I'm thankful . . .

• For remaining employed in a time of heightened economic uncertainty.
• For the FCC's opposition to the AT&T/T-Mobile merger that has no upsides for the customers or the employees of either company.
• For having comfortable housing in an area with beautiful neighbors.
• For the contents of my kitchen, where my biggest complaint is that I have run out of space in my freezer for any more yummy things.
• For opportunities to go and make a difference for others.
• For the nineteen thousand pageviews at Houston Running Calendar last month. (Whoa!)
• For the organizers and volunteers that make all those running events happen.
• For the CyanogenMod team whose firmware has made my Nook Color a much more interesting device.
• For the knowledge that there will be a season 5 of Mad Men.
• For the cessation of wildfires (for now) and for the firefighters that have been keeping our homes safe.
• For being able to sleep in this morning, run my own one-man Turkey Trot with the treetops, come home and write a 351st post to this blog.

. . . and much more. Happy Thanksgiving!

Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Minecraft

The appeal of Minecraft can be difficult to describe to others. As of the current beta, players are not given an overall goal to achieve. There is a "score" being kept, but no one bothers to compare or brag, or even care what it means. In fact, I wasn't really sure why I keep coming back to my virtual block worlds until an epiphany presented itself during a recent discussion with my girlfriend:

Being in Minecraft feels kind of like my summer vacations when I was a kid.

"Good parents" today seem determined to plan out their children's time out of school. Family road trips get bookended by sports leagues, lessons, and activity camps. As a preteen, I remember having long stretches of unstructured playtime during the summer. And that playtime was outside.

Sure, we'd play some ball, but even then they were always just unsupervised pickup games among ourselves on the neighborhood streets. What really consumed our daylight hours was simply heading out exploring. Living in what was then exurbia, several square miles of surrounding forest and cattle pasture beckoned us to come out and simply pass time.

Where there was a flood control ditch, there was the chance to discover the channelization of water and the living things in it. Tromping under a forest canopy challenged our skills at not getting lost and sometimes our ingenuity at constructing a tree fort worth defending from random scraps of found lumber. And finding a large hole in the ground was an occasion to stop, peer into the darkness and wonder what dangers or even evil creatures lay within, before racing out to beat the late onset of dusk and make it back home in time for dinner.

We weren't out to "win" summer vacation. We were outside to experiment and experience. And it's in this way that Minecraft doesn't demand that you accomplish any one thing. Instead, this literal "sandbox" game invites us to come up with our goal for the day and explore everything. It's a virtual open-ended LEGO set in a time when actual LEGO sets are sold in boxes that tell children what they're supposed to be building.

P.S. If Minecraft creator "Notch" happens to be reading this: Please consider adding the ability to craft Bikes as a locomotion option in the game. And they should do wheelies too. Just sayin'. I'll even take them with coaster brakes and banana seats.

Getaway Driver

My remembrance of the night of April 13, 2009 has barely faded. In the time since the hit-and-run that claimed the life of Jerry Luis, I've noticed that the focus of my thoughts has shifted.

In the days and weeks immediately after the accident, my mind was filled with self-regrets. I felt sorry for not having been in a better spot at the time of the collision to be a more effective eyewitness in identifying the pickup driver, and I felt deficient as a human being because I couldn't stop Jerry from dying. Out of these feelings grew much reflection over what I could and could not control about the tragedies that happen on our crazy planet Earth.

When the first anniversary arrived, my reflections turned to Jerry's family. Of course, I didn't know any of them, but I could see the visible tribute they left for him on the side of the freeway and wondered how their lives must have changed when this person was ripped away from them in such a sudden and violent manner.

Another year has come and gone. Yesterday, I found that my thoughts were revolving around the pickup truck driver. Who was it and why didn't he or she stop? Was it an illegal immigrant, an unlicensed driver, or someone with a criminal background -- someone that would avoid law enforcement at all costs? Was it an immature kid that felt unprepared to take responsibility and ran away scared?

My curiosity compelled me to check the Houston Crime Stoppers website, which confirmed my suspicion that Jerry's case remains among the unsolved. So the driver is probably still out and about. He or she might even be one of my neighbors. Does this individual even have an awareness of what really happened that night? Surely the truck must have taken quite a bump, and Jerry's motorcycle made quite the BANG when it left the roadway. Even after that, is it possible that the truck and all of its occupants completed the turn blissfully unaware of the carnage left at the intersection?

Or, is it possible that the driver is aware that he or she has gotten away with a felony? There's no statute of limitations on fatality hit-and-run in the state of Texas. Sadly, this could be motivation for the driver and anyone else with information to keep quiet.

And so, my best hope is that the responsible party has been spending time burdened in silence by their own conscience. But my heart feels that this driver simply got away.

Timeout

Getting sick has become entirely too frequent for my comfort. So now I'm out to find a path to get myself right again.

My training for the Aramco Half has been close to mothballed. Last week I logged exactly zero miles running.

When this whole "mystery" is unraveled it will likely be post-worthy, but I'm not feeling ready yet to document details here. Meanwhile I'm still around, and came by to quench that self-obligation to not let this blog grow stale. (I'm sure my fellow bloggers understand!)

As dissonant as when seven is ninth in line

Up at this late hour, I find myself compelled to blog, because my mind cringes at the thought of having zero posts for the month of September -- our ninth month of the calendar which gets its name from the Latin word for seven. Nonsensical, eh?

It's been a month of transition in season. Certainly we don't have a true autumn on the Gulf Coast, but I'll happily take the cooler weather that's arrived recently. 60F is a lovely temperature to find at dawn for a run, and yesterday I marveled at having no beads of perspiration appear until I was a mile and a half out. Compare that to a Labor Day fun run I did earlier in this same month where three and a half miles in "eighty-eighty" conditions was enough to sweat myself into an uncomfortably low state of hydration.

During that same sweltering holiday weekend, I realized that there's been a uncomfortable change that's been happening in my inner self. In a phenomena that I could call leisure anxiety, my very body can feel threatened by fun situations. Nonsensical, eh? How I've discovered and begun to cope with this are topics that deserve fuller elaboration in another blog post when I'm better prepared to sketch it out.

In tribute to the passing of September, I'll close this post with seven of my old and new favorite destinations to visit on the Internet, presented in a rapid-fire itinerary like destinations on my favorite returning "reality" TV show, The Amazing Race.

• Our first leg starts with the words and images of Jenny Goellnitz in Ohio. After her pictures seize your attention, you'll lose yourself in her vivid narratives on running and surviving cancer.
• One state over, from the unpaved stretches of Pennsylvania, ultrarunners Chris and Dave talk about going the really long distance on Trail Musings.
• On Pennsylvania's paved surfaces, you might run into Flo, a.k.a. "Girl In Motion." Not only does she write a great blog, but she also has a great eye for designing running-related accessories.
• Not far away from Flo and the Trail Musings guys is another runner and self-described "mom blogger" that frequently rises above the easy "baby did cute" to genuine self-effacing hilarity. Here's a shout-out to MommysStillFab.
• Speaking of coping, I thought I'd share a link to a new series by a writer mom friend of mine concerning an entirely different condition. World, I introduce you to"CP Chick."
• From life with CP to life with PC: In the audio podcast Monitor Tans, a gaming couple discuss the highs and lows of what they're playing on the computers each weekend.
• This list finishes with a site that helps me cope between weekends, the webcomic xkcd. The humor can be esoteric, and sometimes I'm surprised at how much potential for pathos can be conveyed by scrawny stick figures.

Dear Jerry

Has it really been a year since you hurtled into my life while being rudely hurtled out of your own? Not long after the hit-and-run accident that brought us briefly together, I saw that your loved ones had planted a cross in the ground at the crash site. I've wondered if they needed the landowner's blessing to do this.

This eventually developed into a two-part memorial to you. Close to the curb where your motorcycle went airborne, a heart-shaped patch of mulch marked "JERRY" faces Katy Freeway traffic. The cross still stands on the downslope a few yards away, on the edge of the detention pond where your body came to rest until LifeFlight arrived to take it away.

Eventually, I became comfortable enough to resume running in this area again. (I run exclusively facing the oncoming traffic now. I still carry my cell phone with me and I'm very good about wearing my Road ID -- two choices that I still heartily endorse for anyone who runs outdoors.) During those runs, I could pause by that intersection to look at the changing selection of seasonal items that they're leaving in your memory. During my last run-by, I took note of the Happy Birthday balloons. You're certainly on their minds.

The driver of the truck that hit you is still unidentified. Sadly, a year later no one has been able to come forward with information that could hold someone accountable. Crime Stoppers still has the Jerardo Luis case in their "unsolved" files, and a reward could still be out there for the right person that picks up the phone and dials 713-222-TIPS.

With the passage of some time, I came to accept that there was really nothing I could have done to save you that night. Anyhow, I resolved to do something to make myself feel less helpless in a crisis, so a couple of months ago I took part in a mass CPR/AED training by the Red Cross in the NFL Texans practice "bubble."

During the class I got really good pointers on how to remove rubber gloves without getting cooties on my hands and how to roll unconscious persons into a "recovery position" so they wind up in a good place to gain consciousness and puke. Oh, and I also learned that delivering sets of chest compressions are a pretty good workout in itself. By the end of the morning, I joked that perhaps I should bring one of the dummies home as cross-training equipment.

Doing a thousand practice compressions on dummies couldn't have helped your situation last April. But I guess I do feel better knowing that maybe I'll be better prepared to help someone else in a different type of emergency. I suppose that's one important takeaway I gained from the whole ordeal: We can't change the past, but with a little foresight and preparation, maybe we still have a shot at making the future better.

I'd like to think that I'm now driving sober more often. Mind you, to me driving sober is much more than just a BAC number. It's the having the mindfulness of the responsibility we take when we pilot a car on the roads, and a focused awareness of what's around you. Uncontrolled, the amount of kinetic energy that two tons of steel and plastic has at highway speeds can really ruin a lot of lives. I've wondered if your hit-and-run driver may have been occupied on a cell phone, or simply neglectful of checking a blind spot that terrible night.

As I remember all this, I am affirmed in my belief that the act of running is a declaration of my vitality. To go outdoors, draw breath under the skies and propel my legs over the ground is my acceptance of an innate directive to pursue the horizon. All the while, I'm mindful that this ability -- and my very life -- could be taken from me at an hour and in a manner we have no way of predicting. As a witness pointed out to me afterwards, I was crossing that very intersection less than a minute before the wreck.

Once in a while, especially when crossing that curb at Memorial Brook Boulevard, I feel like I truly am running some of these miles for you and others who won't run on the earth again. Rest in peace.

Transactional Epiphany

It took the better part of the evening, but last night I finally tackled the chore of setting up Quicken 2010 to track my financial life. In the days following my previous botched attempt at automatic conversion of my Microsoft Money data, I arrived at a simple, yet powerful realization:

"I don't need to carry everything over."

I had more than a decade of account transactions in my MNY file. I had been allowing it to accumulate in size like a rolling snowball as I upgraded to progressively newer versions of Money, never bothering to archive and purge old data. Between ringing in the new year and switching to new software, however, I knew that this was an opportunity to start over. I retrieved the December 2009 statements from only my active accounts and used only those balances to populate my new QDF file.

Manual setup forced me to think about what I really needed to see -- and not see -- from this point forward. Accounts for long-closed store credit cards would only be zero-balance clutter onscreen. The historical graph of my fund balances during the 2001 dot-com bust isn't something I needed at my fingertips every day either. Perhaps most significantly, I didn't bother to copy over data for personal loans which realistically will never be paid back. I had mentally written those off long ago, but leaving them out of Quicken makes it seem more official now.

Eric Tyson authored some really good books in the "For Dummies" series that got me started with managing my own money long ago. More than ever, I now appreciate that the opening paragraphs of his personal finance book begin with a discussion about the emotions and psychology behind our relationship with our financial life. He warns against going to extremes. It's neither wise for a person to lose sight of their basic financial state, nor is it healthy to obsess over the disposition of every penny that comes into his hands.

Sometimes, letting go of yesterday helps us take control of tomorrow.

Requiem

His name was Jerry.

I thought about him a lot tonight. Well, frankly I've been thinking about him quite a bit over the past few days. Ever been hiking through the woods and get a face full of spiderwebs? In the first few minutes, you can get most of the big chunks out of your hair, but for many minutes to come, you're yanking a strand out here and there.

That's what it's been like with my feelings about the hit-and-run event on Monday. I poured out a lot in the hours immediately afterward, in conversations with various people and especially in online outlets like my blog. Now it's just a pesky strand here and there. Some of these strands have been particularly sticky. "A real man would have been able to save him," snickered a particularly nasty one this morning on the way to work. Crazy, I know. The only way I could have saved Jerry is if I had wrapped his body in a ridiculously thick layer of bubblewrap right before it was struck by that pickup truck.

But although I can never un-see what I saw, I think I've turned the corner in dealing with it. I chuckled yesterday when I realized that I had previously agreed to go see a performance of Mozart's Requiem by a local church choir and orchestra. A requiem Mass is where we ask God for the souls of the departed to enjoy eternal rest. So the timing of tonight's concert was simply impeccable.

As the story goes, Mozart himself was unable to complete the composition of this Requiem. As Mozart fell too ill to continue, another composer named Franz Xaver Süssmayr took over to finish it. Tonight I was thinking of all those who have died preceding our lives, leaving custody of the planet and of its history to us -- until it is taken from us too, to be passed to those who survive next. Behaving as if we permanently possess it is laughable. But during the brief time this is all in our hands, we have the choice to make a difference by adding love or detract from it by inflicting indifference. Whether we like it or not, that's the choice we have on each morning we are able to wake and go about our daily business. It really is like being given an incomplete musical composition and then being asked to try and finish it.

As it so happens, tonight's performance was a very much a contrite prayer offered up in the form of music. I'm not going to be attending Jerry's real funeral, but tonight's concert was an opportunity to offer my own "Bon voyage!" as he takes his ride to wherever he's heading next.

And now I'm left to compose my next movement.

"Nope, he didn't."

Rationally, I know the response to last night's accident was flawless. My 911 call went through seconds after the man hit the ground. Everyone knew not to try to move him to avoid aggravating any spinal cord trauma. The paramedics arrived within a few minutes -- it seemed quick even in my hurry-up-and-wait state of mind. And as long as he was drawing breath, I was clinging to hopes he would make it.

But he didn't. I was told this afternoon that the motorcyclist died. All day I've been rolling the whole situation around in my head wondering if there was something different we could have done to change the outcome in his favor.

At this time, the police are still seeking the hit-and-run driver.

Prior to this week, I've never actually seen anyone fatally injured right before my eyes. So I'm dealing with it and I'm sort of hoping I've met my lifetime quota.

"I hope he makes it."

I'm going to start this post with three recommendations for my readers who run . . .

1) Carry a cell phone.
2) Carry some form of identification on your person.
3) While running alongside a road, run against the direction of traffic whenever possible.

. . . and here's why:

Tonight I went out for another short run. I was running alongside a freeway feeder road when I heard a loud bang behind me. I turned around and saw a motorcycle and its rider flipping in mid-air. The motorcycle came to rest by the curb, but the rider had been thrown many yards farther onto the bank of a nearby ditch.

As I ran towards the motorcyclist, I yelled out, "Are you OK!?" In retrospect, this was a very silly question after what I had just seen. I quickly drew my cell phone out of my Nike armband and dialed 911 for the first time in my life. I gave the operator my location and described what had just happened. Another witness to the accident had pulled over, got out of his vehicle and was looking the motorcyclist over. Over the phone, I was given instructions that we were not to move him or do anything unless his airway was compromised. Luckily, he was breathing, if mumbling incoherently.

Also in the motorcyclist's favor was the proximity of the nearest fire station, whose HFD paramedics responded quickly. As they went about their work, I decided to attempt to pray. I kneeled and said a few words asking God to be with this man at this time. Then I started to recite The Lord's Prayer, and found myself forgetting the words. My hands had went numb to the point where it would have been difficult to dial the phone again if I had wanted to do so. The gravity of the situation had finally sunk in and I was feeling shaken.

Some time later, as the feeling returned to my hands, a Life Flight helicopter arrived at the scene and took off with the motorcyclist aboard. Police accident investigators were surveying the scene and took statements from us. Because I was facing away from the accident when it actually unfolded, I probably won't be of that much use as an eyewitness. But the other witness made a very good point to me. Had the accident occurred just a few seconds prior, I could have been in the path of the vehicles involved. As a runner on the sidewalk, I would have had a better chance of taking necessary evasive action if I was facing the approaching traffic.

The motorcyclist had a wallet with a driver's license, so even though he couldn't speak, the paramedics knew who he was. It reminded me of why I wear my Road ID. Something as simple as a cheap dog tag around your neck can communicate critical information to first responders. And tonight's accident reminds me of why I don't run with headphones and carry my phone. The prompt 911 call might have made a difference for the motorcyclist tonight. I hope he makes it.

Ride safe. Run safe.

Spinning up to a new normal

The following observations only apply to my immediate neighborhood here in Fort Bend County. Remember what I said in previous posts about being among the lucky. Much of the Houston area is still without power after suffering much more damage from Hurricane Ike, and other locations are certainly worthy of disaster relief assistance.

• A cool front has come through the area and the morning low was 71F. That ought to make things a little more bearable for those still without air-conditioning.
• My employer's building in Houston sustained roof damage, and so I'm home while it's being repaired. The data center remained intact, and I'm doing what I can through VPN.
  
• Grocery stores in the immediate area have re-opened their doors, but they're short on fresh meat and produce. The freezer cases are barren. Other items are being sold on a "quantities limited" basis.
• There are long lines at gas stations. I wouldn't be surprised if many of these customers are ones that have come out of the un-electrified areas in search of a working and stocked gas station.
  
• Traffic lights around the neighborhood are functioning again.
  
• Restaurants are re-opening. Yesterday we confirmed that the local Popeye's, Papa John's, and Vietnamese noodle house were back. Hooray!

I've gotten some comments about keeping my sense of humor during this experience. All I can say is that it's easy to remain buoyant when it's apparent that everyone you care about is accounted for and safe. All the damage around me has been inflicted on mere property. We can fix or replace all of it. The "tinkerer/builder" side of my personality even feels that we've been almost given a "clean slate" in some areas to make them better than before.

Living through these ordeals together reaffirms our strengths and bonds us together in ways that the carefree times cannot. May God grant me the chance to welcome the new normal as a stronger person, part of a stronger community.

Ike Eve: noon

My run this morning featured a clear sky and a light breeze. Now there is a definite wind from the north and the sky is clouding over.

In hindsight, I think going through the hysteria during the near-miss by Hurricane Rita in 2005 was a blessing. We've got The Real Thing now and people are significantly more organized. Just about everyone in the threatened zones has been able to evacuate in an orderly fashion. Folks outside those areas will be calmly sheltering in place until it passes.

The projected landfall is still set for tonight at Galveston. While I was out running this morning, I remembered how this community rallied itself to recover after Tropical Storm Allison in 2001 and how it showed great heart in assisting those pummeled by Hurricane Katrina in 2005. Well, after this storm comes through, I suppose we'll find out who will reach out to southeast Texas.

Michael Ellis DeBakey (September 7, 1908 – July 11, 2008)

I just read the news that Dr. Michael DeBakey passed away this morning, just a couple months shy of his 100th birthday. Sometimes we overuse the word "legend" to describe someone, but I'm quite certain that this label was meant for persons with accomplishments like his. Advancements in medical science directly attributable to him save lives every day.

Just yesterday, I was posting on the RunnersWorld forums about how comparisons to high-achievers can be a truly two-sided coin: (1) You can let them get you down and discouraged, or (2) you can let them spur you on to unleash the best you have to offer the world.

I really would like to get better at number 2. Farewell, Doctor DeBakey. As someone who once had an eye on a medical career, I salute you.

Remembering Angel

I was born a native New Yorker, four days after Mary Ann, who everyone called "Angel." The friendship between our families has its roots that reach all the way back to those NYC days in the 1970s. As kids, our families moved us to the same part of the Houston area at virtually the same time. It's hilarious to think about now, but I could consider her "my first" -- the grade-school girlfriend. As we grew up we began hanging out in significantly different social circles, and our paths in life diverged completely after high school.

Two years ago, Angel's body was found in a minivan on the side of a highway. The vehicle had been set on fire and investigators needed dental records to make the identification. Progress in the case appeared to have stalled until this week. I found out that two men and one woman have been charged with arson and tampering with evidence . . . but not murder (yet).

I can hope this development helps her family, especially her three children, get nearer to a feeling of closure. But I can understand if it only makes their emotional wounds sorrowfully raw as they live through their loss once again.

The news goes down with a bittersweet taste for me personally. The prospect of having someone held responsible is heartening, but at the same time I'm reminded yet again that there are some things we can't undo and some things that can never be completely fixed. In particular, having someone in my peer group pass away in such a sudden and grisly manner really made me reflect upon what meaning my life -- or anyone's life -- has in the end. Perhaps, ultimately, could it be those that care the least that decide how much a human life is worth? It's hard to believe otherwise sometimes.

Here's to you, Angel. May you rest a little better tonight.

----------------------------
P.S. After I first published this post, someone online pointed out that she believed that only God ultimately places value on life. I suppose I should have been more specific and said "could it be those that care the least that decide how much a human life is worth on earth." We, as individuals, as neighbors, and as a society have a responsibility to value the lives of others. It really, really bothers me to think that some choose not to.

Another Walk in the Park

As I contemplate the life I have now, I've come to the realization that this summer will likely be an important one. Along the way of trying to "re-invent" my life, I've done a lot to improve my lot, but I'm not done. I have my full marathon goal behind me, and by this time next year, I'll have my graduate degree. So now with so much covered ground behind me, I'm finding myself wondering what the next big step should be, and it's got my eyes opened wide in both excitement and slight fright simultaneously.

Perhaps it will be like in my marathon experience, hitting mile 21 in Memorial Park -- rationally knowing I'm almost there, but being very hard to do take those next steps. It's sort of nice to know I've been "here" before. The one big difference is that I don't even know where the finish line is or what it will look like.