Exterior, twilight, a city street.

I have been working on a screenplay for many years. It is a work in progress. It most likely will never be completed. The basic outline is that of a guy who has elevated his awareness receptivity to an impossibly high level. This through extensive study and practice of several forms of martial arts, zen, and music. It seems there exists a universal consciousness decoding phenomenon that can be accessed through the serendipitous use of these three metaphors for body, mind and spirit. Scientifically it is knows as Random Cosmic Input (RCI). The US Military is very also interested in the experiments and has assigned two agents to gather intel on our hero. They are, in classic Hollywood stereotype, the bad guys. As he progresses in his 'experiments', he starts to lose all connection to spatiotemporal displacement and achieves a lucid state of flow, in complete harmony with the ten thousand things. This ethereal other-world state he touches with his heart as he struggles to keep his feet on he ground, one step ahead of the clumsy antagonists. It is his challenge, sometime funny, sometimes sad. A recurring 'theme scene' is of him walking down a city sidewalk tuned in to all conversational stimuli while Chopin's Nocturne, Op. 9 in e-flat major plays underneath. The camera dollies with him as we hear many voices:

The ankle is a flexible joint and does not respond well to constriction. Chuck Taylor learned this the hard way.

In a field of shoulder high wildflowers.

Where sometimes the water is so calm it looks like marble.

In Alabama for the wedding of her sisters' niece, and then Sacramento for an eye exam.

To let you know what's going on.

They never looked her in the eye and never ate together.

It could be the wheel bearings.

From the South wall facing North.

His name is Evil Jake.

Hand made in Sweden.

Thank you Lord.

Maybe some time Friday.

As he reaches the subway station to the closing notes of Chopin's melancholic night prayer, the interconnectedness of these random passing pieces fit perfectly together, along with their sub-text, innuendo and back story, completing the current day's holistic puzzle.

It is, he hums aloud, time to taper.

Askin' Too Much?

I was 'in' from the preface:

"Dr. Frankl, author-psychiatrist, sometimes asks his patents who suffer from a multitude of torments great and small, "Why do you not commit suicide?" From their answers he can often find the guide-line for his psychotherapy: in one life there is love for one's children to tie to; in another life, a talent to be used; in a third perhaps only lingering memories worth preserving. To weave these slender threads of a broken life into a firm pattern of meaning and responsibility is the object and challenge of logotherapy, which is Dr. Frankl's own version of modern existential analysis. Preface to Frankl's "Man's Search for Meaning" by Gordon W. Allport.

Wow. What do I have today that will keep me from a permanent and violent ending?

I have you. Whomever you are and wherever you might be. You are here now, reading this, and I have one chance to make an impression. That is my reason, meaning, challenge and goal. That is why I am here. As well as my answer to Dr. Frankl's deeply personal query. I want to be of service. I want to find my highest truth and stand in awe of the beauty given to us by our Creator. I want to best utilize my talents and energies and understandings to pay it forward. I have a responsibility, and I spend the bigger portion of the daily pie chart honing the skills, talents, ways and means to translate the cellular impulses I receive into tangible, concrete, meaningful forkfuls of value. (It was cherry and peach today.) I think that when we connect the body with the mind we step closer to the Spirit. We did that this morning. When I asked if that was asking too much, no one said yes it is, let's please just stay in our contort zones and pretend like there is growth in mindless repetition.

That is not what we do or who we are. We will not settle for the mediocre, the middle, the easy. I want your best. Even if that is only for 12 seconds. We can, together, build from there. You have my solemn and sacred promise that I will hold your hand when the going gets tough, when you feel like backing off, when the pain gets too intense, when the prosperity becomes almost unbearable. When you wonder how much goodness, joy, happiness and clarity you can stand. When your love is so pure that it frightens you.

As Nietzsche adds, "He who has a why to live for can endure almost any how."

If you are looking for a why, try this one: To become your best. Commit to the process of measuring and managing your awareness so every action, every pedal stroke, every foot strike, each single and isolated thought turned to action is a manifestation of your honor and devotion to shine back a blinding light of image, likeness and love. You gotta love what you do. You gotta do what you love. Be your best.

Is that asking too much?

Pic: The swim. Part of the whole. I can get better at it. Or drown.

HoM Code

The HoM Code*

When spinning in the House of Mirth, we will:

Clear our minds.

Relax into the receptive.

Prep ourselves for a journey to a place we have never been, a destination with new and valuable rewards, yet no destination.

Not worry about the trip itself, but rather on the process.

Make an explicit commitment to spin with right effort, letting go of all else.

Not allow other choices during our brief time together.

Commit to the here.

Invest ourselves in each moment, to the task at hand.

Let go.

Release irrelevant thoughts, think only in the positive tense.

Spin as if it is the only reason you were put on this Earth.

And should that fail, add a gear and get your butt up the hill.

*Liberally translated from J.J. Gibbs' phenomenal mini-tome, "Dancing with your Books, The Zen ways of Studying". Available (used) for $0.32 from Amazon.com.

Pic: Coming soon to the HoM, CompuTrainer Multi-Rider, a better way to get your butt up the hill.

Get it Right

I am going to try something radical today. Alright, more radical. I am going to try to take matters into my own hands. Be responsible for ownership. Take control. I am going to attempt to inspire and motivate myself.

Not anybody else. Just me. I am going to show me what the real me can do. The best me, not fretting about what the response might be. And not solely in terms measuring speed, power, strength or endurance. More the synergy of balance, focus, flow, attitude and presence. And that doesn't necessarily mean accomplishment. I simply want to be in the moment, for many moments today. There are messy, challenging and tedious chores that need doing. Projects that require attention, sentences to build and wrongs to right. Negotiations to conduct, accounts to manage, colors to choose. Rough edges to smooth.

I think this M&I (hereafter acronym for Motivation and Inspiration) should be my responsibility, not that of some quotable poet, musician or philosopher. Mine. It should have meaning. It WILL have meaning. If I use it as practice. If I use it with right attitude. If I put everything I have into it. If I am passionate about all that, whatever the end result provides, will be fine. For today. If I don't like it tomorrow, I will edit, erase, remove, rearrange, augment, diminish or demolish. That will be then.

This M&I will be now. Today's metaphor in fable format:

My brother is a gifted finish carpenter. I was thinking about him when cutting a gorgeous piece of clear vertical grain (CVG) fir yesterday with a dull blade. The cut was rough leaving a splintered edge and a unsightly, unattractive butt joint. I listened to myself make the usual concession as I looked at my watch, gumption escaping by the foot-pound, "This isn't a piano, buddy-boy, nobody will see it, care about it or say anything about it. It's an out-house for crying out loud, and you don't need to be a perfectionist on this, so just nail it and move along."

No inspiration, no motivation other than the accomplishment, no satisfaction, no art. Worse, I felt like I had cheated. Somehow missed the bigger point because i was hungry and wanted to start dinner's soup.

I missed a wonderful opportunity to take charge. To do the radical, avoid the mediocre. To inspire myself (in this example) by sharpening the blade, making the right cut, and accepting only my best regardless of application, location or end use. Staying with the hammer, not thinking of the spoon.

This wood-working metaphor seems appropriate here on Monday of race week. My ankle held up nicely in class this morning. I know it is not and will not be 100% come Sunday. And that is OK. The 70.3 miles of Lake Stevens will get my best, whatever that is. And whatever that is will be OK.

Because today I will sharpen the blade. Redo the cut and get it right. The redundancy of this is not important. It is practice, training, effort. It has meaning. I am doing this for me, there is no overtime charge. Just get it right. Radical, I know.

Wish me luck.

Sunday Outrage

Warning: If you are easily offended by reality, DO NOT watch this.

Alright, alright, it's Sunday. It is also my third attempt to blog something today that isn't offensive to anyone. YOU try it sometime and see how quickly you get to the vanilla middle of the road, deep in the bland heart of nowhere, inspiring no one, motivating few and leading all the rest to the abyss of absolute boredom.

Attempt one was a response to a legitimate question asked yesterday as to where I find all the protein to fuel my training solely from a vegetarian menu. I have tried on many an occasion to keep my reasons non-judgmental, objective and impersonal, and took this opportunity as another test. I failed. Flagged it. Almost as soon as the words meat, murder, cancer, environmental devastation, heart disease, steroids, antibiotics, ethics, morals and the deep connection we all have to the animal kingdom appeared on the page, I knew this was neither the time nor the place. I will, however, keep at it, because it is an important topic. I simply need to find a better way to relay the message. Unless you want to hear me pontificate on pain, suffering, tofu, or Matthew 25:40.

The proper answer is: Because it is not necessary.

Attempt two was on the deep sense of irony and despair that washed over me yesterday as two news stories fought for front page attention. The chances are very good that one of the Team Six Navy SEALS killed in Afghanistan on Friday was someone I knew. As I emotionally questioned the reasons why, a great photo of the Blue Angeles flying across Puget Sound appeared on-line at Seattle Times.com

I tried for 600 words to make sense of it. Failed that one too. Do you want to hear me talk about how absolutely ridiculous this scenario is? How slimy? How we have been so completely duped that half of us would rather eat cheap tainted beef, watch reality TV and not think about what Dick Cheney and his gang of immoral, unethical and criminal thugs are doing? You can see where I was going with this. And that was the soft part.

The proper response: I am outraged.

So I take to the streets. Try to blow some steam. Work on straightening out all these complex, dynamic and frustrating issues. Run some. Relax. Turn the other cheek and try my best to find a silver lining or some love. Balance.

With all of this as baggage, I go out to test the ankle. It has been ten days since I last ran and the big event is now one week away. It grades out at around 50% over 5K. I am glad I have two of them. To share the load.

I am also glad that I have animal friends and fond memories of courageous military men and women. This both motivates and inspires me. We are all in this together. Let's please share the road.

Thank you. Proper response: Sunday: Peace out.

The hysterical video: When I can tell it like it is with as much wit, charisma and satirical success as Bill Maher, I will let you know. LIke my 70.3 times, I keep working at them.

Oh, Lonesome Me

All my friends are going out and having fun,

I'm a fool for staying home and having none.

I've thought of everything from A to Z,

Oh, lonesome me.

With kudos to Don Gibson and Uncle Neil*, this is a tough weekend for your humble blogging servant. My friends are out riding in exotic locals like Burnaby, BC and Hurricane Ridge, while I stay home, riding none, nursing the sore ankle.

We did manage to pull off another rocking Saturday 90 in the HoM, with the port side ankle tendons only complaining once (during a ten minute standing climb to Cowgirl in the Sand), so that is the silver lining.

OK, OK, the rest of the lining:

Nuit Magique, Jazzamor

Twilight Zone, Golden Earring

Gallows Pole, Zep

I Won't Back Down, TP

Won"t Get Fooled Again, Who

Don't Step on the Grass, Sam, Steppenwolf

R&R Woman, Buffalo Springfield

Cowgirl in the Sand, Neil Young

The Road to Hell, Chris Rea

The Fan, Little Feat

Lola, Kinks

When Water Comes to Life, Cloud Cult

Further up the Road, EC

Leave the Memories Alone, Fuel

Sugar Magnolia, Dead

Workin' for a Livin' , Huey

Crazy on You, Heart

Lives in the Balance, Jackson Browne

No Such Thing, John Mayer

Lie to Me, Jonny Lang

The heart of that order (Cowgirl>Road>Fan>Lola) seriously got it goin'. Nice work today kids, once again I stand humbled in the glowing light of your awesomeness.

And speaking of awesomeness, the new CompuTrainer Multi-Rider Center in the House of Mirth is spinning towards reality. The flooring is ordered, big screen LCD screen in storage, jerseys in design stage and just yesterday we finished the design for the biz cards, pictured above. We are rocking. Grand Opening date is still Labor Day, so I had better get back at it.

There must be some way to lose these lonesome blues.

There is.

* Take a close listen to the original by Mr. Gibson, such pure country that it is almost silly, and then slap on the cans and hear Neil put some angst and pathos into it. Don sings it, Neil explores it. Big attitude difference. Now go on out and find some fun.

10:30

I am walking in DC with somebody I am trying to impress. Assuming dream-state Jungian archetypes are real, it must be either a girl, a father figure or a former ally turned foe. We are outdoors at a busy marketplace, casually talking, shopping, no urgency, no deadlines, no appointments. The sun is shinning. I feel its glow like the sophisticated beauty of my company.

Some one walks by to my right. The first thing I notice is a rather cheap looking brown suit. The material looks like burlap or kraft paper and the shoulders are too big. But there is a buzz happening around this suit as I see that it is the President.

He looks stressed, busy, beat-up, yet focused and congenial. He flashes a dazzling smile to a vendor as a photographer jostles for position. We are five feet from him.

I look at my companion and see in her eyes the wonder of the moment and the opportunity at hand. I turn and speak to him:

"Mr. President, sir, the best thing we could do today is go for a 5K. The economy, Afghanistan, those GOP blowhards, climate change, inflation, 55 MPG rules and same-sex marriage can wait, let's go run."

I was surprised at how appropriate this seemed, how it made such perfect sense to me and that even my friend who was now holding onto my arm with both of hers in a show of solidarity (which I took as WAY more than that) appeared sincerely interested in his response.

Yet he just smiled and walked away.

We stood and watched as a Secret Service agent handed him a cell phone and he listened, nodded and spoke a few words. He hands the phone back, takes a deep breath, the shoulders of his jacket now fitting, turns and gracefully closes the distance to where we stand watching, waiting, wondering.

"10:30, my place."