Running for Your Life: So, You Are STILL Undecided

Hard to know, but it’s possible, just possible, there remain some undecided voters out there in the United States, with the midterm elections coming on Tuesday (Nov. 6).

If you are among those undecided – and remarkably in these days of social media masking for old school print and radio reporting – who have yet to buzz in your respective hive of predigested facts (I’m looking at you Fox and CNN …)

Then do yourself a favor – and read the text below ...

Not advocating any one position, you understand. But this essay by Eliot Weinberger, “Ten Typical Days in Trump’s America,” in the London Review of Books may very well be worth the equivalent of the next five days of 24-7 coverage on US cable news.

Read it – and reap. (Or weep – it may just come to that.)

Next: Running for Your Life: Penmanship 


Running for Your Life: Too Early But …

It is too soon. But these days, given the speed at which events cascade like floodwaters in a coastal storm, it is only right. Stay ahead of the news cycle, at all costs.

With that in mind, consider this ghastly thought.

Israel under Bibi Netanyahu is committed to a far-right approach to world order as dictated by religious ideologues and will take zero meaningful action to construct a response to the lack of official American redress to the violence done to those in Pittsburgh – reportedly an ecumenical Jewish-Muslim community of disparate strands of faith – stricken by the bloody massacre of eleven worshipers in a religious house of prayer.

They – Trump and Netanyahu – will stand mutely by and those victimized by their political imperative – those SLAIN FOR THEIR FAITH as the New York Post so rightly shouted out on Monday’s (Oct. 29) front page – will have died for nothing.

Whose names, sadly, will soon be swamped in the endless storm of cascading events.

Next: Running for Your Life: Penmanship

Running for Your Life: Routine Is Boring. Really?

When I find myself equating routine with boring, I think of Thurber, our redbone coonhound.

Thurber’s routine is anything but boring.

M, T and I go out together every morning when we’re home in Brooklyn, T leading the way.

Same time. Same streets. Same stop for coffee. Same entrance to Prospect Park.

Nothing in Thurber’s demeanor would suggest that “boring” is remotely possible. Especially in feral October, the smells in the crisp, cold breeze literally lifting his spirit, throwing a jaunt to his purposeful prance.

Occasionally, he’ll glance back at us, slowly moving, familiar odoriferous bipeds, as if contemplating our reality.

If anything is boring to Thurber it’s how humans walk so curiously.

Thurber’s watered, fed and knows to sit for a treat. That’s the foundation. That makes it possible for him to get the most out of life, to “lean” into his routine.

Me, it’s cut-fresh fruit, regular coffee, eight ounces of cold water. Running every other day without fail. Sparks fly in my mind. I love being on a walk with M. We laugh, reminisce, dig into work questions, talk about our reading lives …

Routine.  Every day. Why disturb this healthy, exciting balance? (I can’t remember when I was last felled by sickness [sound of wood being knocked]).

Thurber, though, is my guru of capital “R” routine. Who is yours?

Next: Running for Your Life: Penmanship

Running for Your Life: Hey, Nostalgia, Been Nice Knowing You

M and I have been enjoying the FX series, “The Americans.”

I can’t help but feel nostalgic. Watching how the producers recreate the early ’80s, at the dawn of the information superhighway, that to protect themselves, a broken system of patronage and slough, Russian spies infiltrated science hubs in order to inform “the center” of what would be possible in terms of military – invasion, insurrection or both – actions to address the most worst outcome of a Reagan-led (read: Big American-owned business) attack on adversaries in foreign lands (aka despotic prisons of no hope).

It makes me wonder.

Will each generation be cheered by the nostalgia of a past era?

Don’t we equate nostalgia with what we would call simpler times?

Nostalgia for me glows most in the first decades of my human awareness, the ’60s and ’70s.

I wonder how my daughter K will look back at her nostalgia time, the’90s and ’00s.

I sense favorably in the ’90s, the days before the ubiquitous pocket computers. But the ’00s, post 9/11?

Ten years after 9/11 there was Occupy Wall Street.

She wasn’t an Occupant, but she was raised and schooled to question authority.

Will she be nostalgic about Occupy?

How about children born in 2018?

Will my grand-niece and grand-niece be nostalgic about the 2020s, the 2030s?

Is nostalgia not something that like novels will be written about as something that can be killed?

If so, who do we charge for its murder?

Next: Running for Your Life: Routine Is Boring. Really?

Running for Your Life: Got a Hero?

Have a hero? Subscribe to a tribe.

Act on a heroic idea in humility and quietude? Subscribe to better angels, the best about humanity.

America is founded on a principle, e pluribus unum, or “out of man, one.”

We have long fallen short of this idea.

In fact, thanks to the disrupters who monetize what used to be ours, or at least we could be persuaded to think that we were free to choose what we do, what we think, what we say, who we are influenced by, etc., without being mediated to the nth degree by the likes of Facebook, Amazon, Netflix and Google (FANG!), we are reduced to being market units, carved up in smaller and smaller slices in the incredibly expanding universe that is the media and entertainment business.

(Not culture, BTW, entertainment; that is what stands for culture in the global marketplace. America First! Canada Last! Check out the new NAFTA, USMCA – only reason Mexico gets one letter and Canada two is to differentiate from the US Marine Corp. [USMC]. You can bet the Trump folks love this front-loading situation: Branding is 80% of the message, folks.)

My emerging calling? Disrupt the disrupters. We’ll be a small but lively band of pious folk who value humility and quietude over messianic grandstanding. But it’s where I see myself, come what may.

Next: Hey, Nostalgia, Been Nice Knowing You

Running for Your Life: Tax Facts

The New York Times doubled down on its Trump dissent with a gold-plated special section screamer this month (October) that outs the president’s family for decades of fishy tax-avoidance schemes, some of which stink of out-and-out money laundering.

No bodies turn up, so not mob-like in that way, but you get the drift.

Damaging? Yeah, but …

Much is made about the American Revolution.

Other notable political and social revolutions – French, Russian, Nicaraguan, Cuban – at least pay lip service to change that will address the problem of the poor, a lack of nominal justice toward them. How those revolutions evolved in trading one bad situation for another is beside the point.

Rather, the acknowledgment of the poor masses is central to the liturgy: Socialism is a pathway backed by pious priests (think the late Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador), a righteous approach to addressing the needs of the have-nots, a compelling theory for millions.

The American Revolution, by contrast, rises from a tax revolt.

Its leaders, the slave-owning landed gentry, balked at taxation without representation.

But central to this liturgy is a fear of Leviathan government, what happens with taxes collected. Where are they spent? Whom do they serve?

American frontier spirit isn’t with the taxman. The revenuer.

Run him off the land with your shotgun, your rural militia, drink corn whisky till you black out at freedom’s dawn.

Trump’s family cracks that code; it’s the American dream, a family getting the better of the revenuer.

What your average American family sees as the bedrock of our nation: the pursuit of happiness come hell or high water – even better if it’s done by sticking a finger in the eye of the revenuer.

Next: Running for Your Life: Got a Hero?

Running for Your Life: Unfunny Cartoon

Editorial cartoon (with the drawing)

Ornate paneled door, lintel sign: Justice Chambers

Left foreground, pinched-faced Justice Ginsberg, with faces of Justices Sotomayor and Kagan partially visible at margin.

Two speech balloons, one which contains these words:

“Yo, Notorious! Run out and get me an ice-cold can a’ Coke the way I like it – and a kegger of Sam Adams for my new friend here!”

The other balloon reads:

“Heh heh heh”

Next: Running for Your Life: Tax Facts

Running for Your Life: The Bay Ridge Half, Baby!

Results are in – and I’m pretty psyched!

Oldest dude (63) across the finish line at the Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, Half-Marathon, on Saturday, Oct. 6, breaking the 2-hour barrier (just! 1:59:55, thanks to a final kick of sorts), and not so worse for wear, leaving my return to Boston Marathon plans intact, shooting for the 65-69 age category qualifying time, in fall 2020, of 4 hours, 5 minutes.

Slowing some, granted, since I managed a personal best half-marathon of 1:43.12 in the 2011 Manhattan Half at Central Park, but I did manage to improve from last year at the Bay Ridge Half, a 2:05.37, when it was especially hot and humid.

It sure feels nice to be on the right side of 2 hours: 137th finisher of 361 runners! Run for Your Life, all right! Still feeling I can reverse that age ... 

Running for Your Life: Unfunny Cartoon


Running for Your Life: Minimalist Golf

An elderly golfer is briskly bag-walking his seven clubs – 3 wood, long iron, 5-iron, 7-iron, 9-iron, wedge and putter –  on his home course, playing his typical 36 holes.

A man half his age drives up in his golf cart, a bag twice as big in the back, and addresses the old fella:

“Say, I hope you don’t mind me asking … but, how old are you?”

“Ninety-two.”

“Seriously? Wow, you look so great. I’d love to look like that when I’m you’re age.”

“You could start right now.”

“No kidding. How?”

“Get out of your cart and start walking.”

This exchange reflects some of what I read in a book by Mark Cucuzzella that has a great title:

“Run for Your Life”

Cucuzzella doesn’t restrict himself to just running tips (Sound familiar?). And in one chapter he talks about how he’s a believer in minimalist golf – as in, just how the 92-year-old plays the game – the old-fashioned way.

I can relate. As a boy I caddied for my dad, carrying his clubs around our city golf links. For me, golf was like the tennis I played (on municipal courts) and street hockey.

Once you got your swing down, the mechanics of compact power, you are off to the links. Playing in soft-soled shoes, hitting the ball true and long and spending time looking at the treetops, the scudding clouds across the sky, as you strided up the course. Hole after sweet-release, energy-fueling hole.

Next: Running for Your Life: The Bay Ridge Half, Baby!

Running for Your Life: Cool, It’s October

There is something about October.

If April is the cruelest month, October is the feral one.

We’re near-civilized out of this state, but it’s there.

Take a deep breath, feel the brace of morning cold.

For days in October, don’t overdress. If you work protocol permits, wear summer clothing.

Shorts. Feel the cool air in your hairs on your arms and legs.

Got a working dog? Check out its manner. In the case of Thurber, my nine-year-old coonhound, he’s loaded for bear.

We’re bound in space, especially we urban office trolls. Not trolls. Drones. Trolls feel the feral in the air. Their very survival depends on it.

October is the first taste of winter. Instinctive (if we modern humans are still capable of basic instinct), we take stock. Our brains are piqued. There’s an extra lift to our step. Each breath of air more vital than the lethargic summer one.

Forest fauna are booking it: storing nuts, fattening up, digging earth for burrows.

Make no mistake. Bred in our bones lies early human DNA. Feel it. In every breath you take.

Next: Running for Your Life: Minimalist Golf




Running for Your Life: NAFTA notes

OK, there’s a Canada-US-Mexico trade deal. But here is the backgrounder:

Recall that NAFTA was formed to govern all trade and business relations, including sports and the arts.

In the case of sports, there are lessons that conceivably translate into other areas: manufacturing, natural resources, agriculture …

How in the world can the US and Canada find common ground, agree on even the basic terms of to come to a trilateral agreement, if

1/ In Canada’s national sport, ice hockey, the social-political axis spins on facts like this: The last preseason game been pro teams in Ottawa and Montreal served as a platform to report that in a week the team, players and fans had led efforts to raise more than $300,000 for those in need following freak tornados in the Ottawa region. The money would be used to address two areas: food security and mental health.

2/ In America’s national sport, football, courageous players kneel during the singing of the national anthem to protest the country’s crisis in social justice, and rather than the act serve as a hero’s call to address the problem, it divides the country and worsens its social and political divide.

Nope. Nothing to say to each other here. Whatever was signed isn’t worth the paper upon which I’m writing this note.

Next: Running for Your Life: Cool, It’s October