Again with the Proust.

Although it is rightly said that there can be no progress, no discovery in art, but only in the sciences, and that each artist starting afresh on an individual effort cannot be either helped or hindered therein by the efforts of any other, it must none the less be acknowledged that, in so far as art brings to light certain laws, once and industry has popularized them, the art that was first in the field looses retrospectively a little of its originality.

It doesn't seem that long ago.

Today, on my run, I realized that when I was in college it would have been about now, my friend Phil and I would load up his truck with all the essential items, and make the trek from Seattle to Vancouver for the Holidays. (For me, essential items included a couple books so as to look studious, as I was a college student, and every article of clothing I owned. The main reason for main reason for the clothing is that everything, and I mean everything was now dirty. I took pride in my ability to time my last wash day so that the day we left I would be wear my last clean t-shirt.) I don't know what it was about today, the light seemed right. The temperature was cool. I could see my breath, just as I would have seen my breath when we stopped for gas in Chehalis or Tumwater or Lacey. Nostalgia is a tricky mistress always residing in that long lost corner of our minds. She shows her face only when we least expect it, and appears mostly to complicate our perceptions of the reality in front of us. For it is not behind us that, in that world of the past, that we make our lives, but rather now and in what lies ahead. That trick of nostalgia relies on the complications of emotion to make opaque the task at hand.

R E L I E F

As I mentioned in my previous post. I hired a coach. He seems good, although I am now only 4 days into my newly scheduled training. I will say however, one of the unintended benefits from this investment is more time. You see, it takes a lot of time to work out training plans, research races, etc. It is a huge relief to have a consultant in this process. Before, it felt as if I was on my own, which I was, in figuring it all out. Now, things are different. It already feels like I can put more into just about every other aspect of my life. This includes training, but is not limited to it.

I also noticed today, that Wilco is playing FIVE shows at the Riviera in Chicago. I will not be in attendance, but if I were in the area...MAN!!!...this is going to be awesome. Check this link:

Wilco Winter Residency 2008

If you are a member of Wilco or someone who knows or is connected to the band or its label, PLEASE release make these shows available, in some format (dvd, cd, mp3, etc) for those of us who can't make it. That is all.

Luck is the Residue of Design

In the spirit, I hired a coach today. Scott McMillan.

Check out the site: Factor 9

I am excited.

A lesson for us all from the NFL

I like football, but don't always watch the Monday night game unless there is an especially intriguing match up. Sometimes, at the outset of the season, when the NFL schedulers start putting together these games in hopes to draw larger television audiences, they get it right. Sometimes they don't. Last night, New England traveled to Baltimore to take on a Ravens. At the end last season this looked like a match up that may hold the keys to home field advantage for the AFC playoffs. Now it looks like one team on the verge of absolute greatness and another stumbling through each game.

The Ravens knew they were playing an undefeated Patriots team some are calling the greatest they have ever seen. They new there chance at a playoff berth had long ago passed them by. They also new that if they had any hope of winning it was going be by hitting the Patriots square in the mouth. They didn't win, but they certainly hit the Patriots in the mouth.

I admire that perspective. The Ravens had little to play for and were out matched in most every category, but they fought and fought hard. When the game had ended they had nothing left to give. They barely lost, and they were pissed. They should have won. As a spectator you could seen their pain. There were tears on these men considered to be modern gladiators. In a world that has made us skeptical about professional sports, this game showed some one, or better some team, still cares about winning and loosing. The punishment they dealt to each other on that field was only surpassed by the pain they felt in defeat. From that we can all learn.

How many roads must....

The other day I was at the local community center using their one not antiquated treadmill. It was tortuous to run 10 miles staring at a blank wall. My mind was nearly numb upon completion. I was a little out of sorts. My joints hurt and sweat stung my eyeballs, as I stumbled to regain some semblance of consciousness. When I started to come around, I heard this young girl, she couldn't have been more than four years old. start singing 'Blowin' in the Wind'. She new every word, verse and chorus alike.

A smile crept on to my face. She paused, obviously feeling a little self-conscious, as I and everyone in the vicinity watch this timid performance with eager anticipation. There weren't more than 5 of us watching as her father prepared her to leave and she sang. When she had completed her cover of Dylan's classic song, I told her father that she had made my day. Her father, with a wry grin, said, "It pretty much makes my day too."

I left soon after and quickly put Dylan's version on the radio in the car (Thank god for some modern technology). It quickly led me to start thinking about the time and place it was composed. It made me think our time and place, the state of our world and the role music plays in the way we define ourselves both collectively and individually. It made me wonder, like I haven't in a long time, what is going on? How have I become so disillusioned? What can I do now?

It left me with things to think about and other things to learn. But...What I do know is that I will certainly never hear that song without thinking of that day and that little girl. She gives me hope.