I Was a Younger Man Then

When the sands of time begin to pile up in your driveway, it’s probably an opportune moment to reflect on the quantitative past you’ve been collecting over all these years. Maybe the fact that you’re still here and others from your past life aren’t, make it a good time to look in your rearview mirror and savor the fleeting images there.

Last summer, I discovered a ceramic running mug from my first marathon. It was buried deep on some dusty shelf in my office downstairs. It was from the 1982 Twin Cities Marathon. Back then, I had been running for about eighteen years, having started out an asphalt virgin at the ripe age of twenty-one. My PB (personal best) wasn’t that great but at least I was consistent, usually averaging five or six days a week of solid running. This would be my first marathon.

I remember, I began running with a group of loud, somewhat obnoxious, unruly veteran runners. Our first mile was clocked at a sub-six-minute mile and I knew immediately that if I didn’t slow down, I’d be dead (figurative speaking) by mile ten. I slowed down and actually got to mile twenty-four before everything in my body shut down and I died right there on the spot. Embarrassment kept me on my feet but I was done for the day.

Just then, a couple of young healthy women ran by me and their respective gait was something to behold. I began stumbling, running, keeping close in their wake. My eyes focused on their afterdeck until about a half mile from the finish line and then I imploded inside again. Fortunately, this time around, it was the sight of the Cathedral and a downhill sprint to the finish line that brought me home.

My time was a sub four-hour marathon and I’ve never been able to duplicate that again. I’ve notched two more marathons under my belt but survival was my main focus on those two. A sub-four marathon was once in a lifetime. That experience and others like it were memorable and never repeated in my younger years.

Education was a disjointed venture after high school. Rife with distractions and detours, it took me a while to finally finish that jaunt. The Army generously handed me two years going in another direction. Then it was back on campus to finish my degree, moving to Denmark as an ex-pat for a while. Finally returning to Minnesota and stumbling upon a lifetime career in television. Oh, I was a younger man then.

Now my books, plays, movies, blogs, children’s books, and more keep me working well into my senior years. I’m no longer a younger man physically but fortunately my mind hasn’t given up the ghost yet.

Writing has been a life-saver in terms of offering me almost daily cognitive twists, turns, and gyrations that elude a lot of older folks. Unbridled interest in a plethora of topics, sane and not so much, keep my curiosity probing outlets for topics of many different interests. Weekly discourse with friends, especially in Minnesota, has become a welcome opportunity to explore topics of every color, flavor, and subject matter.

Perhaps I’m not alone.

Last summer, I noticed that one of the recurring threads that wove through my C & C sessions was a sense of gratitude. My friends and I found a certain level of comfort in sharing the new, interesting, mundane, common and not so common. It was sharing at the most basic level and very gratifying, not the least of which was because none of us are younger men now.

Following Familiar Footsteps

In this age of kids and their video games, vaping, multiple devices, and tons of other distractions from life, it’s nice to know that some parents see a better pathway for their offspring. For many youngsters, the pathway to maturity comes with blood, sweat and sometimes a few tears. It’s a competitive world, both against others and yourself. But it’s a world that teaches endurance, competence, confidence, loss, and unbelievable success (if only in one’s own mind.) The world of sports and exercise, both team and individual, is a great teacher of life skills.

For me personally, it began long before Brian and Melanie were born. I started running around age twenty-one and never stopped until forty-seven years later. Both kids grew up watching me run, ride, stumble, struggle, and plod along in various bike and foot races. Even the Mid-Winter Fest run in Apple Valley at 10 above zero wasn’t enough to hinder my running.

Soon enough, both kids were in road races themselves. In school, they were involved in track, gymnastics, and wrestling. It didn’t stop there.

Brian and I did the TRAM (The Ride Across Minnesota) which is a ride from the western border of Minnesota to the opposite eastern edge. In college, Brian got involved in intermural sports and Melanie began distance running on her own. In turn, they got their own children involved in various athletics very early on.

The first major competitive events were kid’s triathlons both in Minnesota and California. Pretty soon, that evolved into competitive swimming and skiing for the Colorado kids. They were doing black diamonds before the age of five.

Over time, all five of the grandchildren became involved in a plethora of sporting activities which included: Soccer, Gymnastics, Lacrosse, Hockey, Tennis, Skiing, Track, Rock-Climbing, Golf and probably a couple of others I missed.

Then, a couple of years ago, Brian and Melanie completed the Cactus to Clouds Mountain trek.

Also known as the Skyline Trail, Cactus to Clouds has the greatest elevation gain of any trail in the Continental United States. It climbs 8,000 feet in the first 12 miles from the desert floor to Long Valley, then joins with the main trail to gain another 2,600 feet to the summit of San Jacinto Mountain.

It took Brian and Melanie more than ten hours to completed the climb. I was exhausted just looking at their pictures.

Brian and Melanie have also done the Pikes Peak Run a couple of times. The Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon is a trail running competition that begins at the base of Pikes Peak, in Manitou Springs, Colorado, and climbs over 7,815 feet to the top of the 14,115-foot peak.

Brian and several friends just completed the Kokopelli Relay Race in Utah. It’s described as:

‘The Kokopelli Relay is THE most challenging cycling relay in Utah! Cycling from Moab to St. George. Riding through ~530 miles of majestic beauty. It is a ride that invokes a sense of awe and appreciation for the incredible natural imagery that surrounds us.’ I think his photos of the trip say it all.

Then this September, Melanie and two friends completed a rim-to-rim hike of the Grand Canyon. The official web site tells it all:

“There’s no question about it, the rim-to-rim hike in Grand Canyon National Park is a classic bucket list adventure. But it’s no stroll through the park, that’s for sure. Being unprepared can have catastrophic results. However, when you’ve trained properly, have the right gear, and know what to expect, it can be one of the most memorable experiences of your life.”

• Recommended Route: North Kaibab Trail to Bright Angel Trail
• Length: 24 miles (one-way)
• Level: Strenuous
• Best Time to Go: May – October

So, what began for me so many years ago as a simple run around the block has morphed into three generations of pushing pedal to the metal, straining already aching bodies and feeling the deep, deep satisfaction of a run completed, trail hiked or exercise completed. From what I can see of my grandchildren’s enthusiasm for their chosen endeavors, I think it’s going to be a lifetime occurrence for them.

If you feel what I do in my heart about these endeavors, you get it. If you have to ask why; you wouldn’t understand…and I can’t explain it.

I Have Seen the Elephant

The phrase: ‘I have seen the elephant; I have heard the owl’ is an American colloquial phrase that refers to gaining experience of the world at a significant cost. It was a popular expression in the mid-to-late 19^th century throughout the United States beginning with the Mexican-American war and beyond.

Pioneers would speak about ‘seeing the elephant’ in their journeys west. James Michener in his novel ‘Centennial’ made it a key point in the life of one of his characters. For that young adventurer, it was an experience that left him shaken to the core and uncertain about his future.

Over the years, the phrase has become immersed in western novels, war stories and more poignant story-telling such as Margaret Craven’s wonderful novel ‘I Heard the Owl Call My Name.’ It’s been referenced in many bible stories highlighting those watershed moments and end of life experiences some biblical characters have faced.

It’s been argued that you don’t really know who you are until faced with a catastrophe or a near-death experience. Some will say that our best life experiences come through affliction and challenges we never expected to encounter. It might be an athletic event that stretches your abilities to their absolute maximum. It could be a personal struggle with health issues, personal or social relationships or any number of personal challenges.

Now to take that argument a step further I might also suggest that for many people the very act of planting one’s feet on a theatrical stage could be akin to ‘seeing the elephant.’ Over the years, there have been a number of octogenarians and their younger compatriots who agreed to do just that in several of my plays.

Creating plays has always been part of my writing arsenal. RAAC, the Rosemount Area Arts Council, in Minnesota and Script2Stage in California have both provided wonderful venues for me to showcase some of my plays. Actually, it started in the early Seventies in Tennessee.

My first experience with Community Theater started back in Tennessee in 1972. I had left public television in Minnesota to spread my wings in the Deep South. The Chattanooga Little Theater became my refuge. I crewed on the first play of the season and then acted in three more. Around the end of our fourth play, I was offered a new job in Maryland and my brief, ever exciting career as a thespian came to a sudden halt until years later.

I think a lot of my fellow actors found their true selves on stage. Much like politicians whose only claim to fame is their small town title, these folks truly embraced their new pretend persona. It made them feel accomplished and whole and fulfilled. I never reached that level of self-satisfaction. I was always more interested in the story-telling aspect of the theater and not the acting part of it.

Artists of another ilk have found refuge in an old building in downtown Palm Springs. The Palm Springs Art Center hosts a revolving gallery, art classes, etc. Some of those seniors may ‘see the elephant’ while others might ‘hear the owl.’ But either way, vision or not, it proves to be a great experience for them. They took a chance and risked the fear and trepidation for a chance to do something challenging, something exhilarating, something that many of their colleagues could only hope to accomplish.

The Palm Springs Writers Guild has, for years, been guiding, encouraging and educating hopeful authors in the craft of writing and publishing their own works of art. One could easily equate this group of vernacular warriors with those ancients seeking the Elephant and listening for the Owl. Each and everyone of them on their own personal quest to face their fears and solidify their future.

And always on the lookout for the elephant and the owl. In my case, it might be a skinny little hippo.

Losing Their Mojo

Being able to paint any kind of image is one of those precious gifts I don’t have and probably never will. How anyone can take a piece of paper, canvas, metal or other material and dab paint on them to create something wonderful is a talent I admire and envy. So, when I see an artist give up the ship, it bothers me…a lot.

Over the course of last summer, I’ve had several painter friends tell me they’ve lost their mojo and can’t do it anymore. When asked to explain the reasons why, their answers were as elusive as their will to continue painting. Growing older, other distractions, an injury or an ailment; the reasons why are far-reaching and conclusive ‘in their minds.’ They just can’t do it anymore. I guess, it’s a kind of writer’s block for painters.

Half the folks I know on this planet would like to write a book someday. I have several friends who have gotten as far as outlining the books they want to write. They’ve done their homework in terms of their subject matter. They’ve interviewed friends and associates of their book topic/s. They’ve read books on ‘How to Write Books.’ They’ve watched UTube videos and perhaps have even taken classes in novel writing. They’re all set to go. All they have to do…is do it. I guess it’s like writer’s block for beginners.

It’s not just the arts that causes folks to stumble before they even get started. I have a dear friend who used to join me watching the Twin Cities Marathon each year. He would yell and cheer-on the runners as they passed by. Each year, he would remind me that he was going to be in that pack the following year. I told him that was great. I encouraged him and told him that all he had to do was train properly and then do it. He agreed and promised that next year would be that year.

Come the following spring, my friend had his training schedule down in print. He had mapped out his training route along the Mississippi River. He knew how much weight he wanted to lose and the days that were best for him to run. All he had to do…was do it.

But then there was his very hectic schedule as a husband, dad, coach, breadwinner, employee, etc. Things weren’t slowing down in his life and, in fact, were only getting busier. Time had become a very precious commodity. He was having a hard time dividing it up among all the demands in his life. Training for the marathon was important…but.

Now I have nothing but understanding and sympathy for those folks who want to follow their dreams but just can’t find the time. In their heart of hearts, they know what they want to do but everything in the world suddenly seems to conspire against them and their objective.

At some point, all of these folks run smack-dab into the irrefutable truth that there is an enormous chasm between the best of intentions and the actual act of ‘doing something to get there.’ That’s why some of us aren’t as financially comfortable as we’d like to be. We aren’t living the life we imagined growing up. We haven’t accomplished much on our bucket list and still wonder why? The list can go on and on.

I tell folks in my ‘How to Begin Writing’ workshop that there is only one truth to writing. If you want to become a writer, you must first sit down (or stand) and start to write. The painful truth is that no one else can do it for you. No one else cares as much as you do. Life will go on no matter what you decide to do. The easy way out is always doing anything. To try anything involves risk, demand on your time, energy and life adjustments. It’s really as simple as that. And in its very simplicity is the steel tough resistance you must overcome to at least start to pursue your dream; whatever it may be.

I get ‘losing one’s mojo’ and I understand the frustration of those who have experienced it. But there is no alternative to not trying again. If you don’t try, you’ll never know the outcome. If you try and still fail again, you know you tried and have that wonderful option of giving it another shot.

What do you have to lose?