Discussion Friday

Two wonderful discussions for you to follow:

1.

Dan and Ron are engaged in a great discussion that started with whether the biblical stories are literal or metaphorical, and turned into a talk about the literal/metaphorical interpretation of the constitution that may allow the president to justify some intrusions that wouldn't otherwise be justifiable.

The conversation happens in the comments section of their two blogs, in the comments attached to almost unrelated posts. So happy hunting to anyone interested in observing or participating.

A note to you Dan and Ron: It's really hard to follow the conversation. Perhaps you can consolidate your thread to one place? It's worth following.

The Discussion starts here: link
and continues here: link

2.

Non-Prophet has a series of email exchanges between Ted Haggard of New Life Church and the gentleman filing a lawsuit against the Air Force Academy alleging the unconstitutional imposition of christianity on cadets at the Academy, Mikey Weinstein.

Link

Infringing Copyrights in Support of My Nerd Quotient

This was an amazing gift that Heather gave me, featuring the tagline from that Dyson vacuum commercial. I always get a kick out the simplicity of that line, spoken with a British accent of course. Heather made the t-shirt herself, with a custom Luke Flowers design.

When half-spent was the night...

Merry Christmas to everybody. And Happy Holidays too.

Heather and I have been thinking lately about the Santa Claus thing. Is it really ethical to directly lie to your kids about the existence of such a character? Why would a parent do such a thing? Is there anything to be gained in it?

My conclusion is that there is little harm and significant value and here's my argument:

What's the point of Santa?
Santa is just part of the magical atmosphere of the holiday. It can go too far, and I think it's important not to overdo Santa into a cultish obsession, but I think it's valuable for kids to have some fantasy around the holiday. An introduction to such enormous absurdity (flying reindeer?) is good for imagination and ultimately, I think, a good weird sense of humor, which is a thing of beauty.

But why cause the trauma of a lie revealed?
I'm not really worried about traumatizing the kids. In fact, any trauma caused will be limited. Any adult who claims to suffer an unhealed wound caused by the realization that Santa Claus is not real needs to snap out of it. Plus, little kids are not really in touch with reality anyway. They may believe that Santa Claus is real, but that belief is only a small part of the fantasy world of childhood. Pete also believes that the trains living on the island of Sodor can talk. Who knows what other beliefs, physical laws, and relationships govern his world? No parent tears their hair over having to admit to their kids that animals or trains can't really talk, so why should we worry about Santa, who is really a bit player in the world of kids. The fantasy is the beautiful part of childhood, and the disillusionment is the beautiful part of growing up.

What do you think?

The Giving Tree

When I was a little kid, this was one of my favorite books. During a nostalgic period in college that marked the beginning of the end of my childhood, I bought a copy of it, and now Pete has taken to it. I picked it up a few weeks ago to read to him, and I was impressed by the tear-jerking sadness of it. I think that's part of what I liked about it as a kid. Good catharsis.

Last night, from the back seat of the car, Pete "read" the entire book to himself. He loves to tell the story of books to himself, but he's self-conscious about it and will stop if he knows someone's listening. Who knew fear of public speaking started so early?

So, Heather and I were in the front seat, trying not to giggle, as Pete went through the book. An example:

...
Then, that boy said to tree, "I need boat, sail away from my home"
(page turn)
Then, tree said, "I no have boat, I only have leaves"
Then, that boy take those leaves from that tree.
(page turn)
That boy said to tree, "I need boat, sail away from my home"
Then that boy cut down tree trunk, make boat and sail away.
(page turn)
Then, that tree was so lonely.
(page turn)
That boy come back!
(page turn)
That tree say, "I am good stump"
...

It was a beautiful, hilarious, very touching melodrama in the back seat.

By the way, if you haven't noticed, I've surrendered to sentimentality on this blog. I struggled, early on, with not wanting to get too sappy about the kids because while it's intense and meaningful to experience, it can be torturous to listen to. Not many people enjoy listening to cute-blinded parents describe over and over again their fascination with that face their kid makes while he poops.

I didn't want to be that guy, but without that, I've got nothing. The kids are what it's all about for me right now. Not a lot else gets me really excited. I'll surely have sarcasm and wit from time to time, but it would be too artificial to keep out the sappiness. So there you go.

Painting

Yesterday, Heather left Pete on the toilet to do his business (He sometimes does better with a little privacy. Who doesn't?) When she came back to check on him a couple of minutes later, her eyeshadow was spread all over the floor and Pete's lower body. His response: "I was painting my legs and penis!"

NERDS for 6 points!

So, I have a geek confession to make. Heather and I have had a scrabble fixation lately. We've played about a dozen games over the last month-and-a-half. It's fun because we're pretty evenly matched (although Heather has the lead in the series), and it feels better than sitting in front of the TV watching something neither of us has any interest in.

I think it started when I watched Word Wars.

Scrabble in itself is not necessarily a nerd's obsession, no matter what the pictures, hobbies (Siamese Cats?), and professions (numismatist?) of the experts might lead one to believe (Check out Marlon Hill's Occupation and Hobbies).

No, my nerdity does not spring only from the playing of scrabble.

It goes much further than that:

I've entered our scores into an excel spreadsheet and graphed them. See, here's a graph of our average scores:



There, I've said it.

(Our scores are trending up quite nicely, don't you think? I'll resist the urge to add a trendline)

Crunch Time

So, my brother in law is taking an independent-study course at college, and last week, he had to do 21 papers for the course. Of course, these papers were due every week throughout the duration of the course, but he let them all build up until the end, and then he had to crank them all out over a weekend.

The course is entitled "time management"

Ironic, huh.

Who teaches a "time management" course that way? Your students are presumably already struggling with the concept, but you give them 21 papers to do whenever they want? What do you expect?

Thanksgiving Roadtrip

We took a road trip to South Dakota last week to visit Heather's grandparents. The picture above is this huge structure in Nebraska that looks like a pedestrian bridge on steroids. It's one of many random vague monuments in Nebraska, and they're all named some permutation of the following: the pioneer western museum, the western heritage center, the prairie museum, the western prairie pioneer heritage museum.

A few notes:

1. South Dakotans can tell what kind of tractor a family owns by the sound the kids use when playing. John Deere goes putputputput and International goes rrrrrrrrrr.

2. The only pictures that Heather's grandparents have up is all of their grandchildren and great grandchildren, and both popes. (old and new).

3. Heather's grandfather Hub has some serious zen. The other day, Betty was worried because he'd been out at his field, where he was going to hunt some pheasant, for all afternoon, and it was getting dark. Turns out he'd decided to spend the afternoon laying down in the field. He swears that he didn't fall asleep, and I believe him. Also, he measures the seasons by the angle of the sun beams shining through the south-facing window on their living room. During the winter, it almost reaches the opposite wall. In the summer, it doesn't come in the window at all.

4. One farmer in way-rural Nebraska had a billboard sized sign in his field that read "Outlaw Sodomy". I was a bit puzzled. I wonder why he was so specific. And who's the target audience? All of us non-nebraskan interstate travellers? Or the farm on the other side of the road?

Pete is:

Learning about tense:
"Me try go potty, but me do ... no ... umm ... me don't did it!"

Speaking british english, thanks to Thomas the Tank Engine:
"Must get off bed"
"Me eat bit sandwich"

Learning the many uses of precise language:
"My mommy play trains" - This was in response to me saying that I couldn't play trains with him last night because I had to do some cleaning. It was said quietly, almost to himself, and had a guilt-trip tone of "Mom plays trains with me during the day, even when she's busy..."

"My tummy almost hurt" - This was in response to our explaning to Pete that he shouldn't lie about pain. After having been sick and realizing that he gets whatever he wants when he's sick, he occassionally tries to get out of things by claiming that things hurt (his tummy, his feet, his legs).

One of the great joys of life:

Trying to start a campfire in the morning using only the embers from last night.

If you believe hard enough, the invisible becomes visible.

It's been more than 2 weeks, and less than 3.

Thus ends the great sideburns experiment of 2005. Better luck next year.

E-mail time capsule

I think this is a very cool idea. I'm going to do it as soon as I can think of something to say that won't make my 20-years-from-now self think that I was a total dork in 2005.

E-mail time capsule

Son of a Loan Officer

Yesterday, quietly, in the car as Heather and I were having a conversation about bank policy:

"Me is lienholder. Me is good lienholder."

The Bro

My brother, Troy, is a brilliant artist in Portland OR. He has a show going on right now that opened last night. Check out his stuff at Gallery 500.

Halloween Pictures

I've put some good halloween pictures in Flickr. Click on the link to the right.

Also, you can see a very short video of Pete and his cousin being ninjas here:

Click here

How to charm my wife:

1. Walk up to her when she's sitting down, rub her thigh, and say, "Nice leg Mommy, nice big leg Mommy".

Pete did this last night. He's getting very complimentary (i.e. Oh, nice pants, Daddy. My mommy hair look nice. My baby so cute). It's very precious.

2. Engage her in a game of spontaneous breastfeeding charades.

The restaurant at which we ate dinner last night is basically a farm themepark, complete with goats, sheep, and fat donkeys. As we were eating our fried chicken (served family-style of course), Nora needed to eat, so Heather left the table to feed her. Heather is always very discrete and careful about breastfeeding, and she found an out-of-the-way spot to sit down and draped a blanket over the whole operation. A man approached wearing a shiny mock badge and a round flat-brimmed hat like a Mountie, and told her, "If you need to ... there's a room right over there with drapes." In the pause, he made a curious gesture with his hand, pointing it at Heather and the draped baby and waving it back and forth slightly. I imagine his eyebrows were raised.

So Heather was caught by the boob policeman, who was obviously a rookie because he couldn't even say the word.

Birthday Tributes

Life Is Intricate wishes a very happy birthday to two of our only readers: Dave, born 28 years ago Tuesday, and Robyn, born 28 years ago today. It was a good week in 1977.

Busy

Pete recently learned that he can get out of doing something by claiming that he is busy with something else.

A typical conversation which happened last night sitting down for dinner (this should also give those of you who don't get to hear Pete speak an idea of his particular grammar):

Me: Be careful with the broccoli, it's probably hot.
Pete: My daddy blow on my broccoli!
Me: Ok, I'll blow on it, can you help me blow on it?
Pete: No, me be busy with my... fork.

(He proceeds to pick up his fork and turn it over, seemingly inspecting the tines).

I think I got some good halloween pictures on Monday. I'll get them up in the next couple of days.

Three cool things

1. The new header design is courtesy of this website. This guy wrote a computer program that creates an adaptive community of dots playing tag. They get better as the game progresses, and live longer if they stay alive. They make some very great patterns.
(Thanks to Kottke)

2. A good creepy optical illusion called Mr. Angry and Mrs. Calm. Perfect for halloween. Click here.
(Thanks to BoingBoing)

Okay, I guess it was only two cool things.

New pictures of Nora

I put some new pictures on Flickr. Click here to visit the new set.

The Bus Csar

There's this one guy who rides my bus every morning, and he's talkative. Every day, when he gets on, he says hi, and the bus driver says "Hi Steve", and the developmentally disabled guy in the back says "Hi Steve" (the other thing he always says is "Look at the big brown dog" in a very full voice anytime he sees a dog, which is often in the morning, when people are out for their daily walks).

Anyway, Steve always talks with the driver and some of the other passengers, but I usually just stay quite and read whatever it is that I have with me. He's not an unpleasant person, it's just not my style. He dominates the room, however, and I know when he goes on vacations (Las Vegas two months ago) and his political views (thinks Bush is an idiot, in a semi-informed manner. Today's comment: "Did you know that Rumsfeld actually re-wrote what our definition of torture is?". Maybe partially correct, but missing the point.)

Today, Steve started talking about me, saying "that guy doesn't talk much, does he?" I raised my head, saying something like "not really". He asked what I was reading, and I showed him the New York Times Magazine. He responded by saying: "Oh, so he's better than the rest of us..."

Nice. We continued the conversation, and talked about our jobs. He's a bill collector ("I sit at a computer and mess up peoples credit ratings"). It all ended friendly.

But still, it's not everyday you get accused of haughtiness by the most popular guy on the bus.

Dad Brag

I've got a bit of a super-dad complex going today.

1. This morning Pete found two of his trains outside. These particular trains are motorized, and have been sitting outside in the weather for months. Needless to say, they didn't run, regardless of attempted battery replacement. Pete really wanted them to run, so I figured I had nothing to lose by trying to take them apart and clean them out. I took apart most of my toys when I was a kid; most of them were dismantled closer to purchase than my parents probably would have preferred. So, I have a lot of experience with the small electric motors used to power this type of toy. I fondly remember the little gear on the end working particularly well as a GI Joe mangler, once the motor was hooked up to a 9-volt battery. I had big plans to build a life sized robot using these motors.

Anyone who has taken apart their toys knows that the "apart" part is easy. It's the "back together" that never quite works out. Surprisingly, my skills have improved since age 8, and I was able to get both trains apart, cleaned, WD-40'd, and back together in working order. Flush from my success, I even souped one of them up, rigging it up to the trusty old 9-volt instead of the AA. Pete played with them the rest of the day, and I felt like a king. He calls the souped-up version "super-fast train".

2. Right now, I'm home with Pete while Heather and Nora are attending a dinner show event sponsored by her workplace. It was going to be steak and drinks, and cowboy music, which I've heard is shockingly entertaining.

Pete and I have to stay home because he's contracted a bit of a stomach bug, and really isn't in going-out shape. This afternoon, it became clear that it was not a minor issue when he went in his sleep and suddenly, everything within a 15 foot radius had poop on it. I literally did a crapload of laundry.

There's nothing more embarrassing than having your kid exhibit his explosive diarrhea in the middle of that song about the fiddle and the devil (fire on moutain, run boy run...), so he and I are sitting at home, watching "Finding Nemo", and baking a frozen pizza, and it's grand.

Creative Lyrics from Heather

"Send a bowl of lightning, very very frightening..."

from Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody.

Motivational Choo-Choo

The new header design is from the mural we have going in our main hallway. Everytime Pete makes a good try on the toilet, we draw a new train for him. Does anyone like the header below more than the one I used?

Fall has sprung

Live cam view of Pikes Peak

Fall has begun here in Co. Springs. Actually, one could make an argument that we've skipped straight from summer to winter, with fall lasting a few minutes on sunday morning.

Spring and fall appeal for different instinctual reasons:

Spring says prepare for productivity. Long days, landscaping, etc.
Fall says prepare for hibernation. Coffee, stew, movies, etc.

My Intricate Tidbits

I was in Vegas for work earlier this week.

1. Overheard

A co-worker:
"I wonder if birds think that colorful butterflies taste fruity? You know, like fruit stripe gum":

Security police (these are the guys responsible for protecting the Air Force Base from unauthorized intruders):
"Where's Milwaukee? Missouri? Oklahoma? Hey, do you guys know where Milwaukee is?"

2. Surgery

My sister-in-law is having some surgery today. Think good thoughts. Surgery in the neck area is a little freaky.

Shining Redux

This is very well done. Makes The Shining look like the kind of movie Heather would plead with me to go to with her. Like the little boy should be Dakota Fanning and the dad should be Colin Firth

Ink-ohol

Two stories about it:

1. I've got issues with Beer Karma right now. Here's how it works: You bring beer to your friend's house when you come over, they bring beer when they come over. It's important to keep the balance on this. When fortune (free beer style) smiles on you, you should put yourself in a position to enable fortune to shine upon others.

My current situation is that I feel like I've been doing a lot of receiving lately and not much giving. We've been having people over, and not going out, so that's how it goes. Tonight, however, we're going to some friends house for dinner, and I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself to bring good beer. I've been drinking free, friend-provided beer for weeks, it's only proper that someone else should have that pleasure. So, I'm going to have to search out some prized northwest microbrew to bring along tonight. That should even the scales and put me on a level beer karma footing.

2. Heather and I drank our finest (and only) bottle of wine this weekend. It was a bottle of 98 pinot noir from Tualatin Estate Vineyards, where I worked briefly after college. It was really good wine at the time, and it was supposed to age well. We were married at the vineyard, and drank this wine at the wedding. So Heather and I had been dragging it around, miraculously intact, for 7 years, and through 3 moves. We'd been putting off opening it for a "special" occasion, but everytime some special time came around, we'd either forget about it, or not feel like wine, or not think the time was "special" enough. So, saturday night, we felt like wine, and that was all we had, and we opened it up. We drank it before dinner with chocolate chips, and drank it with our burgers and beans dinner. We are so sophisticated. It was great. I wish we had another bottle we could open every week. It was also a good reminder that a random late-summer evening spent sitting on your new deck with your cute wife, nearly-potty-trained toddler, and sleeping-through-the-night infant can be as special as any event.

Congratulations

I always like to make fun of people who spell it congradulations.

Anyway, congrats to the 1,000th visitor to the site. It was one of my co-workers. Donna? Tim? Lyn? Stop by my office for your official gingersnap prize.

Sorry Robyn, number 1,001.

Training

This is what my side of the conversation sounds like to my co-workers today:

...
Ok, put him on.

Hi buddy, do you have something to tell me?

Oh, you're sitting on the toilet?

What did you do?

Did you go peepee?

Did it go in the potty?

That's great, buddy, are you going to put your poopoo in the potty too?

That's a good idea. Tell Mommy when you want to go, OK?

etc. etc. etc.

Guess what we're doing this weekend.

Toward a language ideal...

Pete speaks what I think may be the future evolution of english. All unnecessary information is left out, so that he communicates only the facts, without any flourish.

Not: "Mom, I saw a man sitting in his house as we passed in the car just now!"

Instead: "See one man in house"

Yesterday, Pete was playing at a public playground, and a little girl maybe 3 years old came to play near him. Pete was making sing song sounds with his voice as he played in his own world, and the girl came up to him and said "I'd like to play over here now, so can you please keep it down?"

Pete just stared at her for a few seconds and must have dismissed her authority, because he went back to what he was doing before, making his sounds and playing with trucks or planes or something. A few minutes later, the little girl came back up to him and said, "If I have to remind you one more time, I'm going to put you to bed!"

I think this confused Pete, but he didn't argue with her. 5 minutes later, he came up to Heather and said "No Mom, daytime!" He found a loophole in the 3 year old's threat!

Do you think that women have an inborn ability to out-communicate men?

Lost

While taking a run along Waikiki beach last week, I stumbled upon a large crowd. I asked what everyone was waiting for, and someone told me that the cast of the TV show "Lost" was going to be arriving any minute and that they'd be premiering the first episode of season two on a large outdoor screen. So, I decided that if Heather couldn't be there with me (her favorite show right now is Lost), at least I could bring back some pictures for her. She has, after all, been serving as the effectively single mother of my children a lot of the time lately (I've been traveling for work quite a bit), and I was, at the moment, taking a run on Waikiki beach, after an afternoon of sunbathing and sitting on my hotel balcony (we really did work, I swear).

So, I ran back to my hotel, grabbed the camera, and ran back to the crowd. It took about 15 minutes, and when I got back, the first cast members were arriving. It was fun to see the celebrities, and interesting to participate in the crazy scene involving young girls giggling and screaming and reaching out to touch people, cast members signing women's chests (in exchange for a promise not to sue), and middle aged women who felt compelled to refer to rare trivia when asking for autographs:

Middle-aged Woman: Harold, Harold, will you sign this please!!!
Cast Member: Sure, here you go, are you going to get everybody?
Middle-aged Woman: I'm going to try! There are only 51 of you, after all.

I had to go catch my flight, so I didn't get pictures of everyone or see the season premiere, but I got a few pictures of favorites.

Heather was very excited that I got a picture of Matthew Fox:

I was happy to get a picture of Maggie Grace:

Waikiki

I was out of town this week, doing some work in Hawaii. As you might expect, it was really rough.

Pete Makes Faces

Happy Face

Tough Face

Thinking Face

He came up with these faces on his own, and he knows them by name. But they're not parlor tricks. Not completely at least. The thinking face is what he would actually look like if you asked him if he remembers how many giraffes were at the zoo last week. The tough face is really what he looks like if I tell him to be tough after scraping his knee.

Amazing Photography

Check out the amazing photography. The site is in french, but not too hard to navigate.

Via design*sponge

New Header

Look at that nice new header, Nora. Do you think all 8 of the people who read the website will like it?

I posted some new pictures to Flickr. Check them out. Pete has a baby and he likes to pat it.

New Pictures

I've been enduring some criticism lately for not uploading any new pictures lately. So, here you go, I'm at your mercy. There are new pictures of our recent trip to the zoo and Heather's reunion in our flickr account. Just click on the "Daily Zeitgeist" on the right sidebar.

Reunion

Sorry about the extended absence. I was in Las Vegas for work last week, and couldn't post. Surprisingly, I don't have any good stories from Sin City. Maybe if something comes to mind, I'll post about it.

Heather's 10-year reunion was this weekend, and one exchange stood out.

When we first arrived, a guy who now teaches ballroom dancing and is married to a sommelier told Heather that he had really wanted to ask her to senior prom.

He was going to kidnap her from her house, rush her into a waiting car, and drive away. He had friends arranged along his route that would act like they were trying to stop him, and he would shoot them with the fake gun he'd brought along. He had a tape prepared on which a large-voiced man (he worked for a radio station at the time) explained the mission. The car chase would end in a shootout on the roof of a building. Somewhere in there, he'd pop the question. It was to be a special agent extravaganza.

Someone else asked Heather the day before the plan was to be executed, and it never came to be. Fortunately for me, I think. Consider the following factors:

1. Excellent dancing skills.
2. An uncanny foreknowledge of Heather's eventual Alias fixation.
3. Creativity.

I'm lucky nothing ever started there. I would've had a hard time competing.

I'll be putting some reunion photos up on flickr in the next couple of days, for anyone who's curious.

My Ascent

In summary, I did well. Met my goal, felt good afterward, didn't puke, survived an August snowstorm (note the snow on the mountain in the photo above, taken Sunday morning from my house). That says it all, but a far too exhaustive description of my experience at the 2005 Pikes Peak Ascent follows.
Click Here to Continue!
The Pikes Peak Ascent can be divided into 5 nearly equal sections. First, the trail starts on the streets of Manitou for about 1.2 miles. The second section is the W's, where the trail gets steep and narrow for about 3 miles following switchbacks up the front of the front range. The third section, from the top of the W's to Barr Camp, is roughly 3 miles and is less steep. The fourth section, from Barr Camp to timberline, is about 3 miles as well, and gets steeper and more rocky. The fifth and final section, considered by some as the second half of the race in terms of effort expended, is the final 3 miles above timberline. It is steep, rocky, exposed, and above 12,000 feet.

There is one piece of advice that you'll run across over and over again when researching running the Pikes Peak Ascent: Don't use up all of your energy too early in the race. This advice was running through my head the whole time, but because the race gets higher and steeper as it nears the end, I was never quite sure when to push it. I haven't been up the trail since I was in high school, and was unsure whether my body could handle the tough final section without totally falling apart. Ultimately, did not become a marching zombie, and I finished strong, and passed people all day long, but I was left wondering, after a race that felt good and didn't leave me overly sore the next day, whether I could have pushed a little harder and still kept it together.

The first section, along the streets in Manitou, was very comfortable. I started in the second wave, in the back half of the pack. America the Beautiful, inspired by a trip to the summit, was sung, and we took off. I took it easy, enjoying the energy of the crowd, keeping pace with the people around me, many of whom seemed to be from Arkansas, from their accents and comments to each other. The spoke a lot about pig-calling, and were the friendliest people around. The best part of this portion was the spectators who encouraged the racers, saying "only one more hill to go!" This should have been totally annoying, especially because it was repeated dozens of times after the novelty had worn off, but strangely enough, it was endearing. As the road section ended, I started getting a little bit concerned that most of the people around me were walking. I passed a few people while I still could, but didn't want to push too hard.

As we got onto the trail, the path narrowed down significantly, and we entered the W's. This section is pretty steep, so most everyone around me was walking. I could tell most of them were happy with their pace, because they were chatting along the way. I was feeling twinges of frustration at the pace. I probably would have taken it a little faster if I'd been alone, but ultimately, I'm not sure if that would have been a good thing. I just tried to enjoy the views and the trail, and passed slow folks when I could. I wanted to keep my heartrate up around 165 for the race. Through this section, it was around 155. Here is a graph of my heartrate throughout the race.



One annoying feature of this section was the people who weren't interested in being patient, and wanted to make the trail like a highway. They were making their way up the switchbacks saying "walk on the left, pass on the right." I thought they seemed a little too anxious, and it seemed pretty discourteous to ask us to slow down and cram onto one side of the trail so that they could run through. We're all on the trail, most of us would like to be going faster, but it's not happening, so relax. I passed most of these folks further up, which was somewhat satisfying.

The next section, from the top of the W's to Barr Camp, was my best. The trail widened and flattened out, and I was able to get into a rhythm. The trail was still pretty busy for the first mile of this section, but again, I felt good about conserving energy. For the last 1.8 miles before Barr Camp, I felt good, ran a fair amount of the time, and passed people liberally. My heartrate wasn't going crazy, but it would get up to 170 on the steep parts, and I'd walk to recover.

There is a great pace calculator on Matt Carpenter's site, and it has 4 split times between the start and Barr Camp. Because I was not paying attention, I didn't notice when the first few split locations passed by. I was worried that I was going to be behind because of all the walking. The first indication I had of whether I was on pace was halfway through this section, at a sign that marks a trail intersection and says "7.8 miles to the summit." I was glad to see that I was about 2 minutes ahead of pace. Once I reached Barr Camp, which is about halfway (in time and elevation) to the summit, I was almost 5 minutes ahead. I was starting to have naive thoughts of a 4 hour finish. Here is a graph of my split times, along with how far ahead of or behind pace I was.




After Barr Camp, where I picked up some gatorade and a handful of pretzels, the trail got significantly more rocky. At this point, I walked more and ran less. Rather than running at will, I was entering a period of self-deception and denial. I would be walking along at a good pace, and think to myself, "I should try running for a few minutes. I'll start at this next tree... No this one... No, that rock up there will make a good starting point... shoot, maybe I should wait until the next even minute on my watch, so that I can time it easily... Ok, this minute... No, next minute... Oh, there's a good tree..." But, running a little and walking a lot, I kept my heartrate up and gradually worked my way up to treeline, where I was still almost 6 minutes ahead of pace. Not having done any high altitude training, that buffer was about to slip away on me. It was also during this section that the people around me got much less happy. I was walking quickly, and a woman was behind me. Behind her was a man who suddenly started making distinct retching sounds as he was walking.

Him: Hao-achh…Huuuuak
Her: None of that now!
Him: I promise to give fair warning.
My mind: If having a guy hurl on your back isn’t an incentive to pick up the pace, I’m not sure what is.

Of course, at that point, we were about to lose conscious control of our pace. The oxygen level was in control above timberline (about 11,000 feet). The organs of our bodies had determined that the brain was the least important, and a majority of the organs voted to impose a mandatory temporary shutdown of the brain. The nerves connecting the eyeballs to the feet would be hardwired to bypass the brain, allowing the brain to hibernate. Which was fine. All that our brains were good for at that point was relentlessly repeating the melodies of Journey’s greatest hits.

Surprisingly, I was still able to run small stretches above timberline. I would concentrate on running for 30 seconds at a time when I had a stretch of clear trail ahead. Even at my walking pace, I was still passing people. Most of the people I passed during this portion had a word of encouragement for me as I went by, which was nice for me, and an unnecessarily generous sacrifice of valuable air. Most said “good job”, and I said “you too.” One man, however, said “go get ‘em.” That was the best. Just a small gesture, but the fight in those words gave me a little burst of energy.

Here is a graph of my speed throughout the race.



The whole run had been sunny, but clouds had gathered, and with two miles to go, I entered the clouds that had surrounded the summit. It got a little bit chillier, and I had to make use of the windbreaker and gloves I’d been carrying. Soon after I put on my jacket, it started hailing, and I was thankful that I had a hood. The hail was small, and as light as dried peas, so it didn’t do any damage. I heard stories of later runners getting caught in worse hail, and being bloodied and welted by it.

During the last two miles, thunder was sounding every few minutes, but there was nowhere to go but up, so I couldn’t let myself get too worried about it. I did start wondering how I would take it if they closed the mountain and sent me back down the way I came. They did end up closing the trail early, and sending some runners back down, which must have been torturously frustrating, but I sneaked in before the really bad weather closed the trail. The difficulty of the race at this point cannot be overstated. On Sunday, during the marathon, an experienced runner had a heart attack above timberline and didn't survive. Sad story.


I was pushing at a tolerable pace, but it took forever. I made sure to run when I passed the photographer (bib #1346), as you can see above. Eventually, when I reached the 16 golden steps, a ridiculous set of switchbacks in the last half mile, I fell in with a guy ahead who was going my pace. He and I accelerated, and actually ran the last couple of minutes, adrenaline providing the fuel, oxygen, and strength. We both made our way up the steps, and eventually ran the last couple of minutes to the finish line. What a great site to see Heather at the finish.

Even though the race was an incredible experience, it honestly wasn't until after the lady placed the finisher's medal around my neck that most of the memorable moments happened. Within 15 minutes of finishing, the lightning was getting worse, hail was falling steadily, and we heard rumors that the road was closed. The summit looked like Greenland, and soon, maybe 1,000 runners and spectators were jammed into the summit house. We (myself, Heather, Pete, and my mom and dad) found a place in the entrance vestibule, next to a nice family including a dad and daughter who'd finished. They brought along their pleasant old golden retriever, who sat on the crowded floor looking exasperated. We passed the time, and after about 2.5 hours, finally got to take a shuttle down the mountain. It was annoying, and the lack of communication from the race organization to the stranded runners was frustrating. Nobody really knew what was happening, so information flowed through a simple three step rumor mechanism. Here's an example

1st person: I wonder if anybody got hit by lightning.
2nd person: Someone said something about someone getting hit by lightning.
3rd person: I heard someone got hit by lightning... I wonder if they've opened the road yet.
1st person: Someone said something about the road opening...

But we all got down and nobody was hit by lightning, as far as I know. A woman in our shuttle van swore that she saw a gatorade bottle in front of her get struck by lightning. I'm wondering if she was just concentrating really hard on the gatorade logo and got confused, or maybe she was composing a gatorade commercial in her head.

My overall impression of the race was positive. It was tough, and I was tired, but afterwards, I was less sore than I expected. I was surprised by how much walking there was. Everyone says that you should expect periods of walking, but I didn't realize they meant 80% of the race. I probably ran 45 minutes total. The strategy of the race is the most interesting aspect. I was not in control of my pace for about the first hour. Then, I was in control for roughly an hour before the altitude took over. That center section is key. I would also try to go out a little faster next time, in hopes of breaking out of the pack of walkers earlier. Being in the first wave might help with that.

Would I do it again? Yes, I'm dying to. I can feel the addictive nature of this race. How about next week? Anybody want to come with me next year?

Up the Mountain

I have finished my first Pikes Peak Ascent, and I made it in 4:18:27. I'll tell a more complete story soon, but just know that it includes hail, snow, lightning, very little throwing up, people from arkansas, golden retrievers, and someone saying "go get 'em."

Home Depot Intricacy

The woman behind us in line last night at Home Depot said:

"Mmmm, all of this wood smells so good..."

My mind: Yeah, it sure does. Reminds me of wood shop in Junior High, or working on my pinewood derby car with my dad for the big Cub Scout competition. We smashed up architectural pencil leads for the graphite axle lubrication. I didn't win, but I didn't lose. The cars that won were much more complex than mine, which was a simple wedge shape, painted red white and blue with cool 1980's splatter paint effects. The boys whose cars lost had obviously received very little help from their fathers, which was a little sad, and something not to be talked about. I like the smell of fresh cut wood.

Home Depot Lady: It smells like Hamsters!

My mind: Wha???

Hi Robyn

Robyn checks the site everyday. Kudos to Robyn! As the premier member of our very small community, is there anything specific you'd like to see?

Happy One Month Birthday

Let's see.... What's she doing lately...

1. Waking up only once per night*.
2. Sittin' around.
3. Grunting.

That's about it. We hope for even more achievements over the next month.

*(night is defined as the time period between 11pm and 5am. Not that I can complain. Heather is doing nearly all of the nighttime heavy lifting.)

The Ascent

So, in 5 days, 23 hours, and 47 minutes, I'm going to be running up Pikes Peak. Some would consider me crazy, and I'm not so sure anymore of my own mental health. The Pikes Peak Ascent is a 13.3 mile course that gains about 1.5 miles in elevation. The photo above is a webcam view from the summit right now. Go here for more views.



Matt Carpenter, the man who holds all the records, and who is also known as the "lung with legs", has written an exhaustive course description for anyone concerned about every root and big rock along the course.

So, I should be feeling like I'm in the best shape of my life, right? I've been training all summer, and since May 31st, when I started obsessively tracking every detail of my training, I've run for 46.5 hours. That's about 270 miles.

Nevertheless, I'm not sure I'm ready. Even at 270 miles so far this summer, I'm 64 miles short of my plan. Having a new baby right at the supposed peak of training disrupted things somewhat. At least that'll be my excuse. Frankly, I'm tired of thinking about it every waking moment. Last night, Matt Carpenter was in one of my dreams. I was running a relay up the peak with my Dad and Sayid from the TV show "Lost". We were going to win, but Matt stepped on Sayid's ankle near the summit, and he couldn't finish. Darn it.

For the sake of accountability, I'd like to announce my goal to the world (or at least to the 10 people who check this site, 8 of whom are Dan). I'm aiming to finish in 4:20. That'd put me just above the average finishing time, and would qualify me to start in the 1st wave next year, if I should forget myself and choose this torture again. Or I could be like this guy.

It'll be a beautiful run.

The three word combo

That's Pete's thing lately. Here's a sample:

Me Lufk Cow (I drink cow's milk)(I don't know how he came up with the word for milk, but he refuses to use anything else)

Baby Lufk Boob (Nora drinks milk from boobs)

Daddy Boob None (Daddy's boob doesn't have milk)

Daddy Feet Fleshyman (Dad, can we do Superman?) (You know, me on my back, holding him up in the air on my feet, holding his hands. Again, not sure where Fleshyman comes from, but it's the word and he's sticking to it)

I figure that Pete has a vocabulary of about 100 words right now, with a couple new words every day. That's not very many for a kid his age, but for him, it's been an impressive transformation. He's somewhat of a late talker, and probably had 10 words 1 month ago. He's a fun kid, and it's apparent that he is enjoying being able to communicate more clearly.

And then there's this

Bus Station Intricacy

It's really hard to burp a baby while you're trying to light your cigarette.

There was a woman struggling with this problem at the bus station this morning.

Sweet Sixteen

Sixteen Days. It's been good. We have enough cute pink clothes to warrant a change in our laundry habits: darks, whites, and pink.




It's inherent in the proper parenting role to believe that your child is extraordinary: advanced beyond her age, eclipsing the skills and abilities of kids twice her age. On that note: Nora is a child prodigy in lifting her head up and smiling, which she does all the time. She's not supposed to be able to do that stuff for months, right?

Call the tabloids! Headline: "Not Just Gas!!!"

How is Pete with the Baby?

That's the question that everyone asks. Is he jealous? So far, he's been really good, sweet, but not obsessed. He makes sure he knows where she is at all times, but doesn't want to do much more than give her occassional kisses. The photo above sums up his attitude toward caretaking.

The Daily Zeitgeist

Notice the new feature in the sidebar. Click on it to get to all of the decent pictures I've taken so far. I'll still post photos in the main website here, but not quite as often.

Gymboree-aholic

A cautionary tale

It could happen to you...

You could become addicted to Gymboree-ahol.

Carry Out

Nora had an appointment today to get weighed. The nurse stripped off her diaper, and on cue, she pooped on the paper-covered table. This is not unusual or surprising.

But they put the diaper and the paper in a bag, and made us take it home. Like a pet.

"Crying A Little Bit"

That's what Nora's cousin Owen (about 22 months old) said about her the other day. He says the most interesting, complex sentences.

We're all a little bit tired around here, but Nora is a good sleeper. Not an all-night sleeper, but pretty painless. Could be worse. I've decided that calculating how many hours of sleep you get only compounds the problem by making one feel sorry for oneself, so I'm not sure what our hours are looking like, but they're sufficient.


It's been ridiculously hot this week, so we've all been wearing minimal clothes to beat the heat. Last night, it finally rained, and the heat has broken today.



I'll leave you with this picture of Nora's fuzzy back. I took another one that made it look positively apelike, but thought better of posting it. Don't want to attract the attention of tabloids or the circus, what with the toes and now this.




By the way, Nora's bilirubin is down to appropriate levels , so there is no more need for the futuristic blue bed anymore.

One Week

We got some donuts this morning to celebrate Nora's one week birthday. Thanks to everyone who sent messages of congratulations and offers of help. It was a great, memorable week. I'm really glad I was able to stay home. The pace has been slow, and I've been a little stir-crazy at times, especially after I finished reading every magazine and newspaper twice. Got some good yardwork done too.



But the slow pace has been great; being able to just play with Pete or hold Nora for hours is a beautiful luxury that I don't usually get.

Krispy Kreme donuts are one of the great guilty pleasures of this household. That and the music of the original American Idol, Kelly Clarkson.

Pardon Me...

You will excuse me for some fatherly adoration of a few little things.





Do those seem like bizarrely long toes to anyone?

Gettin' Down for the Supremes

This picture was just irresistible. It's John Roberts and family, during the official White House press conference to announce Roberts' nomination to the Supreme Court. His son, apparently couldn't resist the cameras, and broke into dance. You can see his mom's face reddening from a distance. In the second picture, she looks like she might be praying.

In the Future...

Maybe we'll all sleep on cool future beds like this, and during the night, the bed will heal cellular damage, or make us super-intelligent, or coordinate communication between the swarms of nanobots in our bloodstreams.



For now, blue light tables are only useful for jaundiced babies. Nora has too much bilirubin in her bloodstream, and her liver isn't up to the challenge of disposing of all of it. So, she needs help getting it out of her body. Some genius figured out that blue-wavelength light photoisomerizes (couldn't miss what might be my only lifelong opportunity to use that word) bilirubin, allowing her body to get rid of it. She should need the light table for a couple of days, and then be fine.

Things are good, everyone is fine. Nights are long, but hopefully Nora will learn the concepts of night and day sometime soon. I got into a little tussle with a mountain lion in the backyard yesterday. Luckily, I was able to overcome him, and protect my family, as any good father of two would. It was awesome, you totally should have seen it.

(substitute "my weedwacker" for "a mountain lion" in that last sentence for a strictly accurate account)

My Celebration

So, as you can see, I’m really not much of a cigar smoker. You can see how far I got on my cigar last night. Still, it was a memorable experience, sitting on the front porch, listening to the college kids have a party across the street. I talked with my brother on the phone about babies, kids, and adults. We talked about how newborns are like little animals, but that doesn’t stop us from staring at them all day long, thinking about what they’re going to be like someday. Troy’s first question was the color of her eyes (blue so far)

Last night, I was punished for my arrogance in being so quick to assume that Nora would be a good sleeper on so little evidence. It turns out that she is a good sleeper by day and insatiably hungry by night. Sleep last night was measured in the minutes, rather than hours.

Pictures and Tidbits

The first bath.

This facial expression is more representative of the first bath.

Pete's first meeting.

At one point during labor, Heather was told that she could start pushing, because the baby was going to come, and she responded by saying, "cha-ching!"

Nora slept for 6 straight hours last night, and had to be awakened at that point.
Do we have a sleeper?