The Fullness of Our Time

My brain is constipated.  I want to write something as I feel I have something inside my head I need to release, but I just can’t put my finger on what it is.  It’s about mortality.  Or maybe it's about reflections on the type of legacy I want to leave.  And I wish that what I am about to write here would be profound or helpful to me - or anyone.  

A few years ago, just before my dad died, I wrote many of my thoughts on the fleeting nature of life as both my brother-in-law and first boss had recently died.  Since then, my family has lost 3 of our elders: my dad in 2015, and both my parent-in-laws in 2020.  The grief process aftermath of each has been vastly different.  

It seemed like my dad was dying or preparing to die for 10 years before he finally did.   This allowed us to enjoy every visit and conversation as though it might have been the last.  He was an open book and often asked for my help in organizing his finances and accounts.  My mom and dad thinned out things around their home for years, and the logistics of handling a parent’s “estate” after the death of one was made as easily as possible by my dad.  For the most part, there were no surprises discovered or mysteries to solve after he died, other than the name of his favorite elementary school teacher required as a security check for a Verizon logon.  The answer was in the autobiography he had written years before!

My in-laws were not at all like this.  There was never talk of dying or any health issue they might have had.  There was no organizing of the home or thinning out of belongings.  There was little transparency between the two of them, much less any transparency with Lori (my wife, their daughter) and me.  There were no emotional farewells after each visit because there was no indication that they wouldn’t live for many more years.  Alas, that was not the case.

In February 2020, my father-in-law Gerald died unexpectedly at age 81, leaving clues as to their "estate" affairs tucked in amongst stacks and stacks of mail scattered throughout their kitchen and living room… on tables… on chairs… in boxes… in desk drawers... and even in bowls.  In some cases, paperwork went back more than 20 years.  In the year or so prior to his death, having experienced how well my dad had prepared his accounts, I had tried to get Gerald to be more transparent about their financial/business affairs.  Other than getting the combination to the safe, it was too little too late.  The rest would have to be figured out by good ole fashioned detective work.  It’s not that my mother-in-law BJ didn’t know about their finances.  She knew the basics of some of it, but not the details.

Long story short, I spent a good part of the months following Gerald's passing going through much of that mail and sorting out what’s what.  I had a sense of urgency, not really knowing BJ's health situation.  I got my arms around bills, insurance, accounts, tax returns, credit cards, etc., and organized it all in over 25 boxes, several spreadsheets, and Quicken.  I set up important utilities on auto-pay and made sure I had online access to everything.  I got it all together and educated BJ on all that I found, including several credits she was owed for one thing or another, that Gerald had surprisingly overlooked.  This made me wonder if he had been in decline in other ways leading up to his death.  Fortunately, she was a willing participant in my process, especially once she realized I was helping to give her more insight to what was previously somewhat hidden.  For larger purchases, she would sometimes ask me, "Can I buy this?" or "Can I pay that using this other account?"  I enjoyed "taking care of her" in this way.  It was a fun process for me as I like solving mysteries and organizing things, but it also gave me time to spend with BJ who was quite a character.  She definitely tested my patience as, like most people, she didn’t like change or being advised when she was going out of bounds.

We went from 5% knowledge and awareness to about 90% in a period of about 6 months.  I still feel there are mysteries to uncover because there are still drawers to go through, though I suspect most of those contain very dated material.  Plus, there was a substantial area of her life she kept to herself, mainly her health issues and her online shopping habits.  I had to tread lightly.  And then, BJ died in December.  This too was unexpected, but then again, maybe not.

In the weeks since her death, Lori and I have begun the process of the "thinning out" that never occurred, and the discovery of the remaining 10% of what was not known.  While this is a ton more work than what my sister and I went through with my dad’s belongings, it is nonetheless just as much an introspective and emotional process.  

When we were in Hanover a few weeks ago, I was going through their rolltop desk and was overcome with emotion thinking about the most trivial of things.  Multiplying my feelings was listening to the song The Garden by my favorite band Rush.  Based loosely on Voltaire's Candide, The Garden is a beautiful song and is the last song on the last Rush album and is clearly a reflection on life that is 1000x better than anything I’m writing here.  How do I know it’s the last?  The lyricist and drummer of Rush – Neil Peart - also died in 2020.  Brain cancer.

Excerpt here:

Time is still the infinite jest
The arrow flies when you dream
The hours tick away, the cells tick away
The Watchmaker keeps to his schemes
The hours tick away, they tick away

As I was working my way through the rolltop desk piled with mail and stuff, I thought of these things which I noted:  

• When people stack, file, or save their mail, do they ever really think that someday someone else would have to go through that and decide whether to throw it away or keep it.
• Some of this mail is dated 2009.  I was around then and part of this family. Whatever this mail is about, did Lori or I know about it?  Probably not.  Did my in-laws not want to bother us with whatever this was about?
• Someone thought this mail was worth saving… for years…  yet I put it in the trash right away within seconds.  Will I save stuff in my desk drawer that my kids will someday discard instantly when cleaning out our home?  How much of my own garbage will my kids have to go through to find the few pieces of material they want to keep?  Will they want to keep anything?  I’m a packrat when it comes to nostalgia, so they will have a field day going through my stuff.  And they won’t know what any of it means or why I kept it unless I tell them.
• There are people in these photos.  Some in frames.  Some loose.  Does anyone alive know who they are?  Should we make an effort to find out as these may be important ancestors and there may be a story about them that we need to know.
• BJ had numerous watches in the area where she spent most of her time.  Was she obsessed with time?  Did she know “The hours tick away, the cells tick away?”
• Do they send you more return address labels the older you get?  Because they have enough to last another lifetime and I barely have any.  
• The aggregation of all the “estimate of benefits” from medical insurance companies tells its own story about the patient’s life.  How much of this story did we even know about?  Very little.
• You see handwriting in notes and grocery lists, and you wonder if what you’re throwing away is the last piece of written history in the hand of the person.

My in-laws were somewhat private, and perhaps secretive is a better word.  They were also very giving, but in different ways.  Gerald thought long term and helped immensely with our kids’ college costs and an annual financial gift that helped us with Christmas expenses.  BJ was more of a short-term giver, sending food from Omaha Steaks or just random gifts for no particular reason.  But they also gave their time and their selves.  In Gerald’s case it was a ride on the backhoe, or a car repair project.  In BJ’s case, it was her sense of humor and willingness to talk anytime about anything.  They were not particularly sentimental or affectionate with one another or family members.  But that’s OK.  People have different love languages and express them in different ways.  They loved one another, their family, their friends, and especially their grandchildren.  

Continuing The Garden…

The measure of a life is a measure of love and respect
So hard to earn, so easily burned
In the fullness of time
A garden to nurture and protect

It's a measure of a life
The treasure of a life
Is a measure of love and respect
The way you live, the gifts that you give
In the fullness of time
Is the only return that you expect

The future disappears into memory
With only a moment between
Forever dwells in that moment
Hope is what remains to be seen

While I worked through that roll-top desk that evening and reflected on the fleeting passage of time and life, Lori worked in another part of the house, unaware of the emotions I was experiencing.  Even the following morning, I was still emotional about listening to The Garden in that context.  I could hardly explain it to Lori over coffee, as I tearfully tried to read her the lyrics to a song she'd probably heard me play but never talk about.

What is important about this process is learning from it.  As I reflect back on the lengthy passing of my own father, I can say I have no regrets.  I poured out all my love and respect for him in his waning years, even writing a short book about my experiences with him during a weeklong hospital stay.  But it was not always like that.  Being that my parents were in their 30s when I was born, and already had a teenage daughter, I felt disconnected from my parents for much of my childhood and adult life.  There always seemed to be a generational gap and they didn't "understand" me or what I was doing in my life.  Our conversations were never deep, and they didn't probe into things I would have gladly talked about, like school or my career.  As my dad declined in health, I outgrew this feeling.  I also remarried, and had 3 kids.  I eventually understood that their apparent lack of interest was in some ways a respect for me making my own decisions and maintaining privacy about those choices.  Those life events gave me the maturity to see my parents through a different lens.  It wasn't about them understanding ME.  It was about me appreciating THEM and how my blessings were a product of their love, and the fullness of THEIR lives.  

With my in-laws, neither Lori nor I reached the level with them where there was complete understanding, with no regrets.  After each of their respective deaths, we heard stories of friends who were close to each of them who seemed to know more about them than we ever did.  However, with one another and with us - their closest family - they kept things close to the vest.  While that feels like a burden for us to bear at this time, it will lift eventually.  What we can't fully appreciate and understand are the ingredients that made my in-laws covet their privacy in different ways.

Christian author John Ortberg said, "You can only love and be loved to the extent that you know and are known by somebody."  While we may have craved knowing Gerald and BJ more, so that we could have understood and loved them even more, I believe they were content in the way things were.  And that's OK.  We loved them to the fullest extent that they were willing to be known and loved.  We are thankful for them and all the great memories we made with them... at home... at Christmas... at the beach... on the backhoe... and on the porch.  What's important is us appreciating THEM and how our blessings are a product of their love, and the fullness of THEIR lives. 

How can we be better parents to our children, family to our family, and friends to our friends?  How can we leave a legacy that allows us not just to be the benefactors of our children, but to be KNOWN by them, but LOVED to the fullest extent possible?  I pray that we will embrace these experiences and allow them to shape the fullness of our time for many years to come.  Hope is what remains to be seen.

12 Weeks Post-op: The 2015 Rush Concert T-Shirt Finally Fits

Five years, five months, and twenty-one days ago, on June 6, 2015, I wrote a long winded blog post titled, "What I Write About When I Write About Running."  That was soon after my 54 year old brother-in-law had died (too soon), as well as my first boss when I worked at Winn-Dixie in the 1980's (he was an extremely healthy runner).  The preciousness of life was surely at the forefront of my mind.  That was four months before my Dad died in October of the same year.  

In that post, I went on and on about my most recent come-to-Jesus moment about dieting and fitness.  I had just attended a Rush concert (one of the last before legendary drummer Neil Peart died in early 2020) with two of my best friends from elementary and high school, respectively.  I had purchased a concert T-shirt - the largest size they had - 2XL.  It didn't fit then as I weighed 284.8 pounds at the time.  I vowed to return to a smaller size and wear that shirt, which I proudly displayed in my 2015 blog post as I waxed eloquently about life, Rush, and running.  

I planned to accomplish my goal by running - a go-to exercise that I actually enjoyed back in my 20's due to the endorphin rush it used to give me.  Nothing drops weight on me like vigorous exercise.  I read the Haruki Murakami book about running and psyched myself up real good, as I had so often done on every other diet.  I set out to running (jogging) alternating with walking every 1/10 of a mile, much in the style of Henry Dillard, who knew how to progress from 1/10 to 2 miles, literally one step at a time over the course of weeks.  Well, that scheme didn't last long as I incurred knee pain in one knee and then the other, which later led to torn meniscuses in both, requiring surgeries in 2016 and 2017.  The days of the 280 pound running man were short-lived.  And over. 

Many diets and exercise regimens later, I had bariatric surgery 3 months ago.  I articulated my logic and decision in "It's About to Get Real."  I wrote all that backstory to set up this picture.  Finally, after 5+ years, I can comfortably wear that darn Rush concert T-shirt from 2015.  This is what those in the bariatric community call an NSV - non-scale victory.  In other words, it's a mental / emotional victory not measurable on a scale or with a tape measure.  

Since my last blog post at 8-weeks post-op, I had another NSV worth mentioning.  All my size 46-48 waist jeans are too big for me.  I can't yet fit in the stack of size 38's Levi's I have waiting from the 1990's, so I was shopping on Amazon for a size 40.  I followed the link I used to buy the 48's and literally cried a tear of joy when the size 40 was not an option... in the Big & Tall section where I was looking.  I had to look in the "regular" clothes section.  Happy day.

Speaking of T-shirts and NSVs, I have begun the process of removing the 3X and relaxed-fit 2X sized T-shirts from my drawers.  In their place, I have rotated in many 2XL shirts that were always a little tight and maybe even some XL shirts that are loose.  These are shirts ranging from 5-20 years old.  I have quite a selection of T-shirts from our honeymoon in Australia in 1997.  Many of those were XL and only worn a few times as Lori got pregnant soon afterwards and I put on "pregnancy sympathy pounds" that never came off.  The 3X shirts and size 46-48 pants are going into storage, hopefully never to be used again.  

The last month has definitely continued the trend towards normal eating.  By normal I mean that I can eat just about anything I used to eat, I just can't eat a lot of it.  I still can fill up and feel satisfied with only a handful size portion of anything.  Previously, some foods, especially if eaten too fast, would feel like I'd swallowed a rock for a few minutes.  I still haven't thrown up even once.  About 6 weeks ago, I could only eat about half a Five Guys single cheeseburger.  About 2 weeks ago, I ate about 90% of a single cheeseburger from Five Guys.  This past week, I ate an entire Whopper Junior cheeseburger from Burger King.  I'm not trying to work my way up to eating a regular Whopper cheeseburger AND a chicken sandwich as I once could/would do.  I'm just trying to point out that there is a reasonable "small/regular" size of foods that I can tolerate now.  In fact, in some restaurants, I will order a kids' meal and be satisfied with that.  In other cases, I will order a full entree, and divide it into halves or thirds and get 1-2 additional meals out of it.  

This brings to mind the advice my surgeon gave me: pre-measure my meals before I eat them.  We are so used to filling or over-filling a plate and then joining the "Clean Your Plate Club" that it is a hard habit to break.  So that is the type of mindfulness I am trying to do now.  

I have been able to enjoy a coffee after breakfast now.  I don't have it every day, but perhaps I could.  I'm still having a 1-egg omelette or a scrambled egg 2-3 times a week.  I have a small bowl of cereal 2-3 days a week.  One day last week, I had a single pancake for breakfast.  Man that was so good.  I can have a whole Chick-fil-A sandwich now.  We are cooking healthy meals at home about 2-3 times a week from Hello Fresh which is really good (and fun).  I can have an occasional beer without issues.  My energy level is great and I feel so much better not lugging around 68 extra pounds. 

Mentally, I am very happy right now, but also in new territory.  I've lost weight down to the 230s-240s a few times in the past 30 years, and that is usually where I feel happy and satisfied with my looks and health, before I begin a reversal.  For example, this picture is from April 2010, when Lori and I were on the costly - but effective - Metabolic Research program.  I weighed 243 that day after starting at 276 five months prior.  My lowest was 241 a month later, then I reversed and have never gotten that low again - until now.  People are noticing my success and the feedback feels good, as it did in the past.  It will be new territory for me as I continue to drop pounds below where I am now.  

One thing I'm noticing now that I've never experienced before is loose skin.  I'm seeing it in my neck and belly.  This is common with bariatric patients once they lose a lot of weight.  The most I've lost on any diet was 44 pounds.  So I'm more than 20 beyond that now.   I hope it will tighten up over time, especially as I get back into the gym.  Someday. 

It's worth noting that yesterday was Thanksgiving.  The occasion gave everyone a good laugh as I loaded up my "sampler platter" with a little bit of everything.  One of the things I wondered about getting this surgery done was whether I would miss the occasions of overfilling my belly with delicious food, be it 2 plates of Thanksgiving food, a double cheeseburger, or $12 worth of food at Taco Bell.  Well, I can't say I don't miss it a little tiny bit, but it definitely is not something I would trade for the results I'm seeing so far.  I definitely didn't shed a tear when I couldn't eat more than this.  I was satisfied, and it was all delicious.  I also grazed the leftovers in the subsequent few hours as we cleaned up.  And I still lost 0.4 pound yesterday, bringing my total for the week to 2.8 pounds.  

Today marks 12 weeks since surgery.  I've updated my cool progress graphic.  Onward to week 13!

Remembering Roxie

It's been about 2 1/2 days since we learned that our furry family member of 10 years had inoperable kidney failure.  We all gathered around while Roxie went "nite nite" one last time on Monday, August 10, 2020, around 6:45pm.

It's hard to believe what a difference losing her has made for us.  I know this grief will pass, but while the memory of her is still fresh, I wanted to make some notes.

Though Roxie was not particularly loud, our house now seems strangely quiet.  She never spoke words, though I always felt like she was on the verge of speaking English.  She rarely barked unless there was someone on "her" field.  We did hear her toenails clicking on our hardwood floors quite often, but in general, she just hung around wherever we were.  She seemed to always be present.  Maybe it was us who made the noise, talking to her like we would talk to one another.

"Hey Roxie, whatchu doin'?"
"Wanna go outside?"
"Make sure you sit in the shade if you go out there."  
"Need some water?"  
"She's a good girl."  
"Treat?"  
"You wanna go ride with Mommy?"  
"All the way out! ALLLLL the way out!" 
"It's steak night!  Roxie's favorite night!" 
"Cheese ball?"  
"Who's at the door?!"  
"I'm going to the grocery store to get some milk, tortillas, and yoghurt.  You need anything?  Be right back." 
"She's a good girl."  
"Oh here you come now that I'm cutting food!"  
"Let's go pee pee."  
"Ready to go nite nite?"  
"Want Daddy to help you up the stairs?"  
"Are you OK?"  
"She's a good girl."  

She never responded in words, though I know she would if she could.  She did respond with her eyes. And smiles.  And actions.  Always laid back, and never too uptight about anything.  Didn't really mind if other dogs came over and borrowed her stuff or food.  At least not once she got older.  Always present.  Loyal.  Always a look of concern when we were packing luggage.  And then disappointment if we left without her.  And much excitement if she got to come along.  She was the dog I always wanted.  One that would do all the things I described, including lay by my side while I read, or watched TV, or did work, or worked on a project.  She was truly a family member and friend.

Our patterns and routines are disrupted now.  Or maybe un-disrupted is the better description.  Other than our boring cat, and 2 sons still at home, there's no one really depending on Lori and me for food, shelter, and companionship.  Even our robovac has little to do now, whereas, before she filled her belly with Roxie-hair on a daily basis.  (Yes, our robovac has a name and personality)

We obviously still have one another, and someday we will get another (smaller) canine.  But for now, there is a void and an emptiness left by Roxie.  As it should be.  She was a good girl.

In a dog's life

A year is really more like seven

And all too soon a canine

Will be chasing cars in doggie heaven 

 

It seems to me

As we make our own few circles 'round the sun

We get it backwards

And our seven years go by like one      

              

        -- Neil Peart, RUSH 

 

What I Write About When I Write About Running

It's that season of life again.  The time to change eating and exercise habits.  I’ve gone through and beyond such seasons of life at least 10 times since I was a college freshman.  The hard part is that by the time the balance of "motivation vs inaction" finally tips to the point where I am motivated, I have that many more pounds to overcome and that many more years working against me.  So here we go again... I'm eating better, and attempting to begin running again.  I always have had a love/hate thing with running.  And I've always had a love/love thing with eating.

It doesn't happen overnight for me, though it may seem all of a sudden to those around me.  The reality is that my intrinsic motivation (negative or positive) usually builds up over time.  And then one day, I’ll just inexplicably start eating better, or going to the gym, or walking... or running.   This “season” officially began Saturday, May 30, 2015, at 3:18pm, with a half walk/jog in sweltering 90 degree weather.   But let’s backup some, so as to transition from the season prior.

From January 2013 – January 2014 I walked 2+ miles every single day, regardless of weather.  I had thought that doing that little habit would have taken ounces off me every week, until I reached my high school tennis team figure, but I was wrong.  I think I replaced the few calories burned walking with additional food, resulting in maintaining weight, or only gaining a little during that time, instead of losing a lot.  After that streak ended, I still walked 3-4 days a week.  But frankly, as I took a new job last August, I have been more and more busy.  And here I am, back at a starting point I don’t even want to write in this blog.  Let’s just say I am about 10 pounds away from a milestone reserved for really big NFL offensive linemen.  In all humility, I don't think I look as big as the scales say, but the physics must be respected.

Lori asked me what prompted me to start this regimen again.  It’s a good question, and I wanted to capture it here. 

On April 1, my brother-in-law Scott tragically died after medical complications.  He was only 54.  Though Scott wasn’t in great health, from outward appearances, he was just as healthy as or better than I was.  I will miss his sense of humor and beach golf trips.

Within 2 weeks, my first boss Danny McBee died.  He was 67, but was an avid runner since I knew him back in the 80’s.  He posted on Facebook frequently about his running adventures, and I always admired that he kept up that activity even as a senior citizen.

I am a mere 50 ½ years old.  I know we are not promised tomorrow, but even an avid runner like Danny McBee didn't live to be an old man.  With the deaths of Scott and Mr. McBee, I quickly came to grips with my own mortality, and a realization about how fragile life is, and that most likely I have more years behind me than ahead of me.  As Andy Dufresne said in Shawshank Redemption, "I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living or get busy dying."

My favorite band is Rush, the Canadian trio celebrating their 40^th anniversary this year, who now mostly appeal to balding guys in their 50s.  I also play guitar, mainly for my own amusement and relaxation – or stress relief.  Sometime in May I was in a melancholy mood and was playing with an acoustic effect on my Strat.  I thumbed through my Rush guitar book for the 1000^th time, looking for any missed gem I could reattempt.  I began playing “Between the Wheels,” the last track on the “Grace Under Pressure” album released in the spring of my freshman year of college.  As a side note, that time of my life was when I was first gaining weight (the freshman twenty, or was it thirty?) thanks largely to PTA Pizza, which was consumed in large doses on the 3rd floor of Tucker Dorm at NC State University.  It was also when I was just beginning to run some, for recreational purposes.  But I digress.

This song was not originally played acoustic - and has never been played acoustically by Rush, to my knowledge - as it’s a pretty powerful rock song with lots of driving synthesizer bass from Geddy Lee.  The chord progression is rather sad, starting with some sort haunting "Dm7 – Am" chord loop over a marching type rhythm.  But then the chorus comes.  When played acoustically and slowly, the lament was very moving to me. 

You know how that rabbit feels
Going under your speeding wheels
Bright images flashing by
Like windshields towards a fly
Frozen in the fatal climb
But the wheels of time
Just pass you by

… and on that “Just pass you by” part there comes another chord progression and deep bass drop that just screams Andy Dufresne to me.

I am about to take a business trip to Japan.  Our company airline ticket policy does not include business class, or even aisle seats.  So some of the “best fare available” seats I’ve been finding are in Coach class, in the center of a section of 5 seats.  The thought of sticking myself in that shoebox sized seat for 14+ hours is not a pleasant one.  Maybe I need to get smaller.

Since I am working on a project with a Japanese partner, on May 25, I decided to revisit the only Japanese author I’ve ever read - Haruki Murakami, the author of the 1Q84 3-part epic I 1/3 finished.  Reading through Murakami’s books I was attracted to What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.  

Subconsciously, I was looking for some catalyst to kick me into a more healthy gear.  I learned that Murakami was an avid runner for many years, and multi-year marathon participant.  This book was somewhat of a memoir about running, writing, and growing old.  I can relate to all three, and thought that perhaps reading this would inspire me.  Yet, when I read the reviews, some said “this did not inspire me to run – it made me want to quit.”  That intrigued me further, so I started reading, highlighting as I went.  Here’s one: 

When I’m running I don’t have to talk to anybody and don’t have to listen to anybody. All I need to do is gaze at the scenery passing by.

Like most Murakami books, his wording is simple, yet makes one think.

I really believe that I am blessed to have no major health problems or issues.  Other than male pattern baldness and poor vision, my only health problem is self-inflicted.  As a result, I’m not as flexible as I should be.  Tying shoes is an effort.  Scratching nether regions of myself is not as easy it used to be.  
 

I just run. I run in a void. Or maybe I should put it the other way: I run in order to acquire a void. But as you might expect, an occasional thought will slip into this void. People’s minds can’t be a complete blank.   

 -- Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

I have 18 pairs of dress slacks.  Only one fits me.  I have over 25 pairs of shorts.  Only one fits me.  I have 5 pairs of gym shorts, and fortunately, thanks to elastic waistbands, three of those fit me!  I have over 30 pairs of jeans, and three of those fit me thanks to generous sizing of the Wrangler brand at Target.

Even if there were two of me, I still couldn’t do all that has to be done. No matter what, though, I keep up my running. Running every day is a kind of lifeline for me, so I’m not going to lay off or quit just because I’m busy. If I used being busy as an excuse not to run, I’d never run again.   

 -- Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

On May 28, I attended a concert of my favorite band, Rush.  This was special because I attended with my friend from high school Mark Hickman, and my 6^th grade best friend David Doyle, who I had not seen since around 1977, when I moved away from Fayetteville to Charlotte.  Seeing your school friends as 50 year old adults does put an exclamation point on how time has passed.  Mark is basically the same as I remember him as a teen, and as I’d seen him at our 30 year reunion a few years  ago.  David had changed.  When we were kids, I was the regular athletic kid and David was the big one.  I’d seen pictures on Facebook, but if it were not for his eyes I would not have recognize him at age 50!  He was in great shape and didn’t seem to have an ounce of fat on him.  We’d switched roles – except he still plays drums, and I guitar.  He made his healthy change after high school, and seeing him really inspired me… and frustrated me because I was nowhere near normal in size.  (pictured: David, me, Mark... aka Neil, Alex, Geddy)

Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest. If you’re going to while away the years, it’s far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you do that.  

 -- Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

Once we entered the Greensboro Coliseum, we headed to the souvenir table.  I scanned the display of many cool and overpriced tour and band memorabilia.   I have to search by size first, looking for 2XL or larger.  Single XL is out of the question.  2XL has become more of a stretch, pun intended.  I’ve bought many concert tees over the years, and their price has far outpaced inflation. 

Mark and I attended the 1982 Rush Signals tour and got the ticket and a T-shirt for probably under 40 bucks total.  Not so in 2015.  The ticket was $115 and the shirt I wanted?  An R40 mention with the Dalmatian dog from the Signals album cover running away from that fire hydrant he’d just peed on.  “Do you have anything larger than 2XL?” I asked, as I stretched the shirt, testing it as I tried a mock fitting by beginning to put it on.  “Nope,” the really fat lady said who was also tightly wearing a Rush shirt and also needed something bigger than 2XL.   “OK.  I’ll take it,” I said, and plopped out $55, the most I’ve ever paid for any T-shirt and most dress shirts.   This one having the unique characteristic that I would not actually be wearing it anytime soon.  Sort of like buying next summer’s clothes at the end of this summer.  I don’t understand why my favorite band is not more sensitive to its clientele.  Clearly, they could sell many more shirts to the people I saw if they offered a big & tall selection.  

You make do with what you have. As you age you learn even to be happy with what you have. That’s one of the few good points of growing older.

-- Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

At the Rush concert, the band reeled off all the songs I was expecting based on the set lists of the recent shows.  In this tour, they started with their most recent songs and worked backwards in time, playing 0, 1, or 2 songs from their catalog of over 20 studio albums.  Lo and behold, when they got to the 80s and to the “Grace Under Pressure” era, the only song they played was “Between the Wheels.”  While it was not done acoustically, I sat in bewilderment as I recalled sadly playing that song a few weeks before.  If there was a tear in my eye at that time, it was a tear of joy for being so blessed to be able to go to see my favorite band with 2 of my best friends ever.

I don’t care about the time I run. I can try all I want, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to run the way I used to. I’m ready to accept that. It’s not one of your happier realities, but that’s what happens when you get older. Just as I have my own role to play, so does time. And time does its job much more faithfully, much more accurately, than I ever do. Ever since time began (when was that, I wonder?), it’s been moving ever forward without a moment’s rest. And one of the privileges given to those who’ve avoided dying young is the blessed right to grow old. The honor of physical decline is waiting, and you have to get used to that reality.   

-- Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

The concert ended and we all went our separate ways home.  My R40 Signals Dalmation Rush T-shirt sat on my bedroom chair. Beckoning me.  Mocking me.  What 50 year old Rush fan is able to even fit in that thing?  Not all of them, that’s for sure.  What Rush band member could even wear it?  Geddy, for sure.  But Neil and Alex – it might be tight. 

Thus the seasons come and go, and the years pass by. I’ll age one more year, and probably finish another novel. One by one, I’ll face the tasks before me and complete them as best I can. Focusing on each stride forward, but at the same time taking a long-range view, scanning the scenery as far ahead as I can. I am, after all, a long-distance runner. My time, the rank I attain, my outward appearance— all of these are secondary. For a runner like me, what’s really important is reaching the goal I set myself, under my own power. I give it everything I have, endure what needs enduring, and am able, in my own way, to be satisfied. From out of the failures and joys I always try to come away having grasped a concrete lesson.   

-- Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

So having finished the concert, and finished the book, I stared at the R40 Signals Dalmation Rush T-shirt.  I glanced at my running shoes mostly used for walking, and then back at the T-shirt.  Before I knew it I was putting on the shoes and stretching.  And then I hit the trail.  Walking 1/10 mile, then ever so gingerly jogging 1/10, alternating the best I could for the duration.  I have to build up strength and drop many pounds to be able to run safely, and so far, my knees are not liking this new idea.  But I hope my next T-shirt purchase will be a road race souvenir.

June 20, 2016: I started this post on June 6, and completed it while in Tokyo.  I am about to head to the airport for departure and return to the USA.  My left knee has been giving me issues since I started what little running I've done since May 30.  So I've had periods of recovery and injury so far.  But I am not giving up.  I am going to lose weight and build leg strength, and at some point, the balance of the two will work.