Raking Leaves

 

Fall is here. The sun is moving towards the edge of the frame where, in just a few weeks it will hit the bumper rail and start back towards the other side of the frame. That "ping" on the edge will signal the beginning of Winter. This week has been very "fall" and I've been raking leaves. Down the road, I hear my neighbor with his gas powered blower moving leaves around. Pushing them from the bank along the road into the road, then moving on to the next place where the wind has annoyingly (naturally?) placed more leaves. I smile as I drive by and see the wind gust and put leave back where it originally had them, on the bank next to the fence. 

For me, raking leaves is many things. It's something that is a chore, that I choose to do. Living in the country I do have the option to just leave them where they are. There are no neighbors who monitor my yard, no Home Owners Association that sets the standard of only so many stray leaves per square foot on grass that is only 1.5" tall. I can, if I choose, let them wander over the yard and pile up where the wind and some obstruction stop them.

 I can also just run over them with the lawn mower and send them to the ground as mulch. But there is also value in raking them. Actually the value is multi-faceted. Maybe you don't agree. But let me explain my point of view. 

Leaves are amazing. Raking is good exercise. Raking is nostalgic for boomers, who made money doing it before there were lawn services with blowers and leaf rakes on mowers, even before there were baggers on push mowers. Raking resulted in sweat and money. 

Raking the largest pile of leaves we could then jumping in them and scattering them was fun, that can only be explained  by experience. And at the end of the day, after all the raking was done, and maybe supper was over, dusk settling, the piles would be set on fire. There in the glow of a crackling fire, with the cold night at our backs we would poke sticks in the flames causing sparks to rise, knowing that tomorrow, there might be snow. 

Writing About …..RETIREMENT!

 

Retirement, well so far my experience has been limited. If it was a new job I had started, I would just be past the 6 months, where they decide if you are worth keeping or not. That evaluation that points out what you are doing just fine and what you (they think) need to work on. So far, The Fetching Mrs. B has been the most frequent sounding board as to how this phase of life should go.

But let’s look back at how this chapter of life came to be. Ever since I have been an adult worker, the “R” word has been out there. Like the carrot on the proverbial stick in front of the proverbial donkey. The nearly reachable, but not quite close enough for a taste.

 Or maybe a better example would be a picture.

US HWY 60 in New Mexico (by Dan Bohannon near Pie Town)

There is the constant passing of days on the road of life, retirement just over the horizon, however far that maybe. Each day passes, then a month then a year, looking back it seems to have been real, but all you left was a shadow of yourself, because every day the real you, the living you, the you racing to the horizon, lived in the present, not the past. Not even the future usually.

From the time I was about 50, so many conversations with fellow workers, friends or family centered around, if not retirement, then work and how much meaning we found and how much longer we would have to endure. Working for a large company, the magic age to get to was 54. If you could make it that long, a layoff or downsize would not be the end of the world. The company would give you a package and you would be eligible for your retirement money that they had put away for you.

At 52, my job was eliminated, but through the graciousness of my region VP another position was created, one that I bluntly told him would hopefully last 2 years and get me to 54. That job lasted 5 years. At the end of my 25^th year I was downsized, and listed as an official retiree. I was 57 and 3 months  of age. So here it was the end of a career, the end of the book. Or was it?

The thing is while writing the chapters that become the book of our life they all lead, if carefully planned, to the retirement chapter. Some of these, like a good mystery novel, may actually contain clues to what the retirement chapter will be like. Or, there may be clues that aren’t actually leading anywhere.

The culture, our friends, ads, social media often remind us “getting old isn’t for the (insert your own descriptor here)”. We also are told that retirement can never be achieved if we aren’t really, really prepared, both financially and mentally. I can agree with some thoughts on this, but retirement for others will probably look different than it does for me. Preparation does include monetary planning, but also the realization that life will change, just as it always has.

Just as in every chapter in the story leading up to the Retirement chapter has had change, if you are not ready for another change, perhaps the chapter you are currently writing needs a few more paragraphs, perhaps, even many pages.

 What retirement offers, is opportunity for you, to write the story from that point on. If you were like me the next chapter seemed to be written, or at least had an outline.  Whether you were working for “the Man” or were a self-made business person, you have spent many more hours of your life at work, than anywhere else. All that work to get to the next level of whatever ladder/game/plan. Hoping that what you did every day would allow you the opportunity to NOT do that every day for the rest of your life.  

For us, retirement is allowing us to write the next chapter. Now the outline of the rest of the book is in our hands, not the time clock hands or the hands that sign paychecks (I know hands don’t do that anymore). We choose the theme of the chapter and work within the limits of income and enjoyment to make the rest of the book the best. Just like the ending of an exciting mystery or adventure tale, we’re not sure what is at the end of the road we are on, what is over the top of the next mountain or just how sunny tomorrow will be.

But with all the uncertainty, there is still the reassurance of faith, hope and love. Faith in what we know to be true, hope that everything will be okay,(it may or may not be, defined by...?) and love that we have cultivated over the time of our life together.

So ONWARD we go, retired, but not tired of life, living or looking ahead. The past has surely prepared us for the future by showing us we need to be flexible. 

So, like a rubber hose on a hot summer day, be flexible my friends. 

Peace

Dan

Which Star Wars Character Am I?

                                            May the Force Be with You!
                        https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rQSJDLM8ZE
                   (you should click here for appropriate background music to read by)

May 1977, I saw Star Wars at the Tower Theater in Springfield MO. I was 21. It was fantastic (awesome wasn't a word back then) and the Force soon permeated the culture. 
To this day Star Wars is iconic and generational. 
In 1977, I like, many in my generation, probably identified with Luke, a rebel with a cause. Looking for ourselves in a world that seemed to only want to funnel us into a universe of materialism and stability. We didn't like Uncle Owen, he just wanted us to work, work, work, but we wanted adventure. Not the kind our just older friends had experienced in the just ended Vietnam war, but something fantastic and with a REAL purpose.
Obi Wan got himself killed, nobody wanted to be him. 
 Han Solo wasn't somebody I identified with. He was a space cowboy/punk/hood who really just thought of himself and money. He reminded me of those high school and college jocks. Popular and egotistical. He did somewhat redeem himself at the end of Star Wars, but he just didn't appeal that much to me. 
Yes, I wanted to be Luke, but in reality,  I turned into Uncle Owen.
Then in 1980 came The Empire Strikes Back: Episode V. Something had changed. I'm not sure if it was Han or it was me, or both. Han's semi-commitment to Leia ( " I love you." "I know") and his rescue of Luke, made him more like a person more like me. A responsible, heroic and caring man. I wanted to be Han. I could no longer identify with the unfocused Luke, who was still trying to find himself, whining to Yoda in the swamp. 
In Episode V, Han Solo was a great role model, loyal, smart mouthed, bold, brash and not the sharpest light saber in the drawer. He turns out to be lovable and loved and would do anything to help his friends. 
When Luke does find himself in this movie, he loses his hand and his innocence. Luke dresses much better, but Obi Wan, is hanging around in Luke's head with the Force.
 Han just goes on his gut feelings and loyalty. Much better to be Han. 
1983 brought the "galaxy far far away" back to our galaxy again. The Return of the Jedi was a good movie in my opinion, although many disagree.
 I didn't care much for the Ewoks/Care Bears cuts fading in and out between the serious fight scenes of  Luke and Darth Vader. Luke is older and more mature, in control, mostly. 
 I'm almost 28, and I too am so much more mature, so much so that  I don't think about who I identify with, it was just a good continuation of a story I liked. Real life was working for minimum wage in a bad economy, hoping for something better, as were all the characters in Return of the Jedi. Yes, even the Emperor and Darth Vader. That I could identify with. 
 Now I'm 58. This Sunday is May 4th, and Star Wars is still here. Bigger than just about any of it's peer movie franchises or anything new. 
My boys grew up with it and so have my grandsons. Jaxon, who is 4, knows all the characters and I believe the Star Wars theme plays in the background of his brain all the time. 
Tonight I spent time with college students who are the age I was when Star Wars came out. They aren't steeped in it like my clan, but they do know the iconic "May the Force be with You!". 
In my conversations with them, it came to my mind that I am now identifying with another Star Wars character. Yes, I am finally Obi Wan Kenobi,  not Ewan McGregor from Episode I-III, but Sir Alec Gunniess from Episode IV-VI.
 I find myself spouting things that sound old and sometimes wise (sometimes just wise-cracks) and sometimes just very dated.  I speak warnings about how to live. Suggestions to be patient. Telling them to follow their hearts, the force inside, the passion. Sometimes I'm just wishing to become a hermit living among the Sand People.
Maybe that's how it goes for a Star Wars fan. The phases of life take you from Luke to Obi-Wan, and then eventually to Yoda. 
Yes, I expect that at some point in the future, I will lose the ability to speak in whole grammatically correct sentences, will have a short crooked cane and wear a thread bare robe as I wander about the gardens at Windrock. I know this will happen and as far as looking like Yoda. Well, I have a good start on the wrinkles and every man that lives that long gets the ears. True, that is, you know. 
Peace and truly May the Force Be With You!

Running through wind, over rock and dirt@ One Run For Boston 2

 One Run for Boston 2 started on March 16 in California.
 On March 30, I, my oldest son, Jason and my oldest grandson, Logan, ran a leg 158 at 2:30 am from Warwick OK, to Chandler OK. My most excellent friend from Kansas, Steve Thompson, drove a couple of hours to come and drive our support car as we ran on Route 66 under a clear cold sky. It was 10 miles of epic.
  Two days later, Jason and I were at it again. This time it was sunrise, rush hour, leg 184, as we ran from Republic MO to Springfield, with Melissa, James and Whitney. Fighting a mostly north headwind, we arrived ahead of schedule at the Discovery Center, where I work. We were greeted by the next group, friends, family, Danny and Kate (the organizers) and the media. It was 11 miles of awesome.
  The night before, being in a euphoric state of mind after Oklahoma, I decided that I would sign up for one more leg, number 188. So about 6 hours after we finished 184, I was back running. This leg was the same one I ran last year, 9.5 miles from Sampson, through my hometown, Conway, ending at Phillipsburg and the Worlds Largest Candy Store. I made it. R

unning with Greg and Scott and accompanied by the Conway Volunteer Fire Department it was excellent.
 Some of my younger co-workers were amazed that today I was still using the stairs and not the elevator.
 The One Run for Boston intends to raise $1 million for the One Fund and to arrive in Boston on April 13 at 5:45pm. You can still be part of this visionary quest. Even though I raised $500 for my Missouri stage, I have not raised any for my Oklahoma stage, so consider giving to Logan, Jason or me. Here's the link.http://www.onerunforboston.org/
Thanks for your consideration,
Peace my friends.

Unexpected Christmas Song

Christmas music has been playing for a while now. Some people have boycotted their favorite station because they began so early. Others have embraced it and can't get enough. No matter where you fall in this discussion, you are probably looking forward to hearing your favorite(s) from now to Christmas.
This week a new album appeared on Spotify, one of several internet listening stations. Titled High Plains Christmas by Phillip Aaberg the pianist collection was loaded with typical Christmas tunes, some that had titles to lend themselves to the album. In all it is a very enjoyable 55 minutes of listening.
As I was listening while reading, my brain picked up a tune that did not exactly go with the theme which it had been following, Christmas. The song? Oh Happy Day! Yes, the one where "Jesus washed my sins away!" I really couldn't believe it so I went to the computer, sure enough there it was. I asked myself, "how is this a Christmas song?" and I had to admit that it does have all the things needed to be a song of the season.
I wondered why I had never thought of it that way. It doesn't have any baby references, no stars, or wise men. So why did Phillip Aaberg choose this for his Christmas recording? I don't know the answer, but I do think, it has a better message than incorporating Three Dog Night's Joy To The World into a medley with Joy to the World by Issac Watts and Handle. No bullfrogs, no fishes in the deep blue sea, just happy days and Christ in our hearts for everyone to see.
Merry Christmas! Oh Happy Day!
Peace my friends.

Running into Blessings.

 I have been running for more than 25 years. Running is a thing and a descriptive word used in our culture. I'm not grammatical enough to go through all the technical ways to use it, but you probably know what I mean, so I'll stop before this becomes to much of a run on sentence.
This morning I've been thinking about running, the physical kind, and how it has been a blessing to me.
I began running  to relief stress from work. I was not and still do not consider myself an athlete or any sort of elite class of person. I'm just someone who found that running worked for me. A way to blow off steam. As I got older it was a pretty easy way to control my weight. These were the reasons I ran. I was not an athlete. At some point someone urged me to enter some races, fund raisers the annual turkey trot stuff like that. I was still just a runner,  because to say I began to "race" would be a very large exaggeration.
These races were a blessing. Here I met people who became my friends and peers. I met Ronnie, who ran by my house every Sunday morning on his 20 mile training run, and told me that if I could run these 5k's I could go farther. He was right.
I met Brent, who became my training partner, sounding board, source of hilarity and who convinced me that a marathon (26.2 miles) would be fun (the jury is still out on that definition).
I renewed friendship with Raul who I knew back in high school. Joked about getting older (slower) with Ted and Clark. I met many other runners who, like me, did not see running so much as a competition, but as a thing they did because they enjoyed it.
Over the years I, like my friends, endured comments about our sanity and warnings of injuries, especially how our bodies would wear out or our hearts would explode. These things did not happen (yet, they would say) and I was blessed to stumble into choosing Rick as my in network physician, he is a runner. I probably get a little more time at those appointments because we share this blessing of running.
About four years ago our oldest grandson, Logan, had been running laps at the fitness center while his mom worked out. He proposed to me that he was ready to run a 5k. He was 11. I found there was a small 5k in my hometown and we ran. I was a little skeptical, but knew whether he finished or not, I was blessed to have this opportunity to run with him. We had a great time. I'll never forget, with a mile to go, I asked him, for probably the fifth time, if he was doing okay. With a big smile he said yes. I said "You like this don't you?" "Yes" he answered, with an even wider grin. A runner was born.
So how does this blessing thing keep running into me? I kinda took an accounting this weekend. Logan, who is a freshman, ran at Cross Country Sectionals on Saturday, and his coaches say he has great potential, and he still likes it!
On Sunday I ran another half marathon (13.1 miles), starting it surrounded by people I know. Our oldest son Jason (Logan's uncle) who ran cross country in high school (even went to state his senior year) was running his first half marathon. We started together,but he finished pretty far ahead of me. At the start line were Shane and Angie, Trina, Matthew, Ted, R.C, Jon, April, LaToya,David and a host of Idiots. There were many others I did not see until after, Jenny, Les, Linda,Heather, Travis, Dave and Helen, Jay and Terri, Theresa, Nikki and the list could go on.
When I first took Logan to a large race, he was pretty bored as I talked to my friends. He didn't understand the blessing of community. The running community is a great one. Now he is known by all these older people, and  with the cross country team he is beginning to get "community/team."
So for me I will continue to put one foot in front of the other and I know I'll keep having these collisions with blessing.
Peace my friends.

The Mysterious Disappearance of Weeds from My Lawn!

The lawn service truck slowed at the end of the block. The routine started again. The endless battle of the lawns. A friendly unspoken competition in our neighborhood, best lawn, best grass, no weeds. Weeds are the enemy. Grass, luxurious, deep green, thickly bladed. The mark of the victor.
  "Got a couple of dandelions there." Gene pointed out. I know Gene, even without his usual name on his shirt. Gene drives the lawn service truck. I see him at Little League games, Kiwanis, sometimes at church.
  "Yeah." I said, "I see 'um."
  Dandelions; scourge of the lawn. Always sticking up there happy yellow faces. Why yellow?
  "Gonna take care of those?" asked Gene.
  "Sure, gonna take care of them." I said. I don't use the lawn service.
  I went to the library and got books on common weeds, weeds that bloom, weeds that creep, weeds that look like plants people like. Wild geranium, bull nettle, ox-eye daisies, dandelions. I Googled plantain, spurge, Russian thistles and Virginia creeper.
  And those dandelions? They spread over my whole yard, and soon plantain knee knockers were everywhere and some ox-eyed daisies had made a stand on the sunny side of the drive. Every week I saw Gene frowning from across the street.
  Last Monday, as I was cutting a path to the mailbox, Gene suddenly appeared.
  "Thought you were gonna take care of those dandelions?" he declared.
  " I did, Gene," I replied, "they are doing just fine!"

(This was an exercise I did for the Garden Inspired Writing Retreat with Missouri Extension specialist David Burton. Thanks for the title David!)

Will You Be My Neighbor?

  At the end of 2012, my career came to an end when the company of my 25 year employment downsized. In the 8 months since then I have been considering what the next phase of life will be.
  I explored some jobs outside my experience, and also began to volunteer. Ozarks Food Harvest is very user friendly and quickly adopted me as a known individual. Here I have been exposed to those who are on the fringe of the world I live in everyday. I also was reintroduced to the non-profit that works exclusively in Nicaragua, The Rainbow Network. During this time I also participated in the One Run For Boston cross country relay. All these things were asking me for time and money for someone I would never really know.
  What kept coming to mind was  Jesus' story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10: 25-37). The question "And who is my neighbor?" kept nagging me. Was it the people at the food distributions? The victims of the  Boston Marathon bombing? The people in Nicaragua who want for a house, job, medicine, and education?  
     Of course I knew the answer. Jesus tells us in the story, "The one who showed him mercy." Jesus said to him, "Go and do likewise." It is all of them.
  In one week in June, I worked at Ozark Food Harvest, ran a leg of the One Run For Boston and volunteered at The Rainbow Network office.
 Within in a couple of weeks,  Regina and I found ourselves planning for a trip to Central America. Nicaragua, to be specific and not exactly a vacation. It was, I hesitate to use this term, a mission trip. How did that happen.
  Mission trip often conjures up visions of going to a place where you are totally inconvenienced by the location. You know, sleeping on the floor of some church, no showers, working hard everyday for and with people who don't have the will or means to do what you can do. You do it for 3 or 4 days or a week, and then you come home and everybody either says what a saint you are or wonders why those you went to help can't do it themselves. It can be really awkward, because it is neither of those, and there's no way to explain it.
   We didn't have it rough, we stayed in hotels and had showers and hot food, but we did work hard!
   Regina was on the medical team with 15 other people and they traveled to rural areas where they conducted clinics in schools and peoples homes. They worked with the six Nicaraguan doctors that work for Rainbow Network. Communicating via translators, they traveled to some very remote areas where they dispensed medicine, listened to peoples' complaints and were amazed at the resilience of people who have lived poor and oppressed for so long.
  I spent my days helping build houses.When I say helping, that is exactly what I mean.
  The Rainbow Network has been at this for awhile and make no mistake, the Nicaraguans were in charge and they know what they are doing. This is not mission work of directing and supervising, no way, this is Americanos (what we were told by the Nicaraguans to call ourselves, not gringos) lending a hand.
  We did grunt work, literally. All of us. Americanos and Nicaraguans. Together.
  We dug holes, grunting to drive the rock bar deeper to break up hard pan clay was necessary or to throw a shovel full of dirt up and out of the hole.
  We grunted moving hundreds of  concrete blocks fire brigade style up the bank to the house site.
  We grunted sifting sand and carrying 5 gallon buckets of cement up the bank to pour footing and foundations.
  We grunted tying wire time after time on re-bar to make reinforcement for houses.   We grunted,we sweated, we became tired and silly sometimes.
   So we laughed. Together.
  We laughed about not understanding each other.
   We laughed about getting soaked in a rainstorm.
   We laughed at threatening goats and stupid jokes.
   We laughed and smiled with children who couldn't keep their eyes off us while we watched their classroom.
   We laughed with people who were so happy to get a micro loan to keep their business open, or build on their house.
   We laughed with translators who thought we were silly.
   Then as we were leaving, we prayed with these people that God loves.
    We prayed for their new homes.
    We prayed that God would bless them.
    We prayed that others would give to Rainbow so more could be done.
    We prayed that they would not give up.
    We prayed that we would not forget them and that they would pray for us.
   And though there were times it made me sad or uncomfortable to be there, it did not break my heart. I thought of Jesus' words about showing mercy. Although in the story it says the Samaritan "was moved with pity." I believe that what these people need is mercy, not pity.
   And so I'm going with mercy, as defined by Dictionary.com:

 "an act of kindness, compassion, or favor: She has performed countless    smallmercies for her friends and neighbors.

  By the end of the week  we had shared acts of mercy together.
  We arrived on Sunday and we flew home on Saturday. I have not been able to stop thinking about Nicaragua since then.
  When we got back Megan Munzlinger (Development Director of Rainbow) gave me a copy of  Meet Me in Managua   a book that tells a brief history of Nicaragua and the story of Keith and Karen Jaspers' vision for The Rainbow Network. Now that broke my heart. I recommend it. Read it before you decide if a charity deserves your support and especially before you go to Nicaragua.
  This week in a conversation with someone who had been on a mission trip to Mexico, the person commented. "But didn't you find the people to be happy?"  Happy? I told this person that I wouldn't say "happy", ambitious yes and seeking a better life. I don't know about happy.
  When I told Regina about this she said, wisely, that she thought maybe it wasn't so much "happy" that was Nicaraguans state of mind, as it was that they were able to find "joy" in their lives despite their situation.
  That, my friends, is probably a thought for all of us to ponder.
Peace.

You Can Be Epic, Part: Last

The One Run For Boston was gaining steam. The story had made it to USA Today with a great photo of Danny Bent running a long deserted desert highway. All the legs were covered and people were continuing to sign up to join others. A major story had been in USA Today! It, we, the relay was a big story. Epic. 
  June 20th, "Miles" the baton entered Missouri. This was the day. Sometime that evening I would be carrying Miles on a 9.5 mile leg from Sampson to Phillipsburg MO. But not alone. 
  The day before I got a very unexpected phone call from, of all places, Boston. Eric Moskowitz, a Boston Globe reporter, called to confirm that he would, with my permission, join me on my leg in order to write a story about One Run For Boston. I was stunned. Why me? I asked. Eric said they wanted to do a story about an average runner who had decided to be part of this epic (I'm not sure he said epic) relay. Someone had suggested me or something. 
  Okay. 
  Eric came, met me at the hand off to leg 170 and along with photographer Greg Kendall-Ball, shadowed me the rest of the day. 
  The relay was still behind. After meeting the next group for hand off, Greg taped a video interview and Eric was writing down everything I said. It was weird. You can watch the video, I won't bore you with the details. 

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U25PtxLe80

  It was the most fun and epic run I have ever had. It was once in a lifetime. 

  

You Can Be Epic: Part 2

  Normally, I don't click on those side bar ads on Facebook, you know the ones with the woman, who made $1000 per day working form home, I mean I just don't have the cleavage to make that kind of money. But on May 23, 2013, I signed up, via a sidebar ad, to be part of an "epic" running relay across the United States. 
  I sent my entry fee via Paypal and just hoped that it would not be a scam of some sort. Shortly I received an email thanking me for becoming part of One Run For Boston Relay, to raise money for the victims of the Boston Marathon Bombing. 
  The relay, a brain child of three British citizens (Kate, Danny and Jamie), would start June 7 in LA and end in Boston on June 30.     the word "epic" would be used. A GPS tracker built into the baton that would be carried would allow for "live" tracking on the website, so each participate could see how the relay was progressing. 
  As I noted in my last post, the only requirements were to send your entry fee and swear on a stack of stinky shirts, that you could maintain a 10 minute per mile pace for the duration of your "leg".       So a couple of days later, I went to see if I could really do that. If not I had time, almost a month to get in shape. I ran 9.67 miles at a 8:27 pace. Whoo-hoo! I was gonna be epic. 
  In the weeks prior to the start, the anticipation had built to a fever pitch on the Facebook page, and on the live site. There had been drama, last minute efforts to fill some of the more remote legs in the western states.
 Did I mention that this was 24/7 relay. Once it started it never stopped for any more than time to pass the baton and take some pictures. 
  On June 7th at 10 in the morning LA time, it began.  Within a few hours the difficulty of the task became apparent. Things happened and with the relay barely underway, it was off it's schedule, behind the time it had hoped to be on. 
  This is day one. 
  To many of those waiting down the line,  this was NOT ACCEPTABLE! 
  Being not only runners, but being human, and perhaps being Americans, this caused a panic on the Facebook page. What would happen, would I have to give up my spot because my dog had a grooming appointment an hour after my leg or I had to drive back home and go to work!
  OMG! This thing is falling apart...ALREADY! 
  How can it be EPIC if it can't even stay on time! 
  We have twenty three more days...AAAAAARRRRGGGG! 
  With a sense of humor and experience in this type of adventuring, Danny and Kate, the Brits imposed a reality check! They were going to be driving and running (some) with this whole deal. They weren't worried, so don't you be either. Their calming words and the vigilance of Mary, the St. Louis based American Facebook monitor, convinced most of us (some never did get it) to "Stay Calm and Run On!" 
  My leg was still almost 2 weeks out but I was excited. I and many others were checking the website and Facebook all through that first night to see if some fast people caught up the time. Where was the baton? Who was running at midnight? Why isn't the GPS working?It became addictive. The relay was coming my way. The reports couldn't come fast enough. 
  Pictures showed people running in terrible heat, in rain, crawling under fences (thanks MapMyRun) sometimes catching up on time, sometimes falling farther behind. I didn't care, it was still making steady progress, coming my way, California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas. Everyday, check it early, check it late, check on my middle of the night bathroom trip. It was getting more real. 
  I made new friends on Facebook. We encouraged those who were going before us. For me it became an excellent virtual adventure.  The baton entered Oklahoma through the panhandle, now it was getting close, well about a week away. It was still behind.
   I didn't care if  was 2 hours or 2 days behind, this was going to be epic. 



  

You can be Epic!

   It was a hot Thursday and I was taking my lunch break. This means I had come into the house from doing yard work, and of course had to check my Gmail to see if any interesting jobs had shown up in my inbox, and while I'm at it might as well check Facebook, see what everyone else is having for lunch.
    After looking at some more "jobs just for you in Sparta" (there are no jobs in Sparta) email postings, I looked at Facebook to see if there was anything interesting, you know new Pinterest stuff a picture of a spider inside an Oreo, important revelations. On the sidebar, I think it was, or somewhere there was a notice about a cross country running relay to raise money for the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing.The word RUNNING jumped out at me so I clicked. 
    There I found a long description of the lofty goals for the relay, and the use of the "epic". Epic was intriguing, but not a word I  often use in my mid-pack running world.  
      Reading through again, I saw that all that was asked was the ability to maintain a 10 minute per mile pace. 10 minute miles, I could do that, sure it might be painful, but, heck yes! 
     I then clicked on the RUN button and found the entire route broken up into states and then into stages or legs. Who knew that 10 minute miles were epic? 
    Clicking on MO I was excited to see a leg that ran through my hometown via Route 66 on June 20. I should sign up for this. Doubt crept in. No, forget it,  there will be faster runners who will make it more epic by going faster.
      I stared at the screen. Could I be "epic"? If I signed up would they check my stats and say, "Sorry Mr. Bohannon, we're looking for faster people." 
Even as I sat there looking at the screen, I refreshed and saw that the Missouri legs were filling up (guess other people check Facebook in the middle of the day too!). It felt right. Even if nobody else knew I was running this leg it would be a memory for me to be part of something so big!  I clicked, filled out the info and Bazinga! I was now part of something epic!
      When the Fetching Mrs. B, my running tolerant spouse, called later, she was encouraging even, enthusiastic, meaning I didn't even hear an eye roll over the phone. 
      It was May 23, I had a little over a month to get ready.
      9.5 miles through my hometown. On Route 66! 
      More to tell, but let me say now, it was gonna be epic! 

      Peace my friends!      

Lessons from a Marathon

"At Marathon arrayed, to the battle shock we ran
 And our mettle we displayed, foot to foot, man to man
 And our name and fame shall not die. 
  Aristophanes, "The Acharnians," 425 B. C.

Ah, the marathon. 
"How far is that?" asked a non-runner friend. 
"26.2 miles is a marathon distance, always." I answered.

"You're doing a marathon? Wow! How long is that?" asked an impressed grandchild. 
"We'll see." I answered.

I've been mulling over the results of my last, possibly final, marathon. I ran the Phoenix Marathon on March 2, in Mesa AZ (we could see Phoenix from the starting line) and it was 26.2, that's how far. How long was it? I set a Personal Record, the longest time I have spent on a marathon course. Official time 5:03. 

My longest previous marathon was 4:35 and that's when I said I was done with the distance. That marathon in 2006 in Oklahoma City would be the final one. Turns out it wasn't. 

What I have been mulling over is was there a lesson to be learned from this time spent on the road? Well, many to be honest. 

I learned I might need to train more, no I didn't learn that here, I already knew that.

I learned that all downhill is not necessarily a good thing. 

I learned not to be disappointed with my time, but to be satisfied that I finished upright and not in the medical tent. 

I learned that there were a lot of people who trained real hard and would have been tickled to have the time I had. 

I learned to be a more humble, I am just running a run, not a race.

I learned that "regular" people (non-runners), especially your friends, are impressed that you could keep moving forward for 5 hours. I learned that if you tell them many people were twice as fast, they really aren't impressed. Why? Because they know you and don't know that person who won. I have great friends in Brian and Sue.

I learned that running is part of who I am, no matter how I measure up to other runners. 

I learned that I like Arizona. 

I learned that there is an all uphill marathon in Tuscon. 

I learned that I should never say never again.

I learned that maybe I'll never learn.

Peace my friends. 

Pie On Top

 Being "on top" is a metaphor that never needs explaining, we all know what it means. 
 It sometimes seems our whole life is about getting to the top. We are encouraged to be at the top of our class, beginning with kindergarten to make sure we are in the top few chosen to attend a top university.
  Given a piece of higher ground, whether a pile of dirt, a baseball mound, or a uneven sidewalk or path, kids (boys in particular) will begin a game of King of the Hill, or being on top, up higher,over the others.
  Be your best, work your hardest, play with intensity and never settle for being less than on top.  Athletes are continually training, physically and mentally to remain at the top of their game. So it is in the business/ work world always pushing for the top.
  The top is always farther along. Higher up than it looks. Harder to attain. When you do attain it, according to society, you will experience fulfillment. You will be able to see the whole world below you and know you have made it, made it to the top, to the tip top of....what? 
 American culture tells us that making it to the top of life means working toward the day when being on top will no longer matter. The term for this is "retirement", and whether you are talking to a newly graduated college student, or the parent who has just got that student (their last) through college, they have the same goal make it to the top. Work hard, retire on top. 
 I too have had those aspirations and have thought if I could just get a little higher on the salary chart, be a little higher on the seniority list and be an employee of high value, I could plan to make it to retirement. I could stand on top to that mountain representing my lifetime of accomplishments and look down on all the other people still struggling to get to the top and know I had lived the American dream.
  I have been on track for that day for the past 25 years, and the plan was even accelerating to come true perhaps three to five years earlier than I had planned. Retire at 60, or at least change directions. That would put me on top. 
  Well, here's the real world. I have made it to the top. It's wasn't as far as I thought it would be. Because my employer, despite my goals, has it own goals of how to get to the top of the business world and it no longer includes me and my goal. The top came about 3 years before I expected it. 
   So here I am, at the top of this hill where the path ends. Many might think it's not the top, but the edge of the cliff, but I'm seeing it more as the place from which to scout the future. I think that from this vantage point, I may be able to see more of the possibilities than I might have had this happened 10 years ago. Back then I farther down the hill, hacking my way through the wilderness to the top. 
 I'm going to take this opportunity to look around, get the spotting scope and the binoculars, heck, maybe even the telescope and see what possibilities abound.  
  What will my encore be. 
  I am thinking of the motto or mantra I have quoted often, "Life is short, eat dessert first!"
   I believe I'll sit here on the hill a while and have some pie. 

  Peace my friends. 

Eat, Pray, Run, Repeat. Race (bibs)

 My daughter-in-law made this cool sign and race bib holder for me. She must think this is all I do. Maybe because these are the things I talk about most. Hmm.
Of the 3, I need to eat less, pray more and run, repeats, 800's or some nonsense like that.
The three do tie together in a nice package though and are really representative of everyday life. Each day we must eat, each day we will pray, probably in some way and sometimes each day seems like runnning a racing to the end of life.
But I find if I balance it out, it's not a race against anyone else, just me trying to get to the finish of another day, finish off another problem, have another conversational prayer with God and try to eat another meal before some makes me start wearing a bib.
Life is good and tomorrow, I'll repeat.
Peace my friends.

Athlete? No, just a runner, thank you.

   I started running while in college. I was encouraged by my friend Al, who as a ROTC student was required to do these "PT" test deals. So every once in a while he would say, "We gotta go run, PT next week!" and we would go. Starting at the Freddy dorm on the SMS campus, we would make a 3 mile loop around Phelps Grove Park, and would come to a wheezing finish. I waited for Al to do other physical things, like push ups and hand over hand ladder deal. None of which I could or wanted to do.
   I am not an athlete. In high school I was the asthmatic student basketball manager who washed and carried uniforms and kept stats. I didn't particularly like athletes, but I did like watching cheerleaders...but I digress.
  Later as an adult I discovered that if I paced myself and used an inhaler (I know steroid enhancement) I could walk and then run. I started running the 1 mile to work. In my small hometown, I was viewed as "weird". The only sports our school had were basketball, baseball and volleyball. To each of which running was punishment, not training.  Finally the school added track and cross country, but by now I was a full grown man, running around and biking, that was just not right (this is the 1970s').
  One year at the local fall festival, the cross country coach put on a 5k. I think there were 15 people. I finished 3 or 4th, I think, second adult behind the coach and way ahead of all the old athletes who thought it was a stupid thing anyway. So there athletes! Ha!
  Then I started running to relieve stress, 5 miles 1 or 2 times a week. This helped me keep my mind clear.
  Then I changed jobs and moved my family to a strange place (Kansas) met another guy who ran to relieve stress and have been being weird ever since (1987).
  When people find out that I run, many are in awe (well, maybe astonishment) that I am an athlete. I remind them I am not an athlete, I'm just a guy who runs, not a lot, not fast, and for sure not smart.
  But they insist that compared to the average person, I am an athlete. So, okay, whatever you want to call me.
  My view of an athlete is someone who follows a plan to get better. Me, not so much.
  I just run. I follow my own path. I don't stretch. I don't eat right. I don't go to races to win. I don't run everyday. Heck, sometimes I don't run in a week. I buy cheap shoes. But that's okay for me, 'cause I'm not an athlete, my paycheck doesn't depend on my performance, only my mental state.
  So if you see me at a race,I don't really want to share what my expected finish time is, finishing on my feet in an upright position is satisfactory.
And for the record, I really don't have a desire to run 'til I puke, ever.
And don't forget that running is more that racing, and competing. Running is what "idiots" do for fun. If it ain't fun....you must be an athlete.

Peace, my friends!

Christmastime is Here!

Another Christmas(time).

Time to anticipate, calculate, meditate, pontificate, hesitate, communicate, demonstrate, and celebrate!

Anticipate: Advent is at the mid-point. What great adventure lies ahead?

Calculate: Check your budget and your commitments. Enough money? Enough time? Enough energy?

Meditate: What's Christmas really about? Maybe a good time to watch "A Charlie Brown Christmas."

Pontificate: Clergy or Layperson: share the Good News of what Christmas REALLY means! If it means keeping Christ in Christmas, does that mean we don't have to think or do anything with or about Christ the rest of the year, just keep him tied down in that manger.

Hesitate: Slow down. Avoid the Christmas rush. The rush to get it over with, the rush to get it all done. He or she who hesitates by the manager is NOT lost.

Communicate: Time to reach out to friends and strangers. Time to make that reaching out a life long everyday habit!

Demonstrate: Show YOUR world what Christmas is.

Celebrate: You know what to do here.......
*cue your favorite Christmas song...perhaps "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!" by Andy Williams, of course.

Peace (on earth) my Friends!

I "Heart" Technology!

   I love technology. Yes, sometimes it is frustrating, and I admit I have very little understanding of how my fingers on this keyboard cause 0's and 1's to show up as letters. The fact that I know it involves 0's and 1's I know puts me far ahead of many in my generation (the mid-boomers). As write (or is it type) this blog, I'm listening to Neil Diamond  (which version of Cherry Cherry is my favorite?) on Spotify, keeping a tab open to ESPN to keep up on the World Series, and thinking that I might watch an episode of the Rockford Files from Netflix via my Wii before I go to bed. Or maybe I'll just read part of a book on my Kindle.
   Born in 1955, I've seen the evolution of all kinds of technology. Black and white TV became peacock color, AM radio was kicked to the curb by FM.  Rotary dial phones replaced by touch tone ditched for wireless, then for 4G (whatever the heck that is!). When I started in sales 24 years ago I was required to check my voice mail 3 times per day. I had to know where pay phones were in every little Podunk town in Kansas, Missouri and Arkansas, some are still there.
  I know I had 2 CB radios in the "70's, when that technology was the rage. You must remember this was still before the first wireless telephone had shown up in any TV shows. Sure, Captain Kirk had his communicator and Batman used a tiny walkie-talkie, both were certainly cool technology. The Star Trek communicator did come to life and I had one, it was called the Motorola Razor Phone, I loved that phone, that low tech....phone, just a phone, what a sad thing. No WiFi or Facebook access.
   Adding machines and manual cash registers replaced first by electronic descendants who in turn have been replaced by computers.I even remember when there were no UPC codes on products and worked in the grocery store in Springfield that had the first scanners.
   Technology is even ready to throw waiters and waitress under the bus by being on your restaurant table top allowing wireless reordering of drinks, desserts, paying your bill and leaving the tip, while your wait staff does something else.
   Music technology is the most amazing. I remember the first record player my parents got for me and my brother. It was a red and white box, 3 speeds. It was portable, the case closed and had a handle. We had records that were current rock and roll songs that my parents must have liked along with some kids records. I remember "Big Girls Don't Cry" He's A Rebel", and some others. As a matter of fact I think those are still in my possession along with other vinyl 45's and albums. We also had a small reel to reel recorder and made several productions of our own similar to the famous Chicken Man shows, with music.
   I progressed from there to 8 track and even had my own Panasonic recorder to make mix tapes of my favorite albums and be able to play them in my car. 8 track players mounted under the dash were big during my high school years. Just to show how technology moves, I have a 1999 Ford Explorer that has both a cassette player and a CD player to help ease through the transition into the 21st century.  
I could go on and on, VHS, CD's,  streaming, iPods, and oh yes Spotify.
What's next? Who knows, I'm thinking that if I"Google" "show me the future" maybe I can get the answer.
You know what, I "heart" Google too! BTW, 7th inning stretch, score is tied 0 to 0. Go Cards!
Peace, my Friends.

Guts!

    Tuesday, an autumn afternoon, the shadows are long along the tree line, the timing clock reads 11:36 as the 25th runner crosses the blue mat finish line in a field along the 4 lane highway.
   The runner a 7th grader, took off at the sound of the gun with about a hundred other boys, 7th and 8th graders. The crack of the starting pistol started  the stampede, and very quickly the leaders, began widening the gap between them and the pack, and between them and the boys who would not even see the back of the leaders shirt again. The boys at the back.
   From the very beginning the gap between the lead boys and the boys at the back gets wider and wider. As the stampede moves out of sight, the spectators surge across the course to intercept the leaders as they come back through the field toward the finish line.
 "Where's the mile mark?" parents ask each other.
Parents and coaches are shouting at their runners.
 "You're 18th, move up, come on now!"
 "Use the downhill!"
"Good job! You can do it!"
" Keep going! Half way!"
The leaders and the first big packs move past, sweating, huffing and puffing, grunting to move forward, one foot in front of the other. As they move, so do the spectators, hurrying to be at the finish line to see who wins, who places and who shows.
   The boys at the back are just now coming into sight as most of the spectators move away. Suffering just the same as those in front, putting out just as much effort as the 1st place, 10th place, 25th place boys. They are not fast, they too are putting one foot in front of the other. They are runners.
   Then, at the finish line the clock reads 9:56 and the pounding of rubber soles on sod fills the air above the shouts of encouragement from the spectators crowding the line.
"Don't let him take you!"
 "Go, go, use your arms!"
 "Almost there!"
"Come on! Sprint!"
   Then, the last big pack is through the finish line, the clock reads 12:46. The crowd on the line disperses to find their runners, they walk across the course.
    But the clock is still timing, waiting for the boys in the back.
"Clear the course, runners still coming in!" shouts the official down the field.
 Yes, they are, the last ones. The boys in back. They are running. Running hard. Their faces are not smiling, they are not slackers, nor are they slacking, they are runners. They will finish. Get out of the way. They will cross in their time. They will not have a DNF (Did Not Finish) by their name, they will have a time. Their time. Some of us realize they are coming. We clap and shout encouragement.
   These last of the pack runners, the 3rd to last, the 2nd to last, the next to last and the very last are not to be pitied. They are to be admired, encouraged and not forgotten. Each one is part of a team, and each one has done their best.
   Iconic runner Steve Prefontaine said, "A lot of people run a race to see who's fastest. I run to see who has the most guts."
  On that Tuesday afternoon, a lot of kids, 7th and 8th grade boys and girls, showed us that they all had guts.
First,  25th or last, they had the guts to finish what they started.
 I like that.
 I like cross country running.
 Guts.
Peace, my friends.

Easter Lilies

I grew up here in the Ozarks. My people are a mix of Scotch-Irish, probably some German and according to family legend Cherokee. My particular tribe were and are hard working people, who make work for a living and sometimes make work, just because they like to work.
We did live in an isolated holler in the hills, but my folks still talk the way their parents did, which to some is pretty hillbilly. We don't say "ya'll"  we say "you'ins" and we also have alot of other words in our vocabulary that we know what mean, but outsiders may not.
And we especially had names for flowers that we all grew.
As I was out this evening cleaning flower beds and trimming bushes I was reminded of how much I love the Easter lilies that are blooming in my garden beds. Now, you may say, Easter Lilies are not blooming in your beds, it's way too early and besides, who grows those outside? Well, Easter lilies I found out later in life, have a fancy name, jonquils. But to me those first flowers up, are and always will be Easter lilies. I don't know why they are called that. Maybe it is because they are usually up by Easter, or maybe it's because they represent Christ risen from the grave, seeing as how by the middle of summer they are completely gone and forgotten then suddenly in February or March they burst out of the cold grave of the winter ground and soon are nodding their yellow heads in the winds and sometimes snow of March. They are tough and they are beautiful and they give us hope that Spring truly is on it's way.
I'm happy that my Easter lilies are blooming. But just wait, soon all the 'flags' will be unfurling their unique flowers too. You know what those are, right?
Peace (and flowers) my friends.

Headline of the Day! Daylight is Saved!

So here we are day 3 of Daylight Savings Time, or CDST or some other acronym. Any body notice that it was still dark at 7am? I really don't get this whole concept. I used to think it made a difference, but now, I just dont' see it. Sure, because it got dark later I was able to get a 4 mile run in after work, actually after 6pm and still get back to the hotel before dark, dark.. But this morning as I drove the hills of 2 lane Arkansas Highway 412 and tried to make sure that everyone saw the stopped school bus and the kids waiting in the dark, I just wondered where the whole idea came from and where the madness will stop.
I know that time is something we believe we can control Unlike the weather, we can direct time. We can direct the sun to come up an hour later and go down an hour later. Right, we have that kind of power, HA!
What we do have is the power to organize our lives around important things and in our culture, time is the all powerful entity we all look to in order to, well, order our lives.
" What time will it start?"
"When you be here?"
 "Are you running late?"
"On time?"
"Check the clock, the schedule, the calendar...."
"When will it begin"( or end) ?
Looking at time as a controllable thing gives us a false sense of power. Although we can make a schedule and stick to it. And we can hit all the target dates for sales numbers, or holidays or attaining any goal, we still do not really control time.
We don't control when our life begins (which is also the countdown to our death). We don't control the time we will fall in or out of love or the time our kids will finally grow up. We can only suddenly realize at some time that our time is running out.
With the clock, we can make the sun obey our rising and retiring time each day, but we can make the days go slower, or longer? I think not!
 We must realize that each day is a gift ( man, is that an overused cliche' or what?).
So what do we do?
How about enjoying everyday as it comes earlier or later, and more importantly enjoy as much of each day as you can with someone special.
It's easy, just take the time.
Peace my Friends!