At 77 degrees on a March weekday, there’s not much more happiness to be had than being outside. Hell, at 77 degrees on a March weekday, there’s not much more that I can do to stop myself from running around the office, pantsless, babbling like an idiot because I haven’t seen more than two consecutive days of sunshine since September. Consequently, I partook in the former, as opposed to the latter, for everyone’s collective sake.

The past two days have been a slow return to glorious weather. Yesterday a more timid imitation of spring, with a bit more clouds and about 10 degrees cooler. Today, though…whooo buddy. Yesterday should take notes from today, so that tomorrow might even pick up some tricks. Or something like that.

After work, this guero headed out to the friendly local airport for a spin on the old skates. Disobeying the “TRAIL CLOSED” signs in favor of rebellion and cardiovascular challenges, I spent about 45 minutes soaking up the rays. Needless to say, the trail was packed with other exercising deviants.

Over the past year or so, since getting outside to exercise regularly, I’ve had the increasing urge to motivate others. It sounds so dumb…but seeing other people out there, huffing and puffing, hating every single step like it was death by cross trainer…it’s truly inspiring. I want to cheer them on, tell them to keep going, to kick into high gear. I’m so inspired by the human will, the resolve to create change against adverse odds.

I’ve been there. Hell, I’m still there. I spent a year and a half rowing in the dark, in my bedroom, with no radio, no headset, no nothing. Just my mind telling me every single second that I should give up. Stop. It’s not worth it. It’ll never make a difference. I never wanted to distract myself, because my mind is my own worse enemy and I know it. If I could conquer that voice in my head, I could do anything. And eventually I got there.

Though I now occassionally listen to my DAP while running or skating, I enjoy the ability to motivate myself. This newfound inner strength is something I’ve not quite experienced much in my life. Admittedly, though, I do still have days where I’ll find every excuse under the sun to convince myself to not exercise. But in the end, the thought of being lazy because “I really should get gas in my car instead” seems stupid.

Seeing people of all ages, all body types, out there in front of everyone, sweating it out and hating every second of it…it’s beautiful. It’s a testament to their desire to change their lives. To take just one reluctant step closer to making a difference in their attitudes and self image is amazing to me. I’ve been there, so I know just how impossibly hard it is to take that first step, and then the 10 more after that.

In two and a half years of taking my health seriously, I’ve had many setbacks, failures and downturns. I’ve taken it slowly, and on an occasion or two slipped into old habits. But with this sensitivity and sweat stained experience I want to steer people clear of my mistakes…or at least help them back up when they themselves stumble. I started this process as a lazy s.o.b. who didn’t care about his future children and grandchildren having him around…and have ended up over 110lbs. lighter and more importantly saving years on my life. The only thing there that’s been consistent is both committment and desire. I want the same for everyone else.

So to all you nameless fellow trail members, I raise my Nalgene bottle. There is no other agent for change but yourself…and there’s no other greater obstacle to your own success.

This week’s email is actually an old one…saved in a folder to cherish forever. Yes, I am that petty that I laugh at the idiocy of other people’s rationale.

On to the good stuff. This little angel was kinda irrate, and in what seems like a logical step (to her, at least) she decided to vent to the faceless webmaster. Um, yea. Solid decision making. Sadly, it appears as I’ve endangered her future college career? Imagine, my nerve. I’m not sure if she thinks we sponsor the SATs or what…But let’s just hope she’s not aiming to be an english major. Or communications.

And so I bring you, Most Excellent Email #2:

My question concerns SAT’s. I have been calling for weeks trying to figure out what is going on with the rescheduled SAT. I was informed that I could attain such information by looking for a certain number on my registration ticket. No such number, or rather any number for that matter, appeared on the ticket. I have been transferred from person to person but no one had any information. How is it that so many people can be uninformed. I would appreciate it if I could be informed as to when my SAT is? For your information, this may help someone … it was scheduled at [campus building] originally. Perhaps, this has sent a spark, though it should have when I spoke to the numerous “helpers.” Please help me in my endeavor. I was at one time interested in [school] but I’m not so sure. This delay is a hindrance to my college applications and elligibility for scholarships. Please pull it together. I thought by taking my SAT’s at a college I would be have no problems. Please, prove me wrong! I would much rather have nice things to say about you. Please also forgive my frustration. [name of self-righteous pre-teen]

Thanks, Avril Jr. Now take some of that sassy goodness on back to Hot Topic. Or Diary Queen. Or somewhere that you can exercise your big-girl attitude on other adults! God…

Ok, so we’ll wait a little longer for some change around here. My last post was premature.

I was thinking a lot yesterday about the concept of “ah ha moments” in life…you know, the times when you’re in the middle of some seemingly mundane life activity all of a sudden…BAM…it hits you. You realize something about yourself, your life, etc—the puzzle pieces fit together or things just seem right. It’s as if the camera of our life’s cinema swings up to pan for a wide shot…showing all of the people on the set, behind the magic. Everything is put in context. The camera clicks for a snapshot. I’m quite blessed to have my share of ah ha moments in life.

The first that comes to mind involves the smell of mold, a bit of dust, and geometric philosophy. Standing in the middle of the Mathematical Literature section of the Univeristy of Northern London’s library, reaching for another book on dodecanhedrons and polygonal structures, it hit me. AH HA. This is college. This is what it means to be in scholarly pursuit. Away for the summer, in an awesome city filled with more art and history than I could ever get to see…I was still getting done what I needed to for my studies. It felt like something straight out of a movie…or someone else’s life. I was studying quasi-complicated material in a foreign country’s library. This…this is college.

Oddly enough, yet another moment came during that same summer abroad. While I can think of many tiny ah ha moments (standing on top of the Eiffel Tower at night or visiting the Louvre), the other major one involved church. Granted, I have issues with the current folk-style liturgy that post Vatican II has forced upone us, so I’m not sure if my cynicism towards the American Catholic church elevevated this ah ha moment to a higher status or not. But the instant that I stood during the consecration…during a Mass in a cathedral in downtown Dublin…I’ve never in my life felt a more complete connection not only to my faith, but also to my heritage. A pious, yet strong and proud mix of Gaelic and Latin filled the air, complimented by breath-taking architecture. The addition of all the elements made this a particularly strong ah ha moment for me. Standing there with arches sweeping over my head…this…this is my faith.

Sadly, not all such moments are fuzzy and warm. Life-affirming in a different way, one of the first and most pivotal ones came when I was thirteen. Having spent the day at my confirmation retreat, I came home to sink myself into NBA Jam for the Super Nintendo. To make a very long story short, my older sister walked out the door and changed my life. As my hero, (my confirmation sponsor), and the one I worshipped in everything…she walked out the front door of the house to run away/kill herself. I found the note later. Standing in the middle of the family room, as my parents left to go to the hospital…it hit me. Ah ha. This is where my life changes. This is where my family will never be the same. This…this is the future of my family.

Most recently, with the advent of this whole ‘getting married’ thing, there have been a few more. This weekend in particular, it just happened to be while sitting in a chair inside the ministry center at Holy Spirit church in Louisville, staring at a fish tank. While my parents amused themselves in the lobby, the fiance and I met with the priest to finalize some issues and go over the results of our compatibility tests. As the priest asked us a few short-answer type questions, I sat and listened to the girl I’ve been dating for six years. Shy, quiet and very uneasy in answering interview-type situations, and never the one to otherwise articulate such things to me personally…she spoke softly to the priest telling him why she loved me. Ah ha. This is my future wife. This…this is who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. This is good.

There have been many others, in other cities, in metro parks and on road trips. These small, 20-second instances in our lives are what make it all worthwhile. So much of (my) life seems so random and unplanned, that the progression and causality of such does not seem architected by anyone or anything. But these small glimpses of enlightenment make me realize that darnit…there might just be some sort of bigger plan in all of this. And in this moment, things are on track.

“Hello? Yea, this is him.”

“No, I’m fine, thanks though.”

“No, I know. I know. Geeze.”

“Look, I’m gone for a reason. I promise something when I come back.”

“No, I won’t be gone long.”

“Trust me.”

Ok, here’s something new. I’ve been toying with the idea for months, and people have been nagging me to do so…so here goes. I’m going to start a new weekly post based on emails that I get from random people. Perhaps some background is needed here.

My job allows me the opportunity to communicate with many people around the world on a daily basis. I get some very “interesting” emails from people, in a wide ranging array of emotions (read: mostly pissed-off or confused). So bizarre or humorous are some of these, that I think it funny to post (anonymously) the contents of their letter. Hopefully, some of these will be as pee-in-your-pants hilarious or scratch-your-head odd for you as they are for me.

These are the types of emails I live to get.

Week of March 7-11, 2005.

This week’s email is an early entry, coming only on Tuesday morning. However, I think it’s safe to say that it’ll be hard to beat this one:

My daughter has been accepted to [censored] and another college and we are trying to firm up her decision on which one to attend. We sent in the deposit for [censored] but, after seeing this article on [online publication], I am not at all sure she will be attending. I am an alum of [censored] and so are many of my family; therefore I am extremely disappointed that the radicalization of the college is taking place. I am not interested in my daughter being indocrinated by a bunch of elitists who couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag in the real world. Please respond immediately to the accusations in this article, without attacking the authors or the website I found it on. I am well aware of David Horowitz and thank God we have people like him revealing the corruption in the minds of professors who think they are little gods in their little ivory towers. Yes, I am prejudiced against these men, so please use intelligent arguments to defend these professors on your campus, not ad hominemn attacks. Thank you.

Thanks lady. For a while there, I thought I was going crazy. I know that I’m perfectly, blissfully sane now thanks to you and your logic. I hope your daughter lets you make all of her life decisions for her, based on your political leanings.

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Someone was bound to get it. And damnit, it might as well be the mailman.

With all the shit going on at work these days (yea, I cussed, what of it?) and other crap like my grandmother passing, wedding planning, job uncertainty, yadda. Now my dog up and dies. It was not a suprise that this is how it came out.

See, a little background is helpful here. Last Thursday (as in almost a week ago) Mr. Mailman delivers big packages, stuffed in our quaint mail slot. Brian comes home, excited to see from afar that there’s stuff hanging outside, and not in the mail chute. To Brian, this means a new Rolling Stone or something else tantalizing to sink my ever-bored teeth into. WRONG. No, it’s retirement information for some foreign guy that doesn’t even live at our address. Unless my roomate’s hiding something from me. And seeing as it’s a 2 bedroom place, I doubt I’m missing something.

Fine. No problem. I take the rest of the mail in, and leave the other returnable pieces outside for him to take. WRONG AGAIN. Not Friday, Saturday, Monday, Tuesday OR Wednesday. Nope. Our SAT champion mailman takes the shit out, each day, slides our new mail in, then replaces the SAME PIECES. I’m not sure. Maybe he’s blind. Or has no hands. Or perhaps its a dog delivering it, and with no opposable thumbs, cannot manage the drop off/pickup at the same concurrent time. Whatever the case, he’s braindead and his lack of attention to detail is pissing me off. So I left him a note. The first draft went something like this:

Dear Asshamper,

Perhaps you’ve noticed by now that we’ve been leaving the same articles of post in our mailbox for the past week now. I’m not sure if your new on the job, or if the new company policies/procedures have you confused. Maybe it’s just the winter doldrums. But here’s a refresher. You have two jobs, pick up outgoing mail, drop off incoming mail. That’s it. We have a universally established relationship here, and frankly, you’re messing with the order of the universe.

Every day, upon returning home from work, my blood pressure skyrockets, causing my heart to race, and veins to bulge from my neck like a superhero. Every morning (upon promptly forgetting about your negligence), I exit on my way to work, equally enraged by this gross oversight on your part.

I, singlehandedly, have you to thank for making each and every day of my life suck complete, total and unadulturated ass. And I think you made my dog die too, bitch.

TAKE MY F*CKING MAIL TO THE F*CKING POST OFFICE.

Thank goodness for deciding to edit the first draft.

As she passed through the living room, she glanced at the rest of us sitting in front of the television. All she offered up was a blank stare. She could care less, but yet not an ounce of apathy was present. It was the most peculiar blend of silent respect and perfect autonomy.

She was amused by us, I could tell. But her emotions rarely betrayed her.

Of all of us, she was the most reserved and balanced. She rarely moved beyond an even-keeled state. While others of us managed tears and tantrums, all that ever came from her direction was a sigh, heavy with both understanding and passive displeasure. There were times that I thought that she understood me better than I myself did, and it took no words exchanged by our lips. Silence was her M.O. She was the discreet observer, and she knew her place in the group.

In the heirarchy of it all, she assumed her rightful place. She was on par with the rest of us, just as well traveled, just as deserving and unwavering in willingness to surrender her creature comforts. A “don’t push the envelope, jack” attitude was standard issue. We knew it, and moved on. I don’t know why the rest of us never questioned it. We just didn’t. She had her stubborn streak, and exercised it quite often. But she still bowed to the heirarchy of the group. She was not in charge and she respected that. She was strong, but no rebel.

As the years moved on, the playful side of her that was more evident in her youth faded into maturity. She became more reserved and pensive, but she never lost her pride. If anything she was dignified. Yea, that’s exactly it. She was dignified.

Over the past few years, we haven’t seen each other much. Our brief meetings since then assumed an heir of peaceful nostalgia. We both knew not to get to attached again…our situations were changed. We were in different places in life and that was OK. It doesn’t mean I didn’t catch a passing glimmer of sadness in her eyes, though, when I would kiss her goodbye each time. With each successive departure, we both feared it might just be the last.

She passed tonight, still dignified, still regal, still stubborn and still proud. We both knew it would happen sooner than latter, and we were OK with that. We had a good run. But this doesn’t mean that that glimmer of sadness in my eyes tonight hasn’t manifested itself into a tear.

Rest peacfully, Sam. You may have been “just a dog” to some, but you were my best friend.