Today is the 96th anniversary of my father’s birth. Happy birthday, Dad.
In 170 days it will be November 11, 2008—the 34th anniversary of his death, and coincidentally the first day of my bicycle trek across Israel. I do not have forty years of wandering in the desert ahead of me, but in some ways it may feel that way. Some days I will feel lost, hopeless, wanting to return to the comfort of the past. Some days I will find the sustenance unacceptable, the waters bitter, and certainly the uphill climbs strenuous and even painful. And, I pray, some days I will experience revelation, light, awe, truth. All of these, and more, will be the companions of my journey.
One hundred seventy is a big number. It represents too many days for me to hold in my awareness. I can understand today, tomorrow, this week, maybe even this month. Five months, twenty-four weeks is much too long for me to get my arms around. Although I have spent much of my career planning projects of longer duration, and creating annual plans, this is the result of applying concepts and tools that are inherently opposed to my nature. I see myself as a spontaneous, intuitive person. When Myers-Briggs inventories ask whether I like to have my Sundays planned (I transpose the question to Saturday) the answer is emphatically “No”. When Deb asks on Friday night, “Are you going to shul tomorrow?” The answer is typically, “We’ll see.” One of the reasons Deb and I have so much trouble planning and taking vacations is that the arrangements—especially using frequent flyer miles—demand that we transport ourselves too far out in the future.
And yet, God willing, in 170 days I know exactly where I will be and what I will be doing. Frightening. All the more so, because to do this thing I purport to do I must also do certain things on all or most of the days between now and then. I must ride increasing distances along increasingly challenging routes. I must experience the pain and exhilaration of climbing and descending the Santa Cruz mountains. I must continually monitor and adjust the delicate relationship between my body and the machine that transports me. I must find a pair of riding shoes or a saddle or cleat position that allows me to pedal more than an hour and a half without my pinky toes becoming numb. I must strengthen my legs and arms and torso. I must strengthen my resistance to self-medicate with food. I must reduce my body mass index—not for this ride alone, but for the forty-plus years of wandering I plan to do after the ride.
I have so much to do.
I know I can only do whatever I do in the discrete, indefinable moment of “now”. And while the self-help literature preaches the value of living in the present I still feel a need to put “now” in a context that includes November 11, 1974 and November 11, 2008. What was, what is, and what may be some day, frame a conversation of contrasts that fuel awareness and action in the present. My health is good, and I am the son of two parents who had heart disease. I am optimistic, and I must not turn a blind eye to heredity. I have had a better diet, more exercise, in a smoke free environment than did my parents, and I am obese, take cholesterol medication and have some tendencies that left unchecked could lead to diabetes.
So when I say “I am making a commitment to my own sustainability as well as the planet's,” these are powerful words. Yet there is a part of me that acts indifferent to my own declaration. I get it intellectually, that both the planet and my body are desperately seeking my attention and support. And at another level, I am acutely aware that I have done too little for either. I wonder what it will take. When will my heart and soul catch up to my mind?
One hundred seventy days is a long time, but not so long that I can fritter them away with thoughts that there are so many tomorrows that I can postpone doing today what can only be done today. Last December I spoke to the congregation about the symbolism of Chanukah and how lighting candles was a beautiful way to be mindful of the need to measure our days. Today my prayer, my charge to myself, my pledge, is to kindle a flame within that will illuminate my path and guide me to make conscious life affirming decisions today, the next 170 days, and all the days of my life.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Precipice
I feel I am on a precipice.
Erev my first bike event--the Foothill Century--the only kosher century ride in the West! It is a fund raiser for the South Peninsula Hebrew Day School in Sunnyvale, with over 450 cyclists registered. I signed up for the 50k group--something like 36 miles--over 50% more than my longest ride to date and approximately 449 more riders involved.
I am excited. A little nervous. It will be a good step up from what I have been doing. A new experience. Hopefully pleasant.
Tomorrow is also the day I have committed to do the pre-launch of my fund raising campaign for the Israel Ride. It's my mom's birthday--which adds a nice connection to the day. My plan is to get some feedback from a few friends and family this week. Hopefully some donations as well. So that next Sunday--May 25, my dad's birthday I will do the full launch of the campaign. It's poetic. The ride itself starts on November 11, Dad's yartzeit. It seems fitting in several ways to dedicate this venture to him. The physical fitness part for sure. Actually he and Mom each had heart disease, but it was fatal for him. To exercise, lose weight, is important given my family history. The spiritual connection is another piece of family legacy, and one I embrace with pleasure. It really makes this whole crazy effort so much more powerful knowing that it will take me to the land and the people of Israel.
It is nice too that tomorrow's event, my first of this kind, is for a Jewish school, although I hasten to add that that is more a matter of circumstance than design. I have also signed up for the 50k section of the Sequoia Century on June 1 sponsored by the Peninsula's major bike club--the Western Wheelers.
I had a conversation this week with a staff member for the November ride. One thing led to another and I ended up buying their new training Jersey--with the letters emblazoned across the front "The People of the Bike." That should raise a few eyebrows at tomorrow's Jewish biking venue. In case anyone is curious I will have some handouts describing the Israel Ride and also giving them an opportunity to log onto my rider's page and make a contribution! Shameless marketing.
It has actually been a very stimulating bike week. A couple of highlights. With the temperature soaring to 100 degrees I decided to move my afternoon workout to early morning. Thursday when I headed up Arastradero Road I got to the intersection with Foothill Boulevard and discovered a bikers' refreshment stand supporting National Bike to Work Day participants. It was only a small stretch to say I was biking to work. Given that I work at home it was a 23 mile detour from my bedroom to my office, but it did indeed lead me to work. I gratefully accepted the Hobee's coffee cake and commemorative canvas bag they provided, regrettably eschewing some healthier alternatives.
I was amazed by the number of cyclists I saw commuting that morning--and the variety. Sprinkled in among what looked like the "regulars" was a unicyclist climbing (and later no doubt descending) Sand Hill Road. This is no small feat on a road bike, much less a unicycle. I reached my all time fastest speed that morning--40 mph on the way down Sand Hill. How someone defies gravity with direct drive pedals is beyond me. Maybe the other extreme was a women in a flowing dress, easily 300 pounds who I had to tacitly applaud for the extraordinary effort she demonstrated. From afar I silently wished her well on her quest, presumably toward fitness. It did set a context regarding my own obesity (yes, that's what all the body mass index charts label me).
Friday morning I went out for the first time with my friend John Carlsen who is a highly experienced cyclist. He gave me some great pointers such as how to stretch my calves on downhill runs, how and why I should increase my cadence going uphill, plus he took me through some magnificent back roads.
Shortly after John and I parted company I heard a loud pop from my rear tire--my first blowout! Gamely I applied the lesson I had received a month before at the bike store on how to change a tire. It came to me slowly, but I did manage to get it all apart and back together again! And simultaneously host a conference call for work that I had hoped to conduct from my office had I gotten home in time.
Tonight I am making final preparations for tomorrow's event. Freshly cleaned attire. New socks! Chilled water for my Camelback backpack hydration system. A fresh inner tube for my emergency kit. Carbo loading at my latest favorite Mexican restaurant. And some final touches to my website which will become publicized for the first time as part of the fund raising effort.
I am on a precipice, and that is one of the most exciting places to be!
Erev my first bike event--the Foothill Century--the only kosher century ride in the West! It is a fund raiser for the South Peninsula Hebrew Day School in Sunnyvale, with over 450 cyclists registered. I signed up for the 50k group--something like 36 miles--over 50% more than my longest ride to date and approximately 449 more riders involved.
I am excited. A little nervous. It will be a good step up from what I have been doing. A new experience. Hopefully pleasant.
Tomorrow is also the day I have committed to do the pre-launch of my fund raising campaign for the Israel Ride. It's my mom's birthday--which adds a nice connection to the day. My plan is to get some feedback from a few friends and family this week. Hopefully some donations as well. So that next Sunday--May 25, my dad's birthday I will do the full launch of the campaign. It's poetic. The ride itself starts on November 11, Dad's yartzeit. It seems fitting in several ways to dedicate this venture to him. The physical fitness part for sure. Actually he and Mom each had heart disease, but it was fatal for him. To exercise, lose weight, is important given my family history. The spiritual connection is another piece of family legacy, and one I embrace with pleasure. It really makes this whole crazy effort so much more powerful knowing that it will take me to the land and the people of Israel.
It is nice too that tomorrow's event, my first of this kind, is for a Jewish school, although I hasten to add that that is more a matter of circumstance than design. I have also signed up for the 50k section of the Sequoia Century on June 1 sponsored by the Peninsula's major bike club--the Western Wheelers.
I had a conversation this week with a staff member for the November ride. One thing led to another and I ended up buying their new training Jersey--with the letters emblazoned across the front "The People of the Bike." That should raise a few eyebrows at tomorrow's Jewish biking venue. In case anyone is curious I will have some handouts describing the Israel Ride and also giving them an opportunity to log onto my rider's page and make a contribution! Shameless marketing.
It has actually been a very stimulating bike week. A couple of highlights. With the temperature soaring to 100 degrees I decided to move my afternoon workout to early morning. Thursday when I headed up Arastradero Road I got to the intersection with Foothill Boulevard and discovered a bikers' refreshment stand supporting National Bike to Work Day participants. It was only a small stretch to say I was biking to work. Given that I work at home it was a 23 mile detour from my bedroom to my office, but it did indeed lead me to work. I gratefully accepted the Hobee's coffee cake and commemorative canvas bag they provided, regrettably eschewing some healthier alternatives.
I was amazed by the number of cyclists I saw commuting that morning--and the variety. Sprinkled in among what looked like the "regulars" was a unicyclist climbing (and later no doubt descending) Sand Hill Road. This is no small feat on a road bike, much less a unicycle. I reached my all time fastest speed that morning--40 mph on the way down Sand Hill. How someone defies gravity with direct drive pedals is beyond me. Maybe the other extreme was a women in a flowing dress, easily 300 pounds who I had to tacitly applaud for the extraordinary effort she demonstrated. From afar I silently wished her well on her quest, presumably toward fitness. It did set a context regarding my own obesity (yes, that's what all the body mass index charts label me).
Friday morning I went out for the first time with my friend John Carlsen who is a highly experienced cyclist. He gave me some great pointers such as how to stretch my calves on downhill runs, how and why I should increase my cadence going uphill, plus he took me through some magnificent back roads.
Shortly after John and I parted company I heard a loud pop from my rear tire--my first blowout! Gamely I applied the lesson I had received a month before at the bike store on how to change a tire. It came to me slowly, but I did manage to get it all apart and back together again! And simultaneously host a conference call for work that I had hoped to conduct from my office had I gotten home in time.
Tonight I am making final preparations for tomorrow's event. Freshly cleaned attire. New socks! Chilled water for my Camelback backpack hydration system. A fresh inner tube for my emergency kit. Carbo loading at my latest favorite Mexican restaurant. And some final touches to my website which will become publicized for the first time as part of the fund raising effort.
I am on a precipice, and that is one of the most exciting places to be!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Just Around the Bend
I love riding the bike. I love the bike. Its pristine black shiny frame. The spare spokes that I actually swiped with a cloth the other day. Rims. Gear thingies. Its utter bikeness.
I'm pretty sure all bikes look the same. I'm pretty sure that if I show my new bike to someone they see, "bike". After all, that's what it is. I was gonna say "that's all it is" and I caught myself. If that was all it was then I would not be tapping these keys right now.
Bike is an unfolding metaphor.
I say unfolding--no, it's not one of those collapsible bikes--because I am already sensing that its meaning in my life today is not what it was a month ago, and not what it will be six months from now. Oh sure, bike is vehicle. Vehicle is how I get myself from here to there (although when I am there is has become the new here so did I actually transport myself? or the Universe? Ouch. See how cosmic this contraption has already become!
So I headed up Arastradero Road today--the entire length. It is actually something I have done in the reverse direction with some glee. Glee is that emotion that I have noticed accompanies the act of pedaling at alarming rates downhill. Glee is not the emotion I experienced pedaling up Arastradero Road this afternoon, although in subsequent conversation with John at the Men's Group tonight he pointed out to me that many fellow cyclists actually experience more glee going up hills than down. Some of that may be attributed to another emotion that arises when experienced cyclists ascend increasingly steep slopes only to descend at increasingly alarming speeds, thus inducing more a sensation of fear than glee. In my short time in this avocation I have had tastes of that, previously noted.
So I was heading up Arastradero Road today, and perceived a slow and steady climb. "This is good," I most certainly sensed at some level. This is good. Pumping. Changing gears. Pumping hard. Changing gears again. Again. Until there were no more gears to escape to. Until a heaviness descended upon my legs, a pain to be sure, as deep labored breaths clamored for oxygen that seemed so plentiful only minutes before.
This is hard. I must remember this when I enter my biking log on MapMyRun.com tonight. The entire ride may not be hard, but this climb--this puny climb--is a real challenge. Visions of photos of last year's bike event flashed through my head. Panoramas stretching out for miles. Nothing but sand and sun and a serpentine stripe of asphalt going only one way--up. A quote from the promotional video is stuck in my head. "This was the most physically taxing undertaking I have ever experienced," or words to that effect.
And here I am on this puny little hill on a breezy balmy afternoon struggling with every rotation of my granny gear. I got some work to do!
I am developing a modicum of patience. I am willing to take on incrementally longer and more challenging rides. I am willing to watch my self grow in physical and psychological mettle. And gratefully I am willing to stop the bike on several occasions to catch my breath. That's the only sane thing to do. Of what benefit would it be to keep pushing to the brink of collapse or beyond it?
At one such stop I pulled out one of the dozen or so nutritional organic energy bars I stocked up on yesterday at the Country Sun--our local health food emporium. I got one of practically every brand. I'll try 'em. I 'll see which one combines best nutrition and taste. Well this first coconut almond bar was ambrosia. Each crunchy bite exploded with texture and flavor on my tongue--the absolute best morsel I have ever eaten in my life! Now it is possible that this was a result of simply being hungry. Yesterday, at Country Sun I took a small sample from a basket--a bread stick of sorts. All organic whole grain crunchy goodness. It was thin and brown, It had a marked snap. There were crystals of sugar on the surface. There were half burned currants embedded in it. There was, objectively little to recommend this, yet I thought most clearly that this was the absolute best morsel I had ever eaten in my life! Imagine--two days in a row!
Later, in the evening I shared this bread stick delicacy with Debbie, and neither of us could replicate the sensation I had earlier. We concluded that I must have been particularly hungry in the store. -Then again, maybe it had little to do with hunger and more to do with consciousness. The kind of consciousness that can make an uphill climb anathema to one and delight to another.
Oh yeah--"just around the bend"--the title of this piece. Well I could stop here and retitle the post, but I do want to remember the metaphor of "the bend". We were having a conversation about hope, despair, cynicism, skepticism--the usual light banter for a Thursday evening. I told the guys that as much as I find hope a pitiful illusion at times I also have found myself on occasion clinging to it in desperation. (That's a telling oxymoron!)
As I was pedaling a long slow climb this afternoon I looked ahead at the bend in the road and with no evidence to support such a notion I immediately allowed myself to believe that the road would surely crest at that turn. All I had to do was make it to the bend ahead and it would be downhill from there. That encapsulates the sinister deception of hope. You, reading this with a rational mind already sense the disappoint I would experience upon discovering that the turn in no way signalled an end to climbing.
The mind of an optimist is rarely defeated. After taking a little breather I hopped back on my magnificent machine thinking, "Next time I'll know better."
We'll see.
I'm pretty sure all bikes look the same. I'm pretty sure that if I show my new bike to someone they see, "bike". After all, that's what it is. I was gonna say "that's all it is" and I caught myself. If that was all it was then I would not be tapping these keys right now.
Bike is an unfolding metaphor.
I say unfolding--no, it's not one of those collapsible bikes--because I am already sensing that its meaning in my life today is not what it was a month ago, and not what it will be six months from now. Oh sure, bike is vehicle. Vehicle is how I get myself from here to there (although when I am there is has become the new here so did I actually transport myself? or the Universe? Ouch. See how cosmic this contraption has already become!
So I headed up Arastradero Road today--the entire length. It is actually something I have done in the reverse direction with some glee. Glee is that emotion that I have noticed accompanies the act of pedaling at alarming rates downhill. Glee is not the emotion I experienced pedaling up Arastradero Road this afternoon, although in subsequent conversation with John at the Men's Group tonight he pointed out to me that many fellow cyclists actually experience more glee going up hills than down. Some of that may be attributed to another emotion that arises when experienced cyclists ascend increasingly steep slopes only to descend at increasingly alarming speeds, thus inducing more a sensation of fear than glee. In my short time in this avocation I have had tastes of that, previously noted.
So I was heading up Arastradero Road today, and perceived a slow and steady climb. "This is good," I most certainly sensed at some level. This is good. Pumping. Changing gears. Pumping hard. Changing gears again. Again. Until there were no more gears to escape to. Until a heaviness descended upon my legs, a pain to be sure, as deep labored breaths clamored for oxygen that seemed so plentiful only minutes before.
This is hard. I must remember this when I enter my biking log on MapMyRun.com tonight. The entire ride may not be hard, but this climb--this puny climb--is a real challenge. Visions of photos of last year's bike event flashed through my head. Panoramas stretching out for miles. Nothing but sand and sun and a serpentine stripe of asphalt going only one way--up. A quote from the promotional video is stuck in my head. "This was the most physically taxing undertaking I have ever experienced," or words to that effect.
And here I am on this puny little hill on a breezy balmy afternoon struggling with every rotation of my granny gear. I got some work to do!
I am developing a modicum of patience. I am willing to take on incrementally longer and more challenging rides. I am willing to watch my self grow in physical and psychological mettle. And gratefully I am willing to stop the bike on several occasions to catch my breath. That's the only sane thing to do. Of what benefit would it be to keep pushing to the brink of collapse or beyond it?
At one such stop I pulled out one of the dozen or so nutritional organic energy bars I stocked up on yesterday at the Country Sun--our local health food emporium. I got one of practically every brand. I'll try 'em. I 'll see which one combines best nutrition and taste. Well this first coconut almond bar was ambrosia. Each crunchy bite exploded with texture and flavor on my tongue--the absolute best morsel I have ever eaten in my life! Now it is possible that this was a result of simply being hungry. Yesterday, at Country Sun I took a small sample from a basket--a bread stick of sorts. All organic whole grain crunchy goodness. It was thin and brown, It had a marked snap. There were crystals of sugar on the surface. There were half burned currants embedded in it. There was, objectively little to recommend this, yet I thought most clearly that this was the absolute best morsel I had ever eaten in my life! Imagine--two days in a row!
Later, in the evening I shared this bread stick delicacy with Debbie, and neither of us could replicate the sensation I had earlier. We concluded that I must have been particularly hungry in the store. -Then again, maybe it had little to do with hunger and more to do with consciousness. The kind of consciousness that can make an uphill climb anathema to one and delight to another.
Oh yeah--"just around the bend"--the title of this piece. Well I could stop here and retitle the post, but I do want to remember the metaphor of "the bend". We were having a conversation about hope, despair, cynicism, skepticism--the usual light banter for a Thursday evening. I told the guys that as much as I find hope a pitiful illusion at times I also have found myself on occasion clinging to it in desperation. (That's a telling oxymoron!)
As I was pedaling a long slow climb this afternoon I looked ahead at the bend in the road and with no evidence to support such a notion I immediately allowed myself to believe that the road would surely crest at that turn. All I had to do was make it to the bend ahead and it would be downhill from there. That encapsulates the sinister deception of hope. You, reading this with a rational mind already sense the disappoint I would experience upon discovering that the turn in no way signalled an end to climbing.
The mind of an optimist is rarely defeated. After taking a little breather I hopped back on my magnificent machine thinking, "Next time I'll know better."
We'll see.
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