stories from my life

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the best laid plans

I’m right in the middle of the biggest week of my training for the marathon – with a 35k run scheduled tomorrow morning marking the start of my taper toward the event now just three weeks away.

Or I should be.

Truth is, I haven’t been able to run since a really nice 20k hit out last Saturday. The rest of the weekend was spent preparing for a retaining wall construction, handling the business end of pick, shovel and jackhammer. Somewhere along the line I overdid it, and did some abdominal damage.  The Doc has been good, but recovery slower than I would have hoped. Even as Friday rolls around, I think I’m still a couple of days away from being able to run again.

Ouch.  No tears yet, but it’s been frustrating.

So, 7 days of no running has had two consequences.

First, and on the positive side of the ledger, my legs are feeling great.  All the little niggles, daily aches and pains are gone. I don’t wake up with sore ankles, don’t feel tightness in calves and shins. Everything feels fresh and ready.

But the head is not doing so well. It’s been a hard week to manage the mental side of not running when the event is so close, and the preparation so far has been so consistent.  I’m definitely glad to have had this hiccup this week and not in another week or two, but I wish I hadn’t had it at all.  I’m not sure of the impact on fitness levels. Hopefully the base fitness is there to get through this little hurdle without serious consequences for the race weekend itself.

The training plan from here is a little up in the air now.  If I can get back on the road Sunday or Monday, I’ll probably try and fit in a long run mid-week and then go back onto the plan as it currently stands.  If I can’t run until mid-next week it will be time to reassess and seek some advice on how best to use the time remaining. Maybe next Saturday might be a longer run that originally anticipated.

All of which goes to remind me, that the best laid plans never really survive very long.  There are always situations and circumstances that interfere and force us to consider change – no matter how meticulous the preparation process has been.  Whether that be a corporate strategic plan, and new year’s resolution, a family’s plans for the year ahead, or something as relatively unimportant as a marathon training plan, their is always the likelihood of change forcing its way into our reality.

Which reminds me of a reflection I wrote a little while back about this challenge of interrupted plans.  It might be time to take some of my own advice, to ponder flexibility, resilience and creativity. To enjoy this interruption and the chance to sleep in just a little longer in the mornings…at least while it lasts.

Training Since Last Blog (details at strava)

5 June – 10k @ 5.30 p/km

7 June – 20k @ 5.26 p/km

 

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the value of training

This week I finally admitted it out loud:  I’m sick of training to run a marathon.

I woke up Thursday morning, alarm set early to head out for a mid-week run, and just did not want to go.  It wasn’t the consequence of a late night the previous evening, or too many days of running in the week, just the cumulative effect of weeks and months of running to try and get my middle-aged body in decent enough shape to run 42km.

This day, I was over it all.  I just wanted the race weekend to be here, and to be over, so that I can go back to bed. So that I can choose to run if I feel like it, instead of running to a schedule.

But, my schedule said run, and the last thing I’m going to do is let the months of training slide because of slackness in the last few weeks…so I dragged myself out the door and onto the pavement.

And I felt rotten the whole morning. I felt every twinge, every ache, every step. And I ran slow, and not very far.  There’s no question that state-of-mind has an impact on performance!

The next day I ran into a PE teacher/sports-trainer friend and was telling him my sob story. He said “You know Scott, those training miles, the ones that you do even when you most want to be at home in bed, they’re the most valuable training miles you will ever run”.

I didn’t believe him at the time, but with a week to ponder, I think maybe he’s right.  The moments when we somehow manage to talk ourselves into what we know is the right thing, even when we’d rather be elsewhere…those moments are important.  Maybe it’s the minutes I choose to spend reading night-time stories to the six-year old instead of snoozing on the couch. Maybe it’s the yard work, or time invested with the family, or volunteering at my community group….whatever the category, it’s the times we go when we’re just not motivated that really matter.

Anyway, a couple of days later I was scheduled for my longest run yet – 32km.  I think you can guess how much I wasn’t looking forward to that experience!  My previous longest at a little over 28km hadn’t ended well, with a little walking mixed in the last couple of km to nurse home some injured legs. That memory, together with the general funk about the whole project meant I was dreading that alarm bell.

What a surprise then, and a blessed relief, to find myself thoroughly enjoying the whole run.  Pace was good (still probably a little too fast for training…but such is life), the few aches and pains that popped up along the way disappeared as I plodded along, and to top it all off, the river was shrouded in fog to lend an ethereal quality to the early miles, before the sun came out to cheer me home. It was perhaps the best “long” run I’ve had, and definitely the best in weeks.

Don’t get me wrong. I was spent by the time I got home, and nursing a couple of pretty painful knees – but way better than my previous long run, and way better than I expected as I headed out the door that morning.

And with my 32.7k including quite a few hills (where the Gold Coast race is almost totally flat), the whole experience gave me a much needed shot of confidence that 42km is going to be achievable.

Not easy. And not pain-free. But achievable.

I guess that’s the value of the hours and hours of training. Even when it doesn’t feel like it to me, it’s been building and conditioning the muscles to do what they could not have done before. To churn out km after km on one Sunday in July, hopefully going the distance and enjoying the journey.

On this second-last long training run, I think my brain finally caught up with my body.  Everything feels like it’s nearly ready. The training is working.  There are a couple of weeks of solid running left, one more long run (35km) and then it’s into the blessed relief of the taper and pre-race rest.

I got to wondering (as I do) about parallels.  About other areas in life in which long hours of preparation, weeks and months and years of training quietly sneak up on you, preparing you for some new experience.

Maybe it’s education and formal training. Maybe it’s on-the-job learning. Maybe it’s hours of training sessions at a sport or hobby.  Maybe it’s years of practice as a first-time parent helping to prepare you for each new stage of a child’s life.

I don’t know what the answer is for you, or even necessarily for me.

I only know that training matters.  It prepares us, equips us, enables us.

Even when it’s not fun.

Training Since Last Blog

24/5  –  20km @ 5.35 p/km

27/5 – 10.4km @ 5.36 p/km

29/5 – 10.2km @ 5.33 p/km

1/6   –  32.7km @ 5.41 p/km

4/6  – Ride 40km

Details at strava

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the family affair

On Mother’s Day we headed into Southbank, where Sheri, Riley and my mum joined some friends in a team entered in the Mother’s Day Classic Fun Run/Walk. It was kind of cool to see the three generations together walking/running in the 4.5k event, and all three enjoyed it a lot.

As did the other two kids and I, watching from the sidelines.  So we went home all inspired to all enter the event in 2015 and run/walk together…but that wasn’t quite soon enough so satisfy our craving for instant gratification.

So we scoured the internet for events, Mitch signed up for a kids try-athlon hosted by Weetbix this coming weekend at Southbank, and then we started looking further afield.

The Gold Coast Marathon came to mind…for the obvious reason that we’ll be there for the event anyway. When we dug a little deeper, the whole event includes a heap of different distances and categories…so we’ve signed up the whole gang. Mitch and MK will run the 2k kids dash, Sheri and Riley the 5.7k run, all on Saturday morning, and I’ll be there Sunday for the full distance event.

It’s given our whole family quite a buzz to all be entered. Training plans are developing and we’ve already had one whole-family training session on the street out the front – with Mitch practicing triathlon transitions on the footpath, and everybody else running laps of the block (including the dog…who thought it was awesome!).

It’s been nice to talk together about it this week, to be sharing a goal and as a family looking forward to an event that had up until now been mostly about my Sunday race.

Training for the marathon has continued, with a little bit of both up and down over the last couple of weeks.  I’ve managed two quite long runs at 25 and 28.7k respectively) but also run into a couple of little niggly injury worries – both problems I’ve had in the past.

With some time on the massage table, a few days rest and a session with a running-specialist physio at intraining, all seems under control for the moment, so I’ll just (cautiously) press on with the program. A quieter weekend this week (with long run at 18-20k) precedes what is planned as a 32k long run next weekend, so it’s definitely a week to look after the legs a little.

The other down moment this week was waking up one morning for my regular mid-distance run and almost pulling the pin. Mostly I’ve not struggled for motivation, and once I’m awake have been happy to get up and go.

This day however, I really struggled to get going. I had that thought “why am I doing this?” and for the first time, had no answer.  It was only that (a) I knew I would feel guilty if I didn’t go; and (b) I have some friends who have been great encouragers on the whole marathon project that got me out of bed and onto the streets.

I guess that’s life sometimes isn’t it.  No matter how much we like the idea of something (moving house, new job, parenthood, whatever your mountain might be) there are moments when the reality of the challenge overwhelms the theoretical motivation. There are moments when we say “why am I doing this?”.

On the whole I’m not advocating for guilt as a motivator, so that leaves me with the critical importance of friends and family that encourage and support us.  So, I’m thinking, next time you’re struggling for motivation, who can you turn to that will help you feel great about what you’re attempting?  And conversely, look around to see who in your life is trying something new….and fire some words of encouragement there way.

A little of that action goes a very long way.

Training since I last blogged:

10/5  –  25.3km @ 5.37 pace

12/5  –  47.5km road bike

13/5  –  10.0km @ 5.33 pace

15/5  –  10.2km @ 5.34 pace

19/5  –  28.7km @ 5.51 pace

22/5  –  8.2@km 5.53 pace

Full details at strava

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some days are hard

strava screenshotSome days take you by surprise.

As training for the marathon ramps up, and the impact on my legs bites hard with the higher workload, I’m discovering that not every day is a “feel good” kind of day.

On Friday morning I hit the road with my brother for an early morning bike ride.  A bit of cross training is helpful and bike riding is my cross-training weapon of choice.

We went for a not-too-hilly route of around 30km with time limiting our options (and that time was limited even further when it took us 15 minutes for us to decide that yes, we could indeed ride in the rain!).

It was our first ride together for a while and I was excited to get out and about…but that quickly turned to frustration as I discovered a pair of legs that just wouldn’t do what they normally can.  An average speed nearly 15% lower than normal on a fairly short ride told the story.

It seems to me, that can be just as true in other aspects of our lives as well.  Some days things just don’t go according to plan.

We head out the door feeling fine only to run into a day that just doesn’t work. Words don’t flow, jobs don’t turn out right, the kids are even more off-the-wall than normal.

Some days are hard.

The next morning I had a longish run scheduled, but definitely didn’t feel like going running. It was early, cold and dark and that memory of dead-leg day was fresh in my mind.  I lay in bed for quite a while in the pre-dawn, arguing with myself.

I knew I’d beat myself up all day if I didn’t go, so dragged myself off the pillow and staggered off down the street.

It didn’t start much better than the day before, but over the first km or two, things loosened up and I started to find my rhythm again.

By the end of the run I was cruising, enjoying the crisp early morning air, saying g’day to the other early morning runners and cyclists, and thoroughly enjoying myself.  I can’t put a finger on what had changed, but the difference was stark. I even had enough energy for a little hard push at the 15k mark to see what speed I had in the legs.

Some days are great.

It got me to thinking that sometimes, even as we get moving in the morning and head out the door, we can’t know what the day holds.  The key for me, I think, is to breath deeply, lean into God, and stagger forth into the day, determined to deal with whatever comes my way.

Training this week:

Riding: 28km @ 23.2km/h, 362m climbed

Running: 18.1km @ 5.34 p/km, 105m climbed (a shorter “long run” after 4 weeks of 20k+)

Running: 8.0km @ 5.16 p/km, 77m climbed

Riding: 39.5km @ 27.5km/h, 257m climbed

Running: 10.1km @ 5.22 p/km, 88m climbed

The Week Ahead:

Aiming for 22-24k long run this Saturday, normal mid-week 8-10k runs, and hopefully a 40-50k ride Monday.  End of next week I’m in Cairns for work for a couple of days so might pack the shoes for some tropical warmth!

Looking forward to cheering from the sidelines as Sheri, Riley and a whole bunch of friends and family members run and walk the Mother’s Day Classic this Sunday.

The Preparation:

This week I’ve been thinking about food. What to eat before I run, what to carry with me (in the form of energy gels) to avoid going into shutdown due to lack of energy.  I’m going to start using the same brand that the Gold Coast Marathon provide…just to make sure they taste ok (well, as ok as energy gels can taste).

Body is in good shape. No trouble with feet, shins, or the eternally dodgy left knee.  So, so tired…but otherwise good.  The only real training questions are whether (a) my training plan has enough mileage in it; and (b) I can keep the feet and legs in good shape.

T-8 weeks!

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the long run

Several times a week I find myself thinking “what the hell am I doing?” and “who am I, and what ever happened to the me I used to know?“.

For the first 40ish years of my life, I lived happily sure in the knowledge that running was only useful in organised team sports, and then only when absolutely necessary. I’ve never seen anybody out running with a smile on their face, and “real athletes” (like olympians) aren’t human so don’t count (plus they’re probably on steroids…right?).

I therefore knew, without having to try for myself, that running sucks and nobody normal would voluntarily do it.

And then, approaching 40, I found myself consciously avoiding mirrors, dreading trips to the park to run around with the kids, and huffing and puffing unreasonably on the basketball court.  So with a little motivational support from my family I started dragging myself down to the local park before sunrise and joining in a boot camp.  It started great, nice people, encouraging, motivating, fun variety of exercise.

Until “Week Two”.

We arrived one morning in the cold and dark as usual, but there was no gear set-up in the park, no exercise equipment. Just the trainer standing there, smiling his evil smile.  “It’s a running day” he said, before briefly describing the course and sending us on our way.  The shortest course he outlined was 5km, but there were 8km (you must be joking) and 10km (don’t be ridiculous!) options as well.  “10k in an hour boot camp session? That’s not possible.” I thought to myself.

That first morning I made it 1km before grinding to a halt, and shuffling along for the rest of the 5k loop, arriving back to see the rest of my crew getting in their cars to head for home.  I hated running that day just as much as I ever thought I would.

But little by little, the boot camp worked, fitness improved, and with one dedicated running session a week I gradually got better at it.  In the final week of my 8-week boot camp experience I ran 5km non-stop. I have to tell you, I skipped, danced, sung and laughed out loud on that last half-kilometre through the deserted pre-dawn streets of Launceston – pity the early morning shift workers who had to witness it. Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined running 5k and here I was, about to do it.

A couple of weeks later I heard about the Launceston Ten – a dead flat mass participation “fun run” (oxymoron alert!) a few months away.  I kept up the training, increased distances little by little and had a crack at it, finishing in a faster time than I dared think possible, and running the whole way (the first time I managed that over the 10km distance).  It was such an adrenaline rush to set out in a field of over 1500 runners, all tackling their own internal demons and trying desperately for a personal best, or even just to finish.  I loved every step of that run (my first and last ever “competitive” run).

Stupidly as I crossed the finish line I heard a little voice inside my head say “that wasn’t so bad, what about a half marathon?”  That’s as good a reason as any never to trust the little voice inside your head.

Life intervened and we ended up moving back to Brisbane – so it wasn’t until 12 months later I had my first “half” experience – at the 2013 Gold Coast Half-Marathon.  I chose that race for one reason: the course is dead flat (see a theme here?).  I trained fairly well, including a pre-race “long” run of about 17km and set off to the coast to run 21.1km (not for the first time thinking those same thoughts I mentioned right up the top of this little story) in my second ever competitive running race.

Like many rookies I went out too fast and paid the price – hitting the invisible (but very real) “wall” at 17k and struggling home.  I crossed the line, collapsed on the ground and (I’m not ashamed to admit it) wept. The emotions of the moment overpowered me. I couldn’t (and still can’t) believe that less than two years after getting off the couch I had just run 21.1km.  I was also mighty relieved, having now run that distance and got it out of my system, I could head home, keep doing a couple of 5-7k runs a week and just go bike riding with my mates for fun and fitness. It (my two-race old competitive running career) was over. Thank goodness.

Except I made the mistake of going back to the finish line a few hours later to watch the marathon runners coming in.

Not the elite non-human athletes, but the “normal” people, finishing in 4 or 4 1/2 hours. People that (while clearly fit) look like you and I, come in all shapes, sizes and ages. And the sense of achievement written all over their faces at that finish line (along with other things like “I feel like vomiting” and “I hate running”) stirred up that little voice inside my head one more time:

“I wonder what it would be like to run a marathon?”

What is it that makes people think things like that? What is it that makes people run?

I’ve discovered many things about running, and about myself while running. Sometimes it’s the peace and quiet. Sometimes its the amazing sunrises on an early morning outing. Sometimes its the chance to ponder work challenges. Sometimes I pray. Sometimes I just listen to the rhythm of my feet and breath, and don’t think about anything at all. Sometimes its the sheer blessed relief of sitting down after a long, painful run.

Sometimes I do hate it, but mostly I’ve come to love it.  Lacing up the shoes, slipping into something light, breathable and non-chafing (now that’s a challenge!) and heading out the door in the quietness of the early morning….I don’t know, I guess I breathe differently when I’m on the trail.

And so I run, and (so far) keep on running.

Which brings me to this point, the start of May 2014 and now just 9 weeks until I find out the answer to that last little question: “I wonder what it would be like to run a marathon?”.  I’m entered in the Gold Coast Marathon (it’s flat remember!) and will have a crack at the full 42.195km on July 6th for my third (and last!) competitive running race.

Training has been going well, I’ve been racking up lots of miles and my longer runs are building in distance – up to a 25km outing last weekend for my third weekend in a row of running half-marathon distance or more.  My training schedule (concocted with the help of My Asics and tweaked a little after some running forum conversations) takes me out to 32-35 over the next 6 weeks before a 2-3 week taper ( I know…I get to taper as if I’m a real athlete!). I hear it’s what happens beyond 30km and when you’ve been on the road 3 to 3 1/2 hours that really tells if you’re ready for a marathon.

I have to say, my family have been fantastic. There’s a lot of hours on the road, and while I mostly try and go early in the mornings, it inevitably creeps into family time…and they’ve been nothing but supportive.

So far I’ve suffered no significant injuries, just a constant state of exhaustion, dead legs and the never-ending desire to crawl into bed and sleep for a year.  I’m constantly dreading and at the same time aching for my next long run.  I sure hope that’s all normal (it definitely doesn’t sound like it to me!).

So here I am, inviting you (my 2 friends, and 2 relatives who read this!) to join me for the next few weeks.  For that period I’m going to use this blog as something of a training diary, keeping track of how I’m going, how often I’m thinking “what the hell am I doing?” and how many times I’m tempted to withdraw my entry. I promise this isn’t going to turn into a fitness blog for the future…just for a few weeks.

And if you want, come and join my on the running track for a few km to keep me company or teach me some things about running (for I am a rookie….making it up as I go along!). If you want to check in with the training runs in a little more detail, you can find all my info over at strava. If you know stuff about running, I will gladly hear your wisdom.

I have two main goals for the next few weeks. First to learn to run a little slower – to make the pace sustainable over the distance.  And second, to figure out how to shut down that little voice in my head….in case it says something genuinely stupid like “what about an iron-man distance triathlon?”

I fear I’m in this for the long run.

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on yellow cars and casual, cultural sexism

We play a game, our family.

It’s a driving game, it keeps the kids occupied on long trips, gives us something fun to rib each other about along the way.

We call it “Spotto”.  Maybe you play a similar game, but in our version it’s a point for each time you see a yellow car and call out “SPOTTO!” before anybody else does.  As with any family game there are a few quirky rules, some inside understandings of what is and isn’t yellow (Brisbane City Council buses for example, don’t qualify) and for some unknown reason lost in the sands of time spotting a purple car and calling “SPURPLE!” accrues double points.

Hey, it’s fun, and its in the privacy of our own car…

There’s a problem however, and it’s a big one.

Once you start spotting yellow cars (SPOTTO!) it’s just not that easy to stop.

And so now I find myself even when on my own (that’s right…no kids to use an excuse) making a mental note of every yellow car I pass.  I swear to you I haven’t said “SPOTTO!” out loud on my own….yet….but that’s the problem. To borrow a well known advertising catch phrase…once you pop, you just can’t stop.

At the same time as I find myself thinking about yellow cars (SPOTTO!) I’m become more and more conscious of the casual (and not so casual) sexism that still seems ingrained in so many levels of our society.  Maybe that’s a strange connection to make…but go with me here.

As a father of two girls and a boy, I’m very conscious of the opportunities Sheri and I want our girls to have, of the way we want them to be treated, and of the responsibility of our son to know just how he can and should act with regards the women in his now and future life.

And in our current world….there’s a pretty ugly reality that I’m noticing more and more often (SPOTTO!).

Not with me?

Take a look at any Saturday morning “video hits” TV show, where film clip after film clip treats women as little more than scantily clad window dressing.  Men dress in suits, jeans, shirts and women (even when they’re the star attraction) may as well be in body paint.

Take a look at my favourite sport of motor racing, where start grids filled with heroic male drivers have the decoration of a grid girl in Lycra close at hand (or maybe your favourite athletes are footballers and the grid girls come in the form of cheerleaders).  Ridiculously, sadly, even in my chosen hobby of R/C car racing (that’s right…I race toy cars) we sometimes have the stupidity of “trophy girls” at major events.  How do I introduce my daughters to this hobby when basically this is the image of women perpetuated in even this obscure hobby?

Take a look at any number of magazines aimed at women and perpetuating the stereotypes of make-up, fashion and appearance as underlying all self worth.  Even the recent “no make-up selfie” trend that whilst ostensibly has a cancer awareness message (and at best even cancer fund-raising) at heart underneath seems to be implying “no make-up = courageous”.

No man has to put up with such nonsense.

Women continue to be under-represented in leadership in nearly every corner of our society (Federal parliament?) and even where they are present are treated differently (can I say Julia Gillard as just one very visible example without getting into political point-scoring debates?).

They’re underpaid, misrepresented, rejected. Women are subject to totally degrading treatment on the basis of appearance and they are sexualised relentlessly.  Then there’s violence against women prevalent even in mainstream Australian society.

The more I think of it, the more I see it (SPOTTO!). It’s everywhere.  Even though there’s clearly been structural progress in recent decades, there’s still a lot of pretty ugly cultural sexism.

To be fair, there’s plenty of pretty rough male stereotypes as well (cue the witless, useless, clueless father figure than inhabits so many TV commercials and sitcoms), and there are some pretty serious issues around boys in education or even church models that seem more shaped in a way to which girls respond more readily…..but to my eyes (SPOTTO!) the girls have a much tougher road to walk.

And our daughters are growing up in this culture, and will be victim to it. They’ll face pressure to conform. They’ll face expectations about sex and sexuality. They’ll have to abide by different standards than the boys around them.

The more I see it (SPOTTO!) the more I am conscious of just how far we have to go, and of the fact that I’m only just starting to work this out, see what’s in front of me, and can only wonder at the times I’ve probably been complicit.

And more aware of just how much I want both our girls, and our boy to see through the surface of our culture, to find a different way, to live to a different standard.

The fact is our girls (and our boy) are awesome. They’re smart, funny, committed, compassionate, imaginative, creative and talented.  One is intense and motivated, the other non-stop joyful and social.  That’s the basis on which they should progress in life….not on gender, appearance, make-up, short skirts and photo-shop.

The thing is…while I hope I gradually stop seeing yellow cars (SPOTTO!) because to be honest, it’s an annoying game, I sincerely hope the only reason I stop spotting ingrained, cultural, casual sexism is because bit by bit we find a better way.

Bit by bit.

(spotto)

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have you had a busy week?

A couple of days ago I was in the corner store picking up some bits and pieces. As I wandered up to the counter I asked the assistant “have you had a busy day?”

She answered in the affirmative and we got into a pretty typical shop-counter conversation about how busy life is.

I bet you recognise that conversation.  Lots of us have it, nearly every day.

Sometime over the last couple of years something has changed in our society.  It’s subtle, but I wonder if it’s important.

We used to start conversations with something like “how are you?” or “are you well?”…..but now it’s “have you been busy?” or “do you have a busy weekend coming up?”.

Busyness is the new in thing.

The expectation when we ask that question is that we’ll hear back “yep, flat out”.

Busyness is the new fashion accessory…the “new black” if you like.

We pride ourselves on how busy we are. The one with the most full diary is the most worthy. The one with the most evening commitments, the busiest social calendar for the weekend, with the most extra-curricular activities for the kids….the busiest wins.

There’s very little in our society today (apart from our treatment of the vulnerable, or the ongoing ingrained sexism in our world….but they’re stories for another day) that are more damaging I think to families, and to individuals than this perpetual obsession with busyness.

The costs of busyness are high.

Physical tiredness, mental exhaustion, emotional strain, spiritual flat-ness, relational distance.

And a messy house…though maybe that’s just my house…I can’t be sure.

I wonder too – and I worry – about the kind of example we’re setting for our kids with this perpetual busyness.

I wonder if we should be striving really hard to keep lots of empty space in our home diaries, make sure there are afternoons when we just go for a walk around the neighbourhood then come home for a simple dinner and hang out.  I wonder if we should prioritise the preservation of down-time on weekends rather than back-to-back-to-back social, sporting and other engagements.

I’m a big fan of couch time, or hammock time, or “promenade time” (as we used to call the kind of relaxed afternoon walk that we seem to preserve for holidays only) but it’s rare.  I don’t even really like being busy…but it’s such a point of pride I can’t help getting sucked into it, and filling any empty moment with something planned.

What might happen if the next time someone asks “are you free Tuesday night?” I answer “No, I’m having some relax time with my family”?

And will it be weird if I ask the shop assistant when I next stop by “have you got a quiet afternoon ahead”?

So how about you?

Had a busy day?

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step away from the golf ball….

golfThe other night I was out at a golf driving range, with a couple of mates.

It’s something we do whenever we get the chance, meet out there, smash some golf balls out into a paddock, tell stories, listen to each other.  Really its just an excuse to hang out together, but there is a little golf as well.

When you’re the kind of golfer I am (most accurately described as a hacker!) there are lots of experiences that are common.

There is the experience of spending long frustrating periods searching for a golf ball in the long rough.

There is the experience of watching putt after putt miss left, right, short and sometimes go straight over the hole.

There is the experience of that mysterious slice, seemingly un-correctable.

There is the experience of the ball screaming along inches above the ground instead of launching skyward in a truly beautiful arc (a phenomenon we hack golfers call “the worm burner”).

On this particular night, I was reminded of another regular experience for hopeless golfers. Continue reading →

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the joy of the job: a new beginning?

I was chatting with Mitch the 10-year-old this week.

As an aside, how good is it when your kids reach a point where the conversations turn interesting, and insightful and not just about crayons, lego and fart jokes (ok, I confess one of those topics of conversation is primarily my responsibility in our family)?

Anyway…leaving that mental image aside…out of the blue, Mitch said to me:

“Dad, do you enjoy your job?”

Do I enjoy my job.  Interesting question. Well…do I enjoy my job?

I made some non-committal answer like “sometimes I do Mitch, and sometimes I don’t”.

Mitch’s response?

“If I had your job Dad, I would enjoy it a lot!”

I’m assuming he was talking about my real 9-5 job, not the other in which I moonlight as a columnist and product tester for a R/C car magazine.

The truth of course, in adult world, is that most of us have parts of our job/life that we thoroughly enjoy, and parts that we don’t.  The bits of my job where I’m trying to channel creativity, getting involved in interesting conversations that unfold possibility, that help people (including me) see light…these I enjoy thoroughly. The bits that are administrative, organising events, management tasks…well….not so much.

But Mitch’s question has stuck with me, because in an adult-kind-of-way to brush it off with a “sometimes yes, sometimes no” answer seems to do it (and him) a disservice.

I think the deeper question he was asking might be something like “am I glad I do what I do? is it more than just a job? do I look forward to the opportunities I have in my work?”

Or maybe “you spend a lot of time at work Dad (subtext: when you could be playing cricket with me), is it all worthwhile?”

Maybe the truth is that while I’d like to be a glass-half-full kind of guy, I’ve accidentally slipped into a kind of pessimism about the organisation I work for and it’s challenging future. And from that point of view, the word “enjoy” doesn’t quite fit.

So my challenge, for 2014, is to reshape that attitude, to look for the possibility and the potential in every day. To remember my sense of excitement about my work in this organisation, alongside these excellent people.

To reach a point where I am able to answer honestly the next time Mitch asks if I enjoy my job:

“You bet I do”

How about you…do you enjoy your job?

And just because it’s my role in my family…here’s a little gratuitous dad humour for you:

by

a little peace of christmas

christmas treeI found myself in the Brisbane city centre this week, taking my kids to see the parade, pantomine and (honestly, amazing) city hall light spectacular.

It’s Christmas, it’s school holidays, it’s a fun outing for the kids.  Those were the kind of thoughts in mind as we headed off into town.

Unexpectedly to find myself in the middle of my own baffling analysis of what Christmas means today.

The parade was an impressive but kind of confused mix of the Nutcracker story with Christmas themes. Marching bands, ballerinas, stunt-mice, toy soldiers, choirs, dancing Christmas trees, kids dressed as gifts, Santa in his two-reindeer-drawn-sleigh (the rest presumably resting up for the big flight on 25/12) were all in the mix.

And right in the middle, somewhere after the christmas trees, gift-wrapped children and marching drummers, came Mary on a donkey (baby Jesus already born, hung in a sling from Mary’s shoulders) with Joseph alongside, and a few shepherds (real sheep!) and wise men (real camels!) following along behind.

They passed by follow by Santa, then a giant inflatable toy train and the aforementioned stunt-mice (no, I have no idea why either).

I found myself thinking “well, it’s nice that in a commercial Christmas parade there is a little room for Jesus, good on them.”  It’s almost incarnational, Jesus in the parade, passing by 10-15-20000 people, reminding them there is more to Christmas that gift-wrapped commercialism and tinsel-draped pine trees.

And then later, as I pondered some more I started to wonder if it was so good after all?

Perhaps its not so good that Jesus fits neatly into the parade between the presents, the santa, the dancing tree and the stunt-mice. Just another costumed actor in a mixed-message presentation of all that Christmas means in Australia.

For Christians of course, Jesus is the reason for the season. The main thing.  Santa, gifts, family etc, they come as secondary considerations (important, celebrated, fun, valued, but still secondary).

For our nation, as we move from being a kind-of-christian society to a mixed, multicultural, multi-ethnic, multi-religious, kind-of-secular state, it seemed to me that this Christmas parade was a bit of a metaphor for what’s going on.

A bit of everything, maybe no real connected, articulated meta-story being told?

And I wonder if the presence of Mary, Joseph, Jesus, the animals, sheep and wise-men in this whole big mess raises some questions for the Christian church.

Does it (do we) just want to be one more dressed-up set of actors in the midst of a whole parade? A bit part in the whole confusing story of what it means to be Australian, human, created, community in the 21st century?  Any particular message we might have to share…does it just get lost in the mumbling?

Or is it more important in this time and place to stand out, to be distinctively different, sure and certain of what we claim to believe, who we claim to follow? Should we refuse to participate in the parade at all?

And if we do, does this sanitised, commercialised, feel-good image of the beautiful baby, silent-night, well-dressed shepherd thing kind of inoculate the world against any real power of the Jesus story?

For it is a scandal, this story. Here is the creator of the universe, this God who is all knowing, all powerful, come to life as a helpless, crying, poo-ing baby, spending his first night in an animal’s feed-trough to a teenaged mother and recently-contemplating-divorce father.

This child who would spend his life counter to every human expectation of the son of God, eschewing wealth, power, privilege, refusing to live into the expectations of those around him.

Who would claim time and again that true humanity stands with the powerless, heals the sick, hugs the unhuggable, loves the unlovable, frees the unfree-able, knows the unknowable.

This child-to-become-man whose unremarkable beginning and completely localised life, unknown more than 100 miles from his birth-place would spark generations of debate, discussion, passion, compassion, grace and controversy the world over.

Maybe after all, his place is here, easily-lost in the midst of this Christmas parade of options, one helpless baby in a sea of hundreds of singers, actors and dancers, unable to convey any message beyond love and total dependence.

Maybe it’s a reminder, that even if we forget sometimes, God is in all things, all times, all places. Sometimes easily missed, for sure, but there nonetheless.

In the midst of your Christmas, as you tip-toe between wrapping paper, torn-apart bon-bons, plates of half-eaten prawns, sleeping uncles, half-built Lego and squabbling children, may you notice the anonymous baby in the midst of the parade.

May you ponder his place in the drama of Christmas.

And his place in your life.

Merry Christmas.