Back before I became The Fat Runner, I was just FAT. In the spring of 1997, I weighed 305 lbs. I was a heart attack looking for a place to happen. An EKG was definitely in my future.
For the majority of my life I've been overweight. I was always the fat kid that everybody made fun of in school. I got to be in the school Christmas play every year, not as a elf or talking reindeer, but as Santa. I guess I should be proud of that since I had more speaking lines than anyone else. To this day the sight of that red suit and white beard sends chills up my spine.
Still, I played sports and amazed everyone at my agility and speed. For a big kid I ran faster than many smaller players on the team. I played baseball, football, and put the shot in track. I was fat, but a good athlete. However, I had very little self-esteem and always knew I was the "fat boy" and would probably never be the star athlete, or Prince Charming.
Fast forward to 1997. My wife and I bought bicycles for ourselves and our two young daughters. We sat out on a short ride from our apartment to a park about two miles away. After a mile I could barely pedal. I was so out of breath I thought I was going to croak. It was horrible. It made me so angry that I had let myself get to this point. So, that day began a quest for me to change my lifestyle. My normal day at work consisted of drinking 2-3 42 oz cokes, eating donuts at breakfast, snacking on junk, and eating big, fatty burgers for lunch. Then, I'd go home and drink more pop, eat a big supper, and snack all night. This was a recipe for disaster.
In March '97, I started riding my bike each day, going a little farther every time I rode. I broke three bikes in less than four months from my weight. I decided to invest in a better machine so I went to our local bike shop and bought a Specialized mountain bike for around $200. It was the best thing I've ever purchased. I attached an odometer to keep track of my mileage and off I went.
By late summer that same year, I was riding over 75 miles a week and had lost nearly 45 pounds. That August, I started a new job at my same school and came in for registration. I rode my bike the five miles to my school. When I walked in, no one could believe their eyes. I weighed 250. I was slowly transforming the old me. I made it a point to ride to work as often as I could and by the beginning of 1998 I had lost 100 lbs. My best friend made fun of me, saying all I needed was a number tattooed to my forearm and I'd look like a Holocaust survivor. I had fudged on a lot of my favorite foods and even passed on foods that were good for me in order to lose the weight. I wouldn't advise anyone to try this. I lost of a lot of muscle and had to work hard to reclaim it.
Losing 100 pounds is a quite a feat. It makes you rethink your whole lifestyle and you have to make sacrifices in order to keep the weight off. It also makes you look at yourself in a new way. For example, I know what anorexics go through now, because even after I lost all that weight I still saw myself as fat. I would eat a meal and then feel guilty. I'd run to a scale to see if I gained anything back. After eating I always felt the urge to jump on my bike and ride 10-15 miles to burn off the calories I had just consumed. It's an awful feeling.
What turned me around is running. In 1999, my best friend, a police officer and avid runner, asked me to join him at a local park for a run. At first I was a little reticent to try it, but he insisted and I said yes. I didn't even own a decent pair of running shoes but I figured it was worth a shot. We stretched and got started. Now, I didn't think I would make a full mile without walking some, but as we ran, we talked and that was enough of a distraction I didn't notice the mileage. After several laps around we stopped. My buddy hit his watch and said, "Do you know how far we ran?" Of course, I didn't. We had done 5 miles in under 40 minutes. I could hardly believe it. "Really!" I exclaimed. 5 miles? 5 miles! It was my first run and I was ecstatic.
I went straight to the mall the next day and bought a brand-new pair of Adidas running shoes, with cushioned soles. I met my best friend 5 days a week and we ran anywhere from 3-5 miles at a time. I still rode my bike and got him to join me doing that, but I was hooked on running.
Since then, I've participated in a marathon and completed a 50-mile run/walk for diabetes. I'm not much of a 5k runner nor do I get into all the competitive runs in our area, but I love to run. I weigh 240 and lift weights 3 times a week to keep toned. I've still got a gut. Some guys have a six-pack. I have a keg and don't mind. That's why they invented spandex performance wear to hold all my jiggly in.
If you're reading my blog, my goal is to inspire those who may be thinking of running, or may already be running and don't think you're all that great an athlete. Speaking as a 43-year old husband, father of two, and school teacher, I'm not a phenomenal athlete and won't be setting any land speed records this year, but I'll be out there running and loving it. I'm a fat guy, The Fat Runner. I'm proud of that title. I can outrun my daughters and many of my students.
No, I'm still not the star athlete, but I did get to be Prince Charming. At least that's what my wife says. I'm a fat knight in shining Nike's and I got the girl. So, dreams can come true-with the mantra I developed while trying to shed all that weight. CDHP is the acronym I still live by.
Commitment
Dedication
Hardwork
Perseverance
I would puff that out anytime I felt like quitting. I still do when I get tired and need to go that extra mile.
So, hang in there and realize someone in Texas knows what you're going through. Keep running and ever forward!
That's my confession--what's yours?
God bless you!!!
TFR
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Saturday, October 27, 2007
What the Heck!
Okay. I've read your comments and now I'm vahklempt (sp). Steven, I hear you. I guess I've just been trying to figure out if my blogging has been enlightening or just a waste of time. I appreciate all the kind responses I've received from you all. Thank you for your support and encouragement.
What the heck, I guess I'll keep blogging for a while and see where it leads me. Maybe you all could help me do a better job by sending me your ideas.
I do have something I'd like to discuss today. A few blogs back I mentioned I might have some news to share with you. No, I'm not pregnant. Anyway, you all know my youngest daughter is a type-1 diabetic. If you read my bio, you also know we did a 50-mile run/walk last year in November. This year, in conjunction with one of our local fitness clubs and the assistance of the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, I will be running/walking on a treadmill for 12 straight hours to raise funds for diabetic research. This event will take place the first Saturday in January. My fitness club is allowing us to use machines for $1 per minute for anyone that would like to sign in and participate. Along with corporate sponsorship, we feel we could raise over $10,000 by doing this.
How can you help? I'd like to challenge anyone reading to get out on that January 5 day and raise money for someone you know that has diabetes. There are over 15 million diagnosed diabetics in the U.S. and the numbers keep climbing. In Amarillo alone, 2 new diabetics are diagnosed per day. According to the JDRF, our local American Diabetes chapter, and the City of Amarillo Health Department we have 15,000 diabetics in the Amarillo metro area (population 197,000). That percentage closely mirrors state and national statistics. See www.jdrf.org for more information.
With numbers like these, chances are you or someone you know has diabetes. With the recent loss of my father, a diabetic of over 40 years and whose affliction contributed to his early death, I'm more determined than ever to find a cure for this rapidly growing and disease. Diabetes research is the least funded of all the major diseases. Therefore, I'm asking you to help out by running with me on that day. Start a run in your city. Go to people you know and tell them about this crazy guy in Amarillo, Texas that is running 12 hours on January 5 to put an end to diabetes. Tell them about the miracle I witnessed when my daughter awoke from a coma to become a type-1 diabetic and how this kid and her dad are fighting to cure her and others.
I hope you'll join me as we battle to wipe out diabetes forever. A cure is closer than we think. Researchers are getting closer and closer to finding the cure. Please help us make this a reality.
Once again, thanks for all your encouragement and God bless you all.
Keep in touch and let me know what's up and how my blogs are doing.
The Fat Runner
What the heck, I guess I'll keep blogging for a while and see where it leads me. Maybe you all could help me do a better job by sending me your ideas.
I do have something I'd like to discuss today. A few blogs back I mentioned I might have some news to share with you. No, I'm not pregnant. Anyway, you all know my youngest daughter is a type-1 diabetic. If you read my bio, you also know we did a 50-mile run/walk last year in November. This year, in conjunction with one of our local fitness clubs and the assistance of the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, I will be running/walking on a treadmill for 12 straight hours to raise funds for diabetic research. This event will take place the first Saturday in January. My fitness club is allowing us to use machines for $1 per minute for anyone that would like to sign in and participate. Along with corporate sponsorship, we feel we could raise over $10,000 by doing this.
How can you help? I'd like to challenge anyone reading to get out on that January 5 day and raise money for someone you know that has diabetes. There are over 15 million diagnosed diabetics in the U.S. and the numbers keep climbing. In Amarillo alone, 2 new diabetics are diagnosed per day. According to the JDRF, our local American Diabetes chapter, and the City of Amarillo Health Department we have 15,000 diabetics in the Amarillo metro area (population 197,000). That percentage closely mirrors state and national statistics. See www.jdrf.org for more information.
With numbers like these, chances are you or someone you know has diabetes. With the recent loss of my father, a diabetic of over 40 years and whose affliction contributed to his early death, I'm more determined than ever to find a cure for this rapidly growing and disease. Diabetes research is the least funded of all the major diseases. Therefore, I'm asking you to help out by running with me on that day. Start a run in your city. Go to people you know and tell them about this crazy guy in Amarillo, Texas that is running 12 hours on January 5 to put an end to diabetes. Tell them about the miracle I witnessed when my daughter awoke from a coma to become a type-1 diabetic and how this kid and her dad are fighting to cure her and others.
I hope you'll join me as we battle to wipe out diabetes forever. A cure is closer than we think. Researchers are getting closer and closer to finding the cure. Please help us make this a reality.
Once again, thanks for all your encouragement and God bless you all.
Keep in touch and let me know what's up and how my blogs are doing.
The Fat Runner
Monday, October 22, 2007
I Give Up
After blogging for a couple of months and getting little response, I think it's time to pack it up. My blogging has become an exercise in futility since I only have three regular respondents.
I enjoy sharing my thoughts, but it's like having a high-paying job with lots of benefits. If there's no one to share it with, then it's all for nothing.
Therefore, I must re-examine my blogging to see if I can direct my time toward other efforts. It's not like I spend an enormous amount of time doing this, but it's still time better spent on other ventures.
Good luck to those of you who have sent me comments on my blogs. Perhaps at some other time, I'll resume this if I see some sort of benefit to doing it.
God bless you all and take care.
The Fat Runner
I enjoy sharing my thoughts, but it's like having a high-paying job with lots of benefits. If there's no one to share it with, then it's all for nothing.
Therefore, I must re-examine my blogging to see if I can direct my time toward other efforts. It's not like I spend an enormous amount of time doing this, but it's still time better spent on other ventures.
Good luck to those of you who have sent me comments on my blogs. Perhaps at some other time, I'll resume this if I see some sort of benefit to doing it.
God bless you all and take care.
The Fat Runner
Thursday, October 18, 2007
There's Always Tomorrow
I accidentally hit enter and all I posted was a title. What a great way to start a blog.
There's always tomorrow. At least that's what I thought two years ago. In the span of those two years, I've witnessed my wife's stroke, youngest daughter's coma and subsequent awakening, and both my kids sustaining serious car accidents. If I were a superstitious man, I'd say I'm jinxed.
You would think that after all this I'd live more for today and let tomorrow take care of itself. God keeps giving me these examples of how fragile my life is and I keep blowing him off.
Last week, my father was diagnosed with liver cancer that had metastasized into the lymph nodes in his neck. He wasn't given much of a chance for survival, even with chemo. He wanted to fight the illness and decided to take the treatments no matter the cost.
Three days after getting out of the hospital he was home and feeling a little better. He had taken his first round of chemotherapy. My wife went by to see him and reported he was looking much better. She said she kissed him good-bye and told him and my mom I'd be coming over the next day. That was my "tomorrow."
That night, I decided to hop into the shower, clean up, and then go back and finish watching the baseball game. While in the shower my sister called, screaming my dad wasn't breathing and the paramedics were there working on him. I quickly began getting dressed to meet the ambulance at the hospital, just a mile away. By the time we were down the street my sister called again, saying my dad was dead. Tomorrow wouldn't come.
Junior, as he is known, was really my stepfather. He married my mom 37 years ago. I was raised by someone else in our family as my mom pursued a life with him. They had my sister in 1971 and were living in a nearby city. We moved away from them a few years later. Thus began a strange and distant relationship with my real mom, stepfather, and little sister.
I grew up not knowing how to feel about him. I never fully understood how to take anything he said to me. At times, I feared him and at other times, I hated him. He had never done anything to me, but I just didn't embrace him.
It took me many years to finally understand my stepfather. I guess it was the day he introduced me to some of his co-workers as his "son" that I began to see him in a different light.
When my girls were born he treated them like gold. He always loved them and spoiled them. They were his granddaughters and he'd tell you so. They loved him very much.
Now, after years of trying to get to know him, I realized I still don't. It came to me as my mom, sister, and I were trying to pick a casket and arrange his funeral. As we were writing his obituary it struck me how little I actually know about the man.
I sat with him in the den on countless occasions, searching for something to talk about, some common ground, but we were so different. I was an athlete and avid sports fan and he's a fisherman and musician. There were often times we sat in silence and just stared at the TV.
It all came crashing on me when I ran into their house after a 10-mile, 80 mph trek across town to be there after that fateful phone call. There he was, on the floor, his body covered with a blanket. The breathing tube was still protruding from his mouth. It was more than I could bare. I wanted that tube out and I wanted it out right then. I bowed down next to him and said a quick prayer. Tomorrow had come, but it was still today.
Tomorrow. What a word. It means we anticipated something and it's arrogant for us to think that way. We have no guarantees in life. Certainly not for tomorrow, or in the next hour, or even 15 minutes.
Tomorrow, we will bury my dad. I wish I had a thousand tomorrows but I only have right now. I want my kids to know who I am. I hope I have some tomorrows to share with my grandchildren. I want them to know who I am and how much I love them. My grandchildren are just a concept but I already love them and have visions for their futures. But there I go again. That's one big tomorrow. I have the here and now and I better get busy letting people know how much I love them. I really better listen to what God is saying. He's given me so many lessons, but I always take the Scarlett O'Hara way out.
"Tomorrow's another day." Maybe so, but today's not over. It's 14 minutes until tomorrow so I better get busy telling my kids I love them. I think I'll do just that.
That's my BIG confession for TODAY! What's yours?
God bless you!!!
TFR
There's always tomorrow. At least that's what I thought two years ago. In the span of those two years, I've witnessed my wife's stroke, youngest daughter's coma and subsequent awakening, and both my kids sustaining serious car accidents. If I were a superstitious man, I'd say I'm jinxed.
You would think that after all this I'd live more for today and let tomorrow take care of itself. God keeps giving me these examples of how fragile my life is and I keep blowing him off.
Last week, my father was diagnosed with liver cancer that had metastasized into the lymph nodes in his neck. He wasn't given much of a chance for survival, even with chemo. He wanted to fight the illness and decided to take the treatments no matter the cost.
Three days after getting out of the hospital he was home and feeling a little better. He had taken his first round of chemotherapy. My wife went by to see him and reported he was looking much better. She said she kissed him good-bye and told him and my mom I'd be coming over the next day. That was my "tomorrow."
That night, I decided to hop into the shower, clean up, and then go back and finish watching the baseball game. While in the shower my sister called, screaming my dad wasn't breathing and the paramedics were there working on him. I quickly began getting dressed to meet the ambulance at the hospital, just a mile away. By the time we were down the street my sister called again, saying my dad was dead. Tomorrow wouldn't come.
Junior, as he is known, was really my stepfather. He married my mom 37 years ago. I was raised by someone else in our family as my mom pursued a life with him. They had my sister in 1971 and were living in a nearby city. We moved away from them a few years later. Thus began a strange and distant relationship with my real mom, stepfather, and little sister.
I grew up not knowing how to feel about him. I never fully understood how to take anything he said to me. At times, I feared him and at other times, I hated him. He had never done anything to me, but I just didn't embrace him.
It took me many years to finally understand my stepfather. I guess it was the day he introduced me to some of his co-workers as his "son" that I began to see him in a different light.
When my girls were born he treated them like gold. He always loved them and spoiled them. They were his granddaughters and he'd tell you so. They loved him very much.
Now, after years of trying to get to know him, I realized I still don't. It came to me as my mom, sister, and I were trying to pick a casket and arrange his funeral. As we were writing his obituary it struck me how little I actually know about the man.
I sat with him in the den on countless occasions, searching for something to talk about, some common ground, but we were so different. I was an athlete and avid sports fan and he's a fisherman and musician. There were often times we sat in silence and just stared at the TV.
It all came crashing on me when I ran into their house after a 10-mile, 80 mph trek across town to be there after that fateful phone call. There he was, on the floor, his body covered with a blanket. The breathing tube was still protruding from his mouth. It was more than I could bare. I wanted that tube out and I wanted it out right then. I bowed down next to him and said a quick prayer. Tomorrow had come, but it was still today.
Tomorrow. What a word. It means we anticipated something and it's arrogant for us to think that way. We have no guarantees in life. Certainly not for tomorrow, or in the next hour, or even 15 minutes.
Tomorrow, we will bury my dad. I wish I had a thousand tomorrows but I only have right now. I want my kids to know who I am. I hope I have some tomorrows to share with my grandchildren. I want them to know who I am and how much I love them. My grandchildren are just a concept but I already love them and have visions for their futures. But there I go again. That's one big tomorrow. I have the here and now and I better get busy letting people know how much I love them. I really better listen to what God is saying. He's given me so many lessons, but I always take the Scarlett O'Hara way out.
"Tomorrow's another day." Maybe so, but today's not over. It's 14 minutes until tomorrow so I better get busy telling my kids I love them. I think I'll do just that.
That's my BIG confession for TODAY! What's yours?
God bless you!!!
TFR
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Real Men
Where have they gone? Is the cut of a John Wayne just a memory, or does such a man actually exist in today's feel-good-at-all-costs world?
What are we doing to our boys that makes them such wimps? I'm around kids all day long and I have girls with more intestinal fortitude than some of my boys. It's scary. Our society is turning boys into whiney, little wonders. It makes me worry about what our country will look like in 20 years when these "young men" grow up, if they grow up.
I do teach some wonderful kids and many I'd be proud to raise, but when you encounter such utter frailty in boys on a regular basis it begs you to wonder why.
My own theory is that today's parents are the ones that got sand kicked in their faces when they were in elementary school. These guys were raised in a world that is increasingly self-serving; therefore, they spend more time thinking about themselves than others and have never said no to their children. This breed of parent has sheltered their boys to the point where Cowboys and Indians is not something you play, but just a bunch of characters in a history book.
As a child, I played games like War, Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians, and, God forbid, Dodge Ball. We kept score and there were winners and losers. If anyone got knocked down, we didn't cry, we didn't run to our counselor, we just dusted ourselves off and got back into game.
Arguments were settled after school, with our fists, and they didn't last long. We soon forgot the genesis of the dispute and were quickly friends again. We played with "action figures," not cell phones. A scrape was considered a badge of honor, not a reason to escape P.E.
Oh, and we played baseball all summer long, all day long. We learned to hit a curveball by actually swinging at a "real" ball, not one on an X-Box. Only the best nine, the best 11, or the best five were allowed into the game. If you wanted to play you had to work to win your position. It wasn't given to you because of a rule made by parent that didn't get to play, like in today's ultra-sophisticated metro-world.
In short, we were tough and scrappy, even the least of us, which sometimes I was. My mom didn't bail me out of every rough situation I got myself into. She let me learn from my mistakes, which were many. I got burned, I bled, but I didn't quit.
Where have the future real men gone? Thanks to an America that's afraid of its own shadow our boys can't use their finger as a gun. They can't run around shouting "bang-bang" in school or else it'll be locked down and CNN will carry the story.
I'm a parent that has raised his girls to be tough and fend for themselves because they are entering a world that doesn't care about their lame excuses. I'm not Mr. Perfect, but I pray for a real man for each of my girls to marry. Not some wimp that will hide under the bed at every spooky noise or run home to mommy when things don't work out. I want a real man as my son-in-law and the father of my grandchildren.
If you're reading this and you have a son, let him experience the fun of sliding into a base and getting a strawberry. Let that sucker sting and don't automatically try to make it all better. Let your son dream he's the cop that takes down the bad guy. Raise your son to embrace his fears instead of running from them and to know that anger is a normal part of being a man when used for the right purpose.
We need our young boys to grow into strong young men and not cry every time things don't go their way.
Okay Adrienne, there's my rant for the day. I confess, I can't stand cry-babies, whether they are middle schoolers or adults. Grow up, do your job, and quit whining. God didn't make us to be sissies. He made me to be a man and to act like one.
That's my confession...what's yours?
TFR
What are we doing to our boys that makes them such wimps? I'm around kids all day long and I have girls with more intestinal fortitude than some of my boys. It's scary. Our society is turning boys into whiney, little wonders. It makes me worry about what our country will look like in 20 years when these "young men" grow up, if they grow up.
I do teach some wonderful kids and many I'd be proud to raise, but when you encounter such utter frailty in boys on a regular basis it begs you to wonder why.
My own theory is that today's parents are the ones that got sand kicked in their faces when they were in elementary school. These guys were raised in a world that is increasingly self-serving; therefore, they spend more time thinking about themselves than others and have never said no to their children. This breed of parent has sheltered their boys to the point where Cowboys and Indians is not something you play, but just a bunch of characters in a history book.
As a child, I played games like War, Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians, and, God forbid, Dodge Ball. We kept score and there were winners and losers. If anyone got knocked down, we didn't cry, we didn't run to our counselor, we just dusted ourselves off and got back into game.
Arguments were settled after school, with our fists, and they didn't last long. We soon forgot the genesis of the dispute and were quickly friends again. We played with "action figures," not cell phones. A scrape was considered a badge of honor, not a reason to escape P.E.
Oh, and we played baseball all summer long, all day long. We learned to hit a curveball by actually swinging at a "real" ball, not one on an X-Box. Only the best nine, the best 11, or the best five were allowed into the game. If you wanted to play you had to work to win your position. It wasn't given to you because of a rule made by parent that didn't get to play, like in today's ultra-sophisticated metro-world.
In short, we were tough and scrappy, even the least of us, which sometimes I was. My mom didn't bail me out of every rough situation I got myself into. She let me learn from my mistakes, which were many. I got burned, I bled, but I didn't quit.
Where have the future real men gone? Thanks to an America that's afraid of its own shadow our boys can't use their finger as a gun. They can't run around shouting "bang-bang" in school or else it'll be locked down and CNN will carry the story.
I'm a parent that has raised his girls to be tough and fend for themselves because they are entering a world that doesn't care about their lame excuses. I'm not Mr. Perfect, but I pray for a real man for each of my girls to marry. Not some wimp that will hide under the bed at every spooky noise or run home to mommy when things don't work out. I want a real man as my son-in-law and the father of my grandchildren.
If you're reading this and you have a son, let him experience the fun of sliding into a base and getting a strawberry. Let that sucker sting and don't automatically try to make it all better. Let your son dream he's the cop that takes down the bad guy. Raise your son to embrace his fears instead of running from them and to know that anger is a normal part of being a man when used for the right purpose.
We need our young boys to grow into strong young men and not cry every time things don't go their way.
Okay Adrienne, there's my rant for the day. I confess, I can't stand cry-babies, whether they are middle schoolers or adults. Grow up, do your job, and quit whining. God didn't make us to be sissies. He made me to be a man and to act like one.
That's my confession...what's yours?
TFR
Sunday, October 14, 2007
A Nice "Pat" on the Rear
Maybe I should say "kick in the rear." My Cowboys looked pretty bad near the end of the game today. The Patriots are clearly a superior club, even without audio-visual assistance. Top spy Bill Belichek pretty much had the Boys number.
I guess that's the wisdom that comes from winning three Super Bowls. Even when your team falls behind, there's no need to panic. Mr. GQ,Tom Brady, looked all of his reputation as a man who will cut your heart out.
Needless to say, there were a lot of disappointed Dallas fans in my house this evening, but we'll get over it. Now that this game is out of the way, Dallas can get on with winning the NFC East. Looks like the AFC will have another Super Bowl winner again.
On to other things. My buddy Jason has lost 51 pounds and I'm really proud of him. Having lost 100 pounds before myself, I know this is no easy task and I give him all the props. Hang in there, Dude. It's a tough battle but you'll be glad you fought it. The real challenge is coming in the form of three significant holidays all involving candies, cakes, and goodies. Stay the course and you'll be fine.
My good friend Adrienne wants to know where my rants have gone, well...all I can say is two words...Al Gore. I could rant all night about that guy, but that might waste the precious energy he's so desperately trying to conserve. After all, he did invent global warming.
Now for the lighter side. We are around 11 weeks from Christmas and in the 8th week of school. Time is moving fast and I'm glad. Before long it'll be cold and Thanksgiving will be here. And then, one of my favorite times of year will be here--Bowl Season!
To all my half-dozen, or so, faithful readers, I bid you a great week. Hang in there and give me shout out now and then.
God bless you!!!
TFR
I guess that's the wisdom that comes from winning three Super Bowls. Even when your team falls behind, there's no need to panic. Mr. GQ,Tom Brady, looked all of his reputation as a man who will cut your heart out.
Needless to say, there were a lot of disappointed Dallas fans in my house this evening, but we'll get over it. Now that this game is out of the way, Dallas can get on with winning the NFC East. Looks like the AFC will have another Super Bowl winner again.
On to other things. My buddy Jason has lost 51 pounds and I'm really proud of him. Having lost 100 pounds before myself, I know this is no easy task and I give him all the props. Hang in there, Dude. It's a tough battle but you'll be glad you fought it. The real challenge is coming in the form of three significant holidays all involving candies, cakes, and goodies. Stay the course and you'll be fine.
My good friend Adrienne wants to know where my rants have gone, well...all I can say is two words...Al Gore. I could rant all night about that guy, but that might waste the precious energy he's so desperately trying to conserve. After all, he did invent global warming.
Now for the lighter side. We are around 11 weeks from Christmas and in the 8th week of school. Time is moving fast and I'm glad. Before long it'll be cold and Thanksgiving will be here. And then, one of my favorite times of year will be here--Bowl Season!
To all my half-dozen, or so, faithful readers, I bid you a great week. Hang in there and give me shout out now and then.
God bless you!!!
TFR
Saturday, October 13, 2007
H.R. Runnin' Stuff
Way back when I first began blogging, I wrote about reviewing running gear. Since I'm a fat runner, but getting skinnier, I try to buy running shoes and clothes that will hold up to my weight and body frame.
The other day, and because I'm training for another long, long run for diabetes, I went searching for some shoes that would carry me the long haul. Dean Karnazes, The Ultramarathon Man, designed a pair shoes specifically for the ultramarathoner, but they are well suited for someone like me, as well. Noticing our local bike and trail shop carried these bad boys, I trucked it over for a look-see.
The North Face Arnuva 50 Boa running shoes are a match made in Heaven for me. There's no conventional laces to fuss with. Rather, the laces are integrated and controlled by this really cool dial in the heel of the shoe. I tried these puppies on and was instantly hooked. With a $125 price tag I knew I'd have to save a little cash to get them, but I'm on my way back this week to grab them. They are light, but stable--a plus for someone over 200 lbs. I really dig the lacing system.
If you get a chance, go to The North Face web site and check them out. As soon as I get them on and start running on the treadmill, I'll give you more details. The store let me test drive them and they are sweet.
After last year's 50 mile run/walk for diabetes, I discovered performance wear. I've always been a t-shirt and jersey shorts wearer. I graduated into mesh shorts a few years ago, but it wasn't until training for my ultra-long run did I embrace performance shirts and shorts with moisture-wicking fibers. So, now I snatch up gear like that anytime I find them on sale. I scored three shirts and two pairs of shorts today for around $4 a piece. This was high-dollar stuff but with fall arriving, our local stores start clearancing summerwear out. Problem is, it was 90 degrees in Amarillo today so fall really isn't here. My gain!
I guess that's one of the things I like most about running...the clothes, shoes, and gear. It's fun to get dressed and hit the road. It gives me a sense of confidence and good self-esteem that I don't always find when I'm at work.
Let me know what shoes you wear and tell me about the gear you use when working out. As runners, we should pass along helpful information. If you have any advice regarding training for being on your feet for 12 hours, let me hear it. I'm heading that way so I need all the help I can get.
May God bless you with great running!
TFR
The other day, and because I'm training for another long, long run for diabetes, I went searching for some shoes that would carry me the long haul. Dean Karnazes, The Ultramarathon Man, designed a pair shoes specifically for the ultramarathoner, but they are well suited for someone like me, as well. Noticing our local bike and trail shop carried these bad boys, I trucked it over for a look-see.
The North Face Arnuva 50 Boa running shoes are a match made in Heaven for me. There's no conventional laces to fuss with. Rather, the laces are integrated and controlled by this really cool dial in the heel of the shoe. I tried these puppies on and was instantly hooked. With a $125 price tag I knew I'd have to save a little cash to get them, but I'm on my way back this week to grab them. They are light, but stable--a plus for someone over 200 lbs. I really dig the lacing system.
If you get a chance, go to The North Face web site and check them out. As soon as I get them on and start running on the treadmill, I'll give you more details. The store let me test drive them and they are sweet.
After last year's 50 mile run/walk for diabetes, I discovered performance wear. I've always been a t-shirt and jersey shorts wearer. I graduated into mesh shorts a few years ago, but it wasn't until training for my ultra-long run did I embrace performance shirts and shorts with moisture-wicking fibers. So, now I snatch up gear like that anytime I find them on sale. I scored three shirts and two pairs of shorts today for around $4 a piece. This was high-dollar stuff but with fall arriving, our local stores start clearancing summerwear out. Problem is, it was 90 degrees in Amarillo today so fall really isn't here. My gain!
I guess that's one of the things I like most about running...the clothes, shoes, and gear. It's fun to get dressed and hit the road. It gives me a sense of confidence and good self-esteem that I don't always find when I'm at work.
Let me know what shoes you wear and tell me about the gear you use when working out. As runners, we should pass along helpful information. If you have any advice regarding training for being on your feet for 12 hours, let me hear it. I'm heading that way so I need all the help I can get.
May God bless you with great running!
TFR
Rules for Living
Howdy from Texas-land! I've been a little out of action the last few weeks. Life has been busy. My youngest daughter had another stint in the hospital with complications stemming from her diabetes and then my stepfather was diagnosed with liver cancer. Needless to say, it's been rather hectic in our world.
So, I'm trying to get myself back into the blogging game. I really miss the four or five faithful readers I've acquired along the way. I hope those numbers grow as I launch back into regular blogging again.
My good friend and colleague, Adrienne, asked me why I hadn't been blogging. She said she "missed my rants." Hmm. I guess I'm back to resume my ranting, Adrienne. I'll try not to go on aimlessly, but give everyone food for thought and hopefully encourage discussion.
Soon, I will have an announcement about some things we are doing to raise money for diabetes research, but I'll save that once all the plans have been finalized.
Tonight, and after some thought and reflection, I figured I'd write something good since this is my first blog in weeks. I mean, I don't just want to come out and write some mindless dribble. This needs to be the product of time spent pensively pouring over my existence.
If you're a football fan, and if you caught my Dallas Cowboys barely escaping with their lives in Buffalo last Monday night, perhaps you watched the pre-game show. Bill Parcells, former Cowboys head coach, revealed his 11 Commandments for being an effective quarterback in the NFL. This got me to thinking.
I have this mantra I often say to my students as they leave my room, "The world is your oyster, go cultivate the pearl." I started examining who I am and what I stand for. When you teach careers to a bunch of 8th graders, sometimes the kids want to know what you think. Sometimes they surprise me when they ask for a nugget of wisdom that will help them as they pursue their dreams. Tonight, I offer you MY 11 Commandments, or rules, for living. Here goes...
1. To your own self be true. Honesty, integrity, courage--these qualities make the man.
2. Money isn't anything. Sure, we all need money to survive...just don't worship it.
3. Love God with all your heart and everything will fall into place.
4. Marry for love, not stuff. Relationships are about the heart, not the wallet.
5. Never, ever stop learning. Always be a student.
6. Life is a journey--enjoy the ride, even if it gets rough. It's the rough that makes you appreciate the smooth.
7. Do your job, follow instructions. Whether you're a son, daughter, student, spouse, employee, parent--just do your job and you'll do fine.
8. Be a crisis manager, not a drama queen. The world has more than enough drama queens and too few real leaders.
9. Find a mentor/be a mentor. There's always someone out there that knows more than you and always someone you can help.
10. Serve your community. Be a good citizen and take care of those around you. Leave the world a better place.
11. Always remember, when no one else is watching...God is. Live a life above reproach.
There they are, my 11 Commandments. I'm no Bill Parcells. I'm just a husband, dad, teacher, son, brother, student, friend, and many other things. I've lived 43 years, which isn't long compared to others or the universe, but I've been burned by life. I've enjoyed the greatest victories and lowest defeats. I've got a nice big handstamp on the roller coaster of life.
I just thought I'd share this with you. Hope it helps. Let me know what you think.
That's my confession...what's yours?
My God bless you with an abundant life.
TFR
So, I'm trying to get myself back into the blogging game. I really miss the four or five faithful readers I've acquired along the way. I hope those numbers grow as I launch back into regular blogging again.
My good friend and colleague, Adrienne, asked me why I hadn't been blogging. She said she "missed my rants." Hmm. I guess I'm back to resume my ranting, Adrienne. I'll try not to go on aimlessly, but give everyone food for thought and hopefully encourage discussion.
Soon, I will have an announcement about some things we are doing to raise money for diabetes research, but I'll save that once all the plans have been finalized.
Tonight, and after some thought and reflection, I figured I'd write something good since this is my first blog in weeks. I mean, I don't just want to come out and write some mindless dribble. This needs to be the product of time spent pensively pouring over my existence.
If you're a football fan, and if you caught my Dallas Cowboys barely escaping with their lives in Buffalo last Monday night, perhaps you watched the pre-game show. Bill Parcells, former Cowboys head coach, revealed his 11 Commandments for being an effective quarterback in the NFL. This got me to thinking.
I have this mantra I often say to my students as they leave my room, "The world is your oyster, go cultivate the pearl." I started examining who I am and what I stand for. When you teach careers to a bunch of 8th graders, sometimes the kids want to know what you think. Sometimes they surprise me when they ask for a nugget of wisdom that will help them as they pursue their dreams. Tonight, I offer you MY 11 Commandments, or rules, for living. Here goes...
1. To your own self be true. Honesty, integrity, courage--these qualities make the man.
2. Money isn't anything. Sure, we all need money to survive...just don't worship it.
3. Love God with all your heart and everything will fall into place.
4. Marry for love, not stuff. Relationships are about the heart, not the wallet.
5. Never, ever stop learning. Always be a student.
6. Life is a journey--enjoy the ride, even if it gets rough. It's the rough that makes you appreciate the smooth.
7. Do your job, follow instructions. Whether you're a son, daughter, student, spouse, employee, parent--just do your job and you'll do fine.
8. Be a crisis manager, not a drama queen. The world has more than enough drama queens and too few real leaders.
9. Find a mentor/be a mentor. There's always someone out there that knows more than you and always someone you can help.
10. Serve your community. Be a good citizen and take care of those around you. Leave the world a better place.
11. Always remember, when no one else is watching...God is. Live a life above reproach.
There they are, my 11 Commandments. I'm no Bill Parcells. I'm just a husband, dad, teacher, son, brother, student, friend, and many other things. I've lived 43 years, which isn't long compared to others or the universe, but I've been burned by life. I've enjoyed the greatest victories and lowest defeats. I've got a nice big handstamp on the roller coaster of life.
I just thought I'd share this with you. Hope it helps. Let me know what you think.
That's my confession...what's yours?
My God bless you with an abundant life.
TFR
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)