I saved this because it reminds me how sweet Andy is. The CD he is referring to is Bloodhound Gang s Hefty Fine CD. Typically when a CD I covet comes out, I ll tell Sean and he ll pick it up for me the next time he goes to the CD store.
I ve secured many a NOFX CD that way. Well this time the plan backfired. When I submitted my seemingly innocent request to Sean, he balked.
No! Are you kidding me?!
? Have you seen the cover? It s disgusting I don t want to be seen buying that!
He pulled up the cover on the Internet and sure enough, it s not the most pleasing image to the eye. Basically it is a large naked man sitting in a cardboard box ( ).
The afternoon of the Virginia Tech-Miami game, work was sparsely populated and filled with people leaving early (as is typical for Thursday night games).
Andy was about to leave work and talking about last minute preparations for our tailgate and he mentioned he was stopping by Target.
Oh you re stopping by Target? I said, There s a CD I want, do you mind picking it up for me?
Now, I would rank Andy as more religious than I. I would rank Andy as more conservative than I. I would certainly peg Andy as an individual who would prefer to not look at naked fat men.
So in my mind, as I telling him the album title, I was already finding amusement imagining Andy innocently walking down to the music section of Target with the usual spring in his stride. I can see him navigating down the inventory to B s and suddenly spotting the CD he committed to buy. It was going to be hilarious.
But there was a kink in the plan.
Sure, Andy said, Let me pull it up real quick so I know what I m looking for.
Before I could think of a means to distract him, the album covered was displaying on his screen.
OH, NO WAY IN HELL!!!
! Andy exclaimed.
Henry s diarrhea is still on the floor.
I did not leave it for you to clean up but I do need help with how to clean it.
I can laugh now at this one. Check the timestamps he left diarrhea on the floor for two days!
A lot of questions come to mind. Did he keep on using the computer room? What did Henry think of his work being preserved?
I certainly wasn t laughing, however, when I got home and I was having to saturate dried diarrhea with Resolve in order to seperate it from the carpet fibers.
Earlier this year, Sean and I . It was cold and rainy when we arrived.
I sent a text message to my brother saying something along the lines of Greetings from Boston. It is cold and rainy here. A little while later, my brother responded:
I shot my best score ever today!
Broke 90 for the first time. 89! I am so excited!
Sean s referring to his golf game. I kept this because I can relate to his happiness. When I finished my and when I , I commemorated the event via a text message to Sean.
I know how excited I am at those moments when I key the news in and I bet Sean was even more excited when he wrote that message to me. And that makes me happy.
Finally, a message from Sean when I told him my favorite part of one of his websites:
THANK YOU!
You are the first to recognize it. I was so disappointed until you said that!
Sean and I do have seperate interests, seperate hobbies and a lot of evenings we go our own ways.
But, every now and then I get a reminder that despite our differences, our minds still work similiarly. Humor can fall in that category too. There are some things that are downright hilarious to Sean and I that barely solicit a giggle from others.
If any of you have heard either of us try to relay the ill-fated Dumping Turds story, you ll know what I m talking about.
Anyway, I ve kept this message because even though he golfs and I hike, or I m in Delaware and he s home or I m at home and he s in Charlotte or even though we have differing opinions on dog diarrhea disposal . we still see, appreciate and talk about a lot of the same things.
We still have a common ground.
Christmas Day I worked on a crossword from the Washington Post. It wasn t an especially festive puzzle.
The theme was a lot of large words or phrases that included Bah (as in Bah, Humbug! ) in them.
One of the clues was for a song by The Clash.
As luck would have it, that song is fresh in my mind because it is featured in Cingular (?) commercial. One guy downloaded the song to his cell phone and he and his buddy argue over the words.
They both have them completely mangled one guy even singing about a cat box
I did think the commercial was amusing, but I thought they should have picked a different song. It was way too obvious what the words really were. They should have picked a song where the words were more ambigious.
Back to Christmas Day, I smugly filled in ROCKTHECASTLE and moved on with the puzzle. But, something was wrong. I had all sorts of struggles with related sections of the puzzle.
Finally, just to outrule what I thought was a very small possibility, I consulted the Internet about the song title.
And it was at this point, I decided the Cingular producers did pick a good song for their the premise afterall. I had fallen into the same trap as the guys on the commericial.
Even though in my crossword, I knew I needed BAH in the title. And most embarassingly, even though the commercial actually shows the song title at the end.
Sometimes, I guess it s just hard to compete with first impressions.
(Want me to tie this into ISO 9000 and quality management? The conclusion shows the importance of having clean work areas and facilities when the auditor comes. If the auditor s first impression is the office is in disorder, it is easier for him/her to believe your processes and procedures will be in the same state)
There are a few reasons why I think I enjoy programming after normal business hours.
Lack of phone calls and interruptions is a pretty obvious appeal.
I think another factor may be nostalgia. When we were children, my father used to go to work in the evenings and weekends and he would take me and my siblings along.
While Dad worked, we d each take a desk and play office calling each other s extensions, writing memos, photocopying important documents and one time accidently discovering a porn magazine in the desk of one of my father s subordinates (Dad was not especially thrilled with that discovery of ours). I also recall races up and down the hallway to the cafeteria. There was something invigorating, something exciting about being in that office building at night.
Finally, a third possibility has come to mind lately I think I enjoy after hours work because I like to sing along to music. I m a horrible singer, so it isn t a luxury I can indulge in when there are witnesses around. As a result, my routine has become at 5:30 I ll unplug my headphones and start playing music through the speakers.
There are still others lingering around, so I may sing along to choice phrases but very softly. Eventually someone comes by to tell me I m the last one in the building. At this point, I have total freedom!
I increase the volume of my speakers and I increase the volume of my participation.
This evening, Ana came by to tell me I was the last one left and I commenced my crooning. Things were going well a half an hour had passed and I was very much enjoying accompanying Kanye West with my shaky, offkey rendition of Family Business .
All the diamond rings, they don t mean a thing . mean a thing mean a thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggg.
Suddenly I heard laughter behind me and a sarcastic, You re awesome!
I turned around to find my co-worker, Chuck .. AND his wife.
A long period of peace, pure peace without any disorder of any kind, would be unbearable and it would be inevitable that peace would give birth to waves I am sure that once we entered [an age] of Great Harmony, waves of competition and friction would inevitably break forth that would disrupt [it] Human beings always hate chaos and hope for order, not realizing that chaos too is part of the process of historical life, that it too has value
So according to Mao the absence of misery (aka pure peace ) would bring forth boredom and unrest. My tournament bridge experience may support this theory. At times, I managed to upset myself with a poor play more than I upset my partner, otherwise known as Dad .
In those cases, my father would remind me (paraphrased):
If we played perfect every time, it would be boring. There d be no point.
Another thing I find notable about the Mao quote is his thought that chaos too is part of the process of historical life, that it too has value.
Historically the times of war are accompanied by periods of innovation, invention and increased productivity. WWII brought forth a number of inventions and new products ranging from the atomic bomb to M Ms. It also brought strides in quality control processes as well as .
Misery brings with it necessity and necessity brings forth revolution.
Waits and Mao paint misery as inevitable part of life and Mao extends it to a necessary and valuable part of life. In my life, I don t think I actively seek out misery (some may point to my work schedule and cite that as contradictory evidence).
However, I have a whole slew of recent examples where I am unnerved by the absence of misery. I ve grown accustomed to using it as a subconscious unit of measurement. When the misery does not match what I expected from the task at hand, I feel out of sorts.
When Mike, Kipp and I went backpacking in the Smokies, we carried our heavy packs for 8 miles and ascended up (and back down) roughly 2000 feet. Although I struggled a lot that first mile and had my fair share of discomfort and doubt, I certainly did not have the magnitude of misery I expected. I expected it to be harder than all other hikes I ve attempted.
I expected to want to turn around; I expected to want to cry; I expected to have to force my legs to keep moving on. That just never happened. So when it was all said and done, it did not feel like we ascended as much as we did.
It still doesn t.
Last week was our annual User s Conference. Like last year, I had some speaking engagements.
This year we had almost twice the amount of attendees, so the audience was quite a bit larger. Now, although I did have some nerves before I spoke, it was no where near the amount from the year before. In fact, I believe last year my hands quivered at the very beginning.
This year said hands were steady. So this year, when my speeches were over, I found myself thinking, Wow, did that really happen? The sensation didn t solidify in my head without the nerves.
Back when I suffered from the self-induced misery of emetophobia (fear of vomiting), traveling proved to be an ordeal wrought with all sorts of anxiety. It would start weeks ahead of time. I d worry about getting the stomach flu or food poisoning when I was so far away from home.
I d worry about turbulence causing motion sickness on the plane. I d worry about losing my appetite from worrying. Why?
If I lost my appetite and didn t eat, I d get so hungry I d grow nauseous and when I grew nauseous, I d gag. Even when I was already on a trip and I had some successful meals behind me, I d still worry. Will I be hungry for dinner?
What if I m not hungry? If I am hungry, what will I eat? What if they don t have anything I like?
I didn t realize it at the time, but all that worrying and anxiety really monopolized and taxed my body s resources. I would completely drain myself, adding to the misery that was already there.
Welp, it has now been years since I ve been liberated from that worry and I ve certainly traveled up a storm!
Without all the worry and anxiety, even the most unpleasant trips and circumstances, are so peaceful and pleasant. In other words, external miseries (flight cancellations, lodging mishaps, etc) are absolutely no match for the internal misery of my past.
Despite all the years that have passed and all my successful travels, it still feels very weird to me that trips do go so smoothly without any mental anguish.
Very frequently, it almost feels like the trip did not happen. I marvel about the sensation in my journal entries from numerous trips. Here s an excerpt from my trip to :
These latest trips I’ve been taking — it feels like they aren’t real — they feel like a dream.
Why? Because I have no anxiety. It still doesn’t feel like a trip if I don’t have a horrid ado in my head for weeks beforehand.
I wonder how many decades will have to pass before I adjust to the missing anxiety?
Misery is the Unit of Measurement (for Others?)
I may not be alone in feeling surprised by the absence of misery.
Last weekend, Sean and I visited in their new home in Charlotte. During the evening, Jodi and I were talking about the birth of her daughter. The reads, In what can only be described as very fast , Jodi had to push only 8 times across 3 contractions before Alison came out.
Jodi s account confirmed that as she described how quick and easy the actual act of pushing and delivery went. When she was done, she said (paraphrased):
It felt like it should have been harder. It feels like it didn t really happen, you know?
I ve never given birth, but I knew exactly what she meant!
Sunday night I walked to church. Sunday night is not a typo.
When I attend, I go to the 6:15 Mass. It s my church s special LIFE TEEN Mass. So the congregation is a whole bunch of teenagers .
and Vicky!
My journey was two miles one way. A perfect distance to get out enjoy the day and exercise without becoming too sweaty for even God to love.
However, my journey was long enough that if I wanted a timely dinner, I needed a ride back.
It was my agnostic husband who made my walk possible! Without a single roll of the eyes or even an irritated sigh, he volunteered to pick me up at 7:15.
It got me thinking a bit. There are a number of aspects of my lifestyle that Sean does not subscribe to, approve of or especially respect. Nonetheless, he often exerts effort to facilitate me.
Two other examples come to mind at the moment:
I ll return home on a Tuesday evening to find the CD waiting for me on the breakfast nook. Ultimately he is punishing himself increasing the odds he has to hear the music he does not like. 
But, he secures the CDs anyway.
He has woken up early a couple of times to drop me off at a trailhead. One day in fact, he woke up at 5 AM on a day off to help shuttle me to a trail! And it was common for Sean to have a steak and baked potato waiting for me when I arrived home.
He knew without being told, the exact meal my body was craving after a long trek! Even though he only physically walked 2.5 unique miles on the Appalachian Trail Sean s contribution to my was much more significant than my could ever reveal.
A husband who ll wait to start the DVD so I can go jogging. A husband who ll run errands to accomodate my contract work and a husband who ll read my story even though he hates fiction.
Maybe, just maybe, that is a little more telling than a husband who would blindly embrace my every whim.
(I say maybe, so I can still reserve my right to complain when the mood suits me! 
)
In my post I talked about art outlasting the artist. In other words, the tangible clues a person leaves behind after death or as Stuart Mackey once put it souvenirs of existence.
And when I think of my legacy that I will pass on, I often focus in and fixate on tangible items. My journals. My genes (hopefully).
My stories. My letters. My crafts.
And at times my code. Those are the items I expect to outlast and outlive me.
I was reminded today that a being s influence is much more broad than what can be seen and touched.
Jonny Pullen (aka ) sent me a copy of his band s ( ) first CD! He sent it along because he said my name was in the acknowledgements! I received the CD today and sure enough in the Sheer Thanks: list there was a Vicky .
The CD was made in 2004. I believe Jonny Pullen and I parted ways in 93/ 94. That means, I had little to no contact with this man for roughly a decade.
Nonetheless, something I said or something I did deep in my past (I m have no guesses what) affected him enough to inspire gratitude. My influence or my memory or something outlasted our active day to day friendship.
I was surprised, but maybe I really shouldn t be.
For the most part, my biggest inspirations do not come from celebrities or the minds of distant personas. They come from the people around me, the people who write to me, the people who I write to, the people who still compose poetry, the people who still create. My biggest inspirations come from real people, people who are tangible to me.
They come from the people of my past as well as the people of the present. They come from people who are probably not aware of just how much creativity and peace I find through them.
I think I was always able to recognize the little intangible legacies and influences others had over me.
Even trivial things. I can point out different dishes I order in restaurants and which past co-worker or friend exposed me to it. And in the past year, I was discussing with and the different words in my vocabulary and who I picked them up from!
I guess, I just didn t give much thought about influence and inspiration going in the other direction???
This afternoon I was checking the site referrals for , , and (via ) when I noticed a peculiar referral to my personal website.
It was from some place called . So I clicked on it.
Turns out, it is the new site/project of the band Too Much Joy. There on the front page where they are listing news and updates is a headline that stands out:
UPDATE 12/17/05 - TIM ENJOYS MAN TONGUE IN THE EAR!
The picture is from the Baltimore Music Festival in 1998.
Being young and adventurous, Aaron (pictured wearing Tim s glasses) and I agreed we would stick our tongues in the lead singer s ear. It turns out the headline on is misleading. Aaron s tongue did not, in fact, make contact with Tim s ear.
He wussed out!
But apparently Aaron s tongue coming even close to contacting the ear is memorable enough for Too Much Joy to refer to it nearly 8 years later! 
This past weekend, I spent a few days at Bethany Beach.
At one point my cousin Jordan asked my Uncle Jonathan, Why Bethany Beach?
The Sawyers have a strong family history here, Jonathan said. He went on to explain how this was where his parents (my grandparents) took all seven of their children for a two week vacation each summer.
This kept on for the next generation. When I was a child, different branches of the family convened on the very same beach. Here is a picture from my childhood days.
Three branches are represented here. From left to right:
Now that we are grown and the fleet of great-grandchildren increases each year, the Sawyers continue their way each summer to Bethany Beach.
Keeping with my whirlwind week, I left work at 5 PM on Wednesday evening.
It gave me an ETA at the beach around 12 AM. Such a long journey would have been a bit of tedious for me alone at the late hour. Luckily, I had a companion!
, still visiting from Germany, agreed to brave a household of Sawyers for an extended weekend! I picked her up in Herndon and drove the remaining 3 hours captivated by great conversation and memories of our high school days. The trip whizzed by.
We did have a little bit of a hiccup. We arrived at 2nd Street at Bethany Beach and lo and behold the lowest house number was 97. That made our address of 5 a little bit of a quandary.
I tried calling every cell phone number I had. Uncle Jonny, Uncle Mark, Mom, Jay, Carolyn, Dad, Cousin Sam. The only phone that was answered was Dad s and that was answered by a complete stranger.
It turns out my father lent his phone to a friend who was still in the Occoquan area. The stranger asked if he could take a message. Somehow that didn t seem like it would help me find a bed for the evening, so I declined his offer.
After another iteration through all the family cell phones, we reconsulted the email and saw the address was South Bethany Beach. No biggie, we drove down there where we found two different 2nd Streets. Of course the first 2nd Street we tried hosted a house number 5 but no familiar vehicles.
So finally on our third 2nd Street we found our home for the next few days.
Christina and I got to relive one particular high school experience the sleepover. We shared a room in the beach house.
She slept in a day bed and I slept on a mattress on the floor. Christina reported my snoring was not that bad but she did note something peculiar. She described me sleeping all curled up in a ball with my legs and arms underneath my body.
Oh no! I gasped, That s the turtle you re supposed to wake me when I do that!
I told her what she couldn t possibly know that when I slept like that, all my extremities fell asleep.
Waking up with one asleep limb is painful (and unnerving) enough. Two arms and two legs at the same time were unbearable. Sean was trained to wake me when he saw me sleeping like that.
Later during the trip, I was telling Sean that Christina spotted the turtle.
Yeah, you ve been doing that a lot lately, Sean said.
I have?
How come you didn t wake me up?!?
I said.
Eh.
Thursday brought quite a surprise my FATHER, yes, Lowell Sawyer, actually went to the beach.
Even as a child, I recall my father s visits to the actual shoreline to be fleeting. Everyone was surprised.
Does Dad even have a bathing suit?
!?!
I had asked.
It turns out (despite my mother s original answer) that my father did not in fact have a bathing suit. He did, however, have burgundy underwear.
Anyway, I rushed out to document such an event, but I was too late. The biting flies had already scared my father away. Hopefully this is proof enough my father retreating from the beach with his chair:
My cousin Samantha and I enjoy coloring our nails at the beach.
This year my mother brought some new supplies . It s a weird product. It comes in premade strips where you can rub on color and it is instantly dry.
It seemed to take longer to apply than regular nail polish and it left quite a bit of trash, but it turns out the color was pretty persistent. I made numerous trips to the ocean and went kayaking and the color still seems to be going strong.
While we were in the ocean the first day, my Uncle Jonny made jokes about swimming a half mile out in the ocean and then a half mile back.
My mother compromised and pointed to an umbrella down the shore and told us to see if we could swim parallel along the shore to that umbrella and back. Little did my relatives know I swim laps at the Blacksburg Aquatic Center! I can almost do a mile in 40 minutes.
Of course, it would be a lot rougher in the tides, but the distance was significantly shorter, so it turned out to not be a problem. My mom was so convinced I wouldn t make it, when I was almost back, I passed my brother swimming towards me.
Mom sent me after you, he said, interrupted by a wave, She was worried.
It s nice to surprise your kin once in a while.
For dinner, Mark and Denise made homemade sauce and pasta. As the hour of the meal arrived, Uncle Stephen and Aunt Kathy joined the beach house for a quick visit.
When they entered, they explained immediately their company would be short lived.
We re supposed to be buying rolls, Aunt Kathy said. They further explained that their dinner was almost ready and they would have to hurry home.
That was an important fact that my grandmother missed.
Shortly afterwards Mark announced that dinner was almost ready and asked for someone to set the table. Christina and I, anxious to earn our keep, went ahead and set the table.
A little while later, Steve and Kathy departed to return to their casserole and their immediate family.
Dinner came along and we all held hands and said the blessing and sat down at our various tables to eat.
Boys and Girls, Grandma said, I have something to say.
I smiled and leaned in, expecting to hear my grandmother talk sentimentally about how nice it was to see so many family members gathered at the shore.
WRONG!
Grandma reprimanded us for setting the table in front of our guests .
She thought it was rude. I think she even used the word appalled . I believe she thought our act accelerated Steve s departure.
She had no idea that he was invited for dinner but declined the invitation. She had no idea he established an exit plan the moment he set foot in the house.
I apologized afterwards and she told me to never let it happen again.
I took the wrap for my Uncle Steve that night. I doubt he or my grandmother will ever know.
When my siblings were young, we biked excessively especially at the beach.
For the first time in at least 15 years, my brother and I biked together. We went from our beach house in South Bethany Beach to the Dickie s Frozen Yogurt in downtown Bethany and back. My bike was a little rustic.
I had dry rot on back tire and it liked to shift gears without my consent. Nonetheless, I loved the ride. It was invigorating and our return had us riding at dusk my favorite time of the day.
That evening, a number of people went to go see the new Superman movie. Christina and I were deterred by the 10:10 PM start time. We both believed we would fall asleep and lamented how old we were now.
Turns out we aren t as old as we thought. We ended up sitting in our respective beds and chatting .until 3 AM!
Second Day at the Beach - Different Generations, Different Perspectives
The next morning, I spent some brief time on the beach. I sat with my grandmother a while and chatted under the newly purchased beach umbrellas.
At one point Grandma shook her head and said, I can t believe the swimsuits nowadays.
Right on cue, a wet Uncle Jonny returned to the beach blanket.
Finally we got to do my favorite beach activity Kayaking in Assawoman Bay!!
! This year it was Cousin Sam, Cousin Frank, Cousin Jordan, Uncle Timmy and I on the adventure! It was a wonderful outing.
I got to chat with Sam. I got to watch Frank and Jordan joust, capsize and wrestle in the bay. And I got to have a secluded lap through a salt marsh.
The most predominant sounds were the rhythmic strokes of my paddle and the calls of various sea birds. Then, periodically, off in the distance, I can hear Jordan and Frank yelling, talking smack!
Earlier in the week I discovered I left my old glasses (with transitional lenses) at home which meant I didn t have viable sunglasses.
Then later I made the chilling discovery that I also left my contacts at home. The only thing I had with me was my brand new, week old, pink glasses. Glasses with the most expensive, thinnest, clearest lenses money could buy (pictured below with my brother Jay).
If I lose these glasses, I told my family, I ll be screwed.
Of course, I would lose those glasses! I was very cautious kayaking.
In fact, I kept my distance from the rambunctious Jordan and Frank to ensure they wouldn t flip me during their horseplay. The journey was almost over we were nearing the return spot when I got some sunscreen in my eye. I went to rub the stinging eye and WHOOSH my glasses flew off and directly into the bay.
Immediately I jumped into the water and started to fish around. Soon all my relatives joined in the search, but to no avail.
My brand new glasses were long gone .
and I was left blind.
The scenario turned out to not be as bad as I had originally thought. I was able to get a Lenscrafters in Salisbury, Maryland to fill my contact lenses prescription.
Not without its frustrations however the whole ordeal took 6 hours and I was less than impressed with my eye doctor here in Christiansburg, Virginia.
I owe and a big thank you for putting their plans on hold and chauffeuring me around to regain my sight.
When we returned to the beach house, me the proud owner of new contacts, I decided to go for an evening walk on the beach.
It was a nice walk. All over the waterline, I could see the silhouettes of little birds digging in the wet sand for food. Every time a wave would arrive, they would run away and when the wave retreated they would run back towards the sea.
As a result, I had a living border to show me where the waves were.
When I returned to the house, I rotated between visiting with Christina and Stacy in the bedroom and visiting with my relatives in the kitchen. My timing could be improved upon.
Christina reported that one two occasions, Stacy was in the middle of a story and I got up and left the room without a word. Poor Stacy!
One surprising highlight was hearing playing from the house CD player.
My brother had borrowed it and liked it enough to play it twice!
On the third day, we scrambled to finish up leftovers and reclaim everyone s sheets. All the Sawyers met in the road to say our goodbyes and get one last group picture.
My cousin Melanie walked around and hugged everyone goodbye. I watched her as she made the rounds.
Goodbye, Frankie!
she d say and give him a hug.
Goodbye, Sam! she d say and give her a hug.
She came to me and embraced me, Goodbye .Person.
With a few recent exceptions, every hike I go on, at some point I think I can t make it.
That doubt typically surfaces during an ascent. :) For example, last year s Tinker Cliffs to McAffee s Knob Hike I made it up to Tinker s Cliff fine, but at the halfway point when we started a slight rise right after Brickey s Gap, a subtle lump rose in my throat, I thought about the path ahead and I wanted to cry.
But as with all hikes, I keep going and before I know it, I m at the top or in sight of my car and I m ready for a nice Fuddrucker s hamburger or better yet, some ice cream.
It is my mind that doubts what my body can do!
This knowledge has come in handy in my professional life. Last July, I had a very hectic travel schedule.
In looking over the back to back itineraries and flights, I thought to myself, I can t do this! It s impossible! Then I remembered all the hikes where a similiar thought crossed my mind.
I took it one trip at a time and like hiking, I drank a lot of water and ate well. Before I knew it, I was through all my obligations and I had a great deal of fun while I was at it.
Unfortunately, now I m on to myself.
On five recent hikes ( , , , and Bald Knob), I knew better. I never thought I couldn t make it. But, with Mt.
Bierstadt I definitely had my doubts! Those doubts were a slightly different species, however they occurred before I even arrived in the state.
When Mike Newman first emailed me the trail info, the elevation gain of 2,850 feet stuck out to me.
Although I had ascended 3000 feet on a hike on an Appalachian Trail, that was spread out over the course of 13 miles. With Mount Bierstadt, the elevation gain was pretty much compacted to a 2 mile area.
Anyone who has hiked with me, knows that I am quite slow on the steep inclines and take a lot of breaks.
Add the thin air to the mix, it seemed to be an impossibility.
It s like two Angel s Rests back to back, I lamented to friends, with 1/3 the oxygen!
Enter Mike Newman who was not deterred one bit by my concerns.
I honestly think you can do it, and you won t exhaust my patience you ll just have to trust me on that one, he emailed.
It turns out, Mike Newman was correct on both accounts. As soon as I was on the trail, I was no longer concerned.
And although I was challenged by the rocky, steep sections there was never a time where I wanted to turn back and certainly never a time where I wanted to cry. By the time the trail got hard, the summit was close enough that I knew it was obtainable (though I still reveled in my surprise that I was going to make it). The whole while, break after break, Mike Newman proved to be a very patient and pleasant companion (He also demonstrated an uncanny ability of estimating the number of paces to the next cairn).
It turned out to be a wonderful, fulfilling day.
If I had listened to my own doubts or let my worry of irritating Mike Newman win out, I would have settled on a very different hike. I would have missed out.
And ultimately what was I worried about? I was worried about looking like a wuss. I would have missed out because I was trying to save face!
I m glad, thanks to Mike Newman s encouragement, that I did not fall into that tempting pitfall.
I m glad that I did not get held back by the voices inside me.
Last Thursday night, I met Sean and some friends out at PK s for pizza.
As we ate, I heard Counting Crow s Mr. Jones come on the jukebox behind the sounds of chatty crowds and the clank of billiard balls. I focused on the music, the other distractions fading away, and as I always do when I encounter Counting Crows, I thought about Jeremy Turner.
I remembered HFStival 1994 when Jeremy and I were watching the band perform. The crowd was very enthusiatic and swaying back and forth to the songs. Wait a second, I said, My feet aren t touching the ground!
It was a disconcerting feeling for me to be moving about with no control. I don t like this, I said, Let s get out of here.
A few minutes passed and we were still in the same predictament.
It turns out it is quite difficult to leave when you re feet aren t touching the ground! But mostly, I thought of the times were Jeremy would sing just for the sake of singing. One evening in particular, I remember a group of us walking down a road in the late, late evening.
Out of nowhere, Jeremy sung Round Here from start to finish, accompanied only by the sounds of summer insects and the darkness of the night. It is that rendition that remains my favorite (even over the original) and that rendition I will always recall. Back at PKs, someone started to talk to me and my attention returned to the present.
You re thinking of Jeremy, Sean said, matter of factly.
I had to smile. Sean has never met Jeremy Turner and in fact, I haven t seen or heard from Jeremy in nearly a decade.
But Sean knew. From all my stories, my own , Sean knew exactly what I was thinking.
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