My Morning

Ever had one of those days where you knew you should have stayed in bed longer?

Here is how my morning has gone so far. First, a little background information so that the following narrative will make sense. I live in a basement apartment in the nice little suburb of McLean, VA. Our landlord lives upstairs, and he's a pretty decent guy who keeps to himself for the most part. I don't mind him. Lately, he has decided to rebuild a little car-port on the side of the house by the entrance to the basement. This involved jack-hammering away the concrete, as wells as a bunch of other construction that hasn't been completed yet. I have a strong suspicion that, by the time it is all completed, everything will look much the same as it did before. Until then, he has placed in stepping stones so that we won't have to trudge through the mud and gravel as we enter and exit.

Shortly after he had torn up the concrete outside, the weather turned sour. We had a big snowstorm a week ago, and we have had about 5 different days of rain. Since there are big holes in the ground outside our door, water collects in these holes. At times, he has attempted to keep them covered with a tarp, but puddles still form. His solution (since I am assuming that the puddles will damage his construction efforts) is to put some sort of suction drainage device attached to a long hose in the puddle. The hose stops at the edge of his front lawn, and dumps water onto the sidewalk to flow into the gutter.

A few other things: we have to park our cars on the street, since the driveway is all torn apart. It has also been dipping below freezing on many nights. My wife is from Minnesota, and is thereby well-acquainted with freezing conditions and proper procedures to counteract them. Also, last night there was an intense amount of fog in the area, which left considerable condensation on all of the cars. Remember all of these things. You will be quizzed later (not really, but it will help make sense of the story).

Our alarm goes off at 8 in the morning. Erica needs to leave by 8:30 so she can drive to work by 9. I am currently a stay-at-home husband, so I get to hang out at home and do chores. I'm not a lazy bum, mind you; I have been accepted into officer training for the Marine Corps JAG in January. Until then, not much to do other than exercise and stay fit. So I get up when Erica does, make her a quick breakfast, say a family prayer, and generally read materials of a religious nature for a while after she goes.

This morning, she got out the door on time. I was busy in the kitchen pouring my cereal, when I heard her key at the door, attempting to re-enter. She comes in and tells me that her car windows are covered in ice, and she has to clear it off before she can drive off. She says she needs my help dumping hot water on the windows to melt the ice. She proceeds to grab two cups of lukewarm tap water (about 12 oz. each) and wants me to follow her outside. I stop her at the door. I point out that (1) the water is not nearly warm enough, since the tap can get quite hot if we let it run for about 10 seconds, and (2) instead of using two modest cups, why not use the big 2 liter jug that is sitting right by the sink? She mumbles something about not having enough time and not wanting to be late for work. She has mumbled this line before on many occasions, and by now I just choose to ignore it. My previous bosses have never yelled at me for being an extra two minutes late to work. Also, she is obsessed with being on time to things.

So we head out the door, and walk towards her car on the street. It is hovering just around freezing outside, but I am holding a warm jug of water, so I am content. I have on my pair of slip-on Converse shoes, which should be sufficient covering to walk a total of 50 feet. My wife, who weighs about half of what I weigh, hits the edge of the driveway, turns right down the sidewalk, and heads toward her car without so much as skipping a beat. As I hit the edge of the driveway and turn right, the water draining from the hose at the edge of the lawn has left a thin layer of black ice, and I unfortunately step directly onto it.

(Body flies up in the air, feet momentarily further from ground than head. Body crashes down hard on its side. Wind is completely knocked out of body. Moderate pain. Body utters some unmentionable words containing 4 letters.)

After carefully rising to my feet and stretching a little bit to make sure I haven't cracked a rib or two, I mention to my wife that I am ok. I just got the wind knocked out of me, no big deal. We grab the half-spilled jug of water from the ground and head to her car, being careful to avoid any black ice along the way. I can only assume that my wife, because of her small stature, was able to walk over the ice without so much as reduced foot traction. Perhaps she can also walk over water (like those speedy little lizards you sometimes see on Animal Planet, but not like that bearded religious dude).

When we arrive at her car, I notice that the "ice" that has totally covered her windows is actually 1 mm of frost. Definitely not ice. We dump the hot water on the frost, and it melts off instantly. I ask my wife why she didn't get a windshield scraper and just scratch off the frost really quickly, instead of going through all of the trouble to go back inside, get my help, fill up containers of hot water, walk back outside, and then dump them on her windows. Her reply: "I didn't have time. It takes a while to scrape off the ice."

By now I am beginning to have doubts that she is really from Minnesota like she says she is. I know for a fact that the tiny amount of frost on her windows would have taken me about 30 seconds to scratch off with one of those ice scraper things. The heater in her car would have done the rest of the job within about 3 blocks of driving. I am too tired and sore at this point to explain to her that it took her 3 minutes to go inside and grab hot water to do something that would have taken her 30 seconds to do with a scraper. Also, "there's no time" loses its meaning when you actually do something that takes more time. Also, when a person from MN says to me that there is ice on her windows, I instantly think that there is a solid sheet of 1/2 inch thick frozen water covering her car. If that were the case, dumping hot water on everything would be the best possible solution.

So we get her car all set, kiss goodbye, and off she goes. I turn around and walk towards the house, being extra careful not to slip on any more black ice. I realize that my side and back are starting to get more and more sore, and that I really just want to sit down. No ribs were cracked, and no muscles were pulled or discs slipped, but I believe that there is a large bruise in the middle of the right-hand side of my back. I expect to be back at full capacity by Wednesday at the latest. Until then, I intend to remain sedentary.

This was my morning. Such is life. And beware of black ice.

Merry Christmas!

I posted a new song playlist off to the right. It's full of yuletide carols and other Christmas-themed merriment. I hope you find it enjoyable.

In other news, the mrs. and I have decorated our humble little basement apartment in preparation for the holidays. I had a tight budget, and so we wanted to stretch every dollar as much as possible. I ended up with a 3-foot synthetic Christmas tree with lights ($20), package of ball-shaped tree ornaments ($3), 50 feet of indoor Christmas lights ($9), and two strands of red and silver garland ($2). Grand total: $34. With the small size of our apartment, it worked out quite nicely. Hopefully I'll find full time employment by the new year, otherwise our small apartment may end up being a tent under the bridge.

Which lead me to my next topic: my job search. For those of you who don't know, I graduated from Georgetown Law last May, and pass the District of Columbia Bar Examination for July 2009. Since then, it's been a continous struggle to find that first job as a lawyer. One of the side effects of the recent recession is that the legal market (along with the business sector) got decimated. Many attorneys who had been practicing for several years were laid-off, and law firms basically put a freeze on hiring. Government agencies are some of the few places in the area that still have hiring needs, but even they decided that they would rather fill their slots with experienced attorneys rather than new hires. Many law school grads have converted back to employment suitable for the undergraduate degrees. Others have signed on with legal temp agencies, where you can actually make about $35/hour when assignments do come up. In theory, you could make around $60-70K per year this way if you could get steady work most of the time. The problem is that there are so many lawyers for the spots that it's hard to get in unless you have experience with the exact issue that they need someone for. But it can still be a way to make ends meet, at least until an actual attorney position opens up.

I'm currently on the list at many legal temp agencies, and I pretty much get a reply email every week telling me that they are not staffing anything right now, and that I should check back later. Many have promised that assignments will start to open up in the new year. I remain hopeful, yet skeptical. In the meantime, I have pursued alternative legal careers. At the top of that list is a position with the military JAG program (Judge Advocate General). A JAG officer is basically a lawyer assigned to help out military men and bases. They typically serve stateside, but can also be stationed at military bases overseas, even in designated war zones. Each branch of service has a separate JAG program, with unique entrance and training requirements.

The branch that I am in the running for is the Marine JAG program. I have been working with a recruiting office out of College Park, MD, for about 2 months now. The Marine training program is by far the most intense of all of the service branches. As a Marine JAG, you are considered an unrestricted line officer. What that means is that you receive the same combat training as any other commissioned Marine officer. It is not an easy process. Candidates for officer training programs must be college graduates with a clean background check, as well as excellent physical fitness levels.

Heavy emphasis on the physical fitness. The Marines have a standard test that they use to assess fitness: it consists of (1) as many consecutive pullups as you can do at one time, (2) as many crunches as you can do in 2 minutes, and (3) a 3 mile run. Lengthy descriptions of the events and scoring standards can be found here. My current best score is a 248 out of 300, which I am quiet proud of. In order to even qualify for consideration as a Marine officer, you must score above a 240. In my last test, I did 14 pullups, 97 crunches, and ran 3 miles in 21:08. I think as of today I could probably hit 15 pullups, 100 crunches, and <20:50. That would equate to a 258. The average entering officer can do about 275 on the test. I think (hope) that the average is a little lower for the JAG candidates, due to their generally increased age.

Luckily for me, I have always maintained myself in pretty decent shape. I was an avid gym-rat until I graduated law school (and lost my free gym privileges), and I have gone through several bouts of jogging frenzy over the years. Recently, I trained up for a distance running race that I blogged about a while back. Just after that race, I came across an ad for the Marine JAG program. Since the jogging base had been established, and the pullups and situps were at decent levels, I decided to make a go of it. This has amounted to a pretty intense personal training program. I do pullups 3-5 days per week, usually around 50 per session, sometimes with weight in a backpack. I do crunches most days, usually several sets of about 50 each. And I have a really strict running program. For a while, I followed the first 6 weeks of this routine pretty closely. About two weeks ago, I switched over to this training routine (if I don't make it into the Marines, I intend to run the National Marathon next March). It has worked. I shaved 4 minutes off of my 3 mile time in about 2 months. I have also slimmed down by almost 10 lbs., which has caused my wife to express great appreciation (wink, wink).

Anywho, after passing the physical fitness standards and getting accepted into the program, Marine officers are put through a 10 week boot camp called Officer Candidate School. It's basically 10 weeks of grueling activities and leadership training, where they attempt to weed out the people who can't handle it and don't want to be there. Think about it -- would you want the leaders of your U.S. Marines, the finest branch of military there is in the world, to be unable to suffer through 10 weeks of hellacious training? And since JAG officers in the Marines have to receive the same training as other officers, they get put through the wringer too.

If you survive the 10 weeks of OCS, then you report to 6 months of tactical training at a place called The Basic School (TBS). Here, it's generally a M-F military academy, with lots of live-fire and training exercises, as well as a ton of classroom work. There might be occasional weekend work, such as during extended training exercises, or extra practice on areas where an officer is lacking. By the end of the 6 months, every Marine officer is supposed to be able to lead a platoon of roughly 50 men into battle. Pretty hardcore. And many of the officers, such as the JAGs, will likely never have to lead anyone in battle. Nevertheless, it provides excellent leadership training that will come in handy in almost any professional field.

After the 6 months at TBS, the JAG officers will head to the Naval Justice School in Rhode Island for an additional 10 weeks of military law training. They will basically learn the court martial process from start to finish, as well as take refreshers in many other areas of law common to the JAG experience. Then they will get assigned to their first post, where they will have to complete at least three more years of active duty JAG service before they can rejoin the civilian work force. Notable Marine stations are at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina, Camp Pendleton in California, and Quantico in Virginia. There's also a base in Oahu, which is where my wife would like me to end up at. It does sound very tempting.

I should hear back from the Marine JAG program within a week or so. If I'm not accepted, then it's back to the drawing board as far as jobs are concerned. I'll probably keep hunting for work here in DC, and hopefully temp jobs will tide me over in the meantime. I've toyed with the idea of applying to the local police academy, since a combination of law degree, law enforcement training, and Spanish speaking skills may make me a good candidate to join the FBI as a special agent once my initial commitment with the police force is done. Really, it's all about setting myself up for a lengthy and stable career, and this recent economic meltdown has shed light on just how volatile the legal industry is. As much as many die-hard free market supporters like to bad mouth government employment, those jobs tend to provide a stable infrastructure to our workforce that is vital for a lot of industries. Without government work to turn to, many well-qualified lawyers would be forced out of the profession right now, never to return. This may hold true with other fields as well. I wouldn't want the government to take over whole industries and bring us into a socialistic order, but I do believe a balance can be achieved that will provide great stability to our labor market. When that balance is upset, it tends to make the extremes more extreme. Which translates to years of feast, and years of famine. A while back we were riding high on a feast; now we collectively suffering through famine. It is not lost on me that graduates from my law school were earning starting salaries of $125K+ the year before I enrolled, with a 95% employment rate upon graduation. With numbers like that, I had to be a fool to pass up that opportunity. Sufficeth to say, my graduating class didn't see anything near those numbers. Doh!

Now I'm just trying to make sense of it all, and figure out my next move. My wife and I still have a life to live together, and I need an outlet for all of my training and skills. I don't want to be rich -- I just want us to be secure. So at this holiday season, I just urge everyone to think of the Savior, and reflect on the many blessings you have in your lives. If this economic meltdown has not affected you too bad, give thanks to the God that created you. I know I am thankful right now for what I do have, and it's a loving wife, supportive family, and good health. My car still runs, and there is food in the fridge. And don't forget Mr. Jibbles!

Have a very Merry Christmas!

Recipe for a best-selling novel

Lately I have been thinking of alternative ways to become a millionaire, since my former plan of becoming a partner at a large law firm seems to have fizzled with the economy. Plus, being a partner would have burned me out rather quickly.

I remember that I wanted to be a writer when I was in middle school. I read quite often for leisure, generally at a level considerably above that of my peers. I even set out to write my own book when I was about 12. I actually got through about 6 hand-written pages before I got sidetracked. (In retrospect, the plot was heavily plagiarized from the movie Batman). After this, my writing skills remained dormant throughout high school and most of college, only popping up as necessary to complete various scholastic assignments.

Then, in my final year at BYU, I finally signed up for the requisite 3rd-year writing course. Rather than taking something boring like Technical Writing or Writing for the Social Sciences (as did many of my psych-major classmates), I opted to enroll in a persuasive writing course. This turned out to be one of the most beneficial classes that I have ever taken, and probably prepared me more for law school than anything else I did in college. The class engaged in weekly online debates about a variety of political and social issues, often exposing widely varying viewpoints. By nature of my political beliefs, I guess I was the de-facto "liberal" of the group. (Another girl claimed to be "more left-leaning than most," but in reality she was just a Republican with a tendency towards tree-hugging).

I completed this course in fall of 2004, completely enamored with the art of persuasive writing. Over the ensuing months and years, I had almost 2 dozen Letters to the Editor published in BYU's student newspaper, The Daily Universe. I found that there was a certain art to getting published, since the paper typically allowed only 2 articles or so on any given topic. You either had to be the first to write in with something compelling to say about a new topic, or you had to be the best of a myriad of responses to a previous letter. Lots of editing also went into making each potential letter under the usual limit of 250 words or less. Also, I had a pseudonym for several of my letters (Janet Smith), which was somehow mildly empowering. Not sure why.

Then came law school, and I was back to focusing entirely on school assignments. There was not a whole lot of writing in law school outside of a specific first year course, but in a typical week I read between 100-200 pages of text. And it was almost always judicial opinions and discussion, the dryest sort of reading there is. By the time I hit my second year, I was so sick of reading because I "had to" that I made a conscious choice to always have a book on hand to read solely because I "wanted to."

This initially led me to read the beloved Harry Potter series. I read all 7 books within a matter of 14 days. I was hooked by page 15 of the first book. Maybe it helped that I had already seen all of the movies up until that point, but I really got lost in the wizard world for that short time. In fact, I kind of liked having a face to put with all of the main characters. It's always annoying when the movie is made after I have read the book, and the characters look nothing like I had pictured in my mind. What can I say -- maybe I don't like over-taxing my imagination.

Many books have have been read since Harry Potter, although none really lived up to my enjoyment of that series. Currently, I am about to finish a 900-page opus called The Company, a bit of historical fiction involving the CIA throughout the entire Cold War. I figured it was kind of fitting, since I now live about 3 miles away from CIA headquarters in Langley, VA. It's a really good book, if you are into spy novels. I noticed that the Harry Potter craze seems to have died down since the final book was published a few years back, and has been replaced by the latest trend: vampires; specifically, the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer. I have not read these books, nor do I believe that I ever will. But it's hard to ignore the impact they've had on pop culture. Young people are obsessed with pseudo-vampire culture. Similar fictional works have now sprung up, such as True Blood on HBO (although based on a series of novels pre-dating Twilight), a recent tv show on the CW whose name escapes me at the moment, and assorted other vampire movies and such.

The phenomenal success of both Harry Potter and Twilight led me to reflect on whether there was some sort of pattern to writing a best-selling novel. Obviously, a person first has to know how to write well, and have a creative imagination. (I use "write well" in a very loose sense, considering Meyer's work). They have to be able to string together a coherent plot, and have the stamina to get through at least a few hundred pages of fiction. These are just general pre-requisites to writing a novel. But to write a best-seller, I have noticed that there are several things in common. Here is a list:

1. The story involves teenagers/young adults. This is preferable because readers of all ages will be able to relate. Whereas adults can relate to the experiences of youth by reminiscing about the past, young people will not be able to completely relate to a story involving a bunch of middle aged people. Also, teenagers tend to be the most obsessive about pop culture trends, so you want to appeal to them in order to maximize your success.

2. There has to be some sort of supernatural element to the story, such as magic (Harry Potter), or vampires (Twilight). Not only does this allow for greater flexibility in creating a storyline, but it also creates a unique subculture that can be embraced by potential hardcore fans. They can pretend to "live" the fantasy in real life.

3. There has to be some level of romance among the lead characters. It probably shouldn't be the main element of the novel, but it should be fairly prominent. Nearly everyone can relate to falling in love. It just can't overshadow the supernatural element, otherwise it turns into a romance novel (and those are kind of trashy).

4. The lead character has to go through some sort of transformation, both in terms of going from child to adult, as well as a supernatural progression.

5. The supernatural element has to have opposing sides, such as good and bad wizards or vampire clans. This allows the reader to see that the supernatural element can be potentially dangerous, which can be kind of exciting.

6. The fantasy/supernatural world has to co-exist with the real world. Often, this means that steps are taken to conceal the supernatural from the majority of humans. This somehow makes the story more exciting to readers, because it is easier to pull them in if they can imagine the story happening to themselves.

I could probably come up with more points, but to do that I would have to actually read the Twilight series, and I'm simply not going to allow that to happen. But it does lead me to speculate on the subject matter of the next big novel phenomenon. What do you guys think it could be? So far, we've had wizards and vampires. Maybe it could involve super powers, such as those encountered by people in the tv series Heroes. Even though comic books/graphic novels have been popular for decades, I wonder if they could translate well to a straight novel format. Another potential subject could be extraterrestrials. Not the little green men/E.T. types, but perhaps people from different planets who look and act just like humans, thereby allowing them to assimilate into our culture. A third subject could be angels/heavenly beings that interact with humans, although I think adopting too much of a strong religious undertone might start to make a novel overly preachy.

Now I just have to pick an option and start writing. I'll let you know once I've achieved millionaire status.

I ran, then ran some more

As alluded to in an earlier post, I recently ran the Ragnar Relay through Maryland and Washington DC. The race consisted of thirty six separate running legs, covered over a day and a half by a team of 12 runners. The twelve racers would stay in the same order, so that each person could get as much rest as possible in between their individual legs. This was a huge event, with check points set up where each leg ended and the next began. There must have been at least 100 teams or so that competed. My team wasn't necessarily trying to win the competition. Rather, I think we were just hoping to finish without giving up.

Our team chose the name of "We Wish We Were Kenyan." We were anything but. We rented two large 15-passenger vans, which proved to be just enough space for two groups of six runners each. The first van would arrive at the start of the race, and the 6 of us would run in order until trading off with van 2 when it came time for runner 7.

Anywho, I was selected to be runner #1. This meant that I had to be ready to set out on foot from Cumberland, MD at 8:30 a.m. sharp on a friday morning. Unfortunately, Cumberland is about 150 miles from DC, and so we had to wake up before the crack of dawn to drive out there in time for the start. (Van 2 had the luxury of waiting until noon to meet up, then drive out to the spot where runner 7 would take over). My morning began at 4 a.m., when I woke up to get some food and water in me, then take the last shower I would have for about 36 hours. I had to drive from my place in McLean, VA to our meeting place in Silver Spring, MD. I had planned it taking me 30 minutes to get there. It did. Too bad I left 10 minutes later than I had hoped, because I arrived at our meeting place at 5:10. But it was all good, because our vans didn't get there until 5:15.

We loaded up right away, and I was all prepared to lay down on one of the van benches and get a few hours of sleep before the race. This was not to be, as I discovered that only 3 of the 6 of us were eligible to drive the van (due to age and license requirements). That meant that I had to drive us halfway to Cumberland. And so I did. Driving a large van is not my most favorite thing at 6 a.m., and I was grateful when I was finally relieved of my duties. The final 45 minutes or so I spent listening to rock music on my wife's iPod, which she conveniently let me borrow for the trip. (I don't like listening to music while running, but I use music to get me psyched up before a big run. I'm weird like that.)

This year's race started in a different location than last year's, and so we got a little mixed up and arrived at the starting line about 5 minutes before the scheduled 8:30 start. I had to run over to the check-in table and get my running number. Then I had to use the restroom and stretch my legs. It turns out that 5 minutes wasn't enough time to get all of this done. My stretching was slightly compromised as a result. Since I opted not to stretch by the starting line, I was not around to wave "Hi" to the crowd when our team name was announced. I distinctly remember the announcer saying: "And the next team is team We Wish We Were Kenyan. Do we have the runner for team We Wish We Were Kenyan? No? Well....maybe we should change your name to we wish you were here. (crowd laughter)" I heard the announcer count down to the beginning of the race right as I was in the middle of stretching near some picnic tables, about 100 yards from the starting line. So as the announcer shouted "Go!" I started running from where I had been stretching, through the starting line, and up to the back of the pack.

The first leg was completely flat. We pretty much followed a dirt path that ran right along a small creek which (I believe) eventually turns into/feeds into the Potomac River. The weather was great for running, approximately 60 degrees and slightly overcast. Because everyone was together at the start, I ran slightly faster than I would have otherwise. Being bunched together made me want to stay with the middle of the pack. I probably averaged about 8:45 for each of the miles in my 6.2 mile run. I was fresh, I was excited, and after the pack started to break up I made it my goal to gradually overtake the runner in front of me, at which point I would repeat my strategy with the next runner in my field of vision. This worked for a while, until a pack of 3 runners came from out of nowhere and zipped by me. With my ego sufficiently deflated, I resigned myself to sticking with a good solid pace and ignored all efforts to overtake the runners in front of me.

The major frustration that I encountered on this run was that it was impossible for me to figure out how far I had gone. While training in my neighborhood, it was very easy to know how far I had gone, and how far I had left to go. I have virtually all of the streets around me memorized through countless miles of jogging. But on an unmarked trail with almost no room for spectators, it became really hard to guage how far I had gone and how far I had left. The scenery didn't really change at all, and so I had no way of determining my distance based upon landmarks that I had memorized from the map in our van. Usually I like to readjust my pace at about the halfway mark, just to make sure I am maximizing my energy on the run. Since that wasn't possible, I just kept going at a steady pace and decided to dig in when I could finally hear the crowds cheering at the runner exchange point. This happened when I was about a quarter mile from the end. So my team got to see me racing up to the exchange, unaware that I had been just steadily plodding along until I was slightly out of their visual range.

Pass the baton (slap bracelet in this case) to Steve, a.k.a. the only guy on our team with any hope of ever qualifying for the Boston Marathon. My running time for 6.2 miles: about 54 minutes. Not too shabby.

I took about 10 minutes to unwind after my first run, going through my post-race routine: catch my breath, let pulse return to normal, walk around a bit, remove sweaty+smelly shirt, pour water over my head and torso, wipe off water/sweat with a towel, put on clean shirt for next portion of the race, then drink lots of water and gatorade. After that, we got in the van and headed to the next checkpoint. I ate one of the chicken salad sandwiches that I had brought with me.

A lot of stuff happened over the next few hours. We drove to every checkpoint and traded off runners, most of them running at least 5 miles. Runner 5 (Jana) had a killer 8.something mile run that basically went up a 1,000 foot hill the whole way, which kind of wiped her out due to some injuries she had sustained a few weeks prior to the race. So some of our other runners opted to jump out and run some of her leg for her. Way to go, Team! We eventually traded off with Van 2 at about 4 or so in the afternoon, after which I drove us to a quaint little diner for some grub. No salad for Brian. I had a steak and cheese sandwich with some fries. Good stuff, and the last real meal I would eat until my final leg was over. We camped out at the end of leg 12 and waited for several hours for the other van to complete their legs. I finally began my 2nd run sometime around 9 p.m.

This one was a quick 4.1 mile run. The first half went gradually uphill, and the second half went gradually downhill. I was psyched and ready to go after spending several hours in a giant parking lot listening to music and stretching my legs, so I practically took off in a sprint when I was handed our team's slap bracelet. It was nice and dark, and I was running along two main roads in some small town in central Maryland. There weren't too many runners around me on my run, as the teams had gradually gotten more and more spread out throughout the day. I pushed myself as hard as I could, and only two things annoyed me during my run: some kids who sat in the shadows on their front lawn and shouted at me as I ran by (startling the heck out of me!), and the lack of a shoulder on the road during the last mile or so. I probably completed my run in about 32 minutes flat, which was really pushing it for me. Hand the baton to Steve again. Repeat personal post-race procedures.

We cycled our runners through until we traded off with van 2 at some large protestant church. Free hot chocolate was enjoyed by many. I drove us to another church about 30 miles away, where we set up camp and waited for van 2 to complete their second legs. We arrived at around 2 a.m. I think everyone else in my van was able to get a few hours of sleep. I dozed in and out for about 3 hours, but never really got any deep sleep from my reclined front seat in the van. At about 5 a.m. I decided to get out and walk around a bit, stretch my legs, and brush my teeth. The temperature had dropped more than expected, and was hovering right around 55 degrees or so. I opted to run my last leg in a long sleeve T so that I wouldn't be too cold. Since this was still a night run, I had to wear a reflective vest and headlight for safety. Unfortunately, these items were with van 2, so I had to find them and get the gear before I could start my next leg. I was still putting on my vest when our runner came into the checkpoint, which means we lost about 20 seconds as I prepped myself for my final leg. When I finally set out, it was cold, dark, and there were no visible runners up ahead of me. This meant that I would have to trust that the path would be clearly marked so that I wouldn't make a wrong turn and end up in the middle of nowhere.

Since my final leg was 7.9 miles, I opted to take a slow and steady pace to make sure that I didn't get tired out before the end. On paper, the run was shown to have a series of rolling hills. In reality, the hills were much longer and taller than I had expected. After running through a mile of small town and another mile of deserted corn fields (which all of the girls had agreed were creepy and scary, and which I found to be calm and serene), I came to a 6 miles stretch of highway where the hills just seemed to go on and on. It was hard for me to guage distance after a while, because it was just one big hill after another. Up and down, up and down. There were very few runners around me at this point, and the dawn was slowly breaking off in the east. I enjoyed the calm serenity of it all, although it felt like my run just kept going on forever. About a mile from the end I passed Carl, a runner from another team consisting of members of my former single's congregation. I don't think he recognized me as I went by. About a half mile from the end, I came up over the crest of the penultimate hill, and saw the checkpoint up ahead. At this point I decided to really dig in, since this would be my last chance to leave my mark on the race. After handing off the baton to Steve, I motioned to my team that I was done. And I truly was. I was tired, sweaty, and hungry. At this point, I probably didn't care to even greet my team at the finish line, and would have been content to just head home and shower/eat/sleep. My 7.9 mile race time was approximately 75 minutes.

Steve had a 9 mile run, which we labeled as "the run that went forever." Ok, maybe that's just what I labeled it. We continued on, with the remaining runners each covering less than 5 miles for their final legs. The last runner in our van finished at about 10:30, at which point we drove back to our cars and each went our separate ways. I headed home to McLean for a shower and Chipotle lunch feast (chicken fajita burrito + hot sauce, tomatoes, sour cream, corn, cheese, and lettuce = yum). I knew that if I fell asleep I wouldn't make it down to RFK stadium in time for our team's finish, so I watched a little TV and rested my legs on the couch. In the late afternoon I took the metro down to the stadium, where tents and music and food was set up by the finish line. I was fortunate that I brough my umbrella, as it started to drizzle as I waited out there for my team to finally show up.

And they did. We crossed the finish line as a group sometime after 5 p.m.

Thought Provoking Questions

I was originally intending for this blog to be about the race that I ran this past weekend, but decided at the last minute to make it about something different. Don't worry though--I will soon fill you in on all of my running pursuits.

Have you ever had someone pose you a question that changed your life? What I mean by that is: the question causes you to think about or consider something you had never contemplated before, or it causes you to see something from a totally different perspective or in a totally new light. These questions often come unexpectedly and catch you off guard. And your life is never the same again.

This happened to me when I was about 13. I can't remember where I was or what I was doing, but I do remember that I was with my father, and we were having a somewhat rare conversation for us. Rare because it was deep, rather than a superficial conversation about sports or school activities. It was just the two of us, and after chit-chatting for a bit he looked me in the eye and asked me: "What are you passionate about?"

Huh. What was I passionate about? I had never considered it before. My father went on to explain that his passion from youth had been baseball. He loved the game, and had followed all of the great players back from the 50s and 60s. Although he had never been a star varsity player, he had played all during high school as sort of a 2nd or 3rd string athlete. He went on to college for a bit, where he started writing sports articles for the school newspaper (I believe he was at Boise State). Eventually his articles got noticed by Sports Illustrated, which offered him a position as a writer. He thought about it for a while, but turned it down due to a number factors, the most prominent being his decision to finally serve as an LDS missionary at age 21. Even though he didn't get back into writing after his two years of service, his love of the sport continued on, eventually leading him to coach several years of little league baseball teams that I had played on in my youth.

Basically, pursuing his passion had led to a life full of rich experiences. No, he didn't end up in the major leagues, but his life was blessed and enriched. And here he was, asking me what I was passionate about. Unfortunately, I didn't have a clue.

Sure, I had friends that I enjoyed hanging out with. I liked (not loved) playing sports, video games were a staple of my daily routine, and I was in the school jazz band playing trumpet. But I wasn't really obsessed about any of those things. I just sort of went with the flow and had fun in the moment. I got excellent grades at school, and I had a small group of close friends. I had never bothered to consider that I needed something more. Yet here I was, confronted with the question. And it kind of bothered me that I didn't have an answer.

It took me another year or so to finally figure out my answer. As a new high school freshman and marching band member, I had to practice in the school band room during first period every day. Our band was pretty lousy, and none of us took the experience very seriously, despite a number of talented musicians. It didn't help that our teacher was suffering from lupus, and was absent almost 2 days every week. With so much downtime, we naturally turned to entertaining ourselves in ways unrelated to marching band music. One member of the drumline, a sophomore, would pull out the school's electric guitar from a small practice room in the back and jam along to a small crowd. He mainly played the latest grunge and punk hits from the mid-90s radio, and did a pretty good job.

I became mesmerized with the guitar. It was just so cool, and music suddenly seemed so much more alive for me. The trumpet had been the instrument I played to hang out with friends and be in the band; the guitar was the instrument I wanted to express my soul with. I went home and found my mother's old acoustic guitar, and leared all of the basic open-ended chords. I would strum for hours, blistering my fingers in the process. Eventually my tips got tough and leathery, and it no longer hurt to play for longer than 5 minutes. I spent hours listening to all of the rock songs on the local radio, analyzing the solos and chord progressions with an eager ear. I bought a book of guitar music for the Green Day Dookie album, and quickly learned all of the songs. In retrospect, it was a good choice because of its simplicity and rhythmical strumming. Soon after, I started writing my own songs. Many of them dealt with silly teenage topics like angst or moodiness, with the occasional goofball topic thrown in. (I once wrote a song about the cereal Trix. The chorus went: Trix are for rabbits and not for kids/I love the fruity flavors, I eat them all the time.)

I wasn't just content to write my own songs in my bedroom. I wanted to be in an actual rock band. So I saved up my money and bought a cheap Samick electric guitar and tiny Peavey amplifier (complete with grungy distortion effects). One of my closest friends bought a bass guitar and amp, and we were on our way to being rock gods. We searched high and low for a good drummer, but our school only had about 3, and they were already members of other bands. My garage band pursuits eventually brought me to another friend, Paul, who was also getting pretty good on guitar. Jam sessions were held in garages on almost a daily basis, and we had a lot of fun. Eventually I upgraded both my guitar and amplifier, settling on a bright red Peavey Vandenberg guitar that I still own (that model is quite a beast for the modest price, originally designed and used by a former guitarist of 80s metal band Whitesnake).

Our humble garage band settled on the name of "Graveyard For Lunatics," but we never went anywhere. We only played one house party, during a brief one month period when we had a drummer (who was like 10 years older than us and kind of a moron/flake). By senior year, we had gone on somewhat of a hiatus, opting to jointly purchase a used drumset and take up the drum duties ourselves. Apparently I was the best/most enthusiastic about drumming, and so we decided to write some new material that had sort of a System of a Down-but-not-nearly-as-good sound. Our only two songs were called: Fight to the Death, and You Are Fat. We also did a cover of Feel the Pain by Dinosaur Jr. We played one show during lunchtime at our high school, which evoked too much of a disturbance and led to the administration outlawing all future lunchtime concerts by student rock bands. (Cool! Ruined it for future generations!)

I left for BYU in fall of '98, where I was optimistic that I would find a group of musicians with which to make a fresh start. A few weeks into the semester, I was hanging out in the lobby of Budge Hall (where I lived) and down came this guy with a bass guitar who started jamming with some other guys on acoustic guitar. I sat in my chair, watching from a distance, trying to get a feel for how much talent was there. After several minutes, another guy came along and said that he had a drumset and wanted to jam too. It turned out that the drumset was electric, which was great for volume control. He brought that down, and a nice jam session started to emerge. Finally, when convinced that these guys were definitely at my level, I grabbed my electric guitar and joined in.

And thus The Kung-Fu Suckas/My Own Best Friend was born. We started as a trio for that semester, jamming in the basement of Budge Hall on a weekly basis and writing some new material. I sang and played guitar, Chris was on the bass, and Greg was on drums. We played a few shows, did some covers of Weezer and Blink 182 songs, and had lots of fun. Mark was brought on to play rhythm guitar during Winter semester, which turned out to be a very good move, as he made up for his initial lack of technical skill with an exceptional feel for the music and style. And he got a lot better really quickly. There were more shows that semester, a paid gig opening for the hottest ska band in Utah at the time, and a 2nd place showing in an annual freshman Battle of the Bands contest.

We each left on 2 year LDS missions, and the band reformed when we all got back to school. I had written several new songs, and our style took a more serious turn away from the light-hearted songs we had performed as freshman. More cover songs were added to our repertoire as well, notably My Own Worst Enemy by Lit and Bulls on Parade by Rage Against the Machine. We competed in the annual BYU Battle of the Bands in back-to-back years, coming in 3rd place in our first showing. We recorded our own album in 2002 (technically our 2nd, but the 1st didn't count), and played a variety of lesser campus gigs and apartment lobby parties. Eventually things ran their course, as marriages and graduations gained higher priority. Chris left for NY in late '03, and Andrew was brought in to replace him the next year on bass. Our final show was in January of '04, when we played a short set during and after a men's volleyball match in the Smith Fieldhouse at BYU.

My guitar playing kind of tapered off after that point. Without a band to back me up, I had no goal to spur me on. I occasionally played an acoustic song or two at talent shows and parties, and more rarely for significant others. The last time I performed was during a house show sometime in spring of '08, and that was on a last minute whim. Now I'm lucky if I pull my guitar out once a month to play. It's not that the love is gone, but that other pursuits have taken precedence. For quite a while I was really focused on weightlifting, and lately distance running has emerged as my hobby of choice.

But I would consider the guitar/rock music to be the things I have been the most passionate about in life. I learned that having a passion and working towards it, however unsuccessful the endeavor may be, gives you a sense of purpose and satisfaction with life. You test your limits and figure out what makes you tick. You gain confidence from having a talent that you are really good at, especially knowing that it was countless hours of practice and effort that helped to hone that talent. And being good at one thing inspires you to become good at other things. If I can become an excellent guitar player, what stops me from learning how to be an excellent chef, or athlete, or even lawyer (fingers crossed). I learned that discovering the passion within is what helps us drive forward in life and achieve greatness.

Thanks, Dad, for suggesting that I should figure out my passion(s) in life. My life has truly been blessed, through the talents, friendships, and experiences that have resulted. And it all came from one thought provoking question at the right moment.

Run, then run some more. (A prelude)

I ran cross country in high school. I never made varsity, because I was what you would call "not that fast." Also, on the days we got to work out in the weight room, I was busy doing bench presses and bicep curls, instead of toning my legs like I was supposed to. Consequently, I gained weight from muscle mass, but my legs did not get any stronger. I generally only improved my race times by about 2 minutes over the course of the season, with a pace of about 7:15/mile. Great for a jog, but not for a race. Most of the varsity girls could easily beat me. Also, my coach ended up going to jail for having an affair with a 16 year old student. Shows how dedicated he was to making me a better runner.

I graduated back in '98. I'm starting to approach middle age. I am no longer the young buck that I used to be. While my devotion in the gym has remained fairly steady over the years, I have not been so steadfast with my cardio routines. I tend to go jogging about 3-4 times over the course of a month, and then quit for the next 5. Rinse, lather, and repeat. The few times when I've buckled down and gotten serious about running, I ended up with a foot or muscle injury (or ulcer!) that sidelined me long enough to lose my enthusiasm for the activity.

So I decided on another whim to start jogging again shortly after I got married in early August. I was going out 6 days a week, and got up to a distance of about 2-3 miles a day. Nothing too extreme by any means. I just wanted to get my heart back in shape, and maybe set up a baseline in case the FBI finally calls me in for a final round of testing and physical fitness exams. Well, about 3 1/2 weeks ago I noticed an online message from a group of people in my former congregation, looking for an additional person to run on their team in the upcoming Ragnar Relay. I was tempted into responding, just because all of the people I have known who have run the relay seemed really pleased with the experience. But I wasn't sure if I was up to the challenge, especially with such a short amount of time within which to train. So I decided that I would head out jogging the next morning, and if I could complete at least 5 miles without walking, then I would sign on.

Lo and behold, I completed a 5.3 mile loop the following day. And I wasn't even wiped out by the end. So I contacted the team leader, and thus began my crash-course in long distance race training. Approximately 3 weeks have gone by, and I have trained up to a 10 mile run. A typical week for me lately has consisted of: M-4 miles, T-4 miles, W-6 miles, Th-5 miles, F-rest, Sat-8-10 miles, (Sun-rest). I've lost about 5 lbs. along the way, and I feel a lot more energetic. Unexpected blessings.

The actual race is this Friday/Saturday, and each runner has to complete three legs. I run the very first leg of the entire race, which is 8.8 miles long and follows along the Potomac River just outside of Cumberland, Maryland. Then I will basically sit around in a van while we follow the rest of our runners around over the course of the next 10 hours or so, until it is my turn again. At which point I will run my second leg. Repeat the entire process again, and then I will run my third leg sometime in the wee morning hours on Saturday. Add it all up, and I will complete over 18 miles of running by the time I'm through. My goal is not just to finish, but maintain a pace of about 9 minutes/mile the whole way through. I think I can do it.

I'll check back in a few days when the race is over, to let you know how it went. Wish me luck.

The 300 Workout Kicked My Butt

As previously mentioned, I have been doing a training crash-course for the Ragnar Relay in less than 2 weeks. Lots of jogging, and one day a week I do some speed work (sets of half-mile quick runs with rest in between). It has greatly improved my physical condition. But I didn't want to lose my respectable upper torso muscles, so I've been trying to find ways to keep those biceps while also getting a decent cardio boost.

Today I came across something online called the 300 Workout. It was used by much of the cast of the 2006 blockbuster "300" about ancient Spartan soldiers who fight a bunch of people. Never saw it, but I remember that the guys from the movie trailers were pretty ripped (some of this may have been due to special effects and ab-paint). So I decided to give the workout a try. And yes, I realize I'm about 2.5 years behind the times on this one.

The basic premise of the routine is that you have to do 50 repetitions of 6 different exercises, as quickly as possible. You go through the routine in the following sequence, and only rest when you have to. Some of the cast of the film were able to do everything sub-20 minutes. (The article above gives explanations and film clips for each of the exercises, so I'm not going to describe them too much.)

1. 25 pull-ups
2. 50 deadlifts with 135 lbs. barbell
3. 50 pushups
4. 50 jumps on a 24 inch tall box/chair
5. 50 "floor wipers" (an ab/chest exercise, see the link above)
6. 50 single arm clean-and-presses with 36 lbs. Kettlebell (I used a 35 lbs. dumbell)
7. 25 more pull-ups

It looks pretty simple, but I found that it was extremely difficult to finish. The workout is designed for someone who is already in really good physical condition, and it will build your muscle strength, endurance, and even burn fat. I thought I was in great shape before this workout, expecting to complete it in 25-30 minutes. That didn't happen.

I got through the first 3 sets in maybe 11 minutes or so, which I thought would put me on a good track to complete everything in time. But then fatigue set in. My heart was beating a mile-a-minute when it came to the jumps, and I had to break it up into about 4 different chunks so that I wouldn't pass out! The floor wipers were a lot tougher than they looked--not on my abs, but on my chest (you hold a 135 lbs. barbell straight up over your chest, arms locked, and then do leg raises into each of your arms). It takes a lot of strength to keep that barbell pressed above you! The clean and presses wouldn't have been so hard, but I was exhausted by that point and had to take many a breather, even though it was technically only 25 presses per arm. The final set of pull-ups just about killed me, and I had to do it in sets of 6 or so while gasping for air.

Word to the wise: if any of you are crazy enough to attempt this workout, don't do it on anything close to an empty stomach. You will pass out, or perhaps vomit. I felt like doing both when I was done, but got better once I put a hamburger and some orange juice in my system. Ironically, I think I may try this thing again in about 4 days, and see if I can beat my time of 43 minutes.

But don't expect to see me in the "300" sequel.

Chicken Salad to die for!

About a year ago Erica and I discovered a quaint little Peruvian restaurant just north of Rockville MD. It was good food, although most of the items were pretty standard: cuts of beef and pork, rice, plantains, ceviche, etc. But they had one appetizer that really stood out--avocado stuffed with chicken salad. It was divine. It made my mouth tingle with warm fuzzy feelings. And we have been back a number of times just to eat that dish.

So this week I decided to make avocado with chicken salad as a surprise lunch for Erica. The thing was, I had no idea how to make it. Being the resourceful young lad that I am, I scoured the internet (or "the internets" as I call it) for a good recipe. Unfortunately, most of them called for ingredients that I didn't have on hand, such as celery or various fresh spices. Improvisation was therefore needed. Taking stock of everything I had in my pantry, I quickly combined bits and pieces of several promising recipes to create what I refer to as:

Brian's Delicious Chicken Salad

Ingredients:
2 cups poached white meat chicken (shredded)
Green Pepper
Onion (yellow or red)
Raisins
Walnuts (chopped)
Mayo
Sour Cream
Salt and Pepper to taste

1. You must poach the chicken. Some of you may not be familiar with this process. Basically, poaching means cooking something in a liquid that is not quite boiling. You know how the water starts to get really shimmery as you heat it up towards boiling? Well, if you can hold it at that heat, it will be prime for poaching. For chicken, you want to either poach it in chicken stock, or water with a liberal amount of salt (I opted for the latter). Poach large chunks of chicken for 20 minutes, then cool on a plate in the fridge for about 30 minutes.

2. While the chicken is in the fridge, dice up about a half cup of pepper. I used green, but red might tast nice as well. Put the pepper in a mixing bowl.

3. Do the same thing with the onion. Dice up a half cup, put it in the bowl.

4. Add a small handful of raisins. Make sure they aren't clumped together.

5. Chop up some walnuts. Cashews might work just as well, or maybe almonds. Improvisation is the name of the game. You need about 2-3 tbsp worth. Add it to the bowl.

6. Remove the chicken, and chop it into little bits. You want it basically shredded to the consistency of tuna coming out of a can. Add about 2-3 cups of this to the bowl.

7. Now add 2/3 cup of mayo.

8. Followed by a large dollop of sour cream.

9. Sprinkle in some salt and pepper. I like it heavy on the salt, light on the pepper.

10. Stir it up, little darling, stir it up! (credit lyrics to Bob Marley)

You can put this in a sandwich, eat it over rice, or just scoop it plain right from the bowl. But for an added treat, you should serve it in an avocado half. Just find a ripe avocado, cut it lengthwise, peel each half, remove the seed, and place chicken salad on top. It is heaven.

I expect you all to try this recipe sometime soon, and tell me what you think. My one rule is that you have fun with it, and improvise if there is an additional ingredient that tickles your fancy.