Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Why Do I Run?
I think that's a good question, and one that often occurs to me as I'm getting ready for a big race.
Last Sunday I ran the Army Ten-Miler, one of the biggest 10-mile races in the US. Sometimes, when I tell people I ran a race, they ask "oh wow, did you win?" Um, no. There were over 20,000 people racing Sunday, and I am not someone who's going to win a race like that. The people who do are running 5-minute miles for the entire race...not something my body will ever do.
No, I'm not running against anyone else. I only race against myself. My hope is that I will keep getting faster. I've been consistent about that in the 10-mile races, though not in my marathons. I've now run six 10-milers in the last 2 1/2 years, and I've run faster in each one, going from about 89 minutes in my first one down to 76:52 in last weekend's race. A nice improvement, if I do say so myself. There is going to come a day when my body will start slowing down, but today is not that day.
I had a dilemma this past weekend: do I try to set a new personal record, or do I use this as just a training race for the upcoming New York City Marathon, running at a somewhat slower marathon pace rather than at a fast 10-miler pace? I wasn't sure until the night before, when I decided to go all out. I'm glad I did; I ended up setting a new record for myself and I know I would have been disappointed if I hadn't tried.
But why do this? Why put my body through races, why miss out on Friday night socializing because I'm getting up at 5am Saturday to run, why put myself out there in the rain and the snow to train for a marathon in the spring? I first decided to run a marathon because I knew I should be running for my health, but I needed a goal if i was going to keep it going. But now I don't mind running for fitness, I actually enjoy it, so why keep racing against a clock?
Because it makes me proud.
Running gives me a sense of pride that's different from what I get from my other achievements. Yes, I know, I've accomplished a lot of things about which I could justifiably be proud, and I am. But running is different. Why? Because this time, it's me. I set the standards, I determine the effort, I judge the results. No board of officers deciding I should be promoted, no commission deciding I should be a Fulbright Scholar, no dissertation committee deciding I should have a PhD, no employer deciding I should get a job, can make me feel as proud as me telling myself "you did good." My opinion of myself matters more than anyone else's opinion of me, and when it comes to running, I'm the only one who decides how well I've done.
I was reminded this weekend that some people ran a lot faster than I did. I also noticed in the results that I ran faster than about 80% of the people out there. Neither of those matters. What matters is that I ran faster than I ever did before. For a 44 year old guy who started running less than 3 years ago, that's not bad. Not bad at all.
Last Sunday I ran the Army Ten-Miler, one of the biggest 10-mile races in the US. Sometimes, when I tell people I ran a race, they ask "oh wow, did you win?" Um, no. There were over 20,000 people racing Sunday, and I am not someone who's going to win a race like that. The people who do are running 5-minute miles for the entire race...not something my body will ever do.
No, I'm not running against anyone else. I only race against myself. My hope is that I will keep getting faster. I've been consistent about that in the 10-mile races, though not in my marathons. I've now run six 10-milers in the last 2 1/2 years, and I've run faster in each one, going from about 89 minutes in my first one down to 76:52 in last weekend's race. A nice improvement, if I do say so myself. There is going to come a day when my body will start slowing down, but today is not that day.
I had a dilemma this past weekend: do I try to set a new personal record, or do I use this as just a training race for the upcoming New York City Marathon, running at a somewhat slower marathon pace rather than at a fast 10-miler pace? I wasn't sure until the night before, when I decided to go all out. I'm glad I did; I ended up setting a new record for myself and I know I would have been disappointed if I hadn't tried.
But why do this? Why put my body through races, why miss out on Friday night socializing because I'm getting up at 5am Saturday to run, why put myself out there in the rain and the snow to train for a marathon in the spring? I first decided to run a marathon because I knew I should be running for my health, but I needed a goal if i was going to keep it going. But now I don't mind running for fitness, I actually enjoy it, so why keep racing against a clock?
Because it makes me proud.
Running gives me a sense of pride that's different from what I get from my other achievements. Yes, I know, I've accomplished a lot of things about which I could justifiably be proud, and I am. But running is different. Why? Because this time, it's me. I set the standards, I determine the effort, I judge the results. No board of officers deciding I should be promoted, no commission deciding I should be a Fulbright Scholar, no dissertation committee deciding I should have a PhD, no employer deciding I should get a job, can make me feel as proud as me telling myself "you did good." My opinion of myself matters more than anyone else's opinion of me, and when it comes to running, I'm the only one who decides how well I've done.
I was reminded this weekend that some people ran a lot faster than I did. I also noticed in the results that I ran faster than about 80% of the people out there. Neither of those matters. What matters is that I ran faster than I ever did before. For a 44 year old guy who started running less than 3 years ago, that's not bad. Not bad at all.
Labels: Running
Thursday, October 21, 2010
#1 Massage Boy
(I realize I never shared this story from my Asia trip in February and March...and that's just wrong)
A few hours after the Hong Kong Marathon I settled into a Thai Airways plane and headed to Bangkok. I got to my hotel around 10pm, and normally this would be followed by a quick shower, a change of clothes, and a dipping of the toes into the local nightlife. This time, however, I was exhausted and needed to head to bed, and not just because of the marathon...I was also starting massage class Monday morning.
I was in Bangkok to take a Thai massage class at the Wat Po School, which is a pretty famous massage school. I first got the idea back in 2005 when Adrian and I visited and got our first Thai massages there. A couple years ago I got it into my head to either go to Thai massage school or Thai kickboxing school, but after going to a kickboxing match last year I realized there was absolutely no way I was going to kickboxing school.
So I signed up for the week-long class at Wat Po. Back in December, when I registered for the class, i asked if it would be taught in English. They assured me it would, and I was happy I wouldn't have to study in Thai. They were right; I didn't. Instead, I studied in Japanese, because the class consisted of me and 13 Japanese people. As a result, I felt like I was falling behind the others, and I knew I needed a little extra practice beyond what I was getting in the class.
One night I went in search of a massage shop that would let me pay for a massage but practice on one of the cute boys (I was tired of massaging my fat Japanese classmate who sweats all the time). At the first place the flirty little queen tried to get me in to give me a massage and then I said "how about this instead...?" and suddenly he wasn't quite so cocky. His friends were egging him on but finally he said "is not allow." So I went to another place closer to my hotel and after some confusion (the language barrier doesn't help, plus let's face it, it's not a common request) they said yes, and the guy I worked on was actually quite helpful with suggestions. Afterwards I got an oil massage from him to make it worth his time and I probably tipped more than I should have, but I appreciated their flexibility. I got his e-mail and we stayed in touch for a few months.
As I was leaving some of the other guys were talking to me and asked why I am stydying massage and I said "I want to be a massage boy...maybe I can get a job here." They didn't think I was kidding, and looked a little concerned, but I cleared things up. :P Anyway, during the rest of my time there the guys were always very friendly and would call out "Hey, number-one massage boy!" when they saw me passing by.
Hmmmm, I should have asked for one of their cute little uniforms.
A few hours after the Hong Kong Marathon I settled into a Thai Airways plane and headed to Bangkok. I got to my hotel around 10pm, and normally this would be followed by a quick shower, a change of clothes, and a dipping of the toes into the local nightlife. This time, however, I was exhausted and needed to head to bed, and not just because of the marathon...I was also starting massage class Monday morning.
I was in Bangkok to take a Thai massage class at the Wat Po School, which is a pretty famous massage school. I first got the idea back in 2005 when Adrian and I visited and got our first Thai massages there. A couple years ago I got it into my head to either go to Thai massage school or Thai kickboxing school, but after going to a kickboxing match last year I realized there was absolutely no way I was going to kickboxing school.
So I signed up for the week-long class at Wat Po. Back in December, when I registered for the class, i asked if it would be taught in English. They assured me it would, and I was happy I wouldn't have to study in Thai. They were right; I didn't. Instead, I studied in Japanese, because the class consisted of me and 13 Japanese people. As a result, I felt like I was falling behind the others, and I knew I needed a little extra practice beyond what I was getting in the class.
One night I went in search of a massage shop that would let me pay for a massage but practice on one of the cute boys (I was tired of massaging my fat Japanese classmate who sweats all the time). At the first place the flirty little queen tried to get me in to give me a massage and then I said "how about this instead...?" and suddenly he wasn't quite so cocky. His friends were egging him on but finally he said "is not allow." So I went to another place closer to my hotel and after some confusion (the language barrier doesn't help, plus let's face it, it's not a common request) they said yes, and the guy I worked on was actually quite helpful with suggestions. Afterwards I got an oil massage from him to make it worth his time and I probably tipped more than I should have, but I appreciated their flexibility. I got his e-mail and we stayed in touch for a few months.
As I was leaving some of the other guys were talking to me and asked why I am stydying massage and I said "I want to be a massage boy...maybe I can get a job here." They didn't think I was kidding, and looked a little concerned, but I cleared things up. :P Anyway, during the rest of my time there the guys were always very friendly and would call out "Hey, number-one massage boy!" when they saw me passing by.
Hmmmm, I should have asked for one of their cute little uniforms.
Labels: Travel
Saturday, October 16, 2010
A Minor Career Change
A fair question. One that you might ask. One that my mother might ask. One that perhaps she did ask. (well, not in those exact words, but it sort of came up in conversation once)
So here's the story of why, as of early March, I was expecting to be promoted to Colonel on July 1st, and instead, I became a civilian on July 1st.
I had been planning for some time to retire from the military in either 2009 or 2010. But back in '09 I got word that I was probably going to be promoted to the rank of Colonel (a totally unexpected promotion, and a very big deal, considering only about 1-2% of the people in the Air Force are at that rank). By the end of June '09 it was official, and I knew the actual promotion would occur on 1 July 2010, because they take the list of people being promoted and only promote a few each month.
So I'd made the decision to stay in, because this is a big deal and because, by being promoted, there would be more opportunities for me to do something worthwhile that would really make a difference. I made a promise to myself, though, that if my next assignment would simply be a waste of my time, then I would turn down the promotion and retire rather than wasting another few years of my life. I'm glad I considered that early on and made my decision, because that's exactly what happened.
By the fall of '09 I'd arranged an assignment at a large military university in Washington DC. This was perfect; I wanted to get back into the classroom, and they needed military faculty members with PhDs, because Congress was starting to ask why their military faculty didn't seem to have enough education to be teaching a master's degree program. I was the proverbial round peg going into the round hole, and they put in a request to the Air Force to have me assigned there.
Assignments for Colonels are done based on those requests; the only way I was supposed to go anywhere else was if someone more senior requested me, and there aren't many generals more senior than the one who commands that university (at least, none who know me). So I thought I was all set and started making plans to go there, always keeping in the back of my mind the possibility that it might not work out.
And indeed it didn't. Apparently, the Air Force has an exception to the "assignment by request" rule, and that exception includes assignments to Iraq and Afghanistan. Those positions are filled by bureaucrats in the Pentagon who need to stick someone in there, rather than by requests from commanding officers. So, some bureaucrat decided to ignore the request from the university and instead assigned me to a position in Baghdad...a position very similar to one I did as a Major in Baghdad 5 years ago...a position that called for a Middle East culture expert, which I am not...a position that would make no use of my PhD...a position for which I was not needed and for which I was not qualified.
I had 7 days to make a decision, and I made it: I'm outta here.
When they assigned me to that position I don't think they considered I would turn it down. I even told them, when I got the unofficial word, that I would be turning it down and getting out once they made it official, and rather than changing their minds, they went ahead with it. Their loss. My guess is, they figure no one would turn down promotion to Colonel, but I guess they didn't know me very well.
You see, for many people, achieving a high rank was the goal of their career. But for me, all I ever wanted was to do something that mattered. Frankly, I kept taking on assignments where people didn't think I'd get promoted, because I thought they were important and needed someone really good (like me) to do them. And, I'd argue with very senior officers when I thought they were wrong, because I didn't really care if I got promoted. So when I was selected for promotion to Colonel, I'll admit it was nice to have my hard work and my abilities recognized, but it wasn't like I was achieving a career goal by doing so, nor was being a Colonel so important to me that I'd do any job, even one that wasted my time and talents, just to pin that rank onto my uniform.
So in the end, when it came time to leave (coincidentally, I retired on the same day I was supposed to have been promoted), it was still a bit tough to turn down that promotion, and say goodbye to a 21-year career, but it wasn't as horribly depressing as it would be for some people. I walked into the Pentagon on June 30th in my dress uniform with my friend Linh, gave him the tour of the Pentagon I'd been promising him for months, he watched me sign some paperwork (which is the closest thing I had to a retirement ceremony...some people get parades, I got Linh watching me fill out forms, and I think that made for the best retirement day I could imagine), and then he took me to lunch.
Leaving opened up new opportunities for me. I know that for a lot of people coming out of the military after 20+ years, they'll have a hard time starting over...but not me.
Which, of course, is how I ended up becoming the university professor that I am today. But I'll save that story.
Monday, October 04, 2010
Yes, I Care What People Think
Maybe I shouldn't, but I do.
A couple weeks ago my friend T was over and he said, "do you know you have a reputation?" I was curious just what kind of reputation I have, so he told me people seem to know me one of two ways:
"Adrian's ex"
"that rice queen"
Now, T thought this was pretty cool, because people whom I don't actually know, know who I am. For me, though, it wasn't such great news. It wasn't "he's a nice guy" or "I hear he's a good friend" or "that's the guy who runs marathons all over the place"...no, it was those other things.
I'd like to think I'm a good person and it would be nice if other people saw this too. If I'm going to be known as "Adrian's ex" I guess that's OK, though I'd rather be known for who I am than for whom I'm not. The rice queen label bothers me more...it's really not a term of endearment, and it conjures up images of white guys who take advantage of Asian guys, using them, sleeping their way through the city one Gaysian at a time. I'm not like that, and it bothers me to be labeled like that. At least, if I'm going to have that label, I'd like to be having the sex that goes along with it haha.
I realize that what people who don't know me think of me shouldn't really matter, but it does for a couple reasons. First, it means people whom I do know have obviously talked about me, and these are the things they use to identify me. I wish my better qualities were seen as more important, and it's unfortunate they've chosen to highlight these parts of me. Second, let's face it, I'd like to meet someone again someday, and how many people out there will avoid meeting me because they've heard something about me that sounds less-than-complimentary? A reputation as a rice queen, or as somebody's ex, doesn't really suggest someone is the kind of guy you want to date. Lastly, I think because I have felt so disconnected from people this year, there hasn't been enough positive stuff to outweigh something negative like this.
On the plus side, T called me yesterday after a party at my place just to tell me how much he likes me and how important I am to him, and that's very nice to hear (OK, come to think of it, he did have a small favor to ask too lol). But he went on to say "you're such a great guy, I don't know why more people don't see that," and that didn't exactly make me feel great. What was better was when Linh told me later that one of his friends, whom I've met a couple times and with whom I chatted at a film Thursday night, was going on about what a nice guy I am, how she'd always thought so but really realized it Thursday. I thought that was so nice to hear, and very unexpected.
If the bad stuff gets me down, I'll let the good stuff bring me up again. Let's just hope there's more good stuff than bad. :-)
Friday, October 01, 2010
Ten Years
Ten years ago today I started keeping an online journal. We were just starting to call them "blogs" at that point, and this was before all the political and news and food blogs...it was when people were just writing about their lives.
I've met some absolutely amazing people through blogging. There's Scooter, of course, up in New York...we were reading each other's blogs for about a year, when he was an undergrad at McGill and I was a doctoral student at George Mason, before we met up in person when I flew to Canada to meet him. We're still good friends, and I'll be seeing him next month I hope.
It was through blogging that I first talked to someone in Singapore, and that opened the door to Southeast Asia for me. Years later I ended up living there for a few months while teaching, something that might have never happened were it not for blogging.
And of course, there are the KL boys. I started reading blogs by a few guys in Kuala Lumpur about 5 years ago, and in 2007 I had a chance to stop off there on a business trip. Oh my. Not only did it turn out that all these guys know each other, they also turned out to be a really amazing collection of people. Knowing them has enriched my life a lot.
There have been a couple serious bumps in my blogging life. The first came a few years ago, when DiaryX, my first host, crashed and took with it the parts of my life that hadn't been archived. That was a big blow, and though I've got some of those archives reposted here, not everything is up.
Another hit came last year, when my identity was compromised by a stalker. You see, when I started writing this I was in the military, so I had to keep my identity secret on here and only reveal it to people whom I know and trusted. But someone did enough searching around the internet to figure me out, which is why I'm now at my third address for the blog.
But the biggest blow came when Adrian, my partner for nearly 6 years, broke up with me in late 2006. I just didn't feel like sharing the horrible stuff going on in my life, and for a time that's all there was. Even when things got better, when I was dating Stan, when I met Linh, when I started running, it was hard to start writing again. I was carrying so much baggage and I just couldn't sit down and write about it.
Life has changed a lot for me in the last few months, and I think it's time to start writing again. I've made this attempt a few times in the last couple years, but it's been tough to follow through. I'm going to try again, though. One reason it's been hard has been Facebook; if I can post updates there, why blog? Linh suggested to me a few months ago that maybe Facebook could be my outlet for quick updates -- and I should try to keep those positive -- while I use my blog to really get into what's happening in my life and in my head, whether it's positive or negative.
So, to get things (re)started, here's the first entry from 10 years ago:
Sunday, October 01, 2000
October 2000
1 Oct 2000
And we're off!
OK. So. Ummmmmmmmmm. Hmm.
This is my journal. I guess.
So now what do I do?
I've never been able to keep a journal before, except for those times when I'm traveling and want to be able to look back on the trip later and remember it. Funny, you'd think I'd want to remember the events of this big trip called "life." But on the other hand, maybe it's nice to be able to forget every now and then.
Lately, though, I've found myself getting caught up in a couple journals, especially Chris M's. It's so cool to be able to share what's going on in his life. And there are a couple other folks, too, whom I've never met (or even talked to) whose lives are now an open book to me. This, to me (though not to some of the dinosaurs in my seminar on Social Capital) is a new form of relationship that broadens the old definition. It's a new way of making connections that is, frankly, pretty exciting. So I figured I'd add to the cacophony of online diaries. And since my website is designed in part to keep my friends all over the US up-to-date on my goings on, well, this can replace the old "News" page on my website.
But I'm hesitant. One reason I've avoided this is the role that other people play in my life. My friends are so important to me, so much a part of me, that they will invariably show up time and again here. Let's face it, a story of my life is a story of Andy, Tracy, River, Cory, Michael (all 6 of them!), and many, many others. Do I want (or do I have the right) to put our most intimate moments online for the world to see?
Well, of course I do. =)
But if I know they are likely to read this, will that temper what I write? Probably. That, however, will force me to look at the events in my life with a new outlook, and may impart some new wisdom to me. Or it may just be so frustrating that I shut the whole thing down in a week. We'll see.
OUR STORY THUS FAR
My name is William...Bill for short.
I'm 34, a grad student pursuing my PhD.
Washington, DC is home for me.
I'm dating a wonderful guy named River (who, sadly, is in Dallas for a month)
I love to travel.
I'm an eclectic Wiccan, practicing as a Solitare rather than part of a coven.
So now you know the basics.
Ready to take a wild ride with me?
Hang on. Here we go.
::LATER THAT SAME DAY::
If I ever turn into one of those guys in his 50s who just sits at the coffee house and stares at people, please kill me. Or give me a book to read. This guy at SoHo today was creeping me out. Every time I glanced up from my notebook he was staring at me or this one other guy. It makes me wonder what's going through his mind. Is he having a fantasy that involves me? Is he thinking, "I'll bet he has great feet and looks good in panties." Is he imagining the sound of my voice as I read Poe to him by candlelight? Or is he figuring out where to dump the body?
I love people-watching as much as the next guy (actually, more than the next guy) but c'mon, at least I'm a little more subtle so as not to scare anyone. He could at least smile; it's the seriousness on his face that terrifies me.
Why is it that when I'm at one end of P Street (down at 22nd, by SoHo or Badlands) I feel comfortable wearing very casual clothes, "hug a dolphin" t-shirts and the like, but then as soon as I cross DuPont Circle to the other end of P Street, I feel like I have to be wearing Gap? It's like two different worlds. I got the feeling I needed to change clothes in the Circle. I like to think that would've attracted a crowd.
River called while I was doing homework at SoHo. He was at a coffee house in Dallas called Crossroads. Afterwards, someone commented that I had a big smile on my face. Yeah. =)
And we're off!
OK. So. Ummmmmmmmmm. Hmm.
This is my journal. I guess.
So now what do I do?
I've never been able to keep a journal before, except for those times when I'm traveling and want to be able to look back on the trip later and remember it. Funny, you'd think I'd want to remember the events of this big trip called "life." But on the other hand, maybe it's nice to be able to forget every now and then.
Lately, though, I've found myself getting caught up in a couple journals, especially Chris M's. It's so cool to be able to share what's going on in his life. And there are a couple other folks, too, whom I've never met (or even talked to) whose lives are now an open book to me. This, to me (though not to some of the dinosaurs in my seminar on Social Capital) is a new form of relationship that broadens the old definition. It's a new way of making connections that is, frankly, pretty exciting. So I figured I'd add to the cacophony of online diaries. And since my website is designed in part to keep my friends all over the US up-to-date on my goings on, well, this can replace the old "News" page on my website.
But I'm hesitant. One reason I've avoided this is the role that other people play in my life. My friends are so important to me, so much a part of me, that they will invariably show up time and again here. Let's face it, a story of my life is a story of Andy, Tracy, River, Cory, Michael (all 6 of them!), and many, many others. Do I want (or do I have the right) to put our most intimate moments online for the world to see?
Well, of course I do. =)
But if I know they are likely to read this, will that temper what I write? Probably. That, however, will force me to look at the events in my life with a new outlook, and may impart some new wisdom to me. Or it may just be so frustrating that I shut the whole thing down in a week. We'll see.
OUR STORY THUS FAR
My name is William...Bill for short.
I'm 34, a grad student pursuing my PhD.
Washington, DC is home for me.
I'm dating a wonderful guy named River (who, sadly, is in Dallas for a month)
I love to travel.
I'm an eclectic Wiccan, practicing as a Solitare rather than part of a coven.
So now you know the basics.
Ready to take a wild ride with me?
Hang on. Here we go.
::LATER THAT SAME DAY::
If I ever turn into one of those guys in his 50s who just sits at the coffee house and stares at people, please kill me. Or give me a book to read. This guy at SoHo today was creeping me out. Every time I glanced up from my notebook he was staring at me or this one other guy. It makes me wonder what's going through his mind. Is he having a fantasy that involves me? Is he thinking, "I'll bet he has great feet and looks good in panties." Is he imagining the sound of my voice as I read Poe to him by candlelight? Or is he figuring out where to dump the body?
I love people-watching as much as the next guy (actually, more than the next guy) but c'mon, at least I'm a little more subtle so as not to scare anyone. He could at least smile; it's the seriousness on his face that terrifies me.
Why is it that when I'm at one end of P Street (down at 22nd, by SoHo or Badlands) I feel comfortable wearing very casual clothes, "hug a dolphin" t-shirts and the like, but then as soon as I cross DuPont Circle to the other end of P Street, I feel like I have to be wearing Gap? It's like two different worlds. I got the feeling I needed to change clothes in the Circle. I like to think that would've attracted a crowd.
River called while I was doing homework at SoHo. He was at a coffee house in Dallas called Crossroads. Afterwards, someone commented that I had a big smile on my face. Yeah. =)
