Chris' Corner

Flash is plunging, again

2010-11-05T10:41:00.004-05:00

Last year, my pledge to take part in the Polar Plunge while decked out in a The Flash costume helped net more than $2,000 for Special Olympics Kansas.

In 2011, I'll plunge again. And I'll run the Polar Strut 5K the same day. While wearing The Flash costume. Training is underway...

You can donate to the cause at firstgiving.com/chrisronan.

Date with a driver

2010-06-16T09:55:00.003-05:00

I should have known yesterday's journey home was doomed. (As you may know, I commute to and from work via bicycle most days.) On Tuesday, I mounted my two-wheeler and was not a quarter-mile into the ride when I thought, "Wow, I'm really feeling the breeze today." I reached my hand up to my head and realized I'd forgot my helmet. Unprecedented, for me. So I reversed course, returned to the office for the helmet and started anew.

As I approached a red light, not a half-mile into the new ride, a car pulled alongside in my lane. This is not unusual, as a wide lane can typically handle both a bicycle and a small car. What was unusual is that rather than remaining on the left side of the lane, this car suddenly moved over to the right side, where I was riding. I would have been hit had I not bailed into the adjacent turn lane.

As I mentioned, this was right before a red light. So, I moseyed on up to the car's passenger-side window and motioned for the driver to roll her window down. She did and I asked as calmly as I could, "Are you crazy? You almost ran me over!"

(A few notes about this car and its driver. Notes that shouldn't matter, but I'll point them out anyway. Beautiful, seemingly newish vehicle. Johnson County plates. The car's occupant was well-dressed and, in a stroke of irony, a fellow Hallmark employee. The point of making these points is that cyclists tend to stereotype cycling-unfriendly drivers as the less-affluent or rural residents. My experience has been just the opposite: the worst drivers to cyclists are the well-heeled and those who work at KU Medical Center.)

She responded to my initial question with, "I'm sorry, but I waited for you as long as I could."

(A few more notes. First, remember that we're at a stoplight. There was another stop light less than a quarter-mile before this one. Between here and there, I had two cars in front of me, all of us moving at 20-25 miles per hour in a 25 mph zone. She didn't have to wait for anything. But let's just say that she did. Are we to accept that because one to two seconds were added to her commute that I deserved to die?)

My response: "Maam (yes, I really did say that), I could legally take up this entire lane if I wanted to. But I'm all the way to the right and there's another lane you could've used if you wanted to pass."

She replied, "I'm sorry if you feel that I infringed upon you." (Yes, she really did say that.)

To which I said, "It's not a matter of what I feel. It's a matter of what the law is. You need to read a driver's handbook before you get out on the road again."

It was a surprisingly civil discussion, given the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The light turned green, she unnecessarily revved her engine and sped away.

I know cyclists can be annoying to motorists. That's why I use less-traveled streets and go to great lengths to observe all road rules. Most motorists reciprocate by treating me very decently. Every so often, though, I cross paths with a stinker who doesn't place much value on the lives of her fellow citizens/Hallmarkers.

That's what I get for not remembering my helmet in the first place.

"Wanna Be Startin' Something"

2010-05-02T14:35:00.004-05:00

On Thursday, I will complete the seventh of twelve courses required for a Master of Science in Journalism (Marketing Communications) from the University of Kansas. The seventh course is JOUR 824: Creative Process.

Throughout the semester, we've studied various hallmarks of the creative process. Observation is one of them. Some of the best ideas come from simply paying attention to what's going on around you.

Earlier this year, shortly after the semester began, I was listening to music while working out on a stationary bike. One of Michael Jackson's most popular songs, "Wanna Be Startin' Something," came on. I was wearing headphones and found my ears zeroing in on the song's various instruments and sound effects. I decided to follow my "creative process" to see what my mind's version of the song's music video would look like. Here's the result:

Running: The College Years

2010-04-13T14:49:00.003-05:00

(The running saga moves into college, preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14 and 15.)

I don't think anyone minds that I've waited so long to continue the saga of my running career. Writing about high school was easy. College, not so much. I've thought about it several times in recent weeks and just haven't been inspired to write. Here's my best shot…

My college running career consisted of a few peaks and far too many valleys. It's that way for a lot of people. We rule the roost in high school, then find a crueler existence at the next level. Some of us get bogged down in studies. Or parties. Or any of a hundred other things. None of that applied to me. I really did try very hard to become a good college runner. It just didn't happen.

I'd slam out several weeks of awesome training, only to be sidelined by injury (freshman year track, senior year cross country). I redshirted my sophomore cross country season, then had track wiped out by mononucleosis. Junior year cross country wasn't too bad. Then I tore my hamstring during indoor track (at a K-State meet, as if I needed another reason to hate K-State), which screwed up outdoor track. In the wink of an eye, I was a senior. By that time, I was interning at a Topeka television station and more focused on graduating and getting a job than on running. After an injury-riddled senior cross country season, I visited my coach's office and told him what we both knew: it was time to hang it up. He was surprised/impressed I'd lasted as long as I did.

For as frustrating as the overall experience was, I came away with plenty of great memories: racing the 1500-meters in a field that included Olympian Steve Holman, becoming a letterman and a member of the K-Club, the annual commando game next to the Kansas River and the pre-cross country season camps at Rim Rock Farm. Met people who will be friends for life. Best of all, I can always say I wore the pink and blue.

That period of time also taught me to appreciate the success that was to come. When I graduated from KU in May of 1996, I was pretty sure I'd never run competitively again. Little did I know.

Running: H.S. Senior Track (The end)

2010-03-13T13:17:00.001-06:00

(The story of my running reaches the end of high school, preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 and 14.)

I always ran well at Shawnee Mission North. I PR'd there in the 1600 as a sophomore, the 3200 as a junior and the 1600 as a senior. (Years later, I even won a couple Corporate Challenge races on that track.) As I've said before, I thrived on settling old scores. And I considered my junior year SM North Relays disqualification to be the biggest score of all.

The two weeks between the KU Relays and SM North were fairly uneventful. At Bonner Springs, I anchored our winning 3200 relay, won the open 800 and ran a 53-second leg on our champion 1600 relay. We raced twice the next week. On Tuesday, at Olathe North, I won the 1600 in 4:22 and the 800 in a PR of 1:57, before clocking another 53-second leg on the 1600 relay. I raced four times at our Saturday home meet, anchoring the winning 3200 relay, winning the 1600 and 800, then running another 53-second 1600 relay split.

As I mentioned in a previous entry, I had a terrible cold early in the season. Some shortness of breath bothered me in the ensuing weeks and I finally went to see a doctor in mid-April. He speculated that I had trained through walking pneumonia and prescribed an inhaler for bronchiospasms. It's a partial explanation for why the season wasn't going as well as I hoped.

That was the state of things going into my final SM North Relays. With league, regionals and state coming up, we knew this would be my last chance for a fast 1600. I desperately wanted to run 4:10, a somewhat foolish notion given I'd not eclipsed 4:22 all season, and my closest competitor couldn't break 4:20. Still, I gave it a whirl, running the first and second laps in 60 and 65 seconds. A 66-second third lap squelched my 4:10 hopes, but I managed to finish in a PR and meet record of 4:16.

Coach Wilson made me run the 800 later that night. I didn't want to, but I'm glad he forced the issue. It was one more chance to run against my old rival, DeSoto's Ryan Johnson. His school had dropped back to Class 4A, meaning we wouldn't have a regional or state rematch.

Anyone watching that 800 would have assumed I was out of it at the halfway mark. I'd have agreed. My legs, heavy from the 1600, could only muster a 59-second first lap. But something magical happened during the next 200 meters. I didn't feel I was running any faster, but I somehow glided past everyone. Everyone except Ryan. I settled behind him with 200 meters left, knowing I had, at best, 100 meters of gas in the tank. At the top of the homestraight, I moved alongside him as if to say, "Let's settle this thing." It was a dead sprint to the finish, with me inching just ahead for a 1:57 win.

As I tried to catch my breath, I felt an arm put me in a headlock, punctuated by, "You son of a….!" It was Ryan, good-natured as always. I can't express how fun it was to race against him.

There's not much to say about the rest of the season. The regional meet kind of said it all. I tried, again, to run a fast 1600. After a 2:04 first half, I slowed to a 4:17 finish. I ran a 9:36 3200 later that night. Pretty good double by most standards. It merited this journal entry: "Didn't feel very good in either race. Wasn't very loose. Didn't care too much about the 3200. Just didn't put enough mental energy in." It's hard to believe anyone could get bored with winning. But that's just what was happening. I knew no one could compete with me at state and I easily defended my 3200 (9:25) and 1600 (4:21) titles.

I know I should have enjoyed that season more than I did. The only race I lost was the mile at KU. (After I had won the two-mile a few hours earlier.) By any measure, that's a very good record. But I was bummed about not running faster. One could argue that it's hard to run a 4:10 1600 or 9:00 3200 when no one around you can run 4:20 or 9:30. But I still felt I should have found a way to get closer to those goals.

A change of scenery was long overdue.

Running: H.S. Senior Track (The beginning)

2010-03-06T13:09:00.006-06:00

(The running saga continues with part 14. Here are parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 and 13.)

I raced 19 individual events during my final high school track season, winning 18 of them. Yet, reading my journals from that period, one would think nothing went right.

I developed a terrible cold the first week of practice, which caused me to take three days off from training. I noted various symptoms in my journal for several weeks. (More on that next time.)

Our first meet was cancelled because of poor weather, so we didn't race until April 4 at Paola. I opened with a 4:31 mile, a 2:03 (meet record) 800 and a 55-second split on the mile relay. The day's journal entry: "Didn't really run very well. Tight during 1600 and not up for 800."

We headed to Bishop Miege the next week, where I anchored our 3200 relay and won slow 1600 and 3200 races. That 1600 was the first sign of how frustrating the season would be. When the gun went off, the pack bunched up behind me as we jogged a 71 second first lap. On the homestretch of the second lap, I veered into lane four, turned around and motioned, as if to ask if anyone else cared to lead (or run hard.) No one did. We hit the half in 2:22. I ran the last 800 in 2:12 for the win.

The same scene played out at most of our meets, with two exceptions.

The KU Relays arrived the week after Miege. A stacked two-mile field included Emporia's Kevin Newkirk (the 6A cross country champ), Tulsa's Eric Richard (an Oklahoma state champ), Wichita's Tony Greene and a host of other studs from around the region. I knew I'd have great competition to accompany the chip on my shoulder from not qualifying for KU the previous year.

After a quick first 440 (67 seconds), we slowed to laps of 71, 73, 75 and 78. The pedestrian pace was a Godsend for me, because I felt sluggish. If the first mile had been 4:40 or faster, instead of 4:46, I'm not sure what would have happened. As it was, I clung to the back of the lead pack with two laps to go.

About 100 yards from launching my traditional 600-to-go kick, I sensed someone moving to pass on the outside. Not wanting to risk being boxed, I decided it was time to go all in. I sprinted to the lead and ran scared for 600 yards. It wasn't until I entered the final stretch that I heard the announcer say, "Let's bring in our first boys champion of the day…" I relaxed a bit, not hearing the end of the sentence: "…not yet decided." Little did I know Ray Gorze of Greeley, CO was bearing down on me. I crossed the finish line less than a second ahead of him. The final 880 yards was covered in 2:11, giving me a new two-mile PR of 9:27.

It was one of two highlights that season. The second came three weeks later, when I had a last chance for a fast 1600, as well as a final race with my favorite rival. It would all happen on the track where I'd been disqualified the previous year. In Michael Corleone terms, it was time to settle all family business.

Running: One last high school winter

2010-02-27T13:47:00.005-06:00

(Here we go with Part 13. And here are parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12.)

When we left off, I had just won the 5A State Cross Country race and was looking ahead to my next event, the Kinney Midwest Regional in Kenosha, WI. Kinney was my main goal throughout the fall.

With the way I finished the season and with how workouts went between State and Kinney, I thought I had a great chance to qualify for the Kinney national meet. But I bombed. After a good start, I faded badly and placed 119th. That day’s journal entry: “worst race I’ve ever run, feel ashamed of myself, feel awful.” Fortunately, the 17-year-old me was resilient, as I wrote two days later: “It was a good year. I’ve made a lot of breakthroughs and have got a lot to be proud of. On to track season.”

Looking back, it’s no surprise I laid an egg in Kenosha. I’d run 396 days without a break. I finished the cross country season with six straight sub-16 minute performances. I was tired. And, as much as I wanted to do well at Kinney for myself, it was something I wanted more for Tom Dowling. Tom talked a lot about Kinney and often commented about it in my journal. In my mind, State was for Coach Wilson and Kinney was for Tom. So, I got one out of two.

I prepared for my senior track season with a solid winter. In late January/early February, I tallied three consecutive 100-mile training weeks, one that included a 15:30 three-mile time trial. A week later, I ran my only race of the winter, a disappointing third-place mile at the AAU Nationals. A few days after that, I flew to Durham, NC for my official visit to Duke University.

The Duke visit marked the height of my college recruitment process. I was fortunate to get letters and calls from all over the country. The most persistent: Kansas, Duke, Dartmouth, Arkansas and Kansas State. I regret not accepting more invitations to visit, but I was busy with school (and running) and only ventured to KU and Duke. I’d bled crimson and blue since elementary school, when I earned a Jayhawk patch for completing a KU-sponsored school reading program. It would be tough for anyone to pry me from Lawrence, KS. Still, things got interesting when, on my official KU visit, one of my hosts told me KU was the last place I should consider for college running.

One week after returning from Duke, I reported for the first practice of my final high school track season.

Running: 1991 Cross Country

2010-02-18T08:11:00.007-06:00

(This is part 12, preceded by 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11.)

I've spent a lot of time perusing my old running journals as I've written this multi-part retrospective. I can't express how eye-opening it's been to read what the 17-year-old version of me was thinking, versus how I remember that part of my life almost 20 years later.

I didn't realize it at the time, but during the summer of 1992, I transitioned from the up-and-coming runner to the one everyone else chased. For nearly two years, I'd been obsessed with the beating certain people and winning a state championship. Now, I'd beaten everyone on my list, won two championships and had a hard time focusing on new goals.

I worked for my dad's roofing company every summer of high school. Most days, including Saturdays, the work lasted from 6 a.m. to around 5 p.m. The money was great, but it did my running no favors. Between mid-June and mid-August (when cross country practice started), I averaged 88 miles of training per week. So, that's 50+ hours of outdoor construction work, plus at least 10 hours of running, every week. It was too much.

But, again, I didn't realize it at the time. I opened my senior cross country season by winning our home invitational, which was my first-ever cross country victory. I placed third at the Park Hill Invite, behind Missouri's top two runners, Randon Richards and Sam Wells. At Leavenworth, I ran my only poor race of the year, finishing fourth. I was ill that week, but my journal entry for that race was unforgiving: "…was close to winner at end, but wimped out and didn't go after him."

After Leavenworth, I bounced back with wins at the KC Metro meet and Blue Valley Invite. Randon got me again at the STA Fall Run. But I went undefeated the rest of the season. I won the Eastern Kansas League meet by a minute, after which Bishop Miege's coach (a friend of our coach) approached me with some advice. He'd heard I jogged a few miles before school each day and suggested I stop because it was probably tiring me out. I replied, "With all due respect, coach, I just beat your best guy by a minute. I think my routine is working pretty well."

I capped the season with a regional title (and course record) at Blue Valley, then a 25-second win at the state meet in Manhattan. (That meet was delayed a week due to snow/ice and we ended up running on the roads at Tuttle Creek Park.) All told, six wins and three more top-four finishes. I didn't lose to anyone from Kansas. Pretty good season, especially for someone who didn't (and never did) see himself as a good cross country runner.

I wish I allowed myself to have more fun that season, though. I approached every workout and every race with this feeling that I had to be "on" all the time. And that kept me from enjoying the ride as much as I should have. Beyond what I accomplished individually, our team went from not qualifying for state in 1988 or 1989 to becoming a serious title contender in 1991. We finished in the top three at seven of our nine meets. It really was a great group of guys.

There's this piece of video that sums the season up for me. I'm standing on the podium at the state meet, along with two teammates who placed in the top 15. And I look like I'd rather be anywhere else. Partly because I don't care for that kind of attention. But mostly because I was already thinking about the next race.

Running: 1991 State Track

2010-02-13T14:57:00.006-06:00

(And so we roll along. Here's part 11, preceded by 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10.)

Winning two regional titles did nothing to damper my confidence. Only four of us (two distance runners, a sprinter and a pole vaulter) had qualifed to represent Aquinas at state. I was zeroed in, but the quiet at practice made it that much easier to focus on the task at hand.

Nerves didn’t become an issue until the morning of the meet. I think Coach Baxter could sense my anxiety as she drove me to Cessna Stadium for the 3200-meter race. I couldn’t help thinking of last year’s tripping. What if something happened this time? I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing another year’s worth of work go to waste. And then she turned to me and said something I’ll never forget: “Don’t let anyone take what belongs to you.” And that’s all I needed to hear. Suddenly, my mind was filled with memories of all those winter and summer training runs. The days I hit the road when others stayed in. The 23 miles on Christmas Day. The 16 miles on New Year’s. 73 miles the week of spring break. The state titles were mine. It was time to claim them.

The gun fired to start the 3200 and, as at the regional, I went straight to the front. Through the first 800 meters (2:22), I could feel someone right on my shoulder. (It turned out to be Great Bend’s Ty Herron, who would become a KU teammate.) Someone was still with me at the mile (4:47) and that concerned me because I’d never run the first mile of a 3200 that fast. How could someone still be keeping pace?

I ran the next four laps certain that someone was ready to pass me at any moment. Running scared, really. The reward for years of work was moments away and I was terrified that someone or something might take it away. I heard the announcer mention I was on meet record pace. (He was wrong, but it made me run that much faster.)

I was exhausted with 150 meters to go. It seemed I was getting slower. (I wasn’t. I’d run the seventh lap in 69 seconds and would complete the second mile in 4:40.) My left foot touched a rubber barrier on the inside of the track. I lost balance. For an instant, I was sure I’d end up flat on my face. It was 1990 all over again. But it wasn’t. I regained my balance as an official yelled, “You’re okay, you’re okay!”

I lapped a runner on the homestraight and finished the race in 9 minutes, 27 seconds, a new personal best. I had just enough energy left to raise my arms in triumph as an official tried to lead me to a water stand. (Tom Dowling was on the track with a videocamera and a friend, who interviewed me after the race. It was the first time I can remember meeting John Rinkenbaugh.)

The rest of that day was almost anticlimactic. I’d spent so many hours dreaming of what it would feel like to win a state championship that I spent most of the day enjoying the feeling. But I had another race to run. The 1600-meter again matched me with Ryan Johnson and Schlagle’s Ron Clemons. We hit the halfway mark in 2:09.

I remember hearing Ron’s coach yell, “C’mon Ron, make him work.” He didn’t encourage Ron to beat me. Just making me work was all that could be hoped for. Another jolt of confidence. I covered the final 800 in 2:10 and won my second title by nine seconds, in 4:19.

I lingered on the infield after the 1600 and found myself talking with Lawrence’s Ned Ryun, who had won the 6A 1600. His dad, the legendary Jim Ryun, came over to say something to Ned, who introduced us. Jim shook my hand and complimented me on running such an impressive race. Now, it’s entirely possible (and maybe even probable) that Jim didn’t watch a second of my race and was only being very nice to a starstruck 17-year-old. But I didn’t (and don’t) care. It was the perfect end to a near-perfect day.

Running: 1991 Regional Track

2010-02-06T12:48:00.004-06:00

(To recap, a longtime friend, John Rinkenbaugh, recently blogged about Tom Dowling, the man who introduced us in the early 1990s. John's blog inspired me to write about running and what led me to become so enamored with it. Tom is a big part of the story. So is John. And Greg Wilson. And countless others. I'm writing this as much for myself and the preservation of memories as anything else. But, perhaps the story might mean something to someone else, too. Here's Part 10:)

My running confidence was at an all-time high as I approached my junior season regional track meet. I’d never felt so driven. The regional was held at Shawnee Mission North, site my disqualification just two weeks earlier.

Aquinas had jumped from Class 4A to 5A between my sophomore and junior years. As luck would have it, DeSoto also moved up and was in our regional. So I would again get to meet my rival, reigning 4A 1600 champ Ryan Johnson.

As disappointing as the 1990 State 1600 “tripping” was, it taught me the front of the pack is sometimes the best place to be. It’s a lot harder to trip and fall when you’re leading. (Though I almost managed to do it. More on that next time.) I left nothing to chance in the 1600, my first race of the regional. I bolted to the lead on the first curve and stayed there through laps of 62, 67, 66 and 63 seconds for a perfectly split 4:18.9. Ryan finished seven seconds back.

A few hours later, I toed the line for the 3200. This time, I was content to let others set the early pace. My confidence was such that I had no doubt I would own the last 600 meters. We hit the mile mark in 5:01. The pace slowed and my sixth lap was run in 80 seconds, the slowest of the race. I took the lead and, as we entered the backstretch of the seventh lap, Miege’s Dan Decoursey passed me, sparking a roar of approval from his cheering section. I shook my head and said to myself, “Well, if that’s the way he wants to play it…,” and started my kick a little early. I ran the last lap in 65 seconds and won by 16 seconds.

In 1991, it wasn’t nearly as easy to know who was running fast throughout the state as it is today. But I did know our regional was one of the better ones. Having defeated Ryan in the 1600 and Dan in the 3200, I was pretty sure I was the one to beat at the state meet in Wichita. But if there’s one thing I’d learned from the previous year’s “tripping,” it’s that I couldn’t count on a state title until the gold medal was in hand.

Running: Part IX

2010-01-21T15:58:00.009-06:00

(Next chapter. Preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8.)

I have very fond memories of the Shawnee Mission North Relays, despite what happened there in 1991. The meet is where I ran a 1600-meter PR and led my idol, Thad Sketers, for half the race as a sophomore in 1990. And it's where I would break the 1600 meet record as a senior in 1992.

The 1991 meet should've been a joyous thing, but turned out to be a terrible dissapointment that further solidified the chip on my running shoulder. It was my first 3200 since the season's opening meet and the plan was simple. I had rehearsed it in my head every day since November. I'd stay right with whoever happened to be leading, no matter how fast the pace, until 600 meters remained. Then I'd start kicking like crazy.

The leader turned out to be Carlos Paradelo of SM East, who went on to have a great college career and continues to compete professionally today. I waited for the pace to hurt, through a 4:47 first mile, but it never did. It took all the patience I had to wait for the prescribed moment when I went all out. A lap and a half later, I had won the race in 9 minutes, 36 seconds, a whopping 23-second personal best. I was elated. That is, until five minutes passed and Coaches Baxter and Wilson informed me I'd been disqualified.

Disqualified? My elation dissolved into a stunned anger. The officials insisted that, while passing someone on the inside, I had taken too many consecutive steps inside the line separating the track from the infield. Thing is, during that race (and in my entire career), I never passed anyone on the inside. Surely they'd confused me with someone else. My dad had videotaped the race and offered to show it as proof. The officials politely declined.

It still gets my blood boiling to think about it. But, the fact is that disqualification probably did a lot more good than harm. Because I was like a caged animal for the next week. If people hadn't figured out how good I was yet, they'd get a clear picture the next Friday at the Eastern Kansas League meet.

Until EKL, I'd never beaten BV North's Dan Wnorowski or Bishop Miege's Dan Decoursey, who represented the class of our league. Even so, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I was going to destroy the field in both the 1600 and 3200. The SM North debacle had flipped a switch in my brain. I'd gone from hoping I could beat the best runners to knowing I could beat them and wanting to beat them, by a lot.

I opened with the 1600, where Wnorowski led the first 800 meters in 2:07. We slowed during the third quarter, hitting 1200 meters in 3:16. Then, I unleashed everything I had, sprinting the final lap in 62 seconds and winning in a huge PR of 4:18.0. It was the best 1600 time in Kansas that year. The 3200 event, a few hours later, was not as impressive timewise, but I won again, this time in 9:54.

In two weeks, I'd gone from a sub-4:30, 9:50-ish guy to a sub-4:20, 9:30-ish guy. I was at the top of the Kansas City Star's All-Metro rankings. And, once again, I was the favorite to win a state title. Unlike the previous year, I welcomed the role of favorite and was anxious to avenge the "tripping." My journal entry from two days after the EKL meet reads, "Already getting focused on regionals. (Ryan) Johnson. 1600. Must waste him."

Running: Part VIII

2010-01-21T15:52:00.005-06:00

(And we continue. Preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7.)

The winter of 1990-91 was among the most important to my running career. I turned 17 in February and had grown, both physically and mentally, to the point where I could better handle Tom's off-season training regimen. It was becoming part of my life. Just as important, I was starting to believe I could be as good as Tom, Coach Wilson and others told me I could be.

From the first of December until the end of February, I averaged 71 miles of training per week. That included a week over Christmas break when I went nuts and ran 101 miles. This was also the period when I really bought into mental picturing. For our cross country teams, it was a weekly pre-meet ritual, thanks to Coach Wilson. Now, I was doing it every day. I can still remember falling asleep, headphones on, while music played and I envisioned the havoc I was going to wreak on my competitors in the spring.

I raced a few indoor meets in Lawrence. At the January 13 AAU Regional, I won the mile and two-mile races, missing my PR in the latter by just two seconds. At the national AAU event, in mid-February, I placed third in the two-mile on Saturday before winning Sunday's mile. (We were running late for that second race and Dad was stopped for speeding a few blocks from the track. I hopped out of the car and chugged the rest of the way, arriving five minutes before the race started.) I couldn't wait for the outdoor season to start.

Practice opened on February 25 and, due to some wet weather, we only raced once between then and April 6. It was a small event, with just four teams. But one was Shawnee Mission Northwest, then and now one of the premiere distance programs in Kansas. Someone from that team won my race, the 3200. But the look of bewilderment on his teammates' faces as they watched him try to shake the still relatively unknown Aquinas kid was satisfying. I finished a few steps back in 10:10, one second off my PR. The next few weeks were non-descript, with a mile win at Paola and an 800 win at Gardner.

On April 15, our workout consisted of eight 400-meter repeats. I ran the first five in 65, 65, 66 and 66 seconds. After that fourth repeat, our head coach informed me I had not qualified to run the mile at the Kansas Relays. The next 400 was completed in 57 seconds. That's about the best way I can describe how incredibly upset I was to not be in the KU Relays field.

I didn't compete again until the Olathe North Relays on April 23, where I released a bit of KU Relays frustration with PR victories in the 1600 (4:26) and 3200 (9:59). Four days later, I won the 800 and 1600 at our home invitational. I was getting into a groove. But the real coming-out party wouldn't occur until May 3, the Shawnee Mission North Relays.

In my mind, SM North ranked third in importance only to the state meet and the KU Relays. The competition was the best I would see all season. Yet another turning point had arrived, perhaps the biggest one yet.

Running: Part VII

2010-01-07T20:10:00.009-06:00

(The saga continues. Preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6.)

Revenge or redemption, whatever you want to call it, has been a recurring theme throughout my running career. If a race doesn't go well (1990 State track, 2001 Pike's Peak Ascent) or if I feel wronged in some way (1991 KU Relays and SM North Relays), I do all I can to make it right. Redemption was on my mind as I entered the summer of 1990. The tripping during the 1600-meter state track race sufficiently fueled three months of miles.

The problem was I never really took a breather. After my breakout sophomore track season, which I attributed largely to Tom Dowling's winter tutoring, I was ready to do whatever he commanded during the summer. If there's one retrospective criticism I have of Tom's training plans for me, it's that he didn't budget enough rest. It might not have been a problem, if I wasn't working 10-12 hours every summer day for Ronan's Roofing. Most days, I'd rise at 5 a.m., work in the sun from 6 to 6, eat dinner, then run at 9 p.m.

I was cooked by the time mid-July rolled around. If I felt that way now, I'd take a day or a week off. The 16-year-old version of me forged ahead. The result was a poor summer of training and, while I did have a better cross country season as a junior than as a sophomore, I didn’t competed for wins like I thought I should. Seventeenth at our home meet, seventh at Maur Hill, tenth at Leavenworth and sixth at Metro. Again, far better than what I'd achieved before, but nothing like I’d done during track season.

Tom suggested I jog three or so miles each morning before school, to keep my mileage up until later in the season. I know this drove Coach Wilson crazy. And, now that I've coached high school kids myself, I understand why. I followed Tom's advice for the first few weeks of the season. Then, sensing my fatigue was not easing, I backed off.

In late September, at the Blue Valley Invitational, things finally started turning around. I kept pace with BV North's Dan Wnorowski (a runner I wanted desperately to beat) for most of the race before placing just behind him in fourth.

The next week, I led for two miles before finishing third at a home meet. My confidence surging, I was somewhat disappointed with fourth and fifth place finishes at Eastern Kansas League and the 5A Regional meets. But, despite being slightly annoyed with those individual placings, I was thrilled that our team finished second at that regional to qualify for our first state meet. A year earlier, I'd missed the regional with a stress fracture. Now, we were on our way to Manhattan.

As a fifth place regional finisher, I was probably expected to place fifteenth to twentieth at state. Something got into me that day, though, and I ran what was probably my best cross country race to date, taking tenth place and earning All-State honors. Among those behind me, my track nemesis (and reigning 1600 meter champion) Ryan Johnson.

So, my junior cross country season turned out okay. I partially erased the disappointment of not running at regionals as a sophomore. And our team competed at its first state meet. But, as would always be the case, track was my first priority. The 1600-meter, in particular.

My ensuing winter training often took me by way of a bridge that crossed Interstate 35. From that bridge, I could see a highway sign that read "Olathe 2, Wichita 174." I created a cheap replica and affixed it to the inside of my school locker. I was going to avenge the state mile tripping and no one was going to stop me.

Running: Part VI

2010-01-07T20:00:00.005-06:00

(The saga continues. Preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5.)

By the time the 1990 state track meet rolled around, my 16-year-old body was pretty tired. I'd run every day since early February. That training dedication had produced personal bests that season at every distance from 400 meters to 3200 meters. But, it was also fatiguing for a sophomore. Of course, I didn't realize that at the time. I was simply eager to travel to Wichita and claim my first state championship.

We arrived on Friday night and checked in to the Mark 8 Inn. I can't say what the property looks like today. But it wasn't the cat's meow then. The hour was late and we didn't know the area, so we notched our day’s mileage by running around the parking lot for 20 minutes. Then we retired, two to a bed, for whatever rest our anxious minds would allow.

My first race was the 3200m relay. I would lead off, followed by Chuck Gilbert, then Tim Gaigel and, finally, our talented anchor, Kirk Huckaby. We'd run a season-best at the regional meet, placing third to barely qualify for state in 8 minutes, 33 seconds. In my state debut, I led off with a 2:01 leg (a personal best) and the rest of the team ran very well, too. Kirk brought us home in 4th place, earning a state medal and breaking our school record with a time of 8:27. (It should be noted the Aquinas record is under eight minutes today.)

After a few hours rest, it was time for the 1600m. Even now, 21 years later, I can remember the pre-race jitters. While I was regional champion and the top-ranked 4A miler, I didn't feel the confidence I would carry into future state meets. Somehow, I felt like a bit of a fraud. Less than two months ago, I had a personal best of 4:58 and hadn’t sniffed a state meet. Now, my best was 4:29 and I was the favorite to win it all.

The starter fired the gun and 12 of us charged around the first turn. Entering the backstretch, I found myself near the back of the pack, as a flood of pent-up adolescent energy propelled my competitors to a blazing start. After about 150 meters, everyone settled down and I glided up near the front, settling into third place.

I felt unusually relaxed as we entered the homestretch of the first lap. The pace was easy. The lead was just a few strides away. And I was happy to let others do the work for awhile. Just then, I felt someone touch my shoe from behind. I lost balance for a moment, falling forward before catching myself. However, I slowed just enough for the same person to inadvertently clip my shoe again. I lunged forward, this time unable to steady myself. I tumbled to the outside lanes, while the rest of the field charged ahead.

(Here's the video of the 1990 Kansas 4A State 1600M Run...)

Filled with a mix of bewilderment and rage, I hopped up and furiously tried to catch up. It took only 150 meters for me to make my way back to the pack. Unfortunately, that spurt consumed almost every bit of energy I had, leaving me helpless as the leaders made their moves during the final two laps. I hobbled to the finish line in dead last, with a time of 4:47. The winner, who would become a great rival (and friend) was fellow sophomore Ryan Johnson of DeSoto. I'd beaten him each time we’d raced the 1600 that spring.

As I sat alone on the stadium infield, I began to cry uncontrollably. I’d never taken season-ending losses well, going all the way back to little league baseball. But this one stung a lot more. It felt like something had been stolen from me. By any measure, my sophomore track season had been a huge success. But all I could think about was the one race that got away. It would be all the motivation I'd need for the next 364 days.

Running: Part V

2009-11-22T15:56:00.001-06:00

Running was an anchor for me during what was a turbulent spring of 1990. My grandfather, to whom I was very close, passed away. My parents were on the road to divorce. And I was 16, which is turbulent enough on its own. But running was there, every single day.

Tom's enthusiasm only grew as track season approached. He was convinced I was about to do some amazing things on the track. His confidence, combined with the coaching of Joelin Baxter, set up an amazing couple of months.

Coach Baxter was an assistant to Coach Wilson during cross country season. But she coached the spring track team's distance runners on her own during my freshman, sophomore and junior years. I loved running for her. She was a no-nonsense coach with a running pedigree. And she was encouraging of what I'd been doing during the offseason.

Due to some poor weather, we had a couple meets cancelled and didn't compete until five weeks of practice had passed. I could sense a greater fitness from last track season, but was eager to race and really see what I could do. I got that chance on April 6.

Coach Baxter scheduled me for the mile and two mile races at the Bishop Miege Invitational. I remember calling Tom a few days before the meet, knowing that he would say something that would give me a confidence boost. Based on what I did over the winter, I said, how should I approach these two races? I'll never forget his answer as long as I live. "In the mile, go out at a relaxed pace and if they're going to let you run away with it, go ahead. In the two mile, hold back until the final couple of laps before you take over."

I laughed out loud. I'd never even won a medal at a high school race, much less challenged for a victory. This kook not only thinks I'm going to win, but win easily. Whatever.

Of course, as would be proven many times, Tom was smarter than me. I led the mile from the beginning and won easily in 4 minutes, 39 seconds, setting a personal best by an astounding 19 seconds. Later in the evening, I sat in the 3200m race pack for almost seven laps, before cruising past everyone over the final 600 meters to win in 10 minutes, 24 seconds. It was another personal best, this time by a minute.

As my sophomore track season progressed, I kept winning races. Three at the Bishop Ward duel, one at the SM South duel, another at Louisburg, a win and two PRs at Olathe North, three wins at the Aquinas Invite. It was nothing short of shocking how much better I'd become.

The season's highlight came May 4 at the SM North Relays, one of the city's most prestigious meets. I was slated to run the mile, two weeks after I'd set a PR of 4:37 at Olathe North. Among the competitors was none other than my idol, Thad Sketers. I led the race for 600 meters, before Thad passed me by, along with four others. I settled for sixth place and a big PR of 4:29, four seconds behind the winner.

The final few weeks of the season didn't go as I'd hoped. At the rainy Eastern Kansas League meet, I placed fourth in the 1600m and third in the 3200m. Despite my improvements, I couldn't quite compete with Miege's Dan Decoursey and BV North's Dan Wnorowski. The 4A Regional meet at Hiawatha was marginally better, as our 3200m relay finished third to clinch my first state qualification. I then outleaned a kid from Lansing to win the 1600m (my first regional title) before running a nauseating 6th place race in the 3200m.

With that, we were set for my first foray to the state track meet in Wichita. I'd be leading off our 3200m relay before competing in the 1600m, where I was top-ranked in class 4A. Another of life's turning points had arrived.

Running: Part IV

2009-11-22T15:53:00.005-06:00

I've been blessed with some wonderful teachers and coaches. Greg Wilson, who I first met the summer before my freshman year of high school, was and still is one of the great influences in my life. I was drawn to his obvious work ethic, but was also astounded by his attention to each and every one of his athletes and students, regardless of whether they were the fastest, the smartest or whatever. He makes everyone feel special.

Tom Dowling was very different from Coach Wilson, or any other coach I'd worked with. Like Wilson, he made people feel special. But he had a bookish way about him that qualified his teachings. And, as I've mentioned, he coached my idol, Thad Sketers, which gave him instant credibility with me.

I was 15 when I met Tom in December of 1989. When I look back on it now, the "secret" to the success of his Health Plus running program was no secret at all. Its participants simply ran miles, lots of them, during what was typically the offseason for high school runners. That's a "well, duh!" concept to me now. But, back then, it was foreign. To my thinking, when cross country season ended in October, you moved on to basketball (or the couch.) When track ended in May, you moved on to baseball (or the Ronan's Roofing crew.) Tom introduced year-round running to me and it changed everything.

Initially, Tom and I had a brief chat about my past training and he used that knowledge to draw up a plan for the next few months. He instructed me to run a certain mileage each day (adding up to around 50 miles per week that first winter), at whatever pace felt comfortable. Program participants would meet at Health Plus on Tuesday and Thursday afternoon for group runs. (I even got to run with Thad a time or two.) I was on my own the rest of the time.

Thankfully, we were told to keep a journal of our daily mileage. (Otherwise, I'd have no recollection of how far or fast I used to run back then.) Tom would collect the journals each Tuesday, review them and return them on Thursday. It was a bit like having a teacher grade your homework. He would always pen some sort of motivating comment in the journal and I came to anticipate Thursdays, when I could read his latest thoughts.

As the winter progressed, Tom seemed even more excited than me about the upcoming track season. I knew I was getting stronger from the daily runs, but I had little idea of what this might mean for my sophomore track campaign. Tom, on the other hand, was resolute in his thinking. Just four weeks into the program, he wrote this on December 28, 1989: "You're doing great. You are going to wake people up to Thomas Aquinas." A few weeks later: "You are building an excellent base for your career!" In February, he was bolder yet: "In your junior year, everyone will know who Chris Ronan is." And, then, the capper, on February 16, 1990, a day before I turned 16: "Let it be noted here that I predict Chris Ronan will become one of the fastest runners we've ever had in the Health Plus program."

To be frank, I thought he was crazy. My personal best mile was 4 minutes, 58 seconds. I'd never run two miles faster than 11 minutes, 24 seconds. And this guy thought I was going to be one of the fastest runners from his program? The same program that included Thad Sketers? I was certain I'd run faster that spring, but I thought Tom was off his rocker. Still, Tom's jubilant confidence started to rub off on me. "Maybe he's a loon," I thought. "But even if he's just half right…"

And so the winter trudged on. People at Aquinas wondered about the crazy guy running down Pflumm Road on 15 degree afternoons. My parents wondered about their crazy, sweat/frost-covered son, stumbling inside long after dark. And I, with newfound strength and confidence, began to wonder what the spring may bring.

Running: Part III

2009-11-22T15:46:00.005-06:00

(Part one of the saga can be found here. Part II is here.)

Thad Sketers. The name sounds fast, doesn't it? Indeed, Thad was a fast guy. Two years my elder, he was one of the best distance runners in Kansas during my freshman and sophomore years of high school. Every weekend, I'd see Thad's name in the newspaper after he'd won or placed high at a race. My five-kilometer (3.1 mile) cross country times tended to be around 18 or 19 minutes. Thad's times sometimes started with 15.

I was a mostly average high school cross country runner my first two years. One of the benefits of attending a brand new school was our athletic teams, particularly boys cross country, weren’t all that great. So I made the varsity team right away. Still, I knew I was capable of better than 18 minute 5Ks. How did Thad Sketers do it?

Such was my frame of mind when I returned to the parking lot after a cross country meet in the fall of 1989. I picked a brochure off my windshield. On the cover, Thad Sketers. The brochure's pages detailed the achievements of Thad and others, who'd attended the high school running program at Health Plus, an athletic club in Overland Park. I read numerous quotes to the effect of: "Before Health Plus, I couldn't break 11 minutes for two miles. Now, my personal best is 9:40!"

I was blown away. Here was the secret to my idol's success. I had no idea what Health Plus was. But, if it was good enough for Thad Sketers, it was good enough for me. I tucked the brochure away, determined to lobby my parents for the necessary funds at a later date.

A few weeks later, as our team prepared for the regional cross country meet in Garnett, KS, I noticed a dull soreness in my right foot. Within a few days, the soreness became a sharp pain. It couldn't have come at a worse time. We knew we were good enough to place in the top three at the regional, which would qualify our team for state for the first time. Without me, the team's top runner, our chances took a major hit.

My mother took me to the doctor, where a bone scan was conducted. The result: a stress fracture in a metatarsal. I returned to school, where our final practice before the regional was just ending. I made what I knew would be an unsuccessful pitch to Coach Wilson, arguing that one more race on my foot wouldn't be a problem. But he knew, as did I, that a stress fracture could lead to a full break of the bone.

I cried all the way home.

The next day, I drove to Garnett and watched, under a fittingly grey sky, as the Aquinas boys placed sixth at the regional meet. That night, I retrieved the Health Plus brochure and asked my mother for permission to enroll in the program. "Chris, you're a baseball player, not a runner," she said. "This stress fracture should tell you that. You're not doing that program."

Shaken, but not broken, I simply went outside and found my dad. Same pitch. Different result. He okayed enough money to pay for one winter of the Health Plus running program. I completed the brochure form and mailed it, absolutely unaware that this was one of life's turning points.

I was about to meet Tom Dowling.

Running: Part II

2009-11-16T08:23:00.005-06:00

(Part one of the saga can be found here.)

It's hard to describe the St. Thomas Aquinas High School of 1988 to people who know the school as it is today, but weren't around at the beginning. For years, Aquinas was located in Shawnee and its mascot was the Blue Streaks. The archdiocese decided to close that school and open a new one in the growing area near Pflumm Road and College Boulevard in Overland Park, much to the chagrin of Aquinas students who, understandably, weren't thrilled about saying goodbye to their school and its traditions.

A lot has changed at Aquinas since 1988. It's got more than twice as many students. It has its own athletic facilities. (We used to play our home football games on the campus of our rival, Bishop Miege.) It's got 20+ years of its own traditions. But, thankfully, one important thing hasn't changed. Greg Wilson is still there.

Coach Wilson managed to con fewer than 30 of us into comprising his first cross country squad. Several of the upperclassmen came from the "old" Aquinas, including the Huckabys, Heather and Kirk, who were the team's first MVPs. In fact, with a mix of experienced juniors and seniors and a couple of talented newcomers, the girls team was successful from the beginning, placing second at the 4A state meet that first year.

The boys were another story. As a group, we weren't all that talented and we didn't work particularly hard. Kirk, who did have a lot of talent, never seemed to like running very much. So, his mission each day was to see what sort of mayhem he could lead us into. (At the Lansing meet, instead of warming up, he spent a good deal of time trying to convince the freshmen to pee on what he said was an electric fence, just to see what would happen.) In retrospect, it was all harmless and actually quite a bit of fun. But, at the time, it drove me crazy. I've always been driven to work (too) hard and, even as a 14-year-old, it didn't sit well with me when others didn't do the same.

(The accompanying photo is of the original boys team. I'm second from the left in the middle row. As I recall, 12 of the boys pictured lasted the whole season. Two of the eight freshmen were on the team as seniors.)

I spent that first fall doing whatever Coach Wilson (who was also my Latin teacher) told me to do and trying my darndest to beat Kirk. I never did catch him that year, but I got to where I was Aquinas' second runner by season's end and Kirk did qualify for state as an individual.

I did more than enough to earn my letter, which was then affixed to a jacket that I'm certain got as much wear as any letter jacket in history. And I made a lot of friends that fall that I still have to this day. I can't say that the daily act of running was doing much for me, though. If I liked it, it was because I was somewhat decent at it. In fact, I briefly quit the track team the following spring when I decided I was better suited for the golf squad.

My departure from track lasted exactly one day. I returned and performed slightly above my meager expectations, the season highlighted by a 4:58 mile and an 11:24 two-mile. The goal most spring days was to outlast Derek Weiner, my sophomore teammate. I can't remember how many races Derek would lead me for three laps (in a mile) or seven laps (in a two-mile), only to have me sprint around him in the final meters before the finish line. Just cruel.

My freshman year ended and I moved on to a summer of work at Ronan's Roofing, Inc.

Running: Part I

2009-11-11T20:09:00.007-06:00

(A longtime friend, John Rinkenbaugh, recently blogged about Tom Dowling, the man who introduced us in the early 1990s. John's blog inspired me to write about running and what led me to become so enamored with it. Tom is a big part of the story. So is John. And Greg Wilson. And countless others. I'm writing this as much for myself and the preservation of memories as anything else. But, perhaps the story might mean something to someone else, too. Here goes...)

None of it would have happened without Kostas Romo. By none of it, I mean the five Kansas high school state titles, four years on the University of Kansas track and cross country teams, top-100 finishes at the Boston and New York City marathons or the 30,000+ miles of running. I just don't know that any of it would've occurred without Kostas.

It was the summer of 1988 and Kostas, a Blue Valley Middle School classmate, was the only person I knew well who was planning to attend St. Thomas Aquinas High School. I wanted no part of Aquinas. I'd gone to Blue Valley schools since first grade. And, after very awkward sixth and seventh grade years, I'd finally hit something of a stride as an eighth grader. My friends were going to Blue Valley High School, so that's where I wanted to be.

One day, during eighth grade, my parents presented an unexpected ultimatum. I could attend high school at Rockhurst or the new Catholic school, St. Thomas Aquinas. (Just to give an idea of Aquinas' place in the consciousness of junior high schoolers in 1988, one of my BV classmates wrote this in my eighth grade yearbook: "Good luck wherever it is you're going.")

I begged and pleaded, but there would be no deterring mom and dad. I was headed to a Catholic school, for the first time since we moved to Overland Park from Shawnee in 1980, whether I liked it or not. Once I accepted my fate, my choice of school was uncomplicated. Aquinas had girls. Rockhurst didn't. I was going to Aquinas.

And so it was one summer day that Kostas and I shared a ride to Johnson County Community College for an informational fair, where we could learn about the extracurricular opportunities afforded at this new school. Kostas played football in middle school and planned to do the same at Aquinas. I figured I'd go along with that idea, despite no experience with organized football.

We arrived at JCCC and Kostas headed straight for the football table, while I perused the remaining booths. Band, debate, soccer, basketball. All the activities had a presence, staffed by pitchmen of various abilities. I don't know what it was about the cross country table that caught my attention, but I found myself lingering there while the man on duty chatted with a potential recruit.

I was about to stumble on to the next booth when I heard an excited burst, "So, you wanna run cross country, man?" Good grief. I'd been noticed. "Well, um, I don't really know what cross country is," I said. He replied, "You know what track is, don't you?"

Oh, sure, I knew what track was. I'd competed in junior high. Worked my way up to where I was the school's best mile runner. Even placed in the top three to win medals at a few meets. The man's eyes got big. "Shoot, cross country's just like track," he said. "Only it's run on grass."

That description was enough for me to put my name on his sign-up sheet. I still thought football was probably the place for me. After all, that's where I knew at least one person. But I was never good at rejecting people and there was no harm in humoring this guy.

When the phone rang at home the next night, I didn't expect to hear that excited voice again. "Just checking in, man. Thought any more about the cross country team?" I hadn't. But, in that moment, a question did come to my mind. See, the reason I ran track in junior high was two-fold. First, the coach (my history teacher) wanted me to pole vault, because he thought I had upper-body strength. I knew that was a tragic miscalculation, as I'd never so much as completed a pull-up. So, on the first day of track practice, I slithered off to where the runners had gathered. The second reason: all you really had to do to earn a Blue Valley Middle School letter was participate on a team. Track made the most sense. I competed and got my coveted letter.

I asked the caller, "Can freshmen letter in cross country?" "Oh, sure, man," he replied. "If you run on the varsity team most of the year, you can get a letter." That's all I needed to hear.

My brief flirtation with football was over. I was a member of the St. Thomas Aquinas cross country team. And I'd just met Greg Wilson.

Fear

2009-10-13T09:37:00.004-05:00

One of my favorite movies is "Defending Your Life." Albert Brooks' character, Daniel, dies when he steers his car into an oncoming bus. (It's funnier than it sounds.) Daniel wakes up in Judgment City, where the deceased go on trial. The goal: to determine if the recently deceased has sufficiently conquered his fears. If the answer is yes, he "moves on." If not, it's back to Earth for another try.

Daniel's attorney, played by the hilarious Rip Torn, tells his client that a person on Earth uses such a small portion of his brain (around three percent) that most of life is devoted to dealing with fear. "Fear is like a giant fog," he says. "It sits on your brain and blocks everything -- real feelings, true happiness, real joy. They can't get through that fog. But you lift it, and buddy, you're in for the ride of your life."

That's one of the most useful quotes I've ever heard. I'm positive we would all live more fulfilling lives if not for fear. Stop for a second and count how many of your choices are influenced by fear. Not just the "big ticket" decisions, but the little ones, too.

Do you patronize the same restaurant or vacation spot because you fear you won't find another place as enjoyable? Do you pass off responsibility because you fear the consequences of making a poor decision? Have you ever given up on a dream or goal because you feared hard work may not pay off? Ever thought of asking someone out, but didn't because you were scared they might say no?

Now, I'm not saying fear isn't helpful sometimes. I fear bears. Therefore, I'm not going to climb into the bear exhibit at the zoo. So, fear can be good. But when we apply it to everything else, it's just a drag. And we all do it. Every single one of us. We make decisions on where to eat, how to dress, where to work, who to vote for, and a lot more, based largely on fear. We almost never realize we're doing it.

I'm as bad as anyone else. I watch that movie, see Daniel conquer his fear and end up with the girl (Meryl Streep) in the end. I focus, for a few days, on not allowing fear to unnecessarily influence my choices. But I drift back into living the way most of us do. I just wish we could teach ourselves to not let that happen, before we get to Judgment City.

Epic night in Des Moines

2009-09-23T10:22:00.008-05:00

My tenth Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band show, on Monday in Des Moines, unseated April's Denver show from the top of my concert rankings. Just hearing "Incident On 57th Street" live for the first time would've been enough for me. But the whole experience, from start to especially the finish, was epic…

• This was Rachel's fifth show, but the first she's experienced in the pit. Only 255 people showed up between 1 p.m. and 4 p.m. to enter the lottery for access to the area directly in front of the stage. (I've never seen fewer than 500 show up.) So, all of us got in. As you can see from the photos, we were 5-10 feet from the stage all night.

• I almost never say this about a concert venue. But kudos to the Wells Fargo Arena staff. Nice people all the way around. From the ticket takers to concessions to security.

• To those who wonder why anyone would see a performer ten times, here's my explanation. I could point to the value one gets for the money (this show went almost three hours without a break) or the fact that bands like this just don't come along very often. But the biggest reason is simply that every show is different. I don't just mean the crowd reaction is different or the songs are ordered differently. I mean I've heard at least two different songs at every show I've attended. In Des Moines, I heard four—"Satisfaction," "The Wanderer," "Into The Fire" and the aforementioned "Incident." (Granted, two of those were covers. But I can't tell you how cool it was to see that band play "The Wanderer.") In total, I've heard 70+ different songs at ten shows.

And for the cherry on top…

The show ended just after 11:15 p.m. and we decided to let traffic clear out before heading for the car. We saw a handful of people, most carrying Springsteen memorabilia, standing near a loading dock. So, we thought that must be where the band exits and we may as well catch a glimpse.

About 10 minutes later, an SUV creeps out, the window rolls down and there's Springsteen. (As total luck would have it, I purchased a tour poster as we left the arena. They sold out of them at the Denver show and I got the "display model" here after the guy in front of me bought the last of the main supply.) Springsteen motioned for the waiting throng to come on over and he started signing autographs.

I have to say it was a pleasure to see the lack of pushing, shoving and general poor behavior that I would've expected in this situation. I waited at the back of the group, fully expecting him to meet a few people, wave goodbye and be on his way. But, as the crowd thinned out, I thought, "Holy crap, I might actually meet the guy." Sure enough, my turn arrived. I think I thanked him for putting on a great show and I think he thanked me for coming to see it. All I'm sure about is he asked my name and I responded correctly, because my poster was signed "To Chris" when it was all over.

Others used their audience with The Boss to tell him how much his music affected them. But I'm afraid I didn't get to ask about his writing process or any other interesting subject. I figured the poor guy probably just wanted to get back to the hotel and go to sleep.

Frankly, I had the same thing in mind, after eight hours in downtown Des Moines. A long, epic day.

Kids should stay in school, right?

2009-09-05T15:27:00.014-05:00

In 1980, my first grade class held a mock presidential election. Ronald Reagan vs. Jimmy Carter. I voted for Reagan. There was an R next to his name, which I loved because my last name begins with that letter. And his name was in red, then my favorite color, so that sealed the deal. Little did I know I’d been indoctrinated.

At least, that’s what I think happened. Nearly 30 years later, I’ve learned those sneaky Republicans pulled one over one me and my classmates, tempting us with bright colors and a smiling candidate. They did the same thing in 1991, when President George H.W. Bush delivered a nationally televised speech about the importance of saying no to drugs. Now, the shifty Democrats have the same thing in mind, as President Obama plans to address the nation’s students on Tuesday. He intends to encourage young people to work hard and stay in school.

This speech, many parents, politicians and commentators have noted, is a potential travesty. As Oklahoma Sen. Steve Russell said, “It gives the appearance of creating a cult of personality…something you’d expect to see in North Korea or in Saddam Hussein’s Iraq.” Florida GOP chairman Jim Greer says, "The idea that school children across our nation will be forced to watch the president justify his plans ... is not only infuriating, but goes against beliefs of the majority of Americans, while bypassing American parents through an invasive abuse of power."

Timeout.

Is this really what our country’s going to be? I understand arguing about health care. (Though I’m starting to think most Americans don’t realize there are two houses of Congress.) I get the immigration debate. I can see sniping over social security. But, the president encouraging kids to stay in school, that’s a problem? Really?

Harris Mirkin, a political science professor at the University of Missouri-Kansas City, told The Kansas City Star, “It shows the polarization and suspicion. It’s basically saying the president of the United States isn’t a legitimate person to speak to kids.” I’ll take him one further. It shows the fear. A lot of Americans are paralyzed by fear. Fareed Zakaria, editor of Newsweek International, writes of the U.S. in “The Post-American World”: “It needs to stop cowering in fear. It is fear that has created a climate of paranoia and panic in the United States and fear that has enabled our strategic missteps…To recover its place in the world, America first has to recover its confidence.”

This blog isn’t about politics. I couldn’t give a flip whether you think President Obama walks on water or if you long for the return of President Bush. What I do care about is how scared everyone seems to be. It strikes me as quite irrational that some parents fear the president will “indoctrinate” their children on Tuesday. About 1.2 million students drop out of school each year. Let me say it again. More than one million students drop out annually.

If the president can “indoctrinate” our children with the idea that they should stay in school, I hope we'd applaud, regardless of our politics. Instead, people worry he'll try to slip something into the speech about health care reform, the auto bailout and who knows what else. (As if the nation's schoolchildren would listen to and/or care about those things.) Lots of Americans are scared, by a speech about staying in school.

And that’s kind of scary.

An open letter to my brother

2009-08-12T10:34:00.002-05:00

My brother, Cary, and I have a common problem. Neighbors. Cary's complaint is one I'd not heard. It seems one of his apartment neighbors doesn't use air conditioning. The heat from that person's dwelling travels to Cary's and makes it harder for him to cool his home.

Cary hopes owning a freestanding home will alleviate his trouble. I'm here to tell him it won't. If anything, home ownership leaves us more exposed to annoying neighbors. When renting, moving away from the bad apples isn't nearly as difficult as when you've got a mortgage.

We've owned two homes. Here are my Top 3 Most Annoying Neighbors:

3. (tie) The one who warms up his truck and the one with the chimney pulling away from the house.

The truck warmer-upper isn't a big problem for me, as I'm usually out of bed by 6 a.m. He's more of an issue for Rachel, especially when it's pleasant enough to sleep with open windows. The truck warmer-upper starts his vehicle up and lets it warm up for at least 20 minutes, no matter the time of year. Sometimes, he'll let it go for 45 minutes. This isn’t an F-150 we're talking about, but a diesel-powered beast. That poor engine just churns and churns.

The one with the chimney pulling away from the house was a classic. His chimney issue, he said, was the result of city drainage pipes. I never could understand the connection, but he insisted the city should buy his home. As he told me one night, "I might just move out and let a bunch of homeless people live here. We'll see what the city thinks about that." Apparently, the city didn't think much of that, because he and his family continued living there long after we moved. (That's not to mention the time that one of the children pointed a rifle gun at Rachel and said, "Pow." But that's another blog.)

2. The one with the car alarm.

This neighbor parks both of his cars outside. One of the vehicles, which I assume is equipped with an aftermarket alarm system, sounds its horn anytime there's a clap of thunder. So, during a thunderstorm, every thunder is followed with "honk-honk-honk-honk-honk-honk-honk." And it's not just thunder that does the trick. Even a passing motorcycle can trigger the alarm. Our bedroom overlooks their driveway, so we've awoke to the horn many times these past few years. (Most recently, the alarm sounded four times between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m. on Tuesday.) We've been over there to talk to them four times. Nothing changes.

1. The one with four dogs.

The City of Lenexa has an ordinance that restricts residents to two dogs per household. Of course, rules are made to have exceptions. For reasons that escape me, the city deems it acceptable for this neighbor to have four dogs. (And, no, they're not the quiet kind.) We've visited the home a half dozen times to ask them to reign in the noise. I won't recap every episode. I'll just share one example.

Earlier this year, we heard one of the dogs barking up a storm at about 7 p.m. Nothing unusual about that, as the dogs' owners often ignore their barking for 30-45 minutes at a time. The racket went on for an hour before I went outside to investigate. The dog was on the deck, the house pitch black. So, I went back inside and called the neighbor. No answer. Fast forward to 10 p.m. The dog's been barking for more than three hours. I go outside and find two other neighbors out on their decks. We all look at each other as if to say, "What now?" I go inside and call animal control. No answer. The dog's owner finally comes home just after 11 p.m. We call and basically ask, "What the hell?" He says, without a hint of apology, "We went out to dinner and didn't think we'd be gone as long as we were."

I wish I could say that's an isolated example. But we've called animal control about this home a dozen times over the years. Nothing changes.

So, Cary, there you have it. Home ownership has its advantages. But, unless you buy a Ted Turner-esque spread with plenty of acreage to protect your dwelling, there's no way to guarantee you won't live next to one of my all-time Top 3.

It all adds up

2009-08-09T16:48:00.002-05:00

Back in February, I wrote “Reveling in my cheapskatedness.” The gist of it was I’m the geek who pours over coupons and aims to save wherever and whenever possible. I’d decided in January that I’d quantify this year’s savings, to assure myself that thriftiness/frugalness/cheapskatedness is paying off.

Yesterday, I bought tickets to Bruce Springsteen’s October concert at the Sprint Center. And, in a moment of inspiration (or weakness, depending on how you look at it), I also purchased a pair to his St. Louis show, which takes place the night before the KC concert. Given this budget-busting moment, I think today is as good a day as any to total up my year-to-date savings.

Through July, grocery, restaurant and other coupons had saved me a total of $869.41. Store savings (basic sales, special “club” pricing, etc.) totaled another $923.11. The grand savings total is $1792.52. Now I don’t feel so bad about going overboard on Springsteen tickets. Come to think of it, I could go to seven more of his shows and still come out ahead. Now, that’s a nice thought.

One down...

2009-07-27T14:10:00.001-05:00

On Wednesday, I'll finish my first "year" of graduate school. Meaning I've completed fall, spring and summer semesters. I'll have knocked out 12 of the 36 hours required for a marketing communications degree from KU.

I distinctly recall telling myself several times during my last semester as an undergrad, way back in 1996, that I would never, ever go back to school. Seventeen years of school was enough. Or so I thought. Imagine how surprised I was a few years back when I found myself looking forward to cracking open the books again. I think, as we get older, we all have a greater appreciation for learning. Maybe it doesn't manifest itself in a return to school. But don't you find yourself more interested in things as years pass? Maybe you linger a bit longer in museums you raced through as a kid. Or perhaps the evening news ceases to be background noise and instead is something to focus on.

Anyway, I find myself far more focused on school now than I was in high school and college. It helps that most assignments and projects are related to my company or companies I'm interested in. For example, Crown Center was the subject of most of last semester's Marketing Research assignments. This semester, in Writing for Marketing Communications, I've used Crown Center and Brooks (the running shoe company) as project topics. (I won't say anything about the fall semester's dog food project, other than grrrrr.)

Unfortunately, I only get a three week break before the fall semester revs up. But I'm looking forward to the class—Financial Fundamentals for Communicators. Prime example of how I've changed since my undergrad days. Back then, I'd have run at the first sign of a financial class. Now, I know it's something that will help me do my job better. And I'm just more interested in investor relations, budgets and financial markets than I was as a 20-year-old.

One year down, two to go.

Turning back the clock

2009-07-18T20:45:00.003-05:00

It’s Saturday night and 59-year-old Tom Watson is (I hope) enjoying sweet dreams in Turnberry, Scotland. Tomorrow, he’ll try to become the oldest person to win a major golf championship.

I’d be taken with this story regardless of where I lived. But it’s especially compelling to me as someone who shares Watson’s hometown. I’ve followed his career since I was old enough to read a sports page. My dad’s roofing company even worked on Watson’s house. He’s beloved here for his fabulous career, his longtime support of Children’s Mercy Hospital and his reputation as a decent guy.

Not far from Scotland, another amazing sports story unfolds. Lance Armstrong is in the hunt for an eighth Tour de France victory. It wasn’t enough that he win the Tour after beating cancer. It wasn’t enough to win it seven straight times. Now, he’s trying to win it at 37 years old.

As I get older, I’m ever more amazed by the power of athletics to uplift the spirit. Who can say how many people around the world are inspired tonight by Tom Watson? And how about Armstrong, whose image has helped raised millions of dollars for cancer research. Think about that. A man who rides a bike faster than most is able to stimulate such an outpouring.

I shake my head when I hear of local television news stations cutting newscast time allotted to sports, or cutting the sports department entirely. Because stories like Watson’s and Armstrong’s happen in towns all over the country. I know it because I once seeked those stories out as a local sportscaster. I hate knowing they may not be reported, that they might not have the chance to inspire.

Tomorrow, I’m going to get up at the crack of dawn and bike a bit. (Frankly, I’m not sure I ever would’ve started biking if it weren’t for Lance Armstrong.) Then, I’m going to plop down on the couch and watch Armstrong ride from Pontarlier to Verbier. And I’ll stay on that couch to see if Watson can win his most improbable major yet.

I don’t know if either man will be able to will their aging bodies to victory. But I do know I’ll be inspired as I watch them try.

Sweating it out

2009-07-11T15:15:00.004-05:00

Thoughts while longing for a return to the Rockies…

Great trip to Colorado for the Independence Day weekend. After spending a few days with Candice, Roland and the girls, we returned to Lenexa via a southern route that took us through Dodge City and Hutchinson. It took a bit longer, but we got to see parts of Kansas I think every Kansan ought to see at some point. Highlights: the Kansas Cosmosphere, Braum’s (as always, great food with crappy service) and E Street Radio on Sirius.

The warm, humid weather has really knocked me on my butt this week. As I’ve sweat my way through bike riding the past few days, it’s occurred to me that I never once had to squeeze sweat from my helmet while riding in Colorado. The weather there was just perfect. One can see why so many Coloradoans are out running, biking or just enjoying the outdoors. Humidity seems to take a greater toll on me each year. It’s like kryptonite to my running. And it wreaks almost as much havoc on me while biking.

I’ve spent far too much time zoning out on Tour de France coverage. It makes no sense. I do envy the people lining the course, though. To be lounging in the Pyrenees, waiting for the peleton to fly past…

Bikes, streaks and fathers

2009-06-21T15:31:00.004-05:00

Thoughts while hobbling through this morning’s 16 miles…

Minor Victory

Those who know me well know I’m not mechanically inclined. Whatever gene accounts for that ability got lost between my dad and me. So it’s with great pride that I tell you my two bicycles are sitting in the garage with clean chains and cassettes. It’s a minor job for most cyclists to disassemble the chain and rear wheel cassette, clean them and put everything back together. But it takes me the better part of a weekend. That said, it’s done, no blood was shed and only a few expletives were uttered.

Streaks

I don’t know when I became beholden to streaks. Maybe from my boyhood love for baseball and the requisite admiration for hitting streaks and the like? Or the schooltime awards for perfect attendance? Wherever and whenever streaks took hold in me, they are not at all good for my running. Earlier this year, I ran on 125 consecutive days. (Barely worth a mention. I’ve run every day for a year before, in high school. And the current record streak, held by Mark Covert, is nearing 41 years.)

But was anything gained by running on 125 straight days? Wouldn’t my body have benefited from a day or two off during that time? The answer is yes. Absolutely, yes. Still, the streak takes hold of me.

So it’s with great pride that I tell you I will not be running until Saturday. I’m taking five days off. With that, a streak will end. I’ve run a total of at least 60 miles every week since the first of April. That’s twelve consecutive weeks.

This streak has been great for my fitness. But Saturday’s hilly races beat me up. And I’ve been training with a strained soleus for two weeks. Who does that? Seriously, who trains with a strained soleus? Me, that’s who. For a streak.

No running for five days. (I’ll bike instead.)

Father's Day

I wrote re c ently of how fortunate I’ve been to know each of my grandparents well. Similar thoughts have occupied my mind on this Father’s Day. My three grandfathers were very different people. But each taught something important in his own way.

Papa Gasparovich, my mother’s father, was this big man who always seemed to be nodding off. We children didn’t know that was likely a side effect of a multitude of medications. But he always treated me so well.

Papa Boutross, my mother’s stepfather, was also a big man. (More wide than tall.) And, as I learned long after his death, he had shortcomings from which the grandchildren were blissfully ignorant. There was a time when I dreaded being around him because he would tease me mercilessly, mostly for my devotion to Nana Boutross. But there came a time, I was probably 11 or 12, when we began to connect. We’d drive to the now defunct Ak-Sar-Ben in Omaha to watch the horse races. He’d let me place $2 bets on 60-1 shots. And then he’d let me take the wheel during the journey home on I-29. (It was then that I learned not to stay in the left lane, unless passing.) I was a high school sophomore when cancer took him.

Grandpa Ronan, my father’s father, is the kind of person I’d like to think we all get to know at some time. Sure, he’s cantankerous. Most people are at 88 years old. (Though some may argue his disposition has been consistent for most of those 88 years.) But he and my grandmother turned out seven decent kids. So he must have done something right. I can sum up my experience with Grandpa Ronan with one memory…

There’s a video recording of my State 3200M track race at the end of my junior year of high school. My dad is holding the camera. Grandpa is sitting next to him. I led the race by more than 100 meters with a lap to go. Dad says, “Looks like he’s got this one in the bag.” To which Grandpa replies, “Well, it’s not over yet.” And just when you’re thinking he might be a bit of a heartless you-know-what for not having more confidence in his grandson, you can hear him cheering wildly during the last minute of the race.

And then there’s my own dad. I am not overstating it to say that everything I am has in some way been influenced by my dad. Everything I learned about work ethic, which has fueled my ambition in school, running, my career and, well, everything, comes from watching him come home with splintered hands after long days roofing houses.

I have friends whose parents are their best friends. And that’s admirable, even enviable. But I’ve done pretty well, too. My dad gave me a safe place to live, sent me to a great high school, put me through college and basically gave me all the tools I needed to create a good life for myself. I’d say he did alright.

Singing in the rain? Try running in it

2009-06-16T08:08:00.002-05:00

I love running in the rain. Always have. Might have something to do with it being a rainy day when I discovered I had a talent for covering long distances in a short amount of time.

Spring of 1988, 8th grade. The mile run. This was essentially our PE class final exam. Track season had ended just a few days before. I don't remember much about that season, except I'd run well enough to win a few medals. But I couldn't run a mile in less than 5 minutes, 30 seconds. And I was only the second or third best miler on a team that didn't have a particularly impressive distance group.

Blue Valley Middle School sat what couldn't have been more than a half mile from a convenience store. Might have been a Quik Trip. Our daily distance workout consisted of jogging to that store, buying a soda, drinking the soda, and jogging back. The track/football coach, Mr. Porter, never paid much heed to where we went, so long as we didn't bother him.

Ironically, I got a much more intense workout during daily PE class. We'd run laps around the perimeter of the school and, not knowing any better, I'd turn every day's run into a race. Come to think of it, it's probably a good thing I wasn't running any harder at track practice, given how hard I'd already run during PE class.

Anyway, back to our final exam, the mile run. It's one of the few memories from that time of my life that doesn't involve humiliation. Cloudy morning. Rain spitting from the sky, but not hard enough to send us back inside. There must have been 30 of us amassed in a gobblygook on the track.

But I don't remember what anyone else did that day. The teacher yelled, "Go!" and I took off. And I hope I never forget how the next few minutes felt. It was as if I was empowered by the cool sprinkles. Between the rain and the concentration I devoted to navigating the maze of lapped runners/walkers, I just didn't have time to think about being tired. The four laps went by in a blur. And I'm not sure I'd remember my finishing time if Omar Davis hadn't signed my yearbook, "I can't believe you ran the mile in 5:11! Have a good summer."

I have lots of other rainy running memories. Like my college 1500M PR, run in light mist at the University of Minnesota, when I and three of my KU teammates finished behind Olympian Steve Holman. Or the many training runs where a steady downpour could turn an otherwise forgettable eight miles into an hour of play.

And so here we are on June 16, another rainy morning. I sit in the living room at 5 a.m., trying to convince myself to head out to the wet streets. But while I do love running in the rain, lightning is another matter. The creation of a new rainy running memory will have to wait.

Dr. Bob Frederick

2009-06-13T20:03:00.002-05:00

Dr. Bob Frederick passed away Friday after sustaining massive head trauma as the result of a bicycle accident in Lawrence the previous day. Many fitting tributes have been written (and will continue to be written) about Dr. Frederick. In this age of seemingly rampant CEO corruption, he was the antithesis of greed.

Dr. Frederick was the athletic director at KU during my time as a student-athlete, as well as during my media career. Without exception he treated me with kindness and respect in every dealing I ever had with him. Just a really solid person and administrator.

I wish there were more Dr. Bob’s out there.

God bless the cashiers

2009-06-12T16:50:00.001-05:00

I stopped at the grocery store on the way home from work today. After collecting a few needed items, I stepped up to one of the checkout lanes where there appeared to be no wait. Alas, a customer had ventured back to one of the aisles to hunt down what they’d forgotten.

No big deal, I could spare a few moments. Especially because lying next to the cash register was a box of Fat-Free Nabisco Crackers. I had to know why it was sitting there unscanned. I got my answer when the cashier said into his phone, “She’s wanting to know if she can get the Nabisco crackers instead of Keebler. She can’t? Okay, I’ll tell her.”

It turns out the store had a special sale on Keebler crackers. But it seems Keebler either doesn’t produce a fat-free cracker or else doesn’t have a fat-free version this customer liked. So she assumed she could substitute another manufacturer’s fat-free cracker for the sale price.

Sort of like if you went to a car lot where Honda vehicles were discounted. But you didn’t like any of the Hondas. So you picked out a Porsche and assumed you’d get it at the Honda price. (Maybe not a perfect analogy, but you get the idea.)

Well, let me tell you, she did not like what she heard. She let the cashier and everyone around her know about it, too. We all looked at her like she was an alien, which she may well have been. Even her husband stood about 10 feet away and acted like he didn’t know her. (Only when he joined her as they walked out could one know they were acquainted.)

I’m not sure what the point of the story is. Maybe it’s just to suggest we don’t check our manners at the door when we enter a store, restaurant or other place of business. Just because we’re gracing the premises with money doesn’t mean we’re allowed to do or say whatever we like. You know, the whole “Do unto others…” thing. A dose of the Golden Rule sure would’ve made that cashier’s day go a whole lot smoother.

Sweet Justice!

2009-06-01T07:48:00.001-05:00

A great thing happened Saturday evening.

We were coming home from church, driving south on I-35 near Lamar. I looked in the rearview mirror to see a large red truck, operated by a gentleman and his cell phone, had positioned itself inches from our bumper. We were going 65 in a 60 mph zone, in the middle of three lanes, so I didn't feel any duty to speed up.

The man swerved his truck to the right lane, gunned the engine and briefly tailgated a car in that lane. His frustration mounting, he swerved back to his position behind me, then quickly into the left lane, where he sped away.

I turned to Rachel and said, "Wouldn't it be great if he's so distracted by that cell phone that he speeds past the state trooper who got on I-35 in front of us a few miles back?"

And so we watched as the red truck cruised south on I-35. And we saw the state trooper driving in the left lane about a half-mile ahead. And wouldn't you know it, that red truck sped right past him. And…wait for it…

Those familiar red lights began flashing. The trooper pulled behind the red truck. Both vehicles veered to the side of the road. And as we passed by, I slowed slightly, rolled down the window and saluted Kansas' finest with a big thumbs up. Sweet justice!

Buses, bikes and thanks

2009-05-26T19:40:00.003-05:00

Thoughts while enjoying a very quiet evening at home…

• Took the bus most of the way home tonight, then jogged the remaining few miles. I brought an MP3 player and headphones along to listen to on the bus. So I figured I’d leave them on while running. I never run with headphones and today reminded me of why. They altered the running experience to the point that it was almost completely unfamiliar. I didn’t have a full sense of what was going on around me. I wasn’t dialed in to my breathing, stride or much else going on with my body. All in all, the music was just a big distraction. I’ll stick with running the old fashioned way.

• A young man was killed while riding his bicycle to work this morning. He was riding northbound on I29/35 just south of Front Street when a semi-tractor trailer hit him. Early indications are that the cyclist was riding where he shouldn't and the driver couldn't have avoided the accident.

Posters to the KC Star’s comments section of the story will inevitably hide behind anonymity to spew hate about how this is another example of why bikes shouldn’t be on the road. Wrong. This is an example of two things. First, some bicyclists ride where they shouldn’t. Cycling on the interstate is illegal. Not only that, but it was 4:30 a.m., dark and raining. Second, Kansas City hasn’t done many favors for people who don’t drive cars. I’m guessing anyone riding a bide on the interstate at any time of day isn’t doing it by choice. He simply had to get from one side of the river to the other and that bridge was his only way. Despite that, the Missouri Department of Transportation designed the currently under construction Christopher S. Bond Bridge without a pedestrian/bicycle lane. Brilliant.

• Our church, St. Pius X in Mission, always pays tribute to veterans on Memorial Day weekend. And Father Ken Kelly always makes a particular comment when recognizing veterans of World War II: “Thank you for saving our lives.” Each year, when he makes that comment, I think of people like my grandfather, who served his country in the war and in the Battle of the Bulge. Could they have possibly known then what their service and sacrifice would mean to us and to the world?

Simply put, if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be here now enjoying a very quiet evening in Lenexa, Kansas.

Inez Mae Ronan

2009-05-16T14:20:00.004-05:00

Our grandmother passed away on Thursday. She wasn’t one to waste words, so I’ll pay tribute by keeping this short.

Several years ago, I spent some time working on a family tree project. I interviewed many family members, including Grandma. Those who know her won’t be surprised to hear I didn’t get much out of her. She was quiet. But she was also one of the stronger people I’ve had the benefit to know. She raised seven children, who all turned out to be decent people. She was married 67 years, an achievement remarkable to anyone familiar with Grandpa’s orneriness.

I'm aware of how fortunate I’ve been to grow up knowing each of my grandparents. Nearly all of them said something to me at one time or another that’s stuck with me. Grandma was different in that she taught me something important by not saying anything at all. More specifically, to not talk unless you have something worth saying. Because that's how she operated, when Grandma talked, people listened.

She’ll be missed.

Close encounters with the canine kind

2009-05-10T13:27:00.002-05:00

I mixed it up a bit and ran a route that took me from Crown Center back home this morning. Bike To Work Week is coming up. So I loaded up the car with a week’s worth of clothes, dropped it off at CC and ran back.

I was hoofing it down Gillham Road at about 40th Street when I heard the familiar jingle of dog tags behind me. Turned and saw a dog racing toward me, drool glistening from its mouth. It started barking when I turned to see it. Those who know me and are aware of my bravery won’t be surprised to hear that I jumped in the back of an F-150 that was parked on the street. (I’m not sure what made me think the dog couldn’t have jumped right in there with me if it wanted to.)

As the snarling dog crouched in front of the truck in what appeared to be “I’m about to eat you” position, I heard a female voice say, “Oh, he won’t bite.” The woman was standing at the closest house, sucking down a cancer stick. I replied, “I’m not sure how I could have known that.”

She walked over, grabbed the dog by the collar and led it back to the house. (It was then that I noticed her other dog tied to a tree.)

I tell this story to bring up a few points:

• I am a very tough and brave person.

• Unless I know you and your dog, I have no idea whether your dog is good, bad or indifferent. I don’t know if it will bite. I don’t know if it will jump on me. I don’t know anything about it.

• What I do know is that I’ve been bitten, knocked over and otherwise bothered by several dogs over the years. In each and every case, the owner said something to the effect of, “I can’t believe he/she did that!” Well, maybe it’s because the dog saw something running and that triggered one of any number of instincts….fear, aggression, playfulness….who knows.

For whatever reason, lots of people believe they and their dogs are exempt from leash laws. I’ve never understood why. I see loose dogs on at least half of my weekly runs. One time I was running down Johnson Drive during rush hour and a dog ran at me from across the street, causing several approaching cars to slam their brakes to avoid it. In that case, the dog just wanted to play and I stood with it until its jogger owner crossed over to retrieve it.

Bottom line, please leash the dogs. I’d love it if you did it because you cared about my well being. But if that doesn’t do anything for you, then do it for your dog’s.

Thoughts On The Run

2009-05-03T20:16:00.009-05:00

Thoughts during today’s run…

• The Killers concert at Sandstone was pretty good. Didn’t think they quite reached the level of the Boulder and Denver shows we saw, but still a fun night. Note to self: don’t be stupid enough to take the I-70 route to Sandstone again…24/40 all the way.

• Really hoping “Chuck” gets picked up for a third season. Fun show. Fun actors. And Yvonne Strahovski is a credit to the great country of Australia.

• 30,000+ Americans die each year from the “regular” flu. That doesn’t stop us from flying, taking the train, shaking hands or anything else. Put the word “swine” in front of “flu” and everything changes. We’re a nation of panickers.

• Top “Shaft” movies:

1. "Shaft"
2. "Shaft"(2000 remake)
3. "Shaft’s Big Score!"
4. "Shaft in Africa"

(The 1973-74 TV series was an abomination .)

• Best 80s movie featuring a “Chuck” NSA agent: Has to be “My Bodyguard,” Adam Baldwin’s first movie. Also featured Matt Dillon (three years before “Outsiders”), Jennifer Beals and Joan Cusack.

• Has grocery shopping become such a strenuous exercise that a Starbucks is mandatory for tooling around the store? Those things are more hazardous to shopping cart operation than cell phones are to car operation. (And watch out when a Starbucks, cell phone and shopping cart are mixed.)

• Best Adam Baldwin quote from “My Bodyguard”: “Poor little guy... poor little guy.”

• How did “Caddyshack II” ever see the light of day?

On the road again...and again.

2009-04-28T13:46:00.002-05:00

A classic novel you've likely never heard of was reissued this month. John L. Parker Jr.'s "Once A Runner" was first published in 1978. Whenever someone asks me why I run, what running does for me, or anything in that vein, I direct them to "Once A Runner." It answers those questions in ways I never could.

The problem, until this month, is "Once A Runner" was almost impossible to locate. It was reprinted a few times over the years, but was generally only found on eBay (for upwards of $200) or in too few public libraries. (My autographed copy is currently in the hands of a friend, if his baby girl hasn't eaten it yet.)

Anyway, I was thinking about the book on Sunday morning. It was one of those mornings when I really wasn't sure I wanted to go out to run. It'd been pouring rain all night and while the downpour had lessened to a sprinkle, it looked like it could start gushing again at any time. And I was a bit sore from Saturday's 5K race. But when you've been running as long as I have, you tend to find those kind of mornings can turn into the best kind. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've stayed in on a morning like that. So off I went.

As has happened so many times before, it turned into a special run. The weather had scared everyone else into staying inside, so I had the roads and trails to myself. The race soreness faded away and I settled into the kind of groove that makes me love running so much. Here's what happens during those grooves...

Time and distance don't seem to matter. Both simply pass by without much thought. Nothing hurts. You breathe the same way you would while walking down a grocery store aisle. It all seems absolutely effortless. You can only hope you don't notice the groove. Because once you notice it, you start wondering when it will go away. It almost always goes away.

And that brings me to how running is a lot like golf. The average golfer hits a lot of balls into the rough, the sand, the water, even neighboring homes. It's so frustrating that a lot of golfers quit. The ones who keep at it do so because every so often you hit the perfect shot. It feels so good that you can't wait to do it again. So you persist through the sand balls and the water balls and the house balls. All because there's a chance the next shot will be THE shot.

That's how running is for me. I have days where it's a major chore to complete just a few miles. On those days I can't help wondering why in the world I do it. I have other days where running isn't spectacular, but it's a fine way to fritter an hour away. And then I have those special days when the groove happens. And it's a feeling you wish you could bottle up because everyone in the world would want to buy it. That's what Sunday was like.

Of course, Monday's run was average. Today's run was just so-so. But there's always the chance tomorrow will be special. And that's one of the reasons I run.

Facebook and a friendship's new chapter

2009-04-20T08:14:00.004-05:00

The Internet can be a wonderful thing. I was reminded of this today when Justin Brown entered the realm of Facebook. Justin's presence on Facebook marks the latest chapter in our mostly online friendship, which dates back to the relatively early days of the Internet.

It was the late 90s and I was living in Lawrence, working as the Sports Director at Sunflower Cablevision. Many of you know I've dabbled in autograph collecting at times during my 35 years. One day, while perusing a message board dedicated to autographs, I began a back-and-forth with someone who, like me, collected the signatures of great track and field athletes. (The list of such collectors is short, but distinguished.)

I eventually learned that my fellow collector lived in Geelong, Australia, with his wife and son. Our dialogue began simply with the sharing of collecting tips and the trading of autographs. It moved to the occasional life updates and, I'm happy to say, was highlighted in 2005 when Justin and Michelle made Kansas City one of their stops on a whirlwind trip to the United States. Rachel and I reciprocated later that year with our maiden voyage Down Under, which included a few days in Melbourne and a visit to the Brown home in Geelong.

Justin and I have seen each other less than a week during our 10+ year friendship. But I've been able to observe his love of cricket and his obsession with the Melbourne Demons. (Yes, Justin loves the Melbourne AFL team even though there's one in Geelong.) I've met his family and shared the joy when he, Michelle and Brandon welcomed a new family member, Renee. (And another on the way this year!) And he's shared the highlights and lowlights of my life, too.

How else could all this have happened, if not for the Internet?

We can do lots of great things online now—from banking and shopping to YouTube and Twitter. But nothing beats the creation of a friendship, 10+ years long and going strong. Welcome to Facebook, Justin.

Random thoughts from the Arizona getaway...

2009-04-07T10:00:00.004-05:00

Phoenix traffic can be horrible. We Kansas Citians don't realize what a blessing it can be to have so many highway options.

The Royals can be horrible. Man, they looked bad against the Rangers. But it was easy to overlook that when the sky was blue, temperature was near 80 and you're sitting 5 rows from the dugout. That said, there should be a law against funnel cakes costing $6.

Every vacation should include time to just do nothing.

Sedona is like Manitou Springs, CO on steroids.

What a great place for running in April. (June/July/August/etc., not so much.)

If you're ever in Scottsdale and think it'd be nice to visit Taliesin West, one of Frank Lloyd Wright's homes, bring your wallet. You can't go in without going on a tour…and a tour costs a minimum of $27.

Kudos to Valle Luna restaurant in Scottsdale…and to Cary for recommending it.

Thoughts during the Springsteen show:

#8 show I've seen…and I'd probably rate it 8th out of the 8. It was a great concert, just not as great as the other seven. Only the second show of the tour, so saw a few more screw-ups than I'm used to.

Updated concert rankings (in order): Kansas City, Houston, Dublin #2, Omaha, St. Paul, Dublin #1, Dallas, Phoenix

Kind of weird to see "Badlands" open the show.

Lots of stuff from the new album—"Outlaw Pete," "My Lucky Day" and "Kingdom of Days" were great.

There should be a law against a bag of roasted nuts costing $7.50.

Clarence is showing his age...but the big man looked great dancing during "Out In The Street," whistling during "Working On A Dream" and hitting all the big notes when he had to.

Does any song really need two tambourines? ("Because The Night")

Two new backup singers for this tour…that means 12 people on stage.

I could do with "American Land" leaving the setlist…but it was great to finally hear "Land of Hope and Dreams" live.

Can't wait for the Denver show (Good Friday)

First impressions, second chances

2009-03-19T15:36:00.005-05:00

Former Iowa State basketball player Paul Shirley writes a fun blog for ESPN.com. The subject is often music. A few weeks back, he wrote about how he decided to listen to a CD several times (seems it was seven) before making a final determination on the CD's worthiness.

It's a great idea, though unrealistic for the average person who can't spare the time (or effort) to re-listen to a CD that initially doesn't seem all that great.

I thought about Shirley's blog while listening to the latest albums by Bruce Springsteen and U2. Each of them seemed, at best, average on the first listen. But I stayed with them, thinking surely I was missing something. Turns out I was. Now that I've spent some time with each CD, I really enjoy them both.

Springsteen's "Working On A Dream" follows last year's "Magic." He hasn't made consecutive records this quickly in a long time, leading many people to feel The Boss sacrificed quality for speed. WOAD certainly is a departure from Springsteen's recent work. "The Rising" was heavily influenced by 9/11, while "Magic" is Springsteen's response to the George W. Bush presidency. WOAD isn't quite as deep as either of those. Songs like "Surprise, Surprise," "Kingdom of Days," "My Lucky Day" and "This Life" find The Boss in a celebratory mood, which I found to be a nice departure from the tone of his previous two albums.

That's not to say WOAD doesn't have some meat to it. "The Last Carnival" is a moving tribute to Danny Federici, the E Street Band member who died of complications from melanoma last year. And "The Wrestler," which won a Golden Globe, but somehow didn't get an Oscar nomination, is a great tune as well.

While Springsteen has been producing work at a rapid pace, U2's "No Line On The Horizon" is their first album in nearly five years. Again, I wasn't wild about the first listen. But I'm appreciating it more and more. I dig Edge's work on "Magnificent." I like the whole feel of "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight," which is the song we heard live at the Letterman show. And Adam Clayton's bass on "Moment of Surrender" is addictive.

Of course, there are certain artists who've earned repeated listens from me. Springsteen and U2 top that list. But I'd like to think I'll take the time to give other artists more of a break in the future. Because you never know what you'll miss on that first listen.

Hanging out with Letterman and U2...sort of

2009-03-16T17:35:00.008-05:00

I love to plan vacations almost as much as I love the vacations themselves. But sometimes the best trips are the ones you don't have time to think about beforehand.

Three weeks ago I got a call from John at The Late Show with David Letterman. Several weeks earlier I'd heard that U2 would be Letterman's musical guest every night for the week of March 2, in conjunction with the release of their new album. So I went to The Late Show Web site and put in a ticket request.

I've put in a Letterman ticket request every time I've been to New York. And my name has never been picked. So imagine my surprise when John asked if I was still interested in tickets for March 4. "Oh, absolutely," I said. John asks, "So you're going to be in New York next week?" "Oh, absolutely," I said. (I could always figure out later just how realistic the trip would be.)

As is protocol for The Late Show, John had to ask me a trivia question about the show before guaranteeing the tickets. This worried me, as I don't watch the show as much as I used to. He says, "There's a bit we had on the show for many years, but stopped doing recently. I'm going to give you the title and leave out a word. You just have to tell me the word." Again, don't watch the show much. And, at that moment, I couldn't recall a single one of the bits. He continues, "Great moments in BLANK speeches."

Truly, this is the only bit I could possibly have named, other than the Top Ten list. The answer was "Presidential." And I had my tickets.

It was hard to keep my mind on class that night as I looked forward to getting home and seeing if the airfare and hotel costs would be reasonable enough for this trip to happen. And I was very surprised to find the rates were pretty darn cheap, even just a week out.

We sweated the weather forecasts for the next few days, especially the period when NYC got almost a foot of snow. But it had all cleared up by March 4 and we flew out that morning. The flight was flawless and, after a bit of an annoying cab ride (thanks to some awful Midtown Tunnel traffic), we were at the hotel by noon. (If you're ever traveling to NYC, I've had great luck with the Hampton Inn at 51st and 8th. It's been our NYC base the past three trips.)

We didn't have to pick up tickets at the Ed Sullivan Theatre until 2 p.m. So we took the advice of Will DiMartino, a native New Yorker who now forms a great KC photography team with his wife, Jill, and had lunch at Zen Palate at 46th and 9th. I don't eat meat during Lent, so I'd asked Will for some good NYC vegetarian options. He was right on the money with Zen Palate...one of the best veggie burgers I've ever had, along with some tasty sweet potato fries.

From there, we booked it over to the theatre. A crowd had gathered on the south side of the building, awaiting U2's arrival. We stood (and froze...no sun) out there for several minutes, before heading to the front of the building to wait in line with the other lucky ticket winners. They opened the doors at precisely 2 p.m. and we shuffled inside to have our IDs checked.

I'd read somewhere that the more enthusiastic you appear, the more likely you might get better seats. Now, anyone who knows me knows I'm not typically an outwardly enthusiastic person. But believe me when I say I was off the charts enthusiastic between 2 p.m. and 2:30 p.m. The staffer at the head of our line, after pulling out our two tickets, asked if we were excited to be there ("Of course!!" and if we had a favorite bit on the show ("Great Moments in Presidential Speeches...what a bummer Dave doesn't do it anymore. Oh, and by the way, we came all the way from Kansas City for this!" before saying, "You guys look like you're ready to have fun today. So I'm going to do you a favor." She applied a small sticker to each of our tickets and told us to go meet another staffer on the other side of the room.

So off we went, along with a handful of other folks, whom I can only assume were just as enthusiastic as we were. This staffer tells us that we must have caught the eye of the line staffers, because we'd been picked to be among those seated in the first few rows of the theatre. Success! We just had to come back and meet our group at 3:15.

We bounced across the street to a deli, mostly to warm up for a few minutes, and then made our way back to the theatre. The "select" group turned out to be 75-100 people (the theatre holds 400 or so for Letterman's show) and, upon meeting at 3:15, we were led inside the lobby of the Ed Sullivan Theatre. We lined up and the next 20-30 minutes were spent being entertained by one of the staffers, whose job it was to get us suitably pumped up for the show. The kicker was we could hear U2 sound checking in the theatre and no one in our group was paying attention!

Sometime around 3:45, we were led into the theatre. They filled up the first and second rows of the center section, then directed us to the second row of the right section (stage left.) We were lined up with a direct view of Letterman's desk. A warm-up comedian came out and explained a bit about how the show would work, told a few jokes, then introduced the house band. They played for several minutes, while we clapped along. Then Paul Shaffer came out and they played a bit more. At about 4:25, Letterman came on stage, sans jacket, said hello and took a few questions from the audience. Now, I was thinking the show didn't begin until 5 p.m. So imagine my surprise when I saw a camera guy counting down. When he got to 1, Letterman walked briskly to the back of the stage, out of sight, and the band started playing the intro music. Guess the show starts at 4:30!

I won't go into all the detail about the show. Letterman came out and did his monologue. U2 came out and did the Top 10 list, which was hilarious. Dr. Phil McGraw was the guest. He turned out to be funnier than I expected. The show moved along in real time until about 5:20. They took a bit of extra time to set up U2's equipment. Then the band came out and did "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight" from the new album. It was, of course, excellent.

And that was it. The lights came up and we filed out.

The rest of the trip may seem ho-hum by comparison to that first afternoon. But we got to do and see a lot of things that we'd missed on our previous trips. Saw two shows ("Jersey Boys" and "August: Osage County," both excellent), got out to Brooklyn and walked the bridge, saw the American Museum of Natural History and the New York City Police Museum, walked through Central Park (and I ran around it several times), dined at some great places and, all in all, had a great time.

Already looking forward to planning the next trip...

What a piece of trash

2009-02-20T15:13:00.003-06:00

Barbara Shelly wrote an interesting column in today's Kansas City Star. "Enthusiasm For Talking Trash Can't Be Curbed" focuses mostly on Kansas City's two-bag rule for garbage. We don't have any such limits in Lenexa, Kan., though the subject has been brought up in recent months by Deffenbaugh, Lenexa's main trash service provider.

Anyway, Barb opens the column with this: "I'll admit it. I enjoy checking out my neighbors' garbage." She mentions how a nearby family of eight puts out one large bag each week, while a family of four would put out five to six bags, paying for stickers to cover the excess beyond the two allowable bags.

Like Barb, I'm more interested in my neighbors' trash habits than I probably should be. Most of our neighborhood seems to do pretty well with keeping trash to a minimum. And I'm seeing more and more folks putting out recycling bins each week.

I guess I see trash and recycling in the same way I see grocery savings…it's a sport. The less trash and more recycling I have, the better my score. So we've done the newspaper recycling thing forever and have added other recyclables as the years have progressed.

We stepped it up a notch this year and refrained from pitching any leaves during the fall. Instead, we mulched them up and started a pile in the backyard where Rachel gardens. So rather than tossing 6-12 bags of leaves to the curb each week during the fall, we've got a pile that's slowly turning to compost. It's been pretty fun to watch. I go out there and turn the pile once or twice a week and get to see the bottom of the pile decomposing just a bit more each time.

Our next step was the compost bin. We got one a few months ago and use it for banana peels, apple cores, shredded paper and the like. Again, cool thing to watch. We just toss stuff in there a few times a week, turn the bin and let nature take its course.

The landfills are filling up fast and the powers that be are going to make us start doing this kind of stuff sooner or later. I just figure we may as well get a head start.

Reveling in my cheapskatedness

2009-02-10T10:41:00.002-06:00

thrifty, adj. frugal, saving; sparing; economical; foresighted; provident.

I was a bit surprised to not see "cheapskate" in my thesaurus or dictionary. Instead, I found kind words, like those listed above. No one has ever directed those pleasant words at me. But I've most certainly been called a cheapskate, by no less a dignitary than my wife.

It's a label I wear with pride. That's not to suggest I'm "frugal" or "sparing" in all areas of my life. I simply choose to be "sparing" and "economical" in some areas to finance my interest in other areas.

Until recently, I did not take the time to quantify my "economical" methods. That changed on January 1. I resolved to keep a detailed monthly record of my favorite area of savings: groceries.

See, grocery shopping is like a sport to me. Much like a marathon, when it comes to shopping, I study, plan and execute to achieve specific goals. The grocery ads appear in Wednesday's newspaper and I lay them out like a general mapping a battlefield. I look for matches between my coupon collection and the weekly specials. On Saturday, I attack.

Yes, I'm the nerd who cuts coupons every Sunday. I'm the geek standing in the aisle, doing coupon math in his head. I'm the dork who hands the cashier a stack of coupons at checkout.

Ah, but the results of my quest...

During the month of January, I realized total grocery savings of $198.95. That's $83.75 in coupons and $115.20 in advertised specials.

Are there trade-offs? Absolutely. I purchase very few things that aren't on sale. (Milk and bananas are the only things that immediately come to mind.) So if chicken is what's on sale this week, chicken is what we're having. Hamburgers have to wait.

But that $198.95 pays for the annual newspaper subscription. Or two tickets to a Springsteen concert. Or an airline ticket. Or two pairs of running shoes. Or...well, you get the idea. In other words, don't pin the country's economic recovery hopes on me.

Ain't no stopping us now

2009-01-23T08:49:00.003-06:00

Something amazing happened today. It was the sort of thing that, as it happens, you can't believe it's happening. It started small and built up to a final triumph that defied all odds.

I don't drive to work very much anymore. The recent gas price run-up motivated me to try out the bus. And I liked it. So I bike or drive (depending on the temperature) three miles to a Park & Ride spot, then enjoy the remaining commute while reading the paper or listening to music.

But I've got errands to run this afternoon. So I set off in the trusty Civic before 7 a.m., with 19 stoplights blocking my path.

The very first light is the worst. 79th and Quivira. From what I can gather, Quivira lights are synchronized beginning about 6:30 a.m. So the lights do their thing based on time, rather than traffic. One might sit at the east/west 79th and Quivira light for a couple minutes. Not today. I had an easy left turn onto Quivira. Good start.

Next up is 77th Terrace and Quivira. It can be a toughie. Just depends on whether an apartment dweller is leaving the nearby complex. Not today.

75th and Quivira. Red light. But right turn on red! And I roll on.

Green lights on 75th at Flint, Nieman, Switzer and Frontage. That brings us up a small incline to the I-35 interchange. Two lights. The first passes with no problem. The second, a left green arrow, I sail through and onto the highway. It was then I could feel something was brewing. The feeling you might have when a pitcher reaches the 6th inning with a perfect game.

I calmed myself on the highway. No need to worry for a few miles. Stay loose. Keep the expectations low. I mean, really, is making every stoplight even possible? Stop it! Don't even think about it or you'll jinx it!

The I-35 run reaches its conclusion with nary a slowdown. This is too easy. Something has to break. I exit at West Pennway. Down the ramp and, good grief, a stoplight. And two cars waiting. Quick, veer right and take the alternate turn down to Southwest Blvd. The Boulevard light is green roughly 15 percent of the time. Somehow, miraculously, it's green today. Left turn and downtown is here. The tension is palpable.

I navigate the Broadway & Southwest Blvd. intersection with no trouble, turning right onto Broadway. Up the hill and over the Burlington Northern railroad tracks. I can't help but pause and consider my predecessors. Those who've gotten this far, only to have a stoplight crush their dreams. And then, I see it. Broadway and Pershing. A red light. Two cars waiting. See, I allowed myself to dream too big. As Tom Petty once said, "God it’s so painful, something that’s so close and still so far out of reach." (See my last blog.)

But wait. The skies are opening. The clouds parting. A green arrow! Cars begin to move just as I arrive. My hands release their death grip on the steering wheel. I can see Crown Center!

Now, I hesitate to tell you what happened next, because it's almost unbelievable. A Netflix video sits in my passenger seat, awaiting mailing. Dare I stop at the Main Post Office? That would require making it past the IRS building stoplight, a left turn at the Kessler stoplight, a drive through the mailbox drop-off lane, a right turn back onto Pershing, then a u-turn at the Kessler light. (Yes, you read that right, a u-turn!) Bottom of the 8th inning, two outs and I'm thinking of throwing a trick pitch to Derek Jeter?

But I'm just arrogant enough to try it. Drunk on my own success. I don't deserve for it all to work. But it does! And now I'm staring at the Main & Pershing intersection, one of just three remaining stoplights. I'm already looking ahead. Grand & Pershing. The light is green, but I can see the crosswalk light number is in single digits. That means the pale green light will soon change to a shade of red. I bear down, ready to accept whatever fate the stoplight gods bestow upon me. And they smile. As I pass through the intersection, the light turns yellow.

Tears of joy well up in my tired eyes as I arrive at Pershing & McGee. Many a time, a single office worker has blocked the right lane here, obstructing my entrance to the parking garage. Today is my day. It's wide open. I turn right into the garage and, honestly, I don't know what happened next. I must have parked the car and walked up to my office. But I don't remember it. All I recall are the fireworks and the ghosts of commuters past cheering my homecoming.

And I remember I had to wait for the elevator.

I read the songs that make the whole world sing

2009-01-10T12:10:00.006-06:00

I would wager that most people don’t pay attention to song lyrics. To that point, I reckon the majority of Americans think Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” is a tribute to the country, rather than a scathing commentary on the treatment of Vietnam veterans upon their return from war.

But the great thing about music is a listener can take as much or as little from a song as he wants. For my wife, the words aren’t so important. As a result, her favorite Springsteen songs are “Pour Me A Drink Theresa” and “Spanish Johnny.” (Don’t bother Googling them. Those are her titles for “I’ll Work For Your Love” and “Incident On 57th Street.”)

Me, I love the words. They’re why I enjoy Springsteen so much. Someday, I’ll come up with a list of my favorite Springsteen lyrics. Until then, here are 10 of my favorite song lyrics, in no particular order.

“My biggest mistake was loving you too much…and letting you know.”
The Band, “Don’t Do It”

“God it’s so painful, something that’s so close and still so far out of reach.”
Tom Petty, “American Girl”

“You make me feel so close to home, so far away, like nowhere else I’ve ever been.”
Kenny Loggins, “Too Early For The Sun”

“You don’t need a penny just to hang around. But if you’ve got a nickel, won’t you lay your money down?”
John Fogerty, “Down on the Corner”

“She gets a long letter, sends back a postcard. Times are hard.”
James Taylor, “Mexico”

“We never even said a word. We just walked out and got on that bike. And we rolled. And we rolled clean out of sight.”
Bob Seger, “Roll Me Away”

“I started a joke, which started the whole world crying. But I didn’t see that the joke was on me.”
Bee Gees, “I Started A Joke”

“Poor man wanna be rich, rich man wanna be king and a king ain’t satisfied till he rules everything.”
Bruce Springsteen, “Badlands”

“The only baggage you can bring is all that you can’t leave behind.”
U2, “Walk On”

“No matter how close to yours another’s steps have grown, in the end there is one dance you’ll do alone.”
Jackson Browne, “For A Dancer”

There’s at least one person reading this and screaming, “Where are Bob Dylan and Neil Young?” Well, John, I figured that list was best left to you. In the meantime, perhaps the peanut gallery has other lyric suggestions. I’d love to read (and hear) them.

Resolute on resolutions

2009-01-01T19:24:00.002-06:00

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions for the same reason I don’t take seriously weather forecasts or annual job performance plans. (Sorry, boss. My proudest work moments of 2008 involved projects we weren’t dreaming of in January.) Fact is it’s impossible to know what will happen tomorrow, much less six months from now. Rather than worry about the next 12 months, I prefer to be thankful for the past 12. Things like:

Fold-in driver’s side mirrors on our Irish rental car

Orange biscuits at the Hallmark Café (and Crown Room pancakes)

Amazon’s MP3 Daily Deal. Great way to try new music.

The choir at St. John the Baptist Church in Kinsale, Ireland.

NBC’s “Chuck.” (A show that would be better titled “Sarah Walker”)

SNL’s Digital Shorts

Chrissie and Tom at The Olde Bakery B&B in Kinsale, Ireland. Finer proprietors you will not find.

The opportunity to run on untouched snow-covered roads.

Killarney National Park before it opens to car traffic.

All seven Bruce Springsteen concerts. But especially the second night in Dublin when he came within a few feet of Rachel. (Her look was priceless.) And the Houston show with Father Tom. And meeting Dave and “Tree” in St. Paul. And the KC show with my dad.

Watching Avery and Gwyneth needle each other the same way Candice and I did at their ages. And knowing what the girls don’t…that they may spend the next few years wishing for their own rooms or their own toys or whatever else, but in each other they have a best friend for life.

The lunch-time running crew at Hallmark

The chance to stand in the outfield and watch Neil Diamond at Fenway Park

That my brother found someone who will endure him for the next 60 or so years.

Facebook. (I never thought I’d say that. But it’s been very cool to reconnect with old friends and classmates.)

And the basics, which didn’t seem so basic in 2008. Health, employment, family, friends, faith and a wife who endures me. Seems like the sky is falling anytime we open a newspaper or turn on the television. And I’m sure it feels like the sky IS falling for many people. Jobs lost, retirement funds depleted. But I do think everyone can find something to be thankful for. If not, perhaps a resolution is in order…