enjoy another. Sometimes we wish we could go one way and enjoy the full benefits of the other possibilities, yet most of the time this does not seem feasible. Instead it would seem we must judge how much of one good we are willing to give up in order to enjoy some portion of another good, such that we may end up enjoying many small pleasures, but rarely anything grandiose or transcendent; or to put it like an old music teacher once put it to me, "You'll only get good at music by committing to that, and maybe one another thing. But if you do music, sports, and say schoolwork, the most likely outcome is you'll be mediocre at everything, and great at nothing." This was curious advice, and it took many years before I began to see how a plethora of commitments can leave a person spread thin.I think it is something to remember perhaps as we figure out what exactly we want to do with the life we've been given.
So it seems we have a rather muddled conclusion, perhaps best encapsulated in the old saying "All things in moderation...including moderation." Something to think about maybe.
Happy Sunday, friends :)
p.s. Happy Birthday to my friend, DK
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Friendship
Mahatma Gandhi once said "Where there is love there is life." In a similar vein perhaps, it may also be true that where there are people there are also friends.
Of friends, there seem to be many different kinds: close friends, distant friends; romantic friends, drinking friends; school friends, home friends; work friends, facebook friends; family friends, and friends of friends. The list could probably go on, but by now you probably get the picture that friends can come in all variety of forms.
Sometimes one friend can fall into multiple categories of friendship, either consecutively or simultaneously. For example in college I observed on numerous occasions school and/or drinking friends becoming romantic friends by way of inebriation and impaired judgment. Sometimes this even led them to become facebook friends, though only if their recollection and/or other drinking friends alerted them to the interaction they may or may not have consciously experienced. Romantic friendship can also lead to close friendship, sometimes for a season and other times a deal longer. So by the end of a particularly "busy" weekend, two school and/or drinking friends may end up becoming romantic friends, facebook friends, and close friends all in the blink of a not-exactly-lazy-but-not-exactly-swift blink of an eye.
Frequently I hear people describe friendship as a kind of hierarchy, from low to high (as in "held in high esteem," not "high as a kite," though both might be true), and from close to distant. Close friends may be those with whom one spends a lot of time, or whose company one particular enjoys. Distant friends might be more like acquaintance or people one sees regularly, but with which one does not typically seek out interaction.
Close and distant friends seem to interact in different ways. For example, the types of conversations one might have with a close friend are probably different from those one might have with an acquaintance; close friends tend to know each other better, and may reveal a different "self" in conversation than two people who may or may not know each other's names. It may also be true that close friends act in different ways toward one another. I recall one notable incident in college during which a fellow walked up to a table in Wismer (the school cafeteria), and greeted another fellow with an elaborate handshake, and a few words which I probably should not repeat. In any case, the friend at the table had around him some other friends which the first fellow evidently did not know. At the conclusion of a brief introduction, the friend at the table said, "Yeah, me and [the first fellow's name] go back like rockin' chairs." At this point, the first fellow seems to have become a friend of a friend to the others at the table.
Finally there is sometimes difficulty when one kind of friendship becomes another. A close friend with whom one falls out over time due to distance or a change in schedule may still be close, but the relationship is less clear than when it was regularly renewed. Romantic partners who break-up may still wish to be friends, but might find the change from partner status to "just friend" a difficult bridge to cross. Indeed, how does one step back from being a close type of romantic friend to one that is not nearly as close? It seems to me a hard question, and the resulting difficulty might make such changes hard to manage. How frequently does one see ex's become good friends after they break-up? It happens sure, but why so rarely?
Is it because some types of close relationships are somehow different from others? Can a person "love" another without "liking" them too? I don't know, but it might be true. Plenty of relationships begin without a close friendship proceeding it, and end without the development of any replacement friendship beyond "undesirable acquaintance." Perhaps more than any other, romantic relationships seem to be some of the hardest from which to adapt to a new type of friendship. Is that because they are the "closest" type of friendship? There may be something to that, but other types of friendships can be just as close, and they seem to hold up better than romantic friendships for whatever reason.
Does that mean that close, non-romantic friendships are superior to romantic friendships? I don't think that is necessarily so, but romantic relationships do seem to require different things for maintenance. For instance, many would probably agree that with romantic friendships, you can and should only maintain one at a time. This is not true of close, non-romantic friendships; those you can have as many as you like. I like this aspect of close, non-romantic friendships, because you never who will come along in your life who just meshes so harmoniously with your thoughts and feelings. In such cases, one is free to accept another's friendship with open arms, the way I should like to greet everyone I meet in life.
In the case of romantic friendships, one is not typically permitted to welcome others into that circle when it is already occupied by another. As such, romantic relationships are indeed close, so close that perhaps there simply isn't space for another. That is constricting from one point of view, but perhaps it is also uplifting. Imagine sharing a connection that by its nature cannot be shared with any other. That is quite a friendship to have, or indeed to lose. No wonder so many people feel upset when their romantic relationship falls through. And perhaps it is also no wonder that such relationships so rarely become a different kind of friendship later.
Friendship is a curious subject, and one which words are, frankly, ill-equipped to describe. I've been fortunate to have wonderful friendships of all degrees and forms in my life, and it seems I'm always amazed when I meet them again somewhere under the sun. They help me in so many ways, and I hope I might learn by their example and reciprocate. For better or worse, we are all partners on our journey through life.
So Happy Sunday, friends, and thank you for everything :)
Of friends, there seem to be many different kinds: close friends, distant friends; romantic friends, drinking friends; school friends, home friends; work friends, facebook friends; family friends, and friends of friends. The list could probably go on, but by now you probably get the picture that friends can come in all variety of forms.
Sometimes one friend can fall into multiple categories of friendship, either consecutively or simultaneously. For example in college I observed on numerous occasions school and/or drinking friends becoming romantic friends by way of inebriation and impaired judgment. Sometimes this even led them to become facebook friends, though only if their recollection and/or other drinking friends alerted them to the interaction they may or may not have consciously experienced. Romantic friendship can also lead to close friendship, sometimes for a season and other times a deal longer. So by the end of a particularly "busy" weekend, two school and/or drinking friends may end up becoming romantic friends, facebook friends, and close friends all in the blink of a not-exactly-lazy-but-not-exactly-swift blink of an eye.
Frequently I hear people describe friendship as a kind of hierarchy, from low to high (as in "held in high esteem," not "high as a kite," though both might be true), and from close to distant. Close friends may be those with whom one spends a lot of time, or whose company one particular enjoys. Distant friends might be more like acquaintance or people one sees regularly, but with which one does not typically seek out interaction.
Close and distant friends seem to interact in different ways. For example, the types of conversations one might have with a close friend are probably different from those one might have with an acquaintance; close friends tend to know each other better, and may reveal a different "self" in conversation than two people who may or may not know each other's names. It may also be true that close friends act in different ways toward one another. I recall one notable incident in college during which a fellow walked up to a table in Wismer (the school cafeteria), and greeted another fellow with an elaborate handshake, and a few words which I probably should not repeat. In any case, the friend at the table had around him some other friends which the first fellow evidently did not know. At the conclusion of a brief introduction, the friend at the table said, "Yeah, me and [the first fellow's name] go back like rockin' chairs." At this point, the first fellow seems to have become a friend of a friend to the others at the table.
Finally there is sometimes difficulty when one kind of friendship becomes another. A close friend with whom one falls out over time due to distance or a change in schedule may still be close, but the relationship is less clear than when it was regularly renewed. Romantic partners who break-up may still wish to be friends, but might find the change from partner status to "just friend" a difficult bridge to cross. Indeed, how does one step back from being a close type of romantic friend to one that is not nearly as close? It seems to me a hard question, and the resulting difficulty might make such changes hard to manage. How frequently does one see ex's become good friends after they break-up? It happens sure, but why so rarely?
Is it because some types of close relationships are somehow different from others? Can a person "love" another without "liking" them too? I don't know, but it might be true. Plenty of relationships begin without a close friendship proceeding it, and end without the development of any replacement friendship beyond "undesirable acquaintance." Perhaps more than any other, romantic relationships seem to be some of the hardest from which to adapt to a new type of friendship. Is that because they are the "closest" type of friendship? There may be something to that, but other types of friendships can be just as close, and they seem to hold up better than romantic friendships for whatever reason.
Does that mean that close, non-romantic friendships are superior to romantic friendships? I don't think that is necessarily so, but romantic relationships do seem to require different things for maintenance. For instance, many would probably agree that with romantic friendships, you can and should only maintain one at a time. This is not true of close, non-romantic friendships; those you can have as many as you like. I like this aspect of close, non-romantic friendships, because you never who will come along in your life who just meshes so harmoniously with your thoughts and feelings. In such cases, one is free to accept another's friendship with open arms, the way I should like to greet everyone I meet in life.
In the case of romantic friendships, one is not typically permitted to welcome others into that circle when it is already occupied by another. As such, romantic relationships are indeed close, so close that perhaps there simply isn't space for another. That is constricting from one point of view, but perhaps it is also uplifting. Imagine sharing a connection that by its nature cannot be shared with any other. That is quite a friendship to have, or indeed to lose. No wonder so many people feel upset when their romantic relationship falls through. And perhaps it is also no wonder that such relationships so rarely become a different kind of friendship later.
Friendship is a curious subject, and one which words are, frankly, ill-equipped to describe. I've been fortunate to have wonderful friendships of all degrees and forms in my life, and it seems I'm always amazed when I meet them again somewhere under the sun. They help me in so many ways, and I hope I might learn by their example and reciprocate. For better or worse, we are all partners on our journey through life.
So Happy Sunday, friends, and thank you for everything :)
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Training Update XI (MCM): Final Workout
14 days, 15 hours to go...
Well friends we're just a touch over two weeks from the start of the Marine Corps Marathon, and today I did my final workout of the season. From now until the race, the emphasis in training will shift toward maintaining the fitness we've achieved, staying healthy, and getting adequate rest. In old-time parlance one might say "the hay is in the barn," and now it's mostly a matter of taking it easy and staying relaxed.
For many athletes (myself included), this can be one of the most difficult phases of preparing for a race. You aren't training the same way as earlier in the season, and the elevated energy-levels which typically accompany a pull-back in training can be paralleled by a kind of restless, nervous energy which drives one to constantly wonder how much fitness you're losing by training less. I'm thankful this form of restlessness isn't remorseless in my own mind, but I would be fibbing if I said it wasn't there.
Today's workout took place in three phases; one in the morning, one in the early afternoon, and one sandwiched in-between. The morning effort involved a brisk walk/run lasting 68 minutes under a brilliant clear (but COLD) morning sky. This phase went quite well, though at times I felt rather stiff, perhaps due to the cold. I was hoping to go longer, but a unremitting need to use the bathroom forced me home a bit earlier than expected. Sometimes that happens, so no worries. With this phase I sought to loosen the muscles in my legs, but also to get them tired. I also hoped to depleted my carbohydrates stores, for reasons we'll discuss more fully below.
Following the morning effort, I spent the next few hours doing various physical and non-physical activities; eating a little breakfast, raking some pine-needles, throwing around the medicine ball, and vacuuming the bedroom. The purpose of this phase involved the recovery of some (but not all) of the body fuel I burned earlier in the day, as well as taking care of needed household business on the first Saturday I've had off in over a year (a dusty room needs cleaning, marathon or not).
The third phase involved a strong 30 minutes effort of straight running. At first I was a bit leery of trying this, since historically I've usually tanked pretty hard when running later in the day on low amounts of fuel. This type of work seemed essential for the marathon, however, so to get over the initial trouble I went real easy the first 5 minutes, just easing into the effort and trying not to do too much. This proved a good strategy, because soon I got warm and started flying over the roads, pleasantly surprising myself in the process.
Yet it didn't materialize from thin air. About two weeks ago I spent all day at work, carrying heavy loads and remaining on my feet close to 7 hours. It's been hard to do any kind of training after a day like that, but back in the summer I'd managed some and did well if I took it easy. Last week I took about an hour to rest when I got home, then taking a few swigs of pomegranate juice, hopped on the treadmill and ran 36 minutes at a strong pace. The effort surprised me then too, but seemed to suggest that whatever training I'd been doing was having the desired result; that despite running low on carbohydrates and having tired muscles, I could still put in a good training effort at the end of the day.
This is a good sign, because the purpose of all these training efforts (including today's) is not simply to wear a body out, but to specifically adapt it and the mind to continue running strong even when tired and deprived of carbohydrate for fuel. In my experience this is very important for the marathon, since the final third of the race is almost always run under these types of conditions. During my first marathon it was just before the start of this 'final third' that I began struggling. Whether this was due to hyponatremia (salt dissolution), hypoglycemia (carbohydrate depletion), or a sheer lack of endurance remains unclear to me, but I suspect it was a combination of factors known and unknown. So in preparing for this race I've looked to address the three I suspect; hyponatremia by drinking less and measuring dehydration after workouts; endurance by running more than last year; and hypoglycemia by doing workouts like today's, which involve carbohydrate depletion and thereby a greater reliance on fat-stores as an energy source at faster paces.
Only time will tell if these measures prove sufficient to carry me through the race in good order. I feel happy with the training, but know it is light by most athletes' standards. My work and school commitments demand a lot, and what's left must be divided still further. Managing this division in a balanced way is the ever-present challenge of anyone aspiring to achievement in a field other than that which they study or do professionally (and even then, trade-offs must still surely be made). In the end I've really enjoyed these last several months of training, and that will be true regardless of what happens on the roads of Washington D.C. and Arlington in 2 weeks' time. It's been a journey and a process, to what end I do not yet know. It's been good though; that much is clear.
Happy Saturday, friends :)
Well friends we're just a touch over two weeks from the start of the Marine Corps Marathon, and today I did my final workout of the season. From now until the race, the emphasis in training will shift toward maintaining the fitness we've achieved, staying healthy, and getting adequate rest. In old-time parlance one might say "the hay is in the barn," and now it's mostly a matter of taking it easy and staying relaxed.
For many athletes (myself included), this can be one of the most difficult phases of preparing for a race. You aren't training the same way as earlier in the season, and the elevated energy-levels which typically accompany a pull-back in training can be paralleled by a kind of restless, nervous energy which drives one to constantly wonder how much fitness you're losing by training less. I'm thankful this form of restlessness isn't remorseless in my own mind, but I would be fibbing if I said it wasn't there.
Today's workout took place in three phases; one in the morning, one in the early afternoon, and one sandwiched in-between. The morning effort involved a brisk walk/run lasting 68 minutes under a brilliant clear (but COLD) morning sky. This phase went quite well, though at times I felt rather stiff, perhaps due to the cold. I was hoping to go longer, but a unremitting need to use the bathroom forced me home a bit earlier than expected. Sometimes that happens, so no worries. With this phase I sought to loosen the muscles in my legs, but also to get them tired. I also hoped to depleted my carbohydrates stores, for reasons we'll discuss more fully below.
Following the morning effort, I spent the next few hours doing various physical and non-physical activities; eating a little breakfast, raking some pine-needles, throwing around the medicine ball, and vacuuming the bedroom. The purpose of this phase involved the recovery of some (but not all) of the body fuel I burned earlier in the day, as well as taking care of needed household business on the first Saturday I've had off in over a year (a dusty room needs cleaning, marathon or not).
The third phase involved a strong 30 minutes effort of straight running. At first I was a bit leery of trying this, since historically I've usually tanked pretty hard when running later in the day on low amounts of fuel. This type of work seemed essential for the marathon, however, so to get over the initial trouble I went real easy the first 5 minutes, just easing into the effort and trying not to do too much. This proved a good strategy, because soon I got warm and started flying over the roads, pleasantly surprising myself in the process.
Yet it didn't materialize from thin air. About two weeks ago I spent all day at work, carrying heavy loads and remaining on my feet close to 7 hours. It's been hard to do any kind of training after a day like that, but back in the summer I'd managed some and did well if I took it easy. Last week I took about an hour to rest when I got home, then taking a few swigs of pomegranate juice, hopped on the treadmill and ran 36 minutes at a strong pace. The effort surprised me then too, but seemed to suggest that whatever training I'd been doing was having the desired result; that despite running low on carbohydrates and having tired muscles, I could still put in a good training effort at the end of the day.
This is a good sign, because the purpose of all these training efforts (including today's) is not simply to wear a body out, but to specifically adapt it and the mind to continue running strong even when tired and deprived of carbohydrate for fuel. In my experience this is very important for the marathon, since the final third of the race is almost always run under these types of conditions. During my first marathon it was just before the start of this 'final third' that I began struggling. Whether this was due to hyponatremia (salt dissolution), hypoglycemia (carbohydrate depletion), or a sheer lack of endurance remains unclear to me, but I suspect it was a combination of factors known and unknown. So in preparing for this race I've looked to address the three I suspect; hyponatremia by drinking less and measuring dehydration after workouts; endurance by running more than last year; and hypoglycemia by doing workouts like today's, which involve carbohydrate depletion and thereby a greater reliance on fat-stores as an energy source at faster paces.
Only time will tell if these measures prove sufficient to carry me through the race in good order. I feel happy with the training, but know it is light by most athletes' standards. My work and school commitments demand a lot, and what's left must be divided still further. Managing this division in a balanced way is the ever-present challenge of anyone aspiring to achievement in a field other than that which they study or do professionally (and even then, trade-offs must still surely be made). In the end I've really enjoyed these last several months of training, and that will be true regardless of what happens on the roads of Washington D.C. and Arlington in 2 weeks' time. It's been a journey and a process, to what end I do not yet know. It's been good though; that much is clear.
Happy Saturday, friends :)
Friday, October 5, 2012
On the value of a new perspective
I came across the following passage while reading Michel de Montaigne's essay "Of the Education of Children:"
"Cubs of bears and puppies readily discover their natural inclination; but men, so soon as ever they are grownup, applying themselves to certain habits, engaging themselves in certain opinions, and conforming themselves to particular laws and customs, easily alter, or at least disguise, their true and real disposition; and yet it is hard to force the propension of nature. Whence it comes to pass, that for not having chosen the right course, we often take very great pains, and consume a good part of our time in training up children to things, for which, by their natural constitution, they are totally unfit." ("Of the Education of Children").
On several levels I find this passage interesting. At first glance it suggests what some come to know as they grow older: that training and upbringing have prepared (or ill-prepared) them for a life and/or career outside the scope of their interests and passion. Among other times, I've heard some people frequently feel this way in graduate school (but then, those are just rumors...perhaps?).
"Cubs of bears and puppies readily discover their natural inclination; but men, so soon as ever they are grownup, applying themselves to certain habits, engaging themselves in certain opinions, and conforming themselves to particular laws and customs, easily alter, or at least disguise, their true and real disposition; and yet it is hard to force the propension of nature. Whence it comes to pass, that for not having chosen the right course, we often take very great pains, and consume a good part of our time in training up children to things, for which, by their natural constitution, they are totally unfit." ("Of the Education of Children").
On several levels I find this passage interesting. At first glance it suggests what some come to know as they grow older: that training and upbringing have prepared (or ill-prepared) them for a life and/or career outside the scope of their interests and passion. Among other times, I've heard some people frequently feel this way in graduate school (but then, those are just rumors...perhaps?).
From a different perspective, consider the way Montaigne contrasts "cubs of bears and puppies" with people to make a point; that in situations of "discover[ing] their natural inclination," animals typically do a better job of following "the propension of nature" than do people. Despite (or perhaps because of) all the wondrous faculties humans possess and which animals apparently do not, Montaigne seems to suggest there is a kind of truth in the notion that we frequently make certain types of errors to which animals seem largely immune. For all our gifts and supposed superiority over other animals, humans have problems unique to themselves.
Perhaps that is a major takeaway from this passage. In becoming a "grownup," we spend a lot of time "engaging...certain opinions," and "conforming...to particular laws and customs." Yet for all the good intentions behind this motive, we still frequently end up butting heads with our "true and real disposition," living lives for which we are "unfit," or what Henry David Thoreau might have called "lives of quiet desperation."
It is strange that for all our learning and reason, we still so often misinterpret what makes us happy and full of life. Is this because of our learning and reason? I'm inclined to think "not necessarily," but it may indeed play a role, perhaps a significant one even. Yet that does not seem reason enough for me to want to abandon the task educating anyone, children not the least. Anti-intellectualism may prove an attractive impulse, yet history does not show a particularly positive track-record for that course either. For all our attempts at abandoning reason to become more natural, like animals, we typically end up acting like them without living lives in accord with our nature; that for better or worse, something important always seems to get lost travelling down the extreme anti-intellectual road.
I don't know what that "something" is, but I suspect Montaigne's contrast of animals and people points toward it somehow. By observing animals, Montaigne seems to want us to see ourselves in a different way, just as a person who lives in another culture comes--in time--to see their own in a different way. It is not so much that we gain some new and powerful knowledge by such exercises, so much as a change in perspective not possible by ordinary means. Indeed, it is the contrast which seems to provide the most value, since a person who grows up in the woods would not likely see their lifestyle in a different way by, say, going to live in the woods again. The same might be said of a city-dweller going to live in the city in which they were born. Yet ask a city-dweller to spend time in the woods, or a forest-dweller to spend time in the city, and the proposition is probably quite different. The contrast provides an alternative view of everything which was once familiar, and by-so-doing a new insight into things we might have never questioned otherwise.
Without directly pointing a finger, Montaigne shows how animals avoid a kind of grief which many people feel. And it isn't due to some physical attribute which humans don't have (like kangaroo feet, or flippers), but rather a kind of honesty about who we are, and what we enjoy (a quality humans do seem to have). Montaigne seems to say that it isn't about acting like other animals per say, so much as looking past one's own vanity as other animals seem to do, which in turn yields a new and potentially fruitful perspective. It's a curious thought, and one which may point to an even bigger message: that for all the interesting things we can find in Montaigne, not all wisdom is in books.
Happy Friday, friends :)
Monday, October 1, 2012
On how one should ask a girl out
A question came to mind today while putting cheese on the shelf: how should one go about asking a girl out?
I've seen, heard, and even tried a few different methods, yet a consensus never seems to emerge on how it's properly done. Indeed, there seems to be a great variety of reasons for asking a girl out, in addition to methods one might employ. Alas, the reasons why one fellow asks a girl out is his own, and his mind may simultaneously contain all manner of ends. As such, it seems probable that specific reasons cannot here be deeply discussed; they simply vary too much, and may act in concert or parallel with one another. They are important though, and since they're liable to affect how one goes about the process, perhaps examples should be considered first.
In one example, I observed a fellow who, having spotted a girl he fancied, spent a little time gathering his courage before heading over to talk her up and "test the waters," as he put it. The idea, if all went well, was to ask her out at the conclusion of this introductory (and, I'm told, customary) period of chit-chat. As it turned out, the waters proved "just right" for the lad, and he asked the lady if she wanted to hang out that night, to which she answered yes. Apparently that meant they were dating. The fellow returned with a look of triumph on his face, and declared that he had a girlfriend. The chaps and I congratulated him on his fine showing and cool under pressure.
Another time one of the fellows, having spotted a girl he fancied, decided he wasn't courageous enough to say so. Despite this, he couldn't help gazing her way whenever she passed. Yet despite his obvious interest he never took a step toward getting to know her better. This went on almost a year, but then abruptly ended; he lost interest, he said, and that was that. Interestingly, his interest redoubled when one day she said hello to him off-hand. The fellow remained enchanted several months longer, but never made to talk with the lady.
In another example, a fellow was good friends with a lady he knew. They spent much time together, but never made to take up dating. After a time the fellow did become interested in the lady that way, but didn't want to risk the friendship they had by saying so. He reasoned, if she said yes everything would be alright; yet if she said no, how could their friendship ever be the same? Such was the dilemma the fellow faced, when one day he finally broached the subject with his friend, and they became a couple.
How do all these cases conclude? In the first the case, the relationship lasted a short (and I'm told, "glorious") while, but ended when she "nagged too much," and he "never paid attention." In the second case, the enchanted fellow watched as another guy started talking up the girl he liked, and and not long after that the two of them became a couple. They are still together to this day, and the enchanted fellow at first became jealous, but then fell under the spell of a new "enchantress." He hasn't talked to her yet either.
In the third case, the relationship went well for a time until it didn't; it seems that good friendships do not always make good couples. The greater time and intimacy together exposed each member to aspects of the other not previously seen; a closer relationship meant different expectations, responsibilities, and necessary tolerances to make it work. Finally the lady said it wasn't working and wanted to break the matter off while, if possible, still remaining friends. They tried to remain friends, but the "step-down" as one of them called it from a relationship back to "just friendship" proved intolerable to the either party, and today they only rarely speak.
Which brings us back to the original question: how should one go about asking a girl out? In two of the three cases, the guy ended up in a relationship with the girl, yet both ended in a break-up. The fellow in the first case seemed happy for the intimacy he enjoyed, but by the end he was back to square one, and already the lady was telling all her friends what a "jerk" he had been. His next foray could prove more difficult than the first. In the third case, the close friendship seemed to bode well for a stable, happy relationship, yet it proved otherwise. For one reason or another, their friendship failed to reveal to each deeper incompatibilities which ultimately made intimate relations intolerable. In the end the fellow gambled not only his own friendship with the lady but also her friendship with him, and they both lost.
I suspect the first fellow wasn't particularly interested in a long, stable relationship, yet it also seems possible that in time he would prefer one to always "chasing the biddies," and making more enemies than friends. The second fellow seemed interested in a relationship of some kind (or maybe he just liked to gawk), but unless a lady just suddenly fell into his lap it seems likely his inaction would always leave him in Singledom (Kingdom of the Singles).
And in the final case, the fellow took a risk based on the idea that a sound friendship should yield a sound relationship. That it didn't could indicate that such logic is never true, but I suspect that would go too far. The example does, however, suggest the inherent risk in any attempt at establishing a long-term relationship along such lines; one risks whenever putting one's self out there, but the risk is even higher when the other person involved is a good friend, for no small reason that they share the risk too.
So how should one ask a lady out? I guess it depends really, first on what you want, and second on how much you're willing to risk in the effort. The world is full of other examples in which people who meet at first sight fall in love and stay together their whole lives, as well as those in which people spend their whole lives with partners who make them utterly miserable. Perhaps you know them (or are) them. Whether you make the leap or not is a question for you and your circumstances, but as someone once told me at the dawn of my first relationship 7 years ago:
"I tell you what, asking a girl out is only the beginning; the experience is gonna cause you both to grow, sometimes closer together, and other times farther apart. You can make an educated guess at the start as to which it will be, but you won't know until after it happens. As with growing plants you can't force it...you can only nurture it, love it, and give it space to thrive or fail in its own time. Yessir, asking a girl out is a scary proposition, but it's only the first step, and not even the most important."
Something to ponder maybe.
Happy Monday, friends :)
I've seen, heard, and even tried a few different methods, yet a consensus never seems to emerge on how it's properly done. Indeed, there seems to be a great variety of reasons for asking a girl out, in addition to methods one might employ. Alas, the reasons why one fellow asks a girl out is his own, and his mind may simultaneously contain all manner of ends. As such, it seems probable that specific reasons cannot here be deeply discussed; they simply vary too much, and may act in concert or parallel with one another. They are important though, and since they're liable to affect how one goes about the process, perhaps examples should be considered first.
In one example, I observed a fellow who, having spotted a girl he fancied, spent a little time gathering his courage before heading over to talk her up and "test the waters," as he put it. The idea, if all went well, was to ask her out at the conclusion of this introductory (and, I'm told, customary) period of chit-chat. As it turned out, the waters proved "just right" for the lad, and he asked the lady if she wanted to hang out that night, to which she answered yes. Apparently that meant they were dating. The fellow returned with a look of triumph on his face, and declared that he had a girlfriend. The chaps and I congratulated him on his fine showing and cool under pressure.
Another time one of the fellows, having spotted a girl he fancied, decided he wasn't courageous enough to say so. Despite this, he couldn't help gazing her way whenever she passed. Yet despite his obvious interest he never took a step toward getting to know her better. This went on almost a year, but then abruptly ended; he lost interest, he said, and that was that. Interestingly, his interest redoubled when one day she said hello to him off-hand. The fellow remained enchanted several months longer, but never made to talk with the lady.
In another example, a fellow was good friends with a lady he knew. They spent much time together, but never made to take up dating. After a time the fellow did become interested in the lady that way, but didn't want to risk the friendship they had by saying so. He reasoned, if she said yes everything would be alright; yet if she said no, how could their friendship ever be the same? Such was the dilemma the fellow faced, when one day he finally broached the subject with his friend, and they became a couple.
How do all these cases conclude? In the first the case, the relationship lasted a short (and I'm told, "glorious") while, but ended when she "nagged too much," and he "never paid attention." In the second case, the enchanted fellow watched as another guy started talking up the girl he liked, and and not long after that the two of them became a couple. They are still together to this day, and the enchanted fellow at first became jealous, but then fell under the spell of a new "enchantress." He hasn't talked to her yet either.
In the third case, the relationship went well for a time until it didn't; it seems that good friendships do not always make good couples. The greater time and intimacy together exposed each member to aspects of the other not previously seen; a closer relationship meant different expectations, responsibilities, and necessary tolerances to make it work. Finally the lady said it wasn't working and wanted to break the matter off while, if possible, still remaining friends. They tried to remain friends, but the "step-down" as one of them called it from a relationship back to "just friendship" proved intolerable to the either party, and today they only rarely speak.
Which brings us back to the original question: how should one go about asking a girl out? In two of the three cases, the guy ended up in a relationship with the girl, yet both ended in a break-up. The fellow in the first case seemed happy for the intimacy he enjoyed, but by the end he was back to square one, and already the lady was telling all her friends what a "jerk" he had been. His next foray could prove more difficult than the first. In the third case, the close friendship seemed to bode well for a stable, happy relationship, yet it proved otherwise. For one reason or another, their friendship failed to reveal to each deeper incompatibilities which ultimately made intimate relations intolerable. In the end the fellow gambled not only his own friendship with the lady but also her friendship with him, and they both lost.
I suspect the first fellow wasn't particularly interested in a long, stable relationship, yet it also seems possible that in time he would prefer one to always "chasing the biddies," and making more enemies than friends. The second fellow seemed interested in a relationship of some kind (or maybe he just liked to gawk), but unless a lady just suddenly fell into his lap it seems likely his inaction would always leave him in Singledom (Kingdom of the Singles).
And in the final case, the fellow took a risk based on the idea that a sound friendship should yield a sound relationship. That it didn't could indicate that such logic is never true, but I suspect that would go too far. The example does, however, suggest the inherent risk in any attempt at establishing a long-term relationship along such lines; one risks whenever putting one's self out there, but the risk is even higher when the other person involved is a good friend, for no small reason that they share the risk too.
So how should one ask a lady out? I guess it depends really, first on what you want, and second on how much you're willing to risk in the effort. The world is full of other examples in which people who meet at first sight fall in love and stay together their whole lives, as well as those in which people spend their whole lives with partners who make them utterly miserable. Perhaps you know them (or are) them. Whether you make the leap or not is a question for you and your circumstances, but as someone once told me at the dawn of my first relationship 7 years ago:
"I tell you what, asking a girl out is only the beginning; the experience is gonna cause you both to grow, sometimes closer together, and other times farther apart. You can make an educated guess at the start as to which it will be, but you won't know until after it happens. As with growing plants you can't force it...you can only nurture it, love it, and give it space to thrive or fail in its own time. Yessir, asking a girl out is a scary proposition, but it's only the first step, and not even the most important."
Something to ponder maybe.
Happy Monday, friends :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)