No Clarion this summer. This, of course, is a bummer and a half, but it does mean I can focus on two things: 1) the novel and 2) kicking Jon Cryer’s ass at Malibu. You hear me, Ducky? You and Mulder both, you’re going to eat my dust!
Also, this means I’m going to the UCSD library this summer just to find out what the hell does pass muster. Research your markets, right?
Right.
Thpt.
Back in July 2007, I was in Waikiki, waiting for a bunch of people to arrive for a wedding rehearsal dinner. It was a gorgeous evening, not too muggy, just enough moisture in the air to scatter the light and do incredible things to the sunset. I was working on my third glass of pineapple juice (beer you can have any time, but fresh pineapple juice? Pour me another, dude) when I realized I was surrounded by white people. White people behind the bar, at the bar, at the tables, waiting on the tables, even a trio of white guys playing ukeleles and mangling songs in the golden light. Everyone said “aloha” and “mahalo” without any sense of irony. And then these words jumped into my brain:
“The one thing they taught us in B-School was this: if you’re working for the Colonial Services, for God’s sake, don’t go native.”
I pulled out my phone and fold out keyboard and started typing. And now, some nine thousand words into Windswept, I’m not going to stop until I finish this damn thing.
The original target count was 50K, but now, in the post-Ironman I-can-do-anything glow, I’m going to push that target farther out. One hundred thousand words by Christmas Eve, 2008. Look up and reach, dammit. Now, get writing.
Also: should know if I’m going to Clarion by Sunday. Keep your toes crossed.
*It was either this bit (which, thanks to the Googles, I finally know is from Act III of Lady Windemere’s Fan. Context matters, people) or Browning’s “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?”
George just posted this link about something small and revolutionary: room temperature superconductivity. My first thought: holy crap. If this works, this could change everything. Maglev trains, transformers, power lines, all would become cheaper and more efficient. This is amazing.
My second thought: it’s about time the Republic changed a few of those Tax Collectors into Scientists and moved us up the tech tree. Time to research Fusion Power!
Life is a ride. Remember?
Somewhere along the line, I read this essay by a Zen master who liked to call out to himself and answer, “Yes?” I’ve always liked that. I don’t think I’ve gotten the hang of it yet, as my responses border between timid and Two-Kegger Boisterous. Maybe it’s one of those things that you spend your whole life practicing, and then, just when you get and you know you’ve gotten it, you’re enlightened and get whisked off to the Holy Buddha Milkshakery.
But it’s a good way to remind myself to pay attention, and to keep starting over. Every day is chapter one, every line is a first line, every moment is a chance to get it right. Right? Right.
So, two weeks ago, I was doing this thing, and now I’m not. I don’t define my life by the workout sheets or measures of calories or the number of icebags down my trousers. It’s been a good two weeks of unwinding, doing next to nothing (one yoga session that likely threw my neck out of whack, and a pilates class that probably finished things off). I’ve also probably gained back some of the poundage I burned away, which is also probably good.
But it’s time to turn on the focus again, to call out to myself to see if I’m paying attention. See, I made a deal with myself on the road home from Reporoa: I would get through this day with a finisher’s shirt and medal and a mighty run across the finish line, and then I would move on to writing, cooking and gardening. I tried today, and failed miserably.
And then I reminded myself that not everything on the road to Taupo went right early on. First you crawl, then you walk, and then you run. I tried to run today, when I should just pay attention to how my feet touch the ground. And I felt like crap for not getting right into everything, but you know what? That was today, and it’s done. Tomorrow is a fresh start, and I just have to keep putting one word after another, one plant after another, one step after another. That’s the lesson from Ironman: keep moving forward.
And now I’m moving forward to bed. Tomorrow is chapter one.
So, I thought about a lot of stuff during those nasty sixteen and a half hours. It went something like this:
This was the longest day of my life. But the Finisher’s t-shirt? Awesome.
UPDATE: Kouy and Ken captured this shot from the live feed at Ironman Live, but you can see the clip here. I come in around 1:53.
