This year for Kenny's birthday I volunteered with the Special Olympics at the dental screening station. There were a series of activity tents that the athletes would go to between their events. Our tent provided oral screenings for the athletes, brushing instruction and a goodie bag with a toothbrush and stuff. In addition, we had a football toss where the athletes could throw footballs through a hole in a big piece of plywood with a Chief's player painted on it. Once they got the ball through a couple of times we gave them a stuffed animal.
I haven't had much exposure to handicapped people. In fact, the last time I really spent time around handicapped kids was when my Jr High school jazz band went and played a concert at a school for the handicapped. Unfortunately, Jr High kids usually aren't very good people and we were no exception; we mostly made fun of the kids who were at that concert.
The good news is, I'm not the same person I was in Jr High. I think being a parent has made it easier for me to understand and enjoy the Special Olympics' athletes. Although some of them were chronologically as old as I am, they were still little kids. I could see a little bit of Max in each of them. I got to spend most of my time helping them throw the football through the hole in the board. They were so pumped up when they got the ball through. Then, pulling a prize from a trash-bag of cheap stuffed animals was even more exciting. Some of their bodies were misshapen and twisted, others, whose bodies appeared normal, just couldn't control them correctly. Still, one thing they all had--which a lot of "non-handicapped people don't have--was joy and happiness in life and the things that they could accomplish. If I ever run into my Jr High self again, I'll certainly give him a slap in the face for being such a jerk.
I felt good about Kenny's birthday this year. For the first time I was actually able to see and understand handicapped people for who they really are. In church we talk about how they are Heavenly Father's special children, but it means more to experience that first hand. This experience helped me learn a lot about myself too. What do you know? The Special Olympics is special.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Hanging On To Birthdays
In your life, in your family, there are traditions. Like rainbow jello at Christmas, traditions get woven into your life's tapestry--they become colorful parts of who you are. Birthdays too are traditions, a day when you remember a person and celebrate them.
For the last 20 years, April 23 has been a tradition in our family. How sad it would be to see that slip through our fingers the way Ken did. Ever since his death, I've been asking myself the question, "how will I remember Kenny and what can I do to make him a part of my family's life?" I think it is too easy to simply tell myself that I can't forget because he's my brother and there will always be pictures and memories. That just seems so lame. I still think about Kenny quite a lot, but if I'm honest with myself, I must admit that as time goes on, I reminisce increasingly less.
So now it's Ken's birthday. Last year, we had a great plan to make some of his favorite cookies and ship them overnight, so he could eat them at what he considered to be their most flavorful time: one day old. Of course, we "got busy" and didn't pull it off. As usual a phone call had to suffice, but people don't usually have time to talk much on their birthdays. Regrettably, it seems like that was the last time we got to talk to each other. In hindsight, you always wish you had called more and old excuses like school and "he doesn't call me either" are embarrassing and painful.
I decided to do a better job of celebrating Ken's birthday. So, from this year on, I've decided instead of thinking about how much Ken would like day old cookies, I'm going to give a real gift--service. I want to turn April 23th into a service day by serving above and beyond what I would normally do.
My hope is that by doing this, not only can I provide positive service in the world, but my family and I can take time to remember Kenny in a positive way.
For the last 20 years, April 23 has been a tradition in our family. How sad it would be to see that slip through our fingers the way Ken did. Ever since his death, I've been asking myself the question, "how will I remember Kenny and what can I do to make him a part of my family's life?" I think it is too easy to simply tell myself that I can't forget because he's my brother and there will always be pictures and memories. That just seems so lame. I still think about Kenny quite a lot, but if I'm honest with myself, I must admit that as time goes on, I reminisce increasingly less.
So now it's Ken's birthday. Last year, we had a great plan to make some of his favorite cookies and ship them overnight, so he could eat them at what he considered to be their most flavorful time: one day old. Of course, we "got busy" and didn't pull it off. As usual a phone call had to suffice, but people don't usually have time to talk much on their birthdays. Regrettably, it seems like that was the last time we got to talk to each other. In hindsight, you always wish you had called more and old excuses like school and "he doesn't call me either" are embarrassing and painful.
I decided to do a better job of celebrating Ken's birthday. So, from this year on, I've decided instead of thinking about how much Ken would like day old cookies, I'm going to give a real gift--service. I want to turn April 23th into a service day by serving above and beyond what I would normally do.
My hope is that by doing this, not only can I provide positive service in the world, but my family and I can take time to remember Kenny in a positive way.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
A Bluegrass Oasis
Toady, on my way back to school from lunch at crown center, I ran into a bluegrass jam outside Hallmark headquarters. It was such a rare sight; a group of about 10 musicians playing bluegrass standards from memory. Besides the man playing washboard--who looked like he hiked up from the Ozarks--the entire group was neatly dressed in business atire. Obviously employees of the businesses located near crown center, they all had their name-badges hanging from their skirts and slacks.
There were 2 mandolins, 2 or 3 guitars, 3 banjos, washboard and voice. The musicians ranged in age from early 30s to almost retirement age. Best of all, the music was tight. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw a woman, whose plain attire would make her blend unnoticed into any crowd, step forward and play a really hip banjo solo loaded with really great notes.
It's so refreshing to find an oasis of creativity, passion and excitement during the middle of the day. There was almost no one watching, it was just music for the sake of music. My hat goes off to these musicians, who despite the confines of their corporate day jobs, find time to make some awesome music.
There were 2 mandolins, 2 or 3 guitars, 3 banjos, washboard and voice. The musicians ranged in age from early 30s to almost retirement age. Best of all, the music was tight. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw a woman, whose plain attire would make her blend unnoticed into any crowd, step forward and play a really hip banjo solo loaded with really great notes.
It's so refreshing to find an oasis of creativity, passion and excitement during the middle of the day. There was almost no one watching, it was just music for the sake of music. My hat goes off to these musicians, who despite the confines of their corporate day jobs, find time to make some awesome music.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Berlin Alexanderplatz: The Plight of Potency
Here is a paper I published back in my glory days as a German major. It's a fun paper and rather risque for BYU.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Hillsboro-Roubaix: beyond adverse
For Jeff and me the Hillsboro-Roubaix was pure adversity. We had nothing but trouble every step of the way. I couldn't help but think with all the trouble, it was a sign that we weren't meant to race. Still, the faith in me kept a spark of "hey, maybe it's so tuff because something really great is going to happen".
We got an email three days before the race informing us that we were not properly registered (I wrote earlier about how we registered in cat 4 because 5 was full) so we would not be able to race. USCF rules restrict the cat 5 field to just 50 racers. We contacted the race director, who said he was unable to help us and we could only race if some of the cat 5 racers who had pre-registered didn't show up. Of course, we couldn't know if there was going to be opportunity to race until 1/2 hour before the race would begin. We decided to fly standby.
Friday afternoon, we drove out to Jeff's grandma's house: 2 bike racers, 1 german shepherd, 1 2-year old, and 1 surprisingly patient wife. Jeff's grandma had prepared us a dinner, which was very kind, but unfortunately represented the antithesis of pre-race fare; chili, hot dogs and beer. We decided to go out for pasta.
Two hours later, we were still trying to go out for pasta and we were still lost looking for a hip italian joint on St Louis' "the Hill". It would take many cell phone calls and a few gas station stops before we found someplace to eat, but it was too late. The restaurant marked the beginning of a really steep downhill skid. Max allowed us only 20 minutes inside the restaurant--15 of those were spent waiting on a table--before the baby time-bomb exploded into tears and screams. With the appetizer on the table we were forced to leave. The grocery store would have to suffice.
Outside, the temperature was also headed downhill. In the time we were in the restaurant the temperature dropped at least 15 degrees. Winds speeds were however on the rise.
Max could not be tamed. We sat up until past midnight trying to calm him and coax him into sleep. When he was finally calm enough to stay on the bed, he was still a monster, trashing and forcing me out of bed. Ultimately, we got a little bit of interrupted sleep; Ginna and I were each clinging to the edge of the bed with Max sleeping perpendicular between us.
Come 6:30 it was no problem for me to wake up. I went in to Jeff, who was on the couch. I woke him and asked if he slept ok. "This couch is killing my back," was the first thing Jeff said. I knew that wasn't good. I felt bad for him. I felt guilty that having us around had kept him from being able to eat right and sleep well before the race. Still, he was patient and anxious to get to the race.
We arrived at the race soon after registration began. We described our situation, put our names on a wait-list and were told that our chance of riding was slim. Frustrated, we drove to a Denny's for a poor pre-race breakfast. We ate plain bagels with jam, while Max ate a cheeseburger.
At 10:30 we went back to the race to check out status. We were shocked to find that despite early indications that we would not get to race, many pre-registered racers in our category hadn't come. Suddenly, we had less than a half hour to get prepared for the race. Under pressure, we hurriedly put on our stuff and put the bikes together; there was not time for proper warmup.
Due to poor race organization we stood in line waiting to race for an hour. We were shivering in the bitter cold wind. Jeff and I looked around our group, sizing up the competition. Hopes were high, but we were cautious, realizing that we were some of the only racers not riding with a larger team.
We expected the racers to start slowly and pick up speed as the 44 mile race went on. The riders in our group had other plans. The leaders took off at criterium pace right from the whistle. Jeff and I, stuck starting in the rear of the group were put in a position to try to fight our way to the front. The riders were jerks for the most part, swearing at other, shoving and never letting anyone into the peleton's slipstream. I saw an open line early and took it, propelling myself up near the front group of riders. No sooner had I made it, then we hit a climb, which gave me another opportunity to climb to the lead. I lead the group for about a mile after the climb, but was passed on every corner.
The road was pitted and rough. The pace was furious. The wind relentless. I felt like I was riding on a roller-coaster without a seatbelt. I wanted to look back and see where Jeff was, but I couldn't for fear that I would wreck or fall behind. For the rest of the first lap I clung to the front group, almost never capable of looking back, never able to drink or eat and in constant threat of being dropped.
About mile 30 a group of riders tried to make a breakaway. I watched guys from my group bridge the gap one by one. Soon the group was 4 riders strong. I couldn't tell how many we were, but I suspected my leading to group to be no bigger than 10 or fifteen. I started to worry that the breakaway would escape the peleton and win, they were about 100 meters ahead. I feared my only chance was to go for it and try to finish with the breakaway group. A rider jumped ahead to gun for the breakaway and I followed with everything I had. About 50 meters from the group, the guy I was drafting lost power and started to decelerate. I knew I needed to pull, if we were going to make it. I pulled out and yelled at the rider next to me, "come on!" He couldn't and after a few minutes in the wind, neither could I. The lead peleton rushed past me, leaving me fighting just to stay near. The roads worsened and I was dodging pot holes and gravel pits, trying with all I had left to catch the lead peleton again. I was mad that I hadn't been able to catch the breakaway, but things were going to be much worse if I couldn't catch the group again. I started riding at a cadence of over 120, shifting into higher gears to get enough speed to catch up. Again, a climb saved me. We had to make a hard climb and as the group slowed, I was able to pull myself back into the middle of the riders. Once there, I realized that the breakaway had been captured while I was in the rear.
I suspected the last climb would be the point when the riders would go for the win and I was right. I didn't have the legs to do anything great. I positioned myself into 3rd place going into the climb and then just rode as fast as I could up the hill. Some riders past me, but I passed others too. Once I crested the climb, I raced to the brick roads near the finish. There was no sign of a peleton anymore. There was only individual riders spaced out along the roads. I gave it all I had left to get to the end. I was unclear of the outcome because there were other riders from other categories scattered along the roads near the finish, but Ginna and Jeff counted and had me close to top 10. It was without question the hardest ride of my life.
Speaking of Jeff, his back froze up and he had to call it quits after the first 22 mile lap. But, he lived to ride again, with a fantastic finish in the Sunday criteriums in St. Louis. If we had been together on either ride, I'm sure we would have done better than we did alone. I was bummed after the Roubaix, because Jeff and I had prepared so well as a team that when one of use didn't make it, it still felt like a loss, despite my great finish. After hearing about his criterium success, I was able to more fully enjoy my success. It was a good weekend of racing after all...but not without plenty of adversity.
We got an email three days before the race informing us that we were not properly registered (I wrote earlier about how we registered in cat 4 because 5 was full) so we would not be able to race. USCF rules restrict the cat 5 field to just 50 racers. We contacted the race director, who said he was unable to help us and we could only race if some of the cat 5 racers who had pre-registered didn't show up. Of course, we couldn't know if there was going to be opportunity to race until 1/2 hour before the race would begin. We decided to fly standby.
Friday afternoon, we drove out to Jeff's grandma's house: 2 bike racers, 1 german shepherd, 1 2-year old, and 1 surprisingly patient wife. Jeff's grandma had prepared us a dinner, which was very kind, but unfortunately represented the antithesis of pre-race fare; chili, hot dogs and beer. We decided to go out for pasta.
Two hours later, we were still trying to go out for pasta and we were still lost looking for a hip italian joint on St Louis' "the Hill". It would take many cell phone calls and a few gas station stops before we found someplace to eat, but it was too late. The restaurant marked the beginning of a really steep downhill skid. Max allowed us only 20 minutes inside the restaurant--15 of those were spent waiting on a table--before the baby time-bomb exploded into tears and screams. With the appetizer on the table we were forced to leave. The grocery store would have to suffice.
Outside, the temperature was also headed downhill. In the time we were in the restaurant the temperature dropped at least 15 degrees. Winds speeds were however on the rise.
Max could not be tamed. We sat up until past midnight trying to calm him and coax him into sleep. When he was finally calm enough to stay on the bed, he was still a monster, trashing and forcing me out of bed. Ultimately, we got a little bit of interrupted sleep; Ginna and I were each clinging to the edge of the bed with Max sleeping perpendicular between us.
Come 6:30 it was no problem for me to wake up. I went in to Jeff, who was on the couch. I woke him and asked if he slept ok. "This couch is killing my back," was the first thing Jeff said. I knew that wasn't good. I felt bad for him. I felt guilty that having us around had kept him from being able to eat right and sleep well before the race. Still, he was patient and anxious to get to the race.
We arrived at the race soon after registration began. We described our situation, put our names on a wait-list and were told that our chance of riding was slim. Frustrated, we drove to a Denny's for a poor pre-race breakfast. We ate plain bagels with jam, while Max ate a cheeseburger.
At 10:30 we went back to the race to check out status. We were shocked to find that despite early indications that we would not get to race, many pre-registered racers in our category hadn't come. Suddenly, we had less than a half hour to get prepared for the race. Under pressure, we hurriedly put on our stuff and put the bikes together; there was not time for proper warmup.
Due to poor race organization we stood in line waiting to race for an hour. We were shivering in the bitter cold wind. Jeff and I looked around our group, sizing up the competition. Hopes were high, but we were cautious, realizing that we were some of the only racers not riding with a larger team.
We expected the racers to start slowly and pick up speed as the 44 mile race went on. The riders in our group had other plans. The leaders took off at criterium pace right from the whistle. Jeff and I, stuck starting in the rear of the group were put in a position to try to fight our way to the front. The riders were jerks for the most part, swearing at other, shoving and never letting anyone into the peleton's slipstream. I saw an open line early and took it, propelling myself up near the front group of riders. No sooner had I made it, then we hit a climb, which gave me another opportunity to climb to the lead. I lead the group for about a mile after the climb, but was passed on every corner.
The road was pitted and rough. The pace was furious. The wind relentless. I felt like I was riding on a roller-coaster without a seatbelt. I wanted to look back and see where Jeff was, but I couldn't for fear that I would wreck or fall behind. For the rest of the first lap I clung to the front group, almost never capable of looking back, never able to drink or eat and in constant threat of being dropped.
About mile 30 a group of riders tried to make a breakaway. I watched guys from my group bridge the gap one by one. Soon the group was 4 riders strong. I couldn't tell how many we were, but I suspected my leading to group to be no bigger than 10 or fifteen. I started to worry that the breakaway would escape the peleton and win, they were about 100 meters ahead. I feared my only chance was to go for it and try to finish with the breakaway group. A rider jumped ahead to gun for the breakaway and I followed with everything I had. About 50 meters from the group, the guy I was drafting lost power and started to decelerate. I knew I needed to pull, if we were going to make it. I pulled out and yelled at the rider next to me, "come on!" He couldn't and after a few minutes in the wind, neither could I. The lead peleton rushed past me, leaving me fighting just to stay near. The roads worsened and I was dodging pot holes and gravel pits, trying with all I had left to catch the lead peleton again. I was mad that I hadn't been able to catch the breakaway, but things were going to be much worse if I couldn't catch the group again. I started riding at a cadence of over 120, shifting into higher gears to get enough speed to catch up. Again, a climb saved me. We had to make a hard climb and as the group slowed, I was able to pull myself back into the middle of the riders. Once there, I realized that the breakaway had been captured while I was in the rear.
I suspected the last climb would be the point when the riders would go for the win and I was right. I didn't have the legs to do anything great. I positioned myself into 3rd place going into the climb and then just rode as fast as I could up the hill. Some riders past me, but I passed others too. Once I crested the climb, I raced to the brick roads near the finish. There was no sign of a peleton anymore. There was only individual riders spaced out along the roads. I gave it all I had left to get to the end. I was unclear of the outcome because there were other riders from other categories scattered along the roads near the finish, but Ginna and Jeff counted and had me close to top 10. It was without question the hardest ride of my life.
Speaking of Jeff, his back froze up and he had to call it quits after the first 22 mile lap. But, he lived to ride again, with a fantastic finish in the Sunday criteriums in St. Louis. If we had been together on either ride, I'm sure we would have done better than we did alone. I was bummed after the Roubaix, because Jeff and I had prepared so well as a team that when one of use didn't make it, it still felt like a loss, despite my great finish. After hearing about his criterium success, I was able to more fully enjoy my success. It was a good weekend of racing after all...but not without plenty of adversity.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Welcome Team Patterson Dental: Hillsboro-Roubaix & Dirty Kanza
It looks as if this could be the year of the bike. On Friday, we (Jeff, Marucs & I) had lunch with a branch manager from Patterson Dental--a national dental supply company--to start the formation of our new cycling team. Patterson has committed to be our number one sponsor and we also have commitments from a few other businesses. The new team jerseys will be ready by the middle of the summer. As Jeff put it, "this is the first time that being a dentist has really paid off." It's hard to believe that people are going to actually pay for us to ride our bikes.
But before we hit the streets in our official garb there are a few early season suicidal races on the schedule. Jeff and I are going to take our first serving of humble pie this coming Saturday at the Hillsboro-Roubaix Road Race--a 44 mile ride over cobblestone and rolling hills. The beginner's category, aka cat 5, was already full by the time we signed up, so we have to race with the cat 4 men. This is bad for a couple of reasons. First, the last race Jeff and I were in was the Tour of Kansas City, where we both raced cat 5. (That race was before we even knew each other). We were both dropped from the peleton about 1/4 of the way into the race and were left to fall embarrassingly far behind. I was so slow that Ginna was worried I had wrecked. The other reason for concern is the fact that we are certain to be racing in a field of cat 4 riders with a significant number of cat 3 racers, taking it easy early in the season. Our stated goal is to finish with the peleton. Secretly, we'd love to win a sprint for the finish and take home a trophy, but just as much as we want this, we also fear we could once again get dropped and forgotten about.
The next race on the suicide list is the Dirty Kanza. This is a 200 mile adventure endurance race through the Flint Hills of Kansas. The race has a 24 hour time limit and the goal is just to finish. The course is entirely on service and access roads. I've heard it is going to be very steep and difficult. This could be a punishing ride.
It's going to be a hard start to our first season with the new team, but the transition from almost sedentary dental student to amateur bike racer can't be easy. We've already began by taking long training rides, mimicking race situations. In the next few weeks we are going to incorporate some long, late night rides on dirt roads to get ready for the Kanza.
Still, with all of this, we still have to get through finals.
But before we hit the streets in our official garb there are a few early season suicidal races on the schedule. Jeff and I are going to take our first serving of humble pie this coming Saturday at the Hillsboro-Roubaix Road Race--a 44 mile ride over cobblestone and rolling hills. The beginner's category, aka cat 5, was already full by the time we signed up, so we have to race with the cat 4 men. This is bad for a couple of reasons. First, the last race Jeff and I were in was the Tour of Kansas City, where we both raced cat 5. (That race was before we even knew each other). We were both dropped from the peleton about 1/4 of the way into the race and were left to fall embarrassingly far behind. I was so slow that Ginna was worried I had wrecked. The other reason for concern is the fact that we are certain to be racing in a field of cat 4 riders with a significant number of cat 3 racers, taking it easy early in the season. Our stated goal is to finish with the peleton. Secretly, we'd love to win a sprint for the finish and take home a trophy, but just as much as we want this, we also fear we could once again get dropped and forgotten about.
The next race on the suicide list is the Dirty Kanza. This is a 200 mile adventure endurance race through the Flint Hills of Kansas. The race has a 24 hour time limit and the goal is just to finish. The course is entirely on service and access roads. I've heard it is going to be very steep and difficult. This could be a punishing ride.
It's going to be a hard start to our first season with the new team, but the transition from almost sedentary dental student to amateur bike racer can't be easy. We've already began by taking long training rides, mimicking race situations. In the next few weeks we are going to incorporate some long, late night rides on dirt roads to get ready for the Kanza.
Still, with all of this, we still have to get through finals.
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