Life is like a box of... crayons?
As horrible as cancer was, my life is profoundly better having been stricken.
Cancer allows me to live my life more freely - as facing death often does. The person I was before my Hodgkin's diagnosis is long gone... and I am glad.
A pre-Hodgkin's Matt would not have been able to open himself up to serious relationships and would not have been able to let go of the little things.
And although I still hold on too long to some of the less meaningless things that occur in every day life, I am happily married - pretty much the most serious relationship one can have!
Today is my wife Sheryl's birthday. If you pay any attention to this blog at all, you know that Sheryl is an angel.
Sheryl rescued me from one of the lowest points of my life by simply loving me.
And fortunately, I was able to love her back.
Although we're still newlyweds, I can see Sheryl and I becoming one of those aging, loving couples who - above anything else - enjoy being in each others' company.
Granted, I fear for our longevity, seeing as that we both need to take our health more seriously, but I want the time we spend together to be fresh and exciting.
One of the reasons I love riding my bike so much is because every ride - no matter how familiar it is, or how often you ride the same path - is different.
And that is how I want my life with Sheryl to be.
I never knew I could love someone as much as I do Sheryl. I never knew someone could make my life so rich. I never knew that I would be able to share so many good blessings in my life with the same person.
Many people think about birthdays in a bad light. I used to be one of them. At the age of 28, I felt like I never accomplished what I should have accomplished in life. It really depressed me.
Now, at 41, I still don't feel like I've accomplished what I was supposed to, but I know that I'm getting closer. Instead of being depressed, I am hopeful.
Because of Sheryl's job, and because of our relationship, and because of the curveballs in life that I've dealt with, Sheryl and I both understand that we are lucky to celebrate each day - but moreso birthdays.
We don't celebrate Hallmark holidays - Valentine's Day, Sweetest Day, Love Your Partner's Genitals Day, whatever. I believe that people in my life must know how I feel about them - all of the time.
But ever since I was a little boy, birthdays were always special. As such, I will try to make sure that Sheryl remembers every birthday she had while I was in her life.
Baby, I love you with all of my heart. You have brought my 8 color Crayola life into the world of the 150 count telescoping crayon tower. I am so grateful to have you as my wife.
Happy birthday. I hope we celebrate many happy healthy birthdays in the future!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Friday, January 04, 2008
Cool Blue
As I pedalled on down the street
My cool, blue bike gleaming in the sunlight
I dropped down into a higher gear and cruised...
My problems melted behind me,
The pain of daily living dissolved like a good shot of morphine.
I forgot more and more as the sun shone on my face
and my heart beat out the rhythm of shambala.
The wind whispered sweet nothings to me,
And the tail wind bowed trees as I rode by.
My lungs blew out the nasty taste of the morning newspaper -
The coffee dregs that sadden me every time I read -
And they sucked in the refreshing gift of elation.
I caught myself smiling more than once
As I chased the sunlight,
Making a silent vow to never let the sun set on this ride.
Every wrong turn was right
Every stoplight was a reminder to drink
And I ignored the nagging voice that told me to turn around.
I wasn't going back unless I wanted to.
And so I rode with the angels of Fausto Coppi and Jacques Anquetil,
Reaching new heights with Marco Pantani and Charly Gaul,
I remembered nothing of my shitty morning,
But everything amazing aspect...
of this exact moment.
As I pedalled on down the street
My cool, blue bike gleaming in the sunlight
I dropped down into a higher gear and cruised...
My problems melted behind me,
The pain of daily living dissolved like a good shot of morphine.
I forgot more and more as the sun shone on my face
and my heart beat out the rhythm of shambala.
The wind whispered sweet nothings to me,
And the tail wind bowed trees as I rode by.
My lungs blew out the nasty taste of the morning newspaper -
The coffee dregs that sadden me every time I read -
And they sucked in the refreshing gift of elation.
I caught myself smiling more than once
As I chased the sunlight,
Making a silent vow to never let the sun set on this ride.
Every wrong turn was right
Every stoplight was a reminder to drink
And I ignored the nagging voice that told me to turn around.
I wasn't going back unless I wanted to.
And so I rode with the angels of Fausto Coppi and Jacques Anquetil,
Reaching new heights with Marco Pantani and Charly Gaul,
I remembered nothing of my shitty morning,
But everything amazing aspect...
of this exact moment.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
A Little Bit of This, A Little of That...
It's been something like fifteen years now - I forget how long for sure - that I have been writing a Christmas poem/story to include in my Christmas cards.
It began when I fell on some hard times and couldn't afford to buy Christmas presents. So I took a long, hard look at my talents to try and find some way to give something to those I love.
I quickly realized that my greatest asset was my writing, and decided to write a Christmas poem. Well, fortunately (or unfortunately, depending how you think about it!), the poem was well-received, and I was asked if I would be doing one the following year.
With mounting pressure, I decided to give it another go. The following year, however, I was in better financial straits, and was able to buy presents. Nonetheless, the Christmas writing came. Again, it was well-received, and I was in the ironic position of gathering a fan base of sorts.
After a couple of years, the poem turned into a story, and I began enjoying the writing process. I also began to put more thought into it. I tend to find ways now of making it a little more personal, by including a major event in my life, or including a person we know.
The whole process has actually become quite interesting, and when I start writing the Christmas poem in early November, it starts getting me into the Christmas spirit - usually. :)
I also began to wonder how my writings would influence the way people thought about Christmas, and Santa Claus. I started dropping my own history of Santa, creating - in a sense - my own world within my world.
Sheryl and I have an acquaintance who is currently starting the writing process, and was looking to me to help her focus on making the story good. She had done a lot of songwriting, but not so much story-writing. That was interesting, because I always wanted to do some songwriting, but was never able to find a hook.
And a hook is what it's all about. I mean, when you start writing something of substance, you need to think about how you want to draw the reader in. Do you want to do this subtly, sorta of mysteriously, or do you want to grab them by the shirt and yank them headlong into the deep end?
Each has its own value. For instance, I tried to grab the reader by the lapels for "Cancerboy". But the Christmas stories tend to be more of an unfolding story that tries to draw the reader into the Christmas spirit as it goes along.
Stange, but I never thought I'd have to put so much focus on writing - it's always come so easy for me, but when I put thought into it, rather than regurgitating my thoughts on paper, it achieves its purpose a lot easier.
And that's a good thing.
So what's your story, morning glory?
It's been something like fifteen years now - I forget how long for sure - that I have been writing a Christmas poem/story to include in my Christmas cards.
It began when I fell on some hard times and couldn't afford to buy Christmas presents. So I took a long, hard look at my talents to try and find some way to give something to those I love.
I quickly realized that my greatest asset was my writing, and decided to write a Christmas poem. Well, fortunately (or unfortunately, depending how you think about it!), the poem was well-received, and I was asked if I would be doing one the following year.
With mounting pressure, I decided to give it another go. The following year, however, I was in better financial straits, and was able to buy presents. Nonetheless, the Christmas writing came. Again, it was well-received, and I was in the ironic position of gathering a fan base of sorts.
After a couple of years, the poem turned into a story, and I began enjoying the writing process. I also began to put more thought into it. I tend to find ways now of making it a little more personal, by including a major event in my life, or including a person we know.
The whole process has actually become quite interesting, and when I start writing the Christmas poem in early November, it starts getting me into the Christmas spirit - usually. :)
I also began to wonder how my writings would influence the way people thought about Christmas, and Santa Claus. I started dropping my own history of Santa, creating - in a sense - my own world within my world.
Sheryl and I have an acquaintance who is currently starting the writing process, and was looking to me to help her focus on making the story good. She had done a lot of songwriting, but not so much story-writing. That was interesting, because I always wanted to do some songwriting, but was never able to find a hook.
And a hook is what it's all about. I mean, when you start writing something of substance, you need to think about how you want to draw the reader in. Do you want to do this subtly, sorta of mysteriously, or do you want to grab them by the shirt and yank them headlong into the deep end?
Each has its own value. For instance, I tried to grab the reader by the lapels for "Cancerboy". But the Christmas stories tend to be more of an unfolding story that tries to draw the reader into the Christmas spirit as it goes along.
Stange, but I never thought I'd have to put so much focus on writing - it's always come so easy for me, but when I put thought into it, rather than regurgitating my thoughts on paper, it achieves its purpose a lot easier.
And that's a good thing.
So what's your story, morning glory?
Friday, December 28, 2007
Weary New (Not-Weary) Year
Between 1992 and 1996, when I lived in Texas, I began taking my aspirations of becoming a writer seriously, and did what most writers do:
I bought a copy of the latest Writer's Market, researched all of the places that I thought gelled with my writing and concepts, then meticulously dusted off all of my best stuff, made it pretty, and sent it off to the researched places.
Within a few weeks, the rejection letters trickled in, and soon I was out of places to send my best stuff to.
So I began a process of writing first thing in the morning. I would write just to write... sort of like a musician noodling around on a guitar. I felt that maybe some of the lines and paragraphs that I'd write would light the fire to something bigger and better.
Many times, however, I would end up with poems that started:
"My blurry eyes look at the blank computer screen. Suddenly I realize that I need to rearrange my sock drawer... anything to keep me distracted from this..."
I am reminded of this right now because I sit trying to come up with a witty, profound topic to discuss, and all I can think about is how tired I am... my eyes, my legs, my back, my arms... I really struggled to get up this morning, and really don't know why I feel so battered - although it could be because I have a cool new alarm clock that I cannot hear - really! - when I lay of my left side.
A couple of years ago, I was blowing up helium balloons for a charity event, when a balloon suddenly exploded next to my right ear. With all of the ringing in that ear, I didn't realize the depth of the damage done - until I met Sheryl, and realized that she sounded muffled when she spoke to me as I lay on my left side - my "good ear" covered.
A month ago, Sheryl went out of town for a couple of days. While she was gone, I realized that the tone of my new cool alarm clock was one of the tones blown out by the bursting balloon. I put my head on the pillow and I couldn't hear the alarm. I lifted my head up, and I could hear it. It kinda pisses me off.
Anyway, because I cannot always hear the alarm, Sheryl has to beat me in order for me to wake up and shut off my alarm. And perhaps that's why I feel so battered this morning...
For the record, Sheryl really doesn't beat me... a couple of knees to the kidneys and I'm usually pretty awake! :)
Couldn't resist... I am totally joking.
Maybe I am worn out from Christmas. And riding. I dunno. In any case, I am heading off to Vegas tomorrow to celebrate New Years' and to see Van Halen. I hope to get a lot of sleep between now and arrival at LAS.
In many recent years, I have looked forward to the next year to bring me all of the good things I worked so hard for. 2007 was the year that everything came together for me. I don't think I ever had a bigger or better year than 2007. I am so happy and so blessed.
What will 2008 bring? I suspect that it will bring more of all of the good things in my life.
What do I hope to improve on over 2007? More miles on my bike... the new, still unnamed bike needs to be properly broken in... I would love to do a multi-day ride...
Since this is likely my last post for this amazing year, I want to paraphrase a line that I include in my bedtime prayers:
"Thank you for our amazing friends and families, and please grant them blessings similar to the ones that Sheryl and I have been granted."
Happy New Year, all!!
Between 1992 and 1996, when I lived in Texas, I began taking my aspirations of becoming a writer seriously, and did what most writers do:
I bought a copy of the latest Writer's Market, researched all of the places that I thought gelled with my writing and concepts, then meticulously dusted off all of my best stuff, made it pretty, and sent it off to the researched places.
Within a few weeks, the rejection letters trickled in, and soon I was out of places to send my best stuff to.
So I began a process of writing first thing in the morning. I would write just to write... sort of like a musician noodling around on a guitar. I felt that maybe some of the lines and paragraphs that I'd write would light the fire to something bigger and better.
Many times, however, I would end up with poems that started:
"My blurry eyes look at the blank computer screen. Suddenly I realize that I need to rearrange my sock drawer... anything to keep me distracted from this..."
I am reminded of this right now because I sit trying to come up with a witty, profound topic to discuss, and all I can think about is how tired I am... my eyes, my legs, my back, my arms... I really struggled to get up this morning, and really don't know why I feel so battered - although it could be because I have a cool new alarm clock that I cannot hear - really! - when I lay of my left side.
A couple of years ago, I was blowing up helium balloons for a charity event, when a balloon suddenly exploded next to my right ear. With all of the ringing in that ear, I didn't realize the depth of the damage done - until I met Sheryl, and realized that she sounded muffled when she spoke to me as I lay on my left side - my "good ear" covered.
A month ago, Sheryl went out of town for a couple of days. While she was gone, I realized that the tone of my new cool alarm clock was one of the tones blown out by the bursting balloon. I put my head on the pillow and I couldn't hear the alarm. I lifted my head up, and I could hear it. It kinda pisses me off.
Anyway, because I cannot always hear the alarm, Sheryl has to beat me in order for me to wake up and shut off my alarm. And perhaps that's why I feel so battered this morning...
For the record, Sheryl really doesn't beat me... a couple of knees to the kidneys and I'm usually pretty awake! :)
Couldn't resist... I am totally joking.
Maybe I am worn out from Christmas. And riding. I dunno. In any case, I am heading off to Vegas tomorrow to celebrate New Years' and to see Van Halen. I hope to get a lot of sleep between now and arrival at LAS.
In many recent years, I have looked forward to the next year to bring me all of the good things I worked so hard for. 2007 was the year that everything came together for me. I don't think I ever had a bigger or better year than 2007. I am so happy and so blessed.
What will 2008 bring? I suspect that it will bring more of all of the good things in my life.
What do I hope to improve on over 2007? More miles on my bike... the new, still unnamed bike needs to be properly broken in... I would love to do a multi-day ride...
Since this is likely my last post for this amazing year, I want to paraphrase a line that I include in my bedtime prayers:
"Thank you for our amazing friends and families, and please grant them blessings similar to the ones that Sheryl and I have been granted."
Happy New Year, all!!
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
How was your Christmas? How was your year?
While Cancerboy may be the shizzle, this Christmas really seemed to fizzle. Still struggling with "Christmas spirit issues", I decided to let Christmas go this year, and instead of dwelling on why I felt so out of sync this year, I choose to focus on all of the amazing things that happened this year, and the things to come...
Having struggled pretty much since I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease in 2002, I was extremely blessed in 2007.
I was fortunate to have a great job which gave me a lot of autonomy to beat the deadlines and goals presented to me. The hard work paid off, as last week I signed the required paperwork that makes me a company man.
But by far, the best thing that happened this year was marrying Sheryl in late May. I honestly expected to be a lifelong bachelor, but the angels who look after me decided that I deserved to have one of their own, and put Sheryl in my life.
We ran off to Deer Isle, Maine to get hitched. It was a lovely 10 minute ceremony attended by a party of five (including Sheryl and I!). There was no honeymoon, as we needed to get back home and get back to work. One of these days, we'll do the honeymoon properly...
A few weeks after we got back from Maine, Sheryl and I invited friends and family to celebrate our nuptials with us. We had a big ol' party, and requested that instead of giving us gifts, our loved ones make a donation to Gilda's Riders - a cycling event that we created to raise money for Gilda's Club.
Although Gilda's Riders did not meet my expectations, it was very successful in that we raised over $17,000 for Gilda's Club. The ride itself was rainy and cold - an oddity in August - but September brought Sheryl another opportunity to ride the longest ride of her life (so far).
The Tour de Troit was one of those amazing rides that you never forget. It was 40 miles long and allowed us to ride past all of the big Detroit icons - Tiger Stadium, Comerica Park, the DIA, Belle Isle... It was an amazing experience, and we are looking forward to doing next years ride!
This year, I turned 41. And I am still not sure whether all of the changes in my life are a result of maturing or having gone through cancer treatments. I suppose I really don't care, either, because my current beliefs - be happy, be true to myself, and be grateful (and forgiving), aren't that far away from my beliefs 10-15 years ago. Except now I am WAY more grateful and forgiving.
So far, we don't have a lot of big plans for 2008. We will not be planning a Gilda's Riders event, so that will open us up to more chances to focus on ourselves. Yes, it's a bit egotistic and selfish, but I am willing to acknowledge that, allow us to do it, and go from there.
The bottom line is that I am looking forward to seeing how the future unfolds with my wife and with all of the blessing we are given daily.
While Cancerboy may be the shizzle, this Christmas really seemed to fizzle. Still struggling with "Christmas spirit issues", I decided to let Christmas go this year, and instead of dwelling on why I felt so out of sync this year, I choose to focus on all of the amazing things that happened this year, and the things to come...
Having struggled pretty much since I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease in 2002, I was extremely blessed in 2007.
I was fortunate to have a great job which gave me a lot of autonomy to beat the deadlines and goals presented to me. The hard work paid off, as last week I signed the required paperwork that makes me a company man.
But by far, the best thing that happened this year was marrying Sheryl in late May. I honestly expected to be a lifelong bachelor, but the angels who look after me decided that I deserved to have one of their own, and put Sheryl in my life.
We ran off to Deer Isle, Maine to get hitched. It was a lovely 10 minute ceremony attended by a party of five (including Sheryl and I!). There was no honeymoon, as we needed to get back home and get back to work. One of these days, we'll do the honeymoon properly...
A few weeks after we got back from Maine, Sheryl and I invited friends and family to celebrate our nuptials with us. We had a big ol' party, and requested that instead of giving us gifts, our loved ones make a donation to Gilda's Riders - a cycling event that we created to raise money for Gilda's Club.
Although Gilda's Riders did not meet my expectations, it was very successful in that we raised over $17,000 for Gilda's Club. The ride itself was rainy and cold - an oddity in August - but September brought Sheryl another opportunity to ride the longest ride of her life (so far).
The Tour de Troit was one of those amazing rides that you never forget. It was 40 miles long and allowed us to ride past all of the big Detroit icons - Tiger Stadium, Comerica Park, the DIA, Belle Isle... It was an amazing experience, and we are looking forward to doing next years ride!
This year, I turned 41. And I am still not sure whether all of the changes in my life are a result of maturing or having gone through cancer treatments. I suppose I really don't care, either, because my current beliefs - be happy, be true to myself, and be grateful (and forgiving), aren't that far away from my beliefs 10-15 years ago. Except now I am WAY more grateful and forgiving.
So far, we don't have a lot of big plans for 2008. We will not be planning a Gilda's Riders event, so that will open us up to more chances to focus on ourselves. Yes, it's a bit egotistic and selfish, but I am willing to acknowledge that, allow us to do it, and go from there.
The bottom line is that I am looking forward to seeing how the future unfolds with my wife and with all of the blessing we are given daily.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Sweet Cheeses, Where's the Spirit??
Today is 4 days from Christmas, and I still don't seem to have the Christmas spirit moving through me.
We've put together all of the gifts we're giving, sent out all of our cards, listened to tons of Christmas songs, but the spirit still eludes me.
Each step along the path to Christmas this year has been methodical... sort of mechanical, and there hasn't been room for Christmas magic. I'm sort of disappointed, to be honest.
Maybe it's because there is a lot going on in my life right now. I've officially attained a position at my current job - I'm no longer a contract employee, so that's a big change. I'm working hard on my health and weight, riding 4 days a week on my beloved bike, Shtiya. Yet, tomorrow, I am picking up my new bike, and can hardly wait! Thanks Santa!!
Maybe the spirit will hit when I see my nieces and nephews open their presents on Chrismas eve, or maybe when I see the whole family together again. It will be nice.
I love the magic of Christmas. Spirits, I'm ready!
Today is 4 days from Christmas, and I still don't seem to have the Christmas spirit moving through me.
We've put together all of the gifts we're giving, sent out all of our cards, listened to tons of Christmas songs, but the spirit still eludes me.
Each step along the path to Christmas this year has been methodical... sort of mechanical, and there hasn't been room for Christmas magic. I'm sort of disappointed, to be honest.
Maybe it's because there is a lot going on in my life right now. I've officially attained a position at my current job - I'm no longer a contract employee, so that's a big change. I'm working hard on my health and weight, riding 4 days a week on my beloved bike, Shtiya. Yet, tomorrow, I am picking up my new bike, and can hardly wait! Thanks Santa!!
Maybe the spirit will hit when I see my nieces and nephews open their presents on Chrismas eve, or maybe when I see the whole family together again. It will be nice.
I love the magic of Christmas. Spirits, I'm ready!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Hero / Zero / Role Model / Scum
This morning, I was watching my new favorite TV show (See "Back in an Hour" below). Today, I was intrigued to watch an interview with Michael "Pinball" Clemons - the current CEO of the Toronto Argonauts.
During the interview, Pinball - a native Floridian - spoke about giving back to the community, and how he tells his players that given the chance to play football in the city of Toronto, they must not only take from the community, but they must also give back.
That got me to thinking about role models. Sports figures are paid a lot of money. A lot - if not all - of that money comes from the teams' revenue... which in turn comes from the fans' pockets.
I will be one of the first people to say that these players need to portray themselves as role models, and need to give back to the community. However, many of these kids are in their early 20s, and still sowing their seeds. Is it fair to expect that much of them? I know that when I was in my 20s, I couldn't care less about my community. Maturity caused me to care.
In the case of sports figures, especially those making a good life "playing a game", I believe that the minute they sign their multi-million dollar contract, they are done being irresponsible and must portray themselves, their team, and their sport in a positive light. No more smoking pot with their friends, no more girlfriend beatings, no more hanging out with thugs.
When I was growing up, I didn't have video games to pacify me. Yes, I had TV, but TV wasn't my babysitter. Because of that TV, I was able to see Apollo space programs, which inspired my interest in the universe. I was able to watch the 1972 Olympic hostage crisis, which helped cement my knowledge of good and bad.
Being a fan of baseball, I watched Hank Aaron beat Babe Ruth's homerun record, and John Candelaria throw a no-hitter. I watched the Cincinnati Big Red Machine win back-to-back world series, and Brooks Robinson wreak havoc at the hot corner.
What happened to Hammerin' Hank - the man who inspired me to swing a big bat with unassuming grace? He still plays a role in the Atlanta area... still giving back.
Johnny Bench, too, from the Cincinnati Reds, showed me that I could be a larger than life person, beyond my skills and career.
Not all of my childhood idols turned out to be worth idolatry - Hello OJ Simpson and Pete Rose... Nonetheless, they all taught me something positive. OJ had rickets as a child. He was a regular Forrest Gump - with leg braces and all. Yet he overcame that to play in the NFL. Pete Rose - Charley Hustle - taught me to give all I could and never surrender.
Hero / Zero / Role Model / Scum... I think that throughout history, yesterday and today, kids need positive role models. What good thing can we do today to inspire a 10 year old to remember it and write about it (or at least talk about it) 30 years later?
Pinball Clemons is a classy guy. I had heard of him from his playing days, but never knew much about him. If I ever get the chance to meet him, I want to tell him how impressed I was, simply through his interview on my new favorite TV show...
This morning, I was watching my new favorite TV show (See "Back in an Hour" below). Today, I was intrigued to watch an interview with Michael "Pinball" Clemons - the current CEO of the Toronto Argonauts.
During the interview, Pinball - a native Floridian - spoke about giving back to the community, and how he tells his players that given the chance to play football in the city of Toronto, they must not only take from the community, but they must also give back.
That got me to thinking about role models. Sports figures are paid a lot of money. A lot - if not all - of that money comes from the teams' revenue... which in turn comes from the fans' pockets.
I will be one of the first people to say that these players need to portray themselves as role models, and need to give back to the community. However, many of these kids are in their early 20s, and still sowing their seeds. Is it fair to expect that much of them? I know that when I was in my 20s, I couldn't care less about my community. Maturity caused me to care.
In the case of sports figures, especially those making a good life "playing a game", I believe that the minute they sign their multi-million dollar contract, they are done being irresponsible and must portray themselves, their team, and their sport in a positive light. No more smoking pot with their friends, no more girlfriend beatings, no more hanging out with thugs.
When I was growing up, I didn't have video games to pacify me. Yes, I had TV, but TV wasn't my babysitter. Because of that TV, I was able to see Apollo space programs, which inspired my interest in the universe. I was able to watch the 1972 Olympic hostage crisis, which helped cement my knowledge of good and bad.
Being a fan of baseball, I watched Hank Aaron beat Babe Ruth's homerun record, and John Candelaria throw a no-hitter. I watched the Cincinnati Big Red Machine win back-to-back world series, and Brooks Robinson wreak havoc at the hot corner.
What happened to Hammerin' Hank - the man who inspired me to swing a big bat with unassuming grace? He still plays a role in the Atlanta area... still giving back.
Johnny Bench, too, from the Cincinnati Reds, showed me that I could be a larger than life person, beyond my skills and career.
Not all of my childhood idols turned out to be worth idolatry - Hello OJ Simpson and Pete Rose... Nonetheless, they all taught me something positive. OJ had rickets as a child. He was a regular Forrest Gump - with leg braces and all. Yet he overcame that to play in the NFL. Pete Rose - Charley Hustle - taught me to give all I could and never surrender.
Hero / Zero / Role Model / Scum... I think that throughout history, yesterday and today, kids need positive role models. What good thing can we do today to inspire a 10 year old to remember it and write about it (or at least talk about it) 30 years later?
Pinball Clemons is a classy guy. I had heard of him from his playing days, but never knew much about him. If I ever get the chance to meet him, I want to tell him how impressed I was, simply through his interview on my new favorite TV show...
Monday, December 17, 2007
(Long Live) Americana
According to Wikipedia, “Americana refers to artifacts of the culture of the United States, the history and folklore resultant from its westward expansion."
Last week, Sheryl and I got cable, and part of our package includes music channels. I have quickly found a handful of these channels that I enjoy, but one of the most intriguing is the Americana channel.
For some reason, I am strongly attracted to this channel. I am attracted by the stories in these songs, although I usually am attracted to a song by the music and beat long before I ever pay attention to the lyrics.
Nonetheless, the stories of the America I have never known, make me sad, in a way. I know that I will likely traverse the storied roads of Americana, and sit at the cross roads that changed peoples lives, but today’s America – today’s world – is much different than the Americana that lives in my mind.
Years ago, I drove from Michigan to Roswell, New Mexico to visit my buddy Murf and his family. The route I took was not dictated by signposts, rather, by locations, places and things.
I traveled portions of Route 66 on my own quest for Americana. It was an amazing trip, but it wasn’t long enough – mileage-wise and time-wise.
In my life, I lived approximately 37 years in Michigan. I spent nearly 4 years in Texas, and 4 months in Germany. I am well traveled, having been to 42 of the 50 American states, and 7 countries. Nonetheless, I feel like I am missing something by not knowing or truly experiencing Americana.
The political, environmental and geographical climates in the United States are changing so rapidly, that I feel that I may never get to know the true Americana. And neither will future generations. That makes me sad.
On the other hand, I have to ask myself if the Americana mystique is larger than Americana itself. I mean, during my trip to Roswell, did I actually experience all there was to Americana? Is there truly more to it, or did I experience everything that there was? Am I simply sad because I truly enjoyed the trip (except for Texas, which I couldn’t get through fast enough – and have the ticket to prove it!)?
I dunno. Maybe it’s a little of everything. Maybe I’ll never feel like I’ve experienced true Americana until I stand in a phonebooth in Winslow, Arizona, or hang out down on Alvarado street by the Pioneer Chicken stand.
Until then, VIVA AMERICANA!
According to Wikipedia, “Americana refers to artifacts of the culture of the United States, the history and folklore resultant from its westward expansion."
Last week, Sheryl and I got cable, and part of our package includes music channels. I have quickly found a handful of these channels that I enjoy, but one of the most intriguing is the Americana channel.
For some reason, I am strongly attracted to this channel. I am attracted by the stories in these songs, although I usually am attracted to a song by the music and beat long before I ever pay attention to the lyrics.
Nonetheless, the stories of the America I have never known, make me sad, in a way. I know that I will likely traverse the storied roads of Americana, and sit at the cross roads that changed peoples lives, but today’s America – today’s world – is much different than the Americana that lives in my mind.
Years ago, I drove from Michigan to Roswell, New Mexico to visit my buddy Murf and his family. The route I took was not dictated by signposts, rather, by locations, places and things.
I traveled portions of Route 66 on my own quest for Americana. It was an amazing trip, but it wasn’t long enough – mileage-wise and time-wise.
In my life, I lived approximately 37 years in Michigan. I spent nearly 4 years in Texas, and 4 months in Germany. I am well traveled, having been to 42 of the 50 American states, and 7 countries. Nonetheless, I feel like I am missing something by not knowing or truly experiencing Americana.
The political, environmental and geographical climates in the United States are changing so rapidly, that I feel that I may never get to know the true Americana. And neither will future generations. That makes me sad.
On the other hand, I have to ask myself if the Americana mystique is larger than Americana itself. I mean, during my trip to Roswell, did I actually experience all there was to Americana? Is there truly more to it, or did I experience everything that there was? Am I simply sad because I truly enjoyed the trip (except for Texas, which I couldn’t get through fast enough – and have the ticket to prove it!)?
I dunno. Maybe it’s a little of everything. Maybe I’ll never feel like I’ve experienced true Americana until I stand in a phonebooth in Winslow, Arizona, or hang out down on Alvarado street by the Pioneer Chicken stand.
Until then, VIVA AMERICANA!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Back in an Hour
Oy, my aching back! I don't know why my back insists on reminding me it's here. I'm very well aware that I cannot do stuff without it, but yet, it keeps barking and barking. Stupid back, I hear ya... now will you please shut up??
I'm quickly becoming infatuated with a TV show on CBC in Canada called "The Hour". I like to think that if I were to produce my own intelligent TV show, this show would be the result. Pulling in guests such as Vicente Fox and Jean Chretien, the show screams political moxy, yet tempers politics with entertainment from music, TV and film.
Each brief interview is very thought-provoking. It is obvious that either host George Stroumboulopoulos or his writers spend a lot of time doing their homework...
The show, or more likely "Strombo", developed a cool idea called "Operation Disc Drop". The concept is much like the "random acts of kindness" concept, except instead of doing something kind, you put together a mix CD (formerly known as a mix tape!) and drop it off in a random location. Afterwards, you go to the show website and comment where you dropped the disc and what the tracklisting was.
The person who picks up the disc listens to it, and has their world opened to new music. After they listen to it, they are encouraged to pass the CD along for others to hear.
As George mentioned, people put their hearts and souls into these CDs. It is a way for strangers ot open up and give of themselves - thus the reference to random acts of kindness.
The holiday season always puts me in a contemplative mood. I am able to associate random things with other random things, to see glimpses of a bigger picture. "The Hour" helps stimulate some of those thoughts. Music is always good for that, too.
I've heard that my oldest nephew is beginning to enjoy rock and roll now. I've been considering making him a mix CD. But now, Operation Disc Drop gives me the excuse to do that.
I'll just drop it in a not-so-random place!
Oy, my aching back! I don't know why my back insists on reminding me it's here. I'm very well aware that I cannot do stuff without it, but yet, it keeps barking and barking. Stupid back, I hear ya... now will you please shut up??
I'm quickly becoming infatuated with a TV show on CBC in Canada called "The Hour". I like to think that if I were to produce my own intelligent TV show, this show would be the result. Pulling in guests such as Vicente Fox and Jean Chretien, the show screams political moxy, yet tempers politics with entertainment from music, TV and film.
Each brief interview is very thought-provoking. It is obvious that either host George Stroumboulopoulos or his writers spend a lot of time doing their homework...
The show, or more likely "Strombo", developed a cool idea called "Operation Disc Drop". The concept is much like the "random acts of kindness" concept, except instead of doing something kind, you put together a mix CD (formerly known as a mix tape!) and drop it off in a random location. Afterwards, you go to the show website and comment where you dropped the disc and what the tracklisting was.
The person who picks up the disc listens to it, and has their world opened to new music. After they listen to it, they are encouraged to pass the CD along for others to hear.
As George mentioned, people put their hearts and souls into these CDs. It is a way for strangers ot open up and give of themselves - thus the reference to random acts of kindness.
The holiday season always puts me in a contemplative mood. I am able to associate random things with other random things, to see glimpses of a bigger picture. "The Hour" helps stimulate some of those thoughts. Music is always good for that, too.
I've heard that my oldest nephew is beginning to enjoy rock and roll now. I've been considering making him a mix CD. But now, Operation Disc Drop gives me the excuse to do that.
I'll just drop it in a not-so-random place!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Unser Corporaten Weinachtsfesten
Sheryl and I went to our work Christmas parties last weekend. They were very different from each other.
We went to Sheryl's first, where we were eagerly greeted by the woman who hired Sheryl, and whom Sheryl has known for years. This was the first time I met any of them, but I quickly felt comfortable.
During the course of eats and drinks, I was able to meet all of the people I had been hearing about for the last three or four months - and in some cases, I was meeting the people Sheryl had talked about since I first met her.
These were the people who came to me and told me how Sheryl is so happy now. Naturally, I told them that it was because she was working with them again.
There was plenty of flattery to go around.
It's strange to me when I realize that I have influenced people and events.
There are things I want to do in my life, and two of them are inspire people to dream and accomplish great things in their lives. Another is to make Sheryl happy.
Realizing those things, such as when someone tells me that Sheryl is very happy, or that they were thinking of me while riding a tough stretch of road on their bike, makes me stop and take note. I certainly do not take them for granted, and appreciate the opportunity to enhance someone's life.
We laughed, talked, ate, then made our early exit.
Off we went to my Christmas party at Dave and Buster's.
Contrary to Sheryl's, we caught the tail end of dinner in a quiet room, sitting with people I didn't really know.
Following dessert and a little speech by the big kahuna, we ran off to play games.
Being little fish in a big pond, Sheryl and I meandered about with little contact with my co-workers. We played a few games, then gave away our tickets and game cards.
As we were getting our coats to leave, we ran into my boss and his wife. We had a nice conversation, thanked him for helping me retain my job, and we took off.
Yep. That was basically it.
It had been a long day for each of us, but it was definitely worth it to get some face time.
And it's always nice to be flattered, eh?
Sheryl and I went to our work Christmas parties last weekend. They were very different from each other.
We went to Sheryl's first, where we were eagerly greeted by the woman who hired Sheryl, and whom Sheryl has known for years. This was the first time I met any of them, but I quickly felt comfortable.
During the course of eats and drinks, I was able to meet all of the people I had been hearing about for the last three or four months - and in some cases, I was meeting the people Sheryl had talked about since I first met her.
These were the people who came to me and told me how Sheryl is so happy now. Naturally, I told them that it was because she was working with them again.
There was plenty of flattery to go around.
It's strange to me when I realize that I have influenced people and events.
There are things I want to do in my life, and two of them are inspire people to dream and accomplish great things in their lives. Another is to make Sheryl happy.
Realizing those things, such as when someone tells me that Sheryl is very happy, or that they were thinking of me while riding a tough stretch of road on their bike, makes me stop and take note. I certainly do not take them for granted, and appreciate the opportunity to enhance someone's life.
We laughed, talked, ate, then made our early exit.
Off we went to my Christmas party at Dave and Buster's.
Contrary to Sheryl's, we caught the tail end of dinner in a quiet room, sitting with people I didn't really know.
Following dessert and a little speech by the big kahuna, we ran off to play games.
Being little fish in a big pond, Sheryl and I meandered about with little contact with my co-workers. We played a few games, then gave away our tickets and game cards.
As we were getting our coats to leave, we ran into my boss and his wife. We had a nice conversation, thanked him for helping me retain my job, and we took off.
Yep. That was basically it.
It had been a long day for each of us, but it was definitely worth it to get some face time.
And it's always nice to be flattered, eh?
Friday, December 07, 2007
History Repeats Itself
My dad was born on December 8, 1942. He arrived on this Earth one year after the U.S. and Britain declared war on Japan, which launched the U.S. into World War II.
48 years later, on March 14, 1991, one year after Mikhail Gorbachev became president of the Russian congress, my dad passed away.
On December 8, 1991, dad's first post-passing birthday, I was poised to have a sad and crappy day. I missed my dad (as I still do!), and I hoped that my emotions wouldn't put a damper on my first corporate Christmas party.
I was working at General Dynamics Services Company (now defunct), and was really proud to be going to a corporate Christmas party. I remembered a photo of my dad and mom taken sometime in the 1970s at one of my dad's corporate Christmas parties, and I was tickled to be following in his footsteps.
Dad was smiling upon me that day. I ended up having a blast sitting with my date, my boss (Rick), his fiancee' (Diane) and other co-workers and friends.
I mention this because tomorrow is December 8, 2007... my dad's 65th birth anniversary. It will also be 16 years since that first corporate Christmas party. As a testament to history repeating itself, Sheryl and I will be attending both of our work Christmas parties tonight.
And tomorrow?
We're invited to cocktails and hors d'oeuvres with Rick and Diane - my boss from General Dynamics Services Company, and his wife (formerly mentioned fiancee') .
Strange days indeed - most peculiar, mama (John Lennon, d. December 8, 1980).
My dad was born on December 8, 1942. He arrived on this Earth one year after the U.S. and Britain declared war on Japan, which launched the U.S. into World War II.
48 years later, on March 14, 1991, one year after Mikhail Gorbachev became president of the Russian congress, my dad passed away.
On December 8, 1991, dad's first post-passing birthday, I was poised to have a sad and crappy day. I missed my dad (as I still do!), and I hoped that my emotions wouldn't put a damper on my first corporate Christmas party.
I was working at General Dynamics Services Company (now defunct), and was really proud to be going to a corporate Christmas party. I remembered a photo of my dad and mom taken sometime in the 1970s at one of my dad's corporate Christmas parties, and I was tickled to be following in his footsteps.
Dad was smiling upon me that day. I ended up having a blast sitting with my date, my boss (Rick), his fiancee' (Diane) and other co-workers and friends.
I mention this because tomorrow is December 8, 2007... my dad's 65th birth anniversary. It will also be 16 years since that first corporate Christmas party. As a testament to history repeating itself, Sheryl and I will be attending both of our work Christmas parties tonight.
And tomorrow?
We're invited to cocktails and hors d'oeuvres with Rick and Diane - my boss from General Dynamics Services Company, and his wife (formerly mentioned fiancee') .
Strange days indeed - most peculiar, mama (John Lennon, d. December 8, 1980).
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
I'm not hating... or am I?
"Hate" is a strong word. I have come to a point in my life where I do not use that word seriously. Except in one case:
Man, I hate winter!
I do like the snow - on my own terms. This means that I'm inside, nice and toasty, watching the snow fall, knowing that it will melt in the morning, and I won't have to shovel it!
Other than that, winter can bug off!
What is good about freezing your ass off? Yes, you can bundle up to keep warm, unlike the summer heat, where you can peel off all of your clothes and still be burning up. However, I can't stand being cold. Period. It's so frigging annoying!
And don't even get me going about driving in wintry weather... oy!
So I want to be a snowbird for the rest of my life. If not a snowbird, then a permanent Southern resident.
Sheryl loves watching "House Hunters" on HGTV. Yesterday, they were looking for houses in Savannah. Man, I would love a house like those!! Add to that an extended cycling season, and what's not to like??
I don't know if I'll ever do it. Things are going so well for me right now that I won't even seriously consider it. But I gotta admit... for at least a 4 month stretch every year, it sure sounds like a good idea!!
"Hate" is a strong word. I have come to a point in my life where I do not use that word seriously. Except in one case:
Man, I hate winter!
I do like the snow - on my own terms. This means that I'm inside, nice and toasty, watching the snow fall, knowing that it will melt in the morning, and I won't have to shovel it!
Other than that, winter can bug off!
What is good about freezing your ass off? Yes, you can bundle up to keep warm, unlike the summer heat, where you can peel off all of your clothes and still be burning up. However, I can't stand being cold. Period. It's so frigging annoying!
And don't even get me going about driving in wintry weather... oy!
So I want to be a snowbird for the rest of my life. If not a snowbird, then a permanent Southern resident.
Sheryl loves watching "House Hunters" on HGTV. Yesterday, they were looking for houses in Savannah. Man, I would love a house like those!! Add to that an extended cycling season, and what's not to like??
I don't know if I'll ever do it. Things are going so well for me right now that I won't even seriously consider it. But I gotta admit... for at least a 4 month stretch every year, it sure sounds like a good idea!!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
When I Have a Buncha Dollars...
For a couple of years now, Sheryl and I have talked about what we would do when we won the lottery. Many people would use it as an opportunity to do all of the things they always wanted to do. They would quit their job and buy a house in warmer climates, traveling all over the world.
The weird thing for Sheryl and I is that we are extremely blessed to love our jobs. Our first thought after winning the lottery would be "how can we help other people?"
We do have ideas in mind for a cancer foundation, but this morning, after reading a bit of cycling news, I had a different idea.
Recently, it was announced that Saul Raisin, despite his incredible journey back to life following a horrible bike crash, will be unable to race again. He does, however, still want to work towards bringing awareness to brain injuries and such.
Apparently, there are a few cycling teams that are folding this year as well, and in addition to the many auto workers out of a job, there are a bunch of professional cyclists left without a team.
So when we win the lottery, why don't we start our own professional cycling team?
Now, I don't know how exactly it would work, but we could bring Saul on board to coach the development squad, and he could continue his work with his foundation. In fact, all of our riders would be required to do volunteer work - whether with our foundation, Saul's foundation or whatever. Naturally, we would encourage them to work with our own foundation, but we should give them the choice. After all, they will need passion, and passion is easier to come by when you make the choices.
One of the sweet benefits of being team owners and sponsors is that Sheryl and I could attend whatever race we wanted, and associate with all sorts of riders. While attending the Tour de France, we could rub elbows with Lance or Eddy Merckx. While at the Giro d'Italia, we could swap fashion tips with Mario Cipollini.
Not only that, but we could learn training and health tips. We could learn where the coolest rides in the world are. WE COULD BE ON TV! We could have access to the sweetest bikes available, and drink espresso with Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen.
Of course, we would plug our foundation. After word got out about our dream and devotion, we would draw interest from some of the best cancer doctors in the world, and they would benefit from our affiliation.
We could do an annual fundraiser, and bring in professional and amateur racers to the velodrome at Bloomer. Because we'd already have lights installed, we could incorporate European-style 6-day races for both the pros and the amateurs.
Can you just see it?? We couldn't count how many people would benefit from this!
Now how about a team name?
Miles to Go?
Cummings Cycling?
Sheryl's Speedsters?
How about a motto?
Domination for a cause
The team with a strong foundation
Our drugs won't make you faster, they will cure you
EPO is for sissies.
We believe in Procrit and Neupogen - not performance enhancers!
Remember kiddies... if you're gonna dream - and you should! - dream big!
For a couple of years now, Sheryl and I have talked about what we would do when we won the lottery. Many people would use it as an opportunity to do all of the things they always wanted to do. They would quit their job and buy a house in warmer climates, traveling all over the world.
The weird thing for Sheryl and I is that we are extremely blessed to love our jobs. Our first thought after winning the lottery would be "how can we help other people?"
We do have ideas in mind for a cancer foundation, but this morning, after reading a bit of cycling news, I had a different idea.
Recently, it was announced that Saul Raisin, despite his incredible journey back to life following a horrible bike crash, will be unable to race again. He does, however, still want to work towards bringing awareness to brain injuries and such.
Apparently, there are a few cycling teams that are folding this year as well, and in addition to the many auto workers out of a job, there are a bunch of professional cyclists left without a team.
So when we win the lottery, why don't we start our own professional cycling team?
Now, I don't know how exactly it would work, but we could bring Saul on board to coach the development squad, and he could continue his work with his foundation. In fact, all of our riders would be required to do volunteer work - whether with our foundation, Saul's foundation or whatever. Naturally, we would encourage them to work with our own foundation, but we should give them the choice. After all, they will need passion, and passion is easier to come by when you make the choices.
One of the sweet benefits of being team owners and sponsors is that Sheryl and I could attend whatever race we wanted, and associate with all sorts of riders. While attending the Tour de France, we could rub elbows with Lance or Eddy Merckx. While at the Giro d'Italia, we could swap fashion tips with Mario Cipollini.
Not only that, but we could learn training and health tips. We could learn where the coolest rides in the world are. WE COULD BE ON TV! We could have access to the sweetest bikes available, and drink espresso with Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen.
Of course, we would plug our foundation. After word got out about our dream and devotion, we would draw interest from some of the best cancer doctors in the world, and they would benefit from our affiliation.
We could do an annual fundraiser, and bring in professional and amateur racers to the velodrome at Bloomer. Because we'd already have lights installed, we could incorporate European-style 6-day races for both the pros and the amateurs.
Can you just see it?? We couldn't count how many people would benefit from this!
Now how about a team name?
Miles to Go?
Cummings Cycling?
Sheryl's Speedsters?
How about a motto?
Domination for a cause
The team with a strong foundation
Our drugs won't make you faster, they will cure you
EPO is for sissies.
We believe in Procrit and Neupogen - not performance enhancers!
Remember kiddies... if you're gonna dream - and you should! - dream big!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Time Trials and Tribulations
Yesterday evening, I had a phenomenal ride on my trainer. I rode 12 miles while averaging 20 miles per hour.
You may wonder: What is the significance? Why am I continuing to read this? What is Matt's point?
In 1999, I was 33 tears old, and began training to pedal my bike from Fairbanks to Anchorage, Alaska. The thought of riding so many miles terrified me, so I trained "like the dickens". At 6'3" and 270+ pounds, I was sort of the anti-cyclist.
As time went on, I felt strong and powerful on my bike. I was riding 30 miles a day on my trainer, four days a week, averaging 20ish miles per hour. Yep, my training rides of 30 miles would take me approximately 90 minutes.
I was never much of an athlete, and was always overweight. So I got to the point where I began to wonder if I was in the best shape of my life. Granted, if I had trained this hard between the ages of 20 and 30, this thought would have never entered my mind.
Instead, however, most of my exercise in my 20s consisted of beer curls and pizza runs.
It's no secret that people's health generally heads downhill at a certain point. The nice thing is that I was never in prime shape to understand my potential. Instead, I was hitting peak shape at 33 years old.
The following year, I recognized that I had some shortcomings in my cycling ability. Since I had signed up to ride from Missoula to Billings, Montana, I knew I had to train a little harder. After that ride, at 34 years old, I was in the best shape of my life.
Shortly after that, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease.
My chemotherapy and radiation treatments were brutal. I pretty much lost all of the conditioning I had had. However, because I had been in such great shape to start with, I was able to survive the treatments a little better than average.
The problem with cancer treatments, however, is that there are short AND long term potential side effects.
So when I got back on the bike, and my riding wasn't near as strong as it had once been, I began to ask myself some questions:
Is it because of treatment?
Have I become lazy?
Is it a result of being 40?
To be honest, I don't know.
I do know that endurance cycling - and cycling in general - demands some level of suffering. I used to enjoy pushing myself to the limits of my body and tweaking out an extra little bit of suffering. But now, since I suffered through chemo and radiation, I don't want to impose that much suffering on myself again.
In addition, during the last couple of years, I have developed a painful nerve problem along the inside of my calves and ankles. This is a long-term result of chemo. The tops of my lungs are fried because of radiation, which makes it very uncomfortable - and sometimes painful - to ride in cold weather.
Yeah, laziness has something to do with it. But so does aging and side effects of treatment. Lately, I've been instilled with the desire to be healthy again - thankfully - and as a result, I've been riding my trainer a little more.
My rides have basically been quick 10 mile rides that take just over 30 minutes. I have been documenting my rides, and have noticed that I have raised my mph on each ride. This culminated yesterday with my awesome ride.
So why is this important? Well, for 35 minutes and 56 seconds yesterday, I rode as if I was seven years younger and never had cancer.
It was a beautiful thing.
Yesterday evening, I had a phenomenal ride on my trainer. I rode 12 miles while averaging 20 miles per hour.
You may wonder: What is the significance? Why am I continuing to read this? What is Matt's point?
In 1999, I was 33 tears old, and began training to pedal my bike from Fairbanks to Anchorage, Alaska. The thought of riding so many miles terrified me, so I trained "like the dickens". At 6'3" and 270+ pounds, I was sort of the anti-cyclist.
As time went on, I felt strong and powerful on my bike. I was riding 30 miles a day on my trainer, four days a week, averaging 20ish miles per hour. Yep, my training rides of 30 miles would take me approximately 90 minutes.
I was never much of an athlete, and was always overweight. So I got to the point where I began to wonder if I was in the best shape of my life. Granted, if I had trained this hard between the ages of 20 and 30, this thought would have never entered my mind.
Instead, however, most of my exercise in my 20s consisted of beer curls and pizza runs.
It's no secret that people's health generally heads downhill at a certain point. The nice thing is that I was never in prime shape to understand my potential. Instead, I was hitting peak shape at 33 years old.
The following year, I recognized that I had some shortcomings in my cycling ability. Since I had signed up to ride from Missoula to Billings, Montana, I knew I had to train a little harder. After that ride, at 34 years old, I was in the best shape of my life.
Shortly after that, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease.
My chemotherapy and radiation treatments were brutal. I pretty much lost all of the conditioning I had had. However, because I had been in such great shape to start with, I was able to survive the treatments a little better than average.
The problem with cancer treatments, however, is that there are short AND long term potential side effects.
So when I got back on the bike, and my riding wasn't near as strong as it had once been, I began to ask myself some questions:
Is it because of treatment?
Have I become lazy?
Is it a result of being 40?
To be honest, I don't know.
I do know that endurance cycling - and cycling in general - demands some level of suffering. I used to enjoy pushing myself to the limits of my body and tweaking out an extra little bit of suffering. But now, since I suffered through chemo and radiation, I don't want to impose that much suffering on myself again.
In addition, during the last couple of years, I have developed a painful nerve problem along the inside of my calves and ankles. This is a long-term result of chemo. The tops of my lungs are fried because of radiation, which makes it very uncomfortable - and sometimes painful - to ride in cold weather.
Yeah, laziness has something to do with it. But so does aging and side effects of treatment. Lately, I've been instilled with the desire to be healthy again - thankfully - and as a result, I've been riding my trainer a little more.
My rides have basically been quick 10 mile rides that take just over 30 minutes. I have been documenting my rides, and have noticed that I have raised my mph on each ride. This culminated yesterday with my awesome ride.
So why is this important? Well, for 35 minutes and 56 seconds yesterday, I rode as if I was seven years younger and never had cancer.
It was a beautiful thing.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
What Would Your Wristband Say?
Sheryl asked me an interesting question this morning: If you had a wristband, what would it say?
The question stemmed from the popular Lance Armstrong “LiveStrong” bracelet, and also from the “Ride On” bracelets developed by Saul Raisin, in his attempt to raise awareness for brain injuries. Sheryl had just finished Saul’s book, “Tour de Life”, this morning, and thus the question.
My immediate thought was that my wristband would have to say “strength” or “survival”. Surviving is something I’ve done my entire life – and I don’t intend to stop. Strength is core to my nature and is also present on my wedding band.
But to be easily marketed, my wristband would have to have a catchy slogan or inspiring word. I’d love to say something like “Cancerboy rocks!”, or “Viva la Cancerboy!” But does that really inspire?
How about “Survive Hard”, or “Dream Big”?
More options:
“Just Be”
“Total Perseverance”
“Endure, Live, Love”
“Breathe”
“Never Relent”
“Resist and Persist”
“Dominate”
“Ride It Out / Write It Out”
“Always Forward”
I’d have to say, though, that one of my favorite inspirational quotes is “the only way out is through.” It makes me feel like mentally balling up my fists and running straight into the darkness. But that’s kinda long for a wristband saying.
So what would your wristband say?
Sheryl asked me an interesting question this morning: If you had a wristband, what would it say?
The question stemmed from the popular Lance Armstrong “LiveStrong” bracelet, and also from the “Ride On” bracelets developed by Saul Raisin, in his attempt to raise awareness for brain injuries. Sheryl had just finished Saul’s book, “Tour de Life”, this morning, and thus the question.
My immediate thought was that my wristband would have to say “strength” or “survival”. Surviving is something I’ve done my entire life – and I don’t intend to stop. Strength is core to my nature and is also present on my wedding band.
But to be easily marketed, my wristband would have to have a catchy slogan or inspiring word. I’d love to say something like “Cancerboy rocks!”, or “Viva la Cancerboy!” But does that really inspire?
How about “Survive Hard”, or “Dream Big”?
More options:
“Just Be”
“Total Perseverance”
“Endure, Live, Love”
“Breathe”
“Never Relent”
“Resist and Persist”
“Dominate”
“Ride It Out / Write It Out”
“Always Forward”
I’d have to say, though, that one of my favorite inspirational quotes is “the only way out is through.” It makes me feel like mentally balling up my fists and running straight into the darkness. But that’s kinda long for a wristband saying.
So what would your wristband say?
Monday, November 19, 2007
The End of an errr...
I saw something the other day that said "1-20-09 - The End of an Error", naturally speaking of the wonderful downward spiral years of the Bush regime. But instead of spiraling downward myself, and reducing myself to a political rant, I want to talk about my own end of an era...
I decided to quit darts at the end of this season.
This decision was huge for me. I'll admit, my voice quivered and my eyes welled when I told my team. OBV2.0 consists of people who are very important to me - and I never want to let them down.
But as the season has gone on, confidence has left my darts, and as a result, I've become quickly frustrated. A surefire way to cure this is to practice more. Practice, however, is limited by my shoulder, which can only handle a mere 30 minutes of constant throwing. I suppose that this would be okay - as long as I practiced every day - but I simply cannot commit to that.
What used to be fun - what used to be my life, has become nothing but a source of anger and frustration. Being angry and frustrated does absolutely no good, and I hate being that way when I am surrounded by people I love.
The nice thing about it, though, is that it frees Sheryl and I up to do stuff on Friday nights. We are so busy with our jobs and I am trying to keep a regular cycling schedule, that we never seem to have enough time to do stuff that we want. Since I've been sick, I've believed in taking advantage of opportunities. By committing to darts on a weekly basis, I've limited my opportunities.
Darts has been such a great thing for me. I loved playing in the two leagues, and the regular tournaments and such, but that was when I had more time. I was careless, reckless and had a great time!
I'm searching for something bigger though, and more rewarding. Darts filled a void when I needed it, and introduced me to a lot of great people. But now I need to take care of other things that I've been neglecting.
Maturity sucks, but I'm grateful that I am open-minded and flexible enough to acknowledge when such a change needs to take place. I recognize that I will always yearn for knowledge I do not have, and experience things I never did before. And sometimes, you need to give something up to make way for the next great thing.
Last friday, Sheryl and I went to a "coffeehouse" event at Gilda's Club. It was an open mike, and featured a wonderful performance by the inspiring Jill Jack. It reminded me of the Wednesday night open mike night at the Cross Street Station when I was in college. Every Wednesday was magical and exciting. We never knew where the night would take us - and last Friday night could have been the same way (without all the alcohol!)... but we were committed to darts, which would pretty much guarantee to end in a haze of cigarette smoke, burning eyes, and the munchies at 1:00am, while getting ready for bed.
There is no magic in that.
I love OBV2.0. I am going to miss playing darts with them every Friday. However, we still have pick-up games to look forward to. And I am well-aware that I can always join a dart league in the future...
If the time comes.
To paraphrase taoist Lao-Tzu, "The only constant in the Universe is change..."
And I don't think he meant coins.
I saw something the other day that said "1-20-09 - The End of an Error", naturally speaking of the wonderful downward spiral years of the Bush regime. But instead of spiraling downward myself, and reducing myself to a political rant, I want to talk about my own end of an era...
I decided to quit darts at the end of this season.
This decision was huge for me. I'll admit, my voice quivered and my eyes welled when I told my team. OBV2.0 consists of people who are very important to me - and I never want to let them down.
But as the season has gone on, confidence has left my darts, and as a result, I've become quickly frustrated. A surefire way to cure this is to practice more. Practice, however, is limited by my shoulder, which can only handle a mere 30 minutes of constant throwing. I suppose that this would be okay - as long as I practiced every day - but I simply cannot commit to that.
What used to be fun - what used to be my life, has become nothing but a source of anger and frustration. Being angry and frustrated does absolutely no good, and I hate being that way when I am surrounded by people I love.
The nice thing about it, though, is that it frees Sheryl and I up to do stuff on Friday nights. We are so busy with our jobs and I am trying to keep a regular cycling schedule, that we never seem to have enough time to do stuff that we want. Since I've been sick, I've believed in taking advantage of opportunities. By committing to darts on a weekly basis, I've limited my opportunities.
Darts has been such a great thing for me. I loved playing in the two leagues, and the regular tournaments and such, but that was when I had more time. I was careless, reckless and had a great time!
I'm searching for something bigger though, and more rewarding. Darts filled a void when I needed it, and introduced me to a lot of great people. But now I need to take care of other things that I've been neglecting.
Maturity sucks, but I'm grateful that I am open-minded and flexible enough to acknowledge when such a change needs to take place. I recognize that I will always yearn for knowledge I do not have, and experience things I never did before. And sometimes, you need to give something up to make way for the next great thing.
Last friday, Sheryl and I went to a "coffeehouse" event at Gilda's Club. It was an open mike, and featured a wonderful performance by the inspiring Jill Jack. It reminded me of the Wednesday night open mike night at the Cross Street Station when I was in college. Every Wednesday was magical and exciting. We never knew where the night would take us - and last Friday night could have been the same way (without all the alcohol!)... but we were committed to darts, which would pretty much guarantee to end in a haze of cigarette smoke, burning eyes, and the munchies at 1:00am, while getting ready for bed.
There is no magic in that.
I love OBV2.0. I am going to miss playing darts with them every Friday. However, we still have pick-up games to look forward to. And I am well-aware that I can always join a dart league in the future...
If the time comes.
To paraphrase taoist Lao-Tzu, "The only constant in the Universe is change..."
And I don't think he meant coins.
Monday, November 05, 2007
What's that smell??
“I love the smell of napalm in the morning… Smelled like... victory.” – Apocalypse Now
How much does it matter if you win or lose?
Not much, unless you’re a bullfighter, I guess…
But there really is something to winning that you never really know unless you’ve been losing.
This past week, our dart team finally won our first match of the season. It took six weeks of losing before we won.
We always say that it’s more about having fun than winning. Which is fine if you only lose a few here and there. Otherwise, the losing just grates on you.
“If you don't have confidence, you'll always find a way not to win”
Losing can crush your confidence. I tried to pump up our team this week by telling them that we’re going to be underdogs for the rest of the season. And if nothing else, we can look to f*ck up a lot of teams who are looking past us!
Well, we finally won.
And so did the Lions, whom I have been rooting on for years. Who’da thunk they’d be 6-2 at this point? I’m tickled to death!
Oddly enough, victory smells kinda like hickory.
“I love the smell of napalm in the morning… Smelled like... victory.” – Apocalypse Now
How much does it matter if you win or lose?
Not much, unless you’re a bullfighter, I guess…
But there really is something to winning that you never really know unless you’ve been losing.
This past week, our dart team finally won our first match of the season. It took six weeks of losing before we won.
We always say that it’s more about having fun than winning. Which is fine if you only lose a few here and there. Otherwise, the losing just grates on you.
“If you don't have confidence, you'll always find a way not to win”
Losing can crush your confidence. I tried to pump up our team this week by telling them that we’re going to be underdogs for the rest of the season. And if nothing else, we can look to f*ck up a lot of teams who are looking past us!
Well, we finally won.
And so did the Lions, whom I have been rooting on for years. Who’da thunk they’d be 6-2 at this point? I’m tickled to death!
Oddly enough, victory smells kinda like hickory.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Internet Whiteboard
She seems as if she can never do enough for me
She laughs
She makes me happy
When she's concerned about me, she tries not to let it show (too much)
When she's mad at me, she tries not to let it show (too much)
I know, and it makes me feel bad.
She deserves to be as happy as she makes me
She deserves the world on a silver platter
She deserves to know - on a regular basis - that I love her.
24/7, I shield her the best I can
24/7, I try to make her laugh
24/7, I realize more than anything
she's my angel.
She seems as if she can never do enough for me
She laughs
She makes me happy
When she's concerned about me, she tries not to let it show (too much)
When she's mad at me, she tries not to let it show (too much)
I know, and it makes me feel bad.
She deserves to be as happy as she makes me
She deserves the world on a silver platter
She deserves to know - on a regular basis - that I love her.
24/7, I shield her the best I can
24/7, I try to make her laugh
24/7, I realize more than anything
she's my angel.
Monday, October 29, 2007
What's in a name?
This year, our dart team is struggling. We throw decent darts throughout the game, but we just can't seem to make that final - kill - shot.
We're lovers, not killers.
It's a family team, essentially... with my wife, my brother, my sister, my longest-known friend and another great guy, we all get along really well.
We're lovers, not killers.
Except for one guy on our team, who likes to go deer hunting. But besides that...
We're lovers, not killers.
Our team name, OBV2.0, is an extension from last year's team - Oddballz. OBV2.0=Oddballz, version 2.0. Yay, the mystery is out!
Because we are struggling this season, we have moments when the lover-side of us lapse. As a couple of us raised our shot glasses for a toast this past Friday, I suggested we name our team "Nads". That way, when we cheered ourselves on, we could say "Gooooo NADS!" and get a good chuckle out of it.
So what's truly in a name?
Sure, we could use dart-specific names like "Three in a bed", "What's the point?", "Bull shooters", "Just the tip", etc.... but that's so passe'.
We could use my name: "Matt's Maestro's".
Or use our relationship: "Family Affair".
Seeing as that we will be underdogs for the rest of the season, we could be "The Underdogs" and take up pseudonyms based on the characters: Shoeshine Boy, Simon Bar Sinister, Sweet Polly Purebread...
Maybe we need a mean name like "The Meanies" or "I'll Kick Your Ass if You Win".
But we can't.
We're lovers, not killers.
So for now, OBV2.0 will remain. But being underdogs, we realize that we may not be taken as a serious threat.
And this will give us the perfect opportunity to pounce - with our teeth bared and gnashing - aiming straight for the jugular.
This year, our dart team is struggling. We throw decent darts throughout the game, but we just can't seem to make that final - kill - shot.
We're lovers, not killers.
It's a family team, essentially... with my wife, my brother, my sister, my longest-known friend and another great guy, we all get along really well.
We're lovers, not killers.
Except for one guy on our team, who likes to go deer hunting. But besides that...
We're lovers, not killers.
Our team name, OBV2.0, is an extension from last year's team - Oddballz. OBV2.0=Oddballz, version 2.0. Yay, the mystery is out!
Because we are struggling this season, we have moments when the lover-side of us lapse. As a couple of us raised our shot glasses for a toast this past Friday, I suggested we name our team "Nads". That way, when we cheered ourselves on, we could say "Gooooo NADS!" and get a good chuckle out of it.
So what's truly in a name?
Sure, we could use dart-specific names like "Three in a bed", "What's the point?", "Bull shooters", "Just the tip", etc.... but that's so passe'.
We could use my name: "Matt's Maestro's".
Or use our relationship: "Family Affair".
Seeing as that we will be underdogs for the rest of the season, we could be "The Underdogs" and take up pseudonyms based on the characters: Shoeshine Boy, Simon Bar Sinister, Sweet Polly Purebread...
Maybe we need a mean name like "The Meanies" or "I'll Kick Your Ass if You Win".
But we can't.
We're lovers, not killers.
So for now, OBV2.0 will remain. But being underdogs, we realize that we may not be taken as a serious threat.
And this will give us the perfect opportunity to pounce - with our teeth bared and gnashing - aiming straight for the jugular.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Music is the best
According to Frank Zappa, in his song "Packard Goose", information is not knowledge. Knowledge is not wisdom. Wisdom is not truth. Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love. Love is not music. Music is THE BEST...
I love the words and music of Frank Zappa. I have often thought about the conversation we would have if we had ever met.
Matt: Hi Frank. It's a pleasure to meet you.
Frank: Is it?
Matt: It sure is. I really enjoy your music and stuff you talk about.
Frank: Stuff like what?
Matt: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
There doesn't seem to be too many stupid musicians, whose talents lie on the record store shelves. Frank would talk circles around me, even though I am a relatively smart person. In fact, I would bet that a lot of the musicians I love would talk circles around me.
Of course, I would have to talk to them about challenging topics. Sure, we might start out talking about the weather, but eventually, I would have to ask David Bowie where he gets his inspiration, and how he developed his method for writing lyrics.
I'd be spinning in moments.
I like intelligent music. Overly intelligent music like jazz goes way over my head. Instead, I like synchopated stuff. Stuff that throws you off balance and makes you think.
I also enjoy a good story sung to me. Give me a Jim Croce song, or James Taylor, Warren Zevon, Jackson Browne...
Warren Zevon wrote songs that make me want to be the main character. What sort of observer would tell the tale of London's werewolves? How much shit's gotta hit the fan before you'd have to cry out for lawyers, guns and money? Who would keep a busy schedule trying to fit in the seven deadly sins?
Crazy, man, crazy.
But what's wrong with simply having fun with music? One of my favorite rock and roll bands, Cheap Trick, keeps anger and profanity out of their songs. I loved the simple rock of early Van Halen and Aerosmith.
Most of the time, though, I use music to help me achieve a certain mood. When I write, or try to be artsy, I like to listen to introspective stuff like Pink Floyd, or krautrock like Neu or early Tangerine Dream.
To everything is a season
And a time for purpose under heaven.
For me, this is also true for music.
The record album turns, turns, turns. Our moods and lives change. Have you ever wondered what soundtrack would define a movie of your life?
I think mine would be as jam-packed as the 10-disc 70s music explosion collection...
...as seen on TV.
According to Frank Zappa, in his song "Packard Goose", information is not knowledge. Knowledge is not wisdom. Wisdom is not truth. Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love. Love is not music. Music is THE BEST...
I love the words and music of Frank Zappa. I have often thought about the conversation we would have if we had ever met.
Matt: Hi Frank. It's a pleasure to meet you.
Frank: Is it?
Matt: It sure is. I really enjoy your music and stuff you talk about.
Frank: Stuff like what?
Matt: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
There doesn't seem to be too many stupid musicians, whose talents lie on the record store shelves. Frank would talk circles around me, even though I am a relatively smart person. In fact, I would bet that a lot of the musicians I love would talk circles around me.
Of course, I would have to talk to them about challenging topics. Sure, we might start out talking about the weather, but eventually, I would have to ask David Bowie where he gets his inspiration, and how he developed his method for writing lyrics.
I'd be spinning in moments.
I like intelligent music. Overly intelligent music like jazz goes way over my head. Instead, I like synchopated stuff. Stuff that throws you off balance and makes you think.
I also enjoy a good story sung to me. Give me a Jim Croce song, or James Taylor, Warren Zevon, Jackson Browne...
Warren Zevon wrote songs that make me want to be the main character. What sort of observer would tell the tale of London's werewolves? How much shit's gotta hit the fan before you'd have to cry out for lawyers, guns and money? Who would keep a busy schedule trying to fit in the seven deadly sins?
Crazy, man, crazy.
But what's wrong with simply having fun with music? One of my favorite rock and roll bands, Cheap Trick, keeps anger and profanity out of their songs. I loved the simple rock of early Van Halen and Aerosmith.
Most of the time, though, I use music to help me achieve a certain mood. When I write, or try to be artsy, I like to listen to introspective stuff like Pink Floyd, or krautrock like Neu or early Tangerine Dream.
To everything is a season
And a time for purpose under heaven.
For me, this is also true for music.
The record album turns, turns, turns. Our moods and lives change. Have you ever wondered what soundtrack would define a movie of your life?
I think mine would be as jam-packed as the 10-disc 70s music explosion collection...
...as seen on TV.
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