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Pride and Prejudice: A Standing Argument

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Original Penguin Classics

Question: The first draft of Austen’s book was entitled First Impressions. Discuss the
importance of first impressions in Pride and Prejudice and whether Pride and Prejudice is a more apt title.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

It was here that Val Dodd stopped me in the course of a preemptive strike. She straighten her glasses, cleared her throat and in an academic fashion, began to rip me a new one.
This was the second week of my primary tutorial in Oxford, England in October 2000. I was
slightly more than 20 years old. Skinny, good-looking, snazzy SoCal-style dresser.And distinctively  out of place.

I wasn’t smart enough or good enough to be in this spot and my tutor was about to inform me of this fact.
I was gonna get dressed down, Oxford Don-style.

My tutorial, Victorian literature, sprung out of a second option. Really, a last option, one that I didn’t understand, sad to say, I really didn’t know about the Victorian period. My first Oxford essay on Sir Walter Scott’s “Redgauntlet,” began with the phrase “I honestly don’t know what is going on.”

It was the most truthful thing I had ever written.

My second essay was a critique on Jane Austen’s “Persuasion.” I picked Persuasion because it was about 200 pages long. When it came to comprehension, size didn’t matter.

Thinking I would be smart, I quoted the first line of “Pride and Prejudice” to throw off the guard dog’s scent.

Don Dodd, whom I’m sure had gone through stupid American punks like yours truly, was well-prepared, armed and ready for the kill.

I don’t remember what she said to me at that moment, or for the rest of my time in going through my essay and her dissecting it bit by bit. I just remember the last moment. Again, straightening the glass and clearing the throat, she asked, “What was your major in America?”

I cleared my throat, “uhhh, Communications.”

Dodd: Ah.

In the words of Mortal Kombat, Flawless Victory. Fatality.

Seen from the first line of Jane Austen’s book, “Pride and Prejudice” came about in the time of great societal change. While continuing to illuminate the ideals of the previous Romantic period, British culture looked into the darker wells of the human soul and the contours of England under Victoria’s reign. A time of rationality and reason abounded, while those within the age sought to ask: What is there to be seen? After something is seen, can it be understood?

The time was a period of contraction. Instead of exploring the grandiosity of the universe, the era was set to enjoy the comforts of societal norms. Words used to describing otherworldly feeling pressed against the firming of limits and the embracing of boundaries. In Austen’s seminal work, she strives to find the best of those expressions.

Victorian society centered on perception and impression. How a family lives, how a suitor dances, how a lover writes. The social constructs of appearances and innuendos kept each village together.

Austen’s book centers on the fundamental societal bounding, a marriage contract that includes the set positioning of one’s standing in class and wealth. The Bennett family is in a bind as to its future and for all her faults (and the faults of the demographic she symbolizes) the family, most especially the matriarch Mrs. Bennett, understands the way out is through marriage. It is the only path given to those in their situation.

The entail of the Bennett property was meant to keep the impression of a continual flow, an orderly succession of what may rightly belong to a family. Fair or not, the portions were divided long ago and few can interfere with those decisions.

Elizabeth Bennett is one of those few, although it takes time in the story for her to maximize her power.

Because of a misunderstanding with names, I lived with four women in a flat on Tyndale Road in north Oxford. The Brits thought Micah and Enrique were male, which is understandable. But they were female and even though we came from a fairly conservative Christian school, in England, the impressions of a man living with women was a little different.

The faculty member in charge of us looked at me, winked and said, “You’re going to have a great semester.”

Austen’s heroine relies on her intuition to make sound judgments, although it is her misjudgment of Darcy during the first dance that propels the story as a sense of her pride. Lizzie shows both strength and weakness and the reader is attuned to her working to constrain both traits. She realizes the double bind she is in, of knowing the system’s follies and yet falling in line with the system’s constraints. As Lizzie realizes in her conversation with her sister, Jane,

“The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense (pg. 133).”

But of those individuals of whom she interacts, her judgment is misguided. Darcy is arrogant and pompous, as he is “not handsome to dance with! …I quite detest the man. (pg. 15).” Wickham was dashing and worldly, which ironically turned out to be the case. It was his first impressions that he used to get ahead, as that it all he owned. Yet, in both the case of Darcy and Wickham (as well as each character), first impressions was their best and perhaps their only chance, at navigating life successfully. Wealthy or not, their reputations are their true currency.

When I arrived in Oxford, I was still clean-shaven and naively smart. One day, I tried to open up the door with my keys. They have keys in England but rather the old-fashioned kind that go in and out a “certain way.” That’s code for a giant pain in the ass to use.
I struggled to open the damn door. One of the street workers came over, push the key in and opened the door.

The worker looked at me.
“Don’t they have keys in America?”

That was the first of several low points of my Oxford semester.

In his introduction of “Pride and Prejudice” in the Original Penguin Classics (of which quotes in this essay are attributed), Tony Tanner notes that this sense of reputation and order was inherently a performance of roles each person in society plays to maintain that continual flow. Without roles and rituals, Tanner says, society has no reason for being.

The ideal, Tanner says, is for an individual is to both adhere to the roles of society and be able to look beyond the role to see context and the fuller truth. As Tanner writes, “for the human being is to be fully human, then to the energy of performance must be added the wisdom of reflection (pg. 388).”

The roles are played in rituals. “Pride and Prejudice” is anchored on the rituals: Balls, letters and contracts. Each rituals allows a sense of predictability and stability, traits long sought for in a time of political upheaval. In keeping with the goal of familial continuity, marriages fed the streams of inheritance and the basic premise that the institution provides stability and comfort.

Mr. Collins adheres to this impression in his marriage proposal to Lizzie. He’s a worthy
clergyman obeying the wishes of the Lady De Bourgh. In addition, he is Mr. Bennett’s closest male heir, so he felt worthy to play his role that suited him to perfection.

Even in Mr. Darcy’s original proposal to Lizzie, Austen recognized that he was fulfilling his role: as a single man with wealth, who had the standing to interfere with Mr. Bingley’s proposal to Jane. Indeed, there were many ties to bind Darcy.

Yet, Lizzie Bennett is in a unique position. As Tanner notes, Lizzie was one who saw her role in society but didn’t get lost in her role but saw the fuller picture and kept an awareness as to what was happening (pg. 390). Even though Lizzie’s first impressions at the beginning were off, she knew enough to know when a role wasn’t suited for her.

In the turning point of the novel, Lizzie stops Collins’ proposal. Austen sets the timing,

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.

Lizzie knew full well that while the role of Collins’ wife would keep the familial line intact and position her in good standing in Victorian society, she would be bereft of happiness. Lizzie knew that Collins “could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who would make you so (pg. 104).”

Her impression of her role, and her right to refuse it, begins the realignment of her world and those around her.”Pride and Prejudice” is  both a story and an argument. Specifically, it is an argument about standing, where one falls along the pecking order but more so, where one stands in relation to the truth of others.
More so, Austen’s book is an argument for love.
Love was and still is a construct because in our fragile humanity, that’s the only we way we can make sense. It ebbs and flows and changes at its own whim, yet is unrelenting in how it binds and to whom it binds. Even in Victorian times, love is overpowering.
In one sense, the roles and rituals were meant as protection, to shield from the arrows of heartbreak. Moving away from the Romantic entanglements, the Victorian age represented what is real and what is grounded. The age embraced the boundaries, boundaries that allowed both role presence and role absence.

In Austen’s world, the ideal isn’t to fall in love but to fall into awareness. To become awake, not to become infatuated. The greatest virtue in “Pride and Prejudice” is to see what is real and adjust accordingly. Her willingness to see what is and shift toward that truth is the highest virtue endeared in her society. Her happiness is in her gratitude in being able to change her mind. In that, she takes on a role that truly fits her.

Tanner writes that the importance to change roles and to both perform and reflect is “essential to a healthy society. That is to say, a society in which the individual can experience freedom as well as commitment (pg. 395).”

Austen argues that if happiness is to be the guiding principle, it must be allowed to jump the boundaries that roles and rituals offers when necessary. At the same time, it is better to find intense gratitude than intense passion. Gratitude is a grounding. Passion is a loosening. In this day and age, it’s better to attach to what endures than to be bound what is left behind.

I walked out of that office in shame. While prone to jump into the deep end of things, this experience was far too vast for my taking. However, I had eight weeks of this crap and if I wanted to get it done correctly, there would be no more screwing around. I may not be the smartest and for sure, am not an expert. But I can work harder and study harder and find my way through it. The goal: try to bend tradition to my advantage.
The Victorian way, of course.

All my essays from my tutorial are long gone, possibly in my parent’s garage or on a disc that may be in my current belongings. I still don’t remember what “Persuasion” was about. But I was afraid to read “Pride and Prejudice” because I didn’t want to look stupid. Understanding that is now too late and I have little to lose except for time writing this blasted thing, I’ve taken on the challenge now.

Appendix: A funny thing happened while going through my notes to write this essay. I proposed to my girlfriend and we are currently planning our wedding. The notion of appearances and changing attitudes become quite acute. Since my time in Oxford, now more than 15 years ago, I’ve changed my perspective on marriage and relationships. Unlike the characters, I live in a time where insisting on marriage matters yet doesn’t. There are no entails, no reasons for male heirs. We leave that to PBS shows and unique English houses. But I find myself wondering about my role: the roles given to me in my upbringing, the roles I performed in Oxford and the roles I play today. I feel both free in looking back and committed to understanding why and what now.

Confessions of an accidential caveman #3: Time for spring cleaning

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Tidal Basin at sunrise, Cherry Blossoms in full bloom.

It’s finally spring!

Warmer temperatures, nicer breezes and more pleasant faces on the street. Most important, I can wear my shorts and no one is going to look askance. Thank God for that!

Of course, it’s time for spring cleaning. Get into the closets, give away the old clothing and for me, give up caffeine and sugar.

Say what?

This started during the Whole 30 challenge. Aside from my struggles with fast food and having a consistent eating schedule, coffee (medium roast, please!) and sugar are my biggest addictions.

I love coffee. Love. It. I started drinking coffee when I would have my dad push start his beaten up Honda that had one  tail light perpetually out. We called the car “The Terminator” because one side of its face was jacked up but it still kicked ass.

He would always leave a cup of coffee for me after I went back into the house.

My friends and I had a comedy troupe in high school and we eventually manufactured a coffee drink.

It was as follows: Strong coffee, 10 packets of sugar, 5 gulps of milk. Per cup. Man, it was good. We would drink that stuff and practice our Monty Python ripoff skits.

We were men, I tell you.

Coffee holds a special place for me. I’m always on the quest for the perfect coffee house (right now, it’s a tie between this one and this one) and the best blends. I’m a total snob, preferring a French Press to automatic drip, even though those Clever pots seem mighty enticing these days. It’s communal, it’s solitary and it’s a common string through so many of my life experiences.

I drink a lot of coffee, at all hours of the day. Although my age and wisdom now prohibits me from getting quad mochas at 7 p.m., I easily drink 3-4 cups a day. Start with two in the morning, then one stop at the coffee shop on the way to work. It doesn’t matter if I “need” the extra coffee, it’s part of the routine.

Last year during my Whole 30, I gave up coffee in addition to the food detox. It’s not required but I knew I needed to do it. It was the first time I stopped drinking coffee since I was age 13. No doubt, it hurt. The headaches, sensitivity to light and the inability to focus was on the docket for the first few days.

Then, combined with the detox itself, was a foggy blur for about two weeks. A near-dream like state, the body is trying on new ways to have energy while reminding you of what you’ve been using as fuel all these years.

After that experience, I wanted to do a caffeine holiday at least once a year and this time, it’s not a moment too soon. I consumed so much coffee during this painful winter that I’m up to 4-5 cups a day by the afternoon. That’s too much.

Then, there’s sugar.

I’ve mentioned before that I have a major sweet tooth and have used sugar as my mode of emotional eating for as long as I remember. Candy, cake, sweets galore: All of it, I ate it.

Sugar is the drug of choice in most newsrooms these days (although I’m sure there are other substances around somewhere) and it’s so readily available and permissible in our culture.

Now, I’ll stop here and say this: Sugar and caffeine like most things are not bad in and of itself. It’s meant to be enjoyed. Most addictions are distortions of something that is good and coffee and cookies are no exception. The issue isn’t having a cup of coffee or eating a cupcake but rather creating dependency on them to cope.

Also, when I say sugar, I mean refined and artificial sugars. Natural sugars found in fruit and other foods is healthy and good for you. (I also note that some in the paleo community don’t agree with eating those kinds of sugars but those are natural and unavoidable and not chemically induced, so I see no problem with them.)

I gave up sugar as well and that was a game changer.

So, it’s April and it’s time for a holiday. I’m about 15 days in and well, it’s been mixed.

Instead of going cold turkey on coffee, I aim for one cup of decaf, then will go no coffee for the rest of the month starting on the 14th. Even cutting down to decaf was a struggle. The headaches and lethargy were all there but really, it was the lack of concentration and focus. I was focused on my head, my sinuses, how much I hated doing this work shift, how much I hated the winter, why I slowed down toward the end of the race, how this shirt doesn’t fit as it should…..

Yeah, a bit of a struggle.

Sugar was even worse. I transferred my addiction from regular cookies to vegan cookies and my god, they are sublime. So, those are out. Candies in general, which I have been pretty good at, were out. And ice cream. I love ice cream and got the point of eating a pint without a second thought. Hell, I probably didn’t give any thought to it in the first place.

The biggest issue are protein bars. I’m on the fence on this one and because I’m still training for the Relay at the end of the month, I’ve been going with them. They do have sugar in them and I’m burning through it quickly.

Aside from a major relapse at Menchie’s over the weekend (damn you frozen yogurt!) and a Snicker’s bar today because the the cafeteria were out of Clif bars (most likely because I ate them all) it’s been okay. As the folks at Whole9 point out, sugar is everywhere in various forms and it’s hard to figure out what items has sugar and what doesn’t. I did get the BBQ sauce for dinner two nights but other than that, I’ve been sweet-free.

And most importantly, no ice cream.

This often means a switch from sweet to savory. Instead of cookies, it’s salty almonds and seeds. More fruit gets into the mix, with an emphasis on berries with anti-oxidants. The counteracting helps the body’s desire for sweets and tries to balance it out.

I feel the change already. I am sleeping better during the night and having to take some naps during the night because I realized how I tired I was despite being hyped up on coffee. The sugar spikes are dissipating, as well as the crash.

The holiday lasts a month. It’s good to recalibrate the energy levels and remind yourself that you don’t need coffee and don’t need sugar. It’s not necessary to get through the day and live a healthy life. It’s a good reminder to forgive out what exactly you need to live a healthy life.

Let’s talk: Have you taken a food holiday? How did it go? Were you sitting in the back screaming, ‘Are we there yet!!?’ or was it okay for you?

 

 

 

How I Met your Mother finale — We tell stories to let go

And now for something completely different…

It’s been a week and most people have gotten over the shock of the How I Met your Mother series finale. There are gazillions of opinions on the internets about the show and whatnot but this was one of my favorite shows and it resonates with me. Thus, my $0.02.

Hindsight is 20/20 and hindsight can be a real bitch. Many things are a real bitch, but clarity on things past is one of the nastiest known to humans.

That type of clarity can be cold and unforgiving. Regrets, miscues, missed opportunities and saddest of all, broken relationships. Life is lived forward and understood backward but that understanding often comes as the second chance at living correctly.

In How I Met Your Mother, the series ends up being (and where the digital wailing and gnashing of teeth begins) of the father reliving stories about his wife who has passed on and when called on it by his daughter, reveals he wants to ask out their Aunt Robin. The ending circles to the beginning with Ted outside Robin’s apartment, blue french horn in tow.

Ted and the blue horn.

Ted and the blue horn. From CBS.com.

Type in #HIMYMFINALE on twitter and the responses are beyond amazing. Mostly negative, some positive but all personal, it’s CBS’ biggest dream come true to have that type of emotional response to a show.

The most interesting word in many reviews, for me, is betrayal. Fans and critics feel betrayed that the show turned out the way it did. Some say the finale betrayed the ideals of the show, others claim it betrays the fan’s relationship to the Mother, who was just introduced, then taken away. Right or wrong, that’s quite the word to use for a television show finale.

Betrayal comes from a failure to keep a commitment or expectations. Promises and vows that were sealed are unsealed. In this case, did the show turn back on its commitment in telling the story of how Ted met the mother of this children?

Well, no, with more major caveat.

Most shows, movies, book and etc work under the idea called suspension of belief. This means that by watching the show or reading the book, the reader/watcher agrees to the narrative framework set up by the writer. One will buy into whatever is coming his/her way to be in the story. The only trick is that the writer can only do this once, if there are too many “suspensions,” then the reader won’t engage.

With HIMYM, audiences were fully engaged with the characters and with the story. However, where much of the betrayal is coming from is audiences not engaged fully with the most influential character on the show: Not the Mother, but time.

In order for HIMYM to fully work, the watcher has to accept time on the show’s standards. Thus, the present day was 2030, and in our present day of 2014, Ted and the Mother (her name is Tracy McConnell but it’s hard to call her that since she was the Mother for so long. For me, that is one knock on the last season.) are together with baby Penny on the way.

With time, what’s true that one time is true that one time, but it isn’t true all the time. (How’s that for a little blog wisdom?!). Meaning, in that moment, that’s what happened, that’s what was felt and that’s what mattered. So, in 2005 when the show started, Ted and Robin did meet and did try to make it work and eventually couldn’t make it work. Then, Barney fell for Robin and during that time, they tried to make it work. The same is true for the Mother, who lost her first love in 2005 it took her years to regain a sense of finding companionship again.

For the ninth season that was the weekend of the wedding, in that moment, Ted did have feelings for Robin but let them, and her, go. It meant leaving for Chicago but that’s what the times called for. And, despite the last-minute hesitations, Barney and Robin did get married.

It’s tough in translating these movements of time in a linear format such as television and that’s where most folks are getting lost in translation and thus, the sense of betrayal. Of course, if we spent most of this brutal winter watching Robin and Barney get married only to have that fall apart within the first 15 minutes of the finale, there is a strong sense of cognitive dissonance. Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me if the creators aimed for that to a certain degree.

But, in the eyes of the narrative, it was three years and for them, that was enough.

In my opinion, embracing all the narrative (time and all) helps to recognize what the show was really about: HIMYM is a story about letting go.

For me, the key part was in season nine in “Vesuivus.” The Mother tells Ted that she’s concerned, saying “I don’t want you to live in your stories forever. I want you to move forward.”

It was subtle but that’s the key. Ted is telling the story of how he met his mother to remember and preserve her memory but also to let her go to face the future. Ted tells all the stories about everything the gang ever did: The slap bet, Robin Sparkles, the pineapple incident (Whatever did happen with the pineapple?) and one of my favorite episodes, The Leap, because they are all a part of his memory and what makes him who he is at that present time.

And when that time passes, it doesn’t make him that person anymore.

It’s not that Ted has been in love in with Robin all this time and the Mother was a placeholder. The title of the show might be a fake-out, as actor Josh Radnor put it, but I think he really did let Robin go and full fully in love with Tracy. That seems to be Ted’s way, all in with no pretenses or excuses.

It just so happened that all of this was shown in a 44-minute setting. Time-wise, that’s pretty jarring. Then again, isn’t that true of all our stories? Our stories about funny events with our friends are often, well, short. But the reality of them, the life that’s filled with time that we try to encapsulate in a small moment, is both long and deep and there’s no way to bring it back We just hold it for a moment, then let it go.

I think that’s what allows the kids to tell their father that he should move forward. In the time of HIMYM, it was six years since Tracy’s passing. The question isn’t if that is an appropriate time to move on or not but rather, was it the right time? And for Ted, it was.

The characters are roughly the same age as me, so I feel I’ve grown up with this show. I did leave during some of the latter seasons (because seriously, I couldn’t stand Zoey and Barney’s antics were often a little too much) but I watched faithfully this past season and I’m glad I did. I haven’t met the mother of my children on a train station in a fictional New York town but I have lived my 20s and 30s in an urban environment with many of my friends and I can relate with Ted’s quest for love.

So, like the show says, it’s time to take the leap, get to the station and say hello.

*Also, you gotta applaud Carter Bays and Craig Thomas for playing out with the Walkmen.*

Find your rhythm, one chant at a time…

It’s a question of belief whether divine intervention can help your fitness program, but I can attest that God’s music can make you  a faster runner.

When it came time to train for my second marathon, I turned to Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina. Palestrina wasn’t a running coach but a 16th century composer of  sacred music. His compositions, still sung in Masses worldwide, helped revolutionize choral music in religious settings in the Western world.

A friend recommended I listen to jazz, because the improvisational style can aid in finding rhythm. It didn’t help. On a whim, I switched over to the Palestrina station and heard the Gregorian chants. Soon I would find them, well, instrumental to my fitness program.

In my guest post on the Washington Post’s To Your Health, I explain how Gregorian chants and attending the Church of the Long Run helped me focus and get faster. Read more here. And thanks to Lenny Bernstein and the Post for the opportunity!

D.C. training #6: Pockets of sunshine

2/25: 3.66mi, avg. 8:59/mi
2/26: 8:00mi, avg. 8:31/mi
3/1: 6.04mi, avg, 9:10/mi
3/2: 9.88mi, avg, 8:59/mi

It’s snowing. Again.

But really, it doesn’t matter. The past two weekends consisted of mild weather and pleasant winds, so that allowed me to finish long run weekend and the last of the long runs yesterday.

I forgot how quickly dehydration sneaks up when the weather gets hotter. Yesterday’s long run was good but without the Mall’s fountains still not working and me forgetting my water bottle, I was hurting a bit toward the end.

Now, it’s time to taper. My taper experience with the maratón was difficult. I don’t expect much trouble this time because the race is on home turf and the last vestiges of winter will keep me occupied.

Here’s hoping the lamb-like end of March starts by March 15!

Sunday sermon: Holy and broken

This world is full of conflicts and full of things that cannot be reconciled but there are moments when we can transcend the dualistic system and reconcile and embrace the whole mess, and that’s what I mean by ‘Hallelujah.’ That regardless of what the impossibility of the situation is, there is a moment when you open your mouth and you throw open your arms and you embrace the things and just say, ‘Hallelujah! Blessed is the name…’
The only moment that you can live here comfortably in these absolutely irreconcilable conflicts is in this moment when you embrace it all and you say, ‘Look, I don’t understand a fucking thing at all–Hallelujah’ That’s the only moment we live here fully as human beings.”

The quote is from Leonard Cohen, speaking about his famous song, “Hallelujah.” I’ve been reading Alan LIght’s The Holy or the Broken, a history on that song. For years, it languished in obscurity: Columbia Records didn’t release Cohen’s album with that song and most people who heard the song (or in the case of Jeff Buckley, initially sung the song) didn’t know that Cohen was the writer.

Cohen is a poet by trade, and a damn good one at that. He summarizes my feeble attempt at explaining my current state of things better than I ever could. Cohen’s “Hallelujah” deals with spiritual resignation and irony but ends with a tone of hopeful triumph that other versions of the song leave out. “Even though it all went wrong/I’ll stand before the Lord of Song/With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah.”

D.C. training #3: Winter is still coming

Feb 4: 5.02 miles, avg 9:19/mi
Feb 5: 6:85 miles, avg: 9:18/mi
Feb 7: 8.01 miles, avg: 8:25/mi
Feb 8: 18.01 miles, avg: 9:11/mi

Winter is a good time to keep still. Stillness is the default measure. The world longs to be barren for a season. Give it a rest, let the winds blow before it’s time to grow again.

Winter makes running a challenge. In a way, it becomes the real marathon. Contending with the forces of nature while preparing for a race leaves windblown eyes, a constant runny nose and more problems trying to take a breath.

This winter has been the most active in my nearly six years in the District. Multiple polar vortexes, goofy snow storms and lots of wind has made training quite the challenge.

But it’s working. I’m getting faster, averaging close to 9 minutes per mile and feel more confident about keeping that pace throughout the course of the entire race.

We start what I call the summit: three weeks of heavy running. Nearly 40 miles a week and the long Saturday runs. I hit 18 miles this past Saturday and while I retired my Buenos Aires shoes and my feet are still sore as hell, it went well.

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Rock Creek Trail, straight out of a scene from “The Road.”

D.C. training #2: It’s 2014! (It’s 2014?)

 

 

 

 

1/6: 5.14 miles, avg 9:30/mi
1/9: 5:31 miles, avg 8:51/mi
1/11: 4:00 miles, avg 8:37/mi
1/12: 13.78 miles, avg 9:05/mi

 

 

Well, this is embarrassing.

 

I knew I hadn’t updated the blog in some time but this is ridiculous. I assure you that I’ve been quite busy, running and other such things.

 

But first: It’s a new year! The new year always seems to be a mixed bag. It’s a chance to start over, make changes, keep things the same. However, it’s January. And that means it’s cold.

 

The District has been accustomed to warmer winters the past few years. Not this go-around. Last Tuesday, it felt like 10 below. Yesterday, it was 60. I seriously don’t get it.

 

No matter. D.C. Rock and Roll is a still a go. The training bumps up from three to four days, with the long runs starting to get longer. I partied a little too much Saturday night, so it took some time to get going on the Sunday long run.

 

I felt great. The weather was warm but not too warm, slightly breezy but not too windy. The first 10 miles were a breeze (yes, that pun is intended).

 

Miles 11-14 were a challenge. That’s to be expected and welcomed. The point of training isn’t for the first miles but rather the last. I run to develop endurance to finish. In training for the maratón, a friend told me that the marathon is really a 20-mile warmup to the last six miles.

 

Generally, I’m getting faster in my running. I average a 9-minute mile, which is about a full minute faster than my average last time. I feel stronger and more confident. Averaging 9 minutes is my goal for D.C., with the ultimate objective to get a close to completing the marathon in four hours. My time in Buenos Aires was close to five hours and that was taking in all the sights and experiences of the trip.

 

D.C. is home turf and with my best friend coming up to run, we’re coming to race.

The next 6-8 weeks are the real gauntlet with training, so it’s time to buckle down for the long haul.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

D.C. training #1: As the cold wind blows…

November 25: 4.19 miles, avg 9:48/mile

November 28: 6.19 miles, avg 7:58/mile

November 30: 4.01 miles, avg. 10:59/mile

December 1: 7.89 miles, avg 8:38/mile

December 3: 4.61 miles, avg 10:25/mile

December 4 Crossfit
Back squats (up to 115), climb rope, metcon: 4 rounds, 45 sec/15 sec rest, knees to elbow chinups, ball slam (40lbs), split squat jumps Total: 143

December 6: 4 miles, avg 9:51/mile

December 7: 10.03 miles, avg 9:00/mile

Today (December 10), I woke up to this:

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It was beautiful but like all D.C.-related storms, it was fleeting.

Nevertheless, I was thankful for 70 degrees a few weeks back.

Yes, I was thankful for family and friends, old haunts and new finds. I was grateful for a decent rental car, even though it took me nearly two hours to pick it up. I was happy about LACMA and the Farmer’s Market on Fairfax and even happier for long-known friends who are married, pregnant and delivered.

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My two sisters, my future brother in law and his cousin and me.

The Belmont Shore Turkey Trot was great and had a great time running the 10K.

Then, I got back to D.C. and it was cold. And cold it will stay.

Training for marathon #2 officially commences and it’s home turf. I ran the rock and roll half-marathon this past March and it’s a real marker in terms of my own physically and life development. This time last year, I was beginning the training for that race and everything seemed to be at stake. In a sense, it was.

It’s a little different this time, but not by much. Greg, one of my best friends and one of the initial people to get me into running, is coming up from Missouri to run this race. For both of us, it’ll be a great time seeing this great city in a different perspective.

We’ll just see how things go with the cold.

The race is over and the road goes on.

After the maratón, Dad and I went to Starbucks.

I know, I know.

Trust me, it was in a great location in Palermo. The area was fashionable and trendy, the result of Argentines opening up shops to showcase hobbies after the 2002 crisis. Property was cheap and no one had a job, so sell what you know. Winning hobbies became profitable business.

Sundays are for family and asada. It was cool but not cold. Sunny but not hot. Spring. Again. Parks were filled and people were happy.

We were happy. Thrilled. Ecstatic. All of the above.

We window-shopped and talked, then had burgers and beer. We marveled at what had happened. We met this person and this person and saw this and saw that. I was sore but wasn’t in real pain. My dad’s head was sun burnt. We didn’t care. The race was won.

We were here. Look for us on the wall. Burger Joint, Jorge Luis Borges, Buenos Aires

We were here. Look for us on the wall. Burger Joint, Jorge Luis Borges, Buenos Aires

If you go to the Burger Joint on Jorge Luis Borges, sit at the booth opposite the “Que Ves?” mirror. Look up at the wall and with luck, you’ll see the following: 42K Start to Finish. Jerry and Mike, Buenos Aires, October 13, 2013.

***

We were tourists in Buenos Aires for one last day and the morning after. By this point, we finally figured out the directions of the city, finally figured out the timing and luckily found someone who spoke English at the grocery store. The sushi was fantastic and Café Tortoni was lovely. Vintage. Old-school class, a party amid the crises.

The rest of our time was in Mendoza and Santiago de Chile, both wonderful places to visit.  There are stories to be told and someday will be told but for our purposes here, believe me when I say we had a magnificent time. Wine, absinthe, the Andes, Paseo Huérfanos and Bellavista, Valparaiso.

Atop Cerro San Cristobal.

Atop Cerro San Cristobal.

Dad and I cleared Chilean customs with time to spare, so we sat at Ruby Tuesday’s and tried to process our time together and the end of this adventure. We laughed about the Argentine at the parrilla in Mendoza, who kept getting friendlier as he drank. We exchanged thoughts of bad Mexican food (don’t eat the Mexican food in Santiago) and Taco Bell, which surprisingly was good. We thought about Plaza de Armas, Pablo Neruda’s house and still tried to figure out we scored on the apartment in Santiago.

So Dad. This went so well, I’m thinking about trying for another continent. Berlin. The Great Wall. What do you say?

Dad laughs.

I’m serious.

I know you are. That’s why I’m laughing.

Well, we can let the adventure continue!

Well, let me pay off this adventure first.

 

We embraced and went home, he to L.A. and me to D.C.

***

November 11: 6:28km, 5:23/km

November 13: 7.84km, avg, 6:12/km

November 14 CrossFit:

Mobility (Circle of Death, in which each person comes up with a warm-up exercise as go around the circle. Thus: two burpees, 10 jumping jacks, five squats, five pushups, five situps, five burpees, 10 split squats).

Deadlift 5×5: Got to 145 pounds

Assistance 3:10: Alternate false grip row and L-sit positioning

Conditioning: outside run, medicine ball relay

I woke up late and almost didn’t make it CrossFit. I struggled at first but running outside invigorated me.

The air was crisp. We’re back to autumn again. The past two days were a foreshadowing of winter. Running yesterday was a near-nightmare. I have to remember to wear gloves.

Just like that, it’s coming toward the end of the year.

What a year.

The time ahead is open and uncertain but what is for sure is the road to good air continues. I aim to talk about issues of health and fitness, upcoming changes and what’s next for the celebration of the Jesus Year.

I’ve already signed up for the D.C. Rock and Roll marathon next March. I ran the D.C. half-marathon this past spring, so it’ll be wonderful to run this race in one of the best cities in the world.

Thanks for reading.

***

Speaking of it being quite the year, here’s a sense of before and after.

What a year a difference makes.

What a year a difference makes.

That’s me at my friend’s wedding after this time last year. On the right, that’s me now.

In terms of numbers, I went from 232 pounds to 172. Pant size shrunk from a size 38 to a 32. I went from a X-large to medium.

More so, I feel healthy. I am healthy and on the road to becoming healthier. That’s what important.

It’s a long road, filled with challenges but also filled with opportunity.

I can’t wait to get there.