We Did It!

It's been a long and difficult journey over these past three years. There have been many ups and downs. There have been times where self-doubt and cynicism have overcome any glimmer of faith and hope. It has not been easy. 

There have been many failures, and just enough victories to keep us going. But we kept our heads down and continued to pursue our goal. 

The days were long and the nights were often sleepless. But all the hard work finally paid off. 

Last night, we won the Brewskeeball Mug Tournament! 

(What?  You thought I was talking about law school?!)

Big numbers were put up all night on Championship Sunday.

Lane 1 (left) was more kind to us than Lane 2 (right) thoughout the night.

"Balls Quiet on the Western Front" intently watches the final roll.

"Johnny Haze" of "Skeenut Butter and Jelly Time" needed to put up a 480 to tie in the final roll, a 490 to win.

The victors embrace.

Both teams embrace, embodying the essence of SKEE (Spirit, Kinship, Esteem, and Excellence).

The dream realized. Skeeson XII Champs.

"Gene Parmesan" tasting victory.

World record chug by "The Cautious Rancher."

"Old Balls" had the dual task of drinking both his beer and his own tears.

The best photo.

We might vomit.

In the upcoming weeks, when law school is over, I intend to write a detailed history (historskee?) of our love affair with skeeball - from our humble beginnings to our rise to prominence. 

Furthermore, my financer (mother) is flying me out to New York over Memorial Day weekend to both cover and participate in the Brewskeeball National Championship in New York.

Passing It On

I started and finished the race in a dead sprint.  It started that way because of my stupidity.  It ended that way because my manliness was called into question.  And then, I nearly face-planted.

Pre-Race
It's not that I woke up late.  I just didn't take into account how long everything takes between the drive, the bathroom pit-stops, the changing into and out of clothes, the registration, the transition station set up, and the wetsuit.  We pulled into Granite Bay State Park in Folsom, Ca at 8:20am.  The clouds were parting and the sun was breaking through.  The air had a strong chill, but the warmth of the sun had a calming effect on my nerves.  The race began at 9:00, but I was in no rush.

I took my time gathering everything from the heap of a laundry bin that had become the back of our car.  Bag full of biking gear?  Check.  Towels?  Check.   Spandex?  Check.  Wetsuit?  Got it.  Everything seems to be in order.

I pull my head out and look to my left to see my cousin Jenny and Jonathan.  We embrace and shoot the breeze for a minute. The first thing Jonathan wants to see are my legs.  Earlier in the week I told them they were shaved.  But I lied, hoping that, this being his first triathlon and all, he would follow suit.  He didn't.  (Personally, I think he would have if he didn't have a bad case of poison oak on his left side.)  Jenny and Jonathan had been at Granite Bay for at least an hour already.  Jonathan had his transition station set up and was looking ready to roll.

I get back to getting everything in order.  Then we head over to transition station to set up.  Jonathan had carved out a nice spot for me right next to him.  Tracy helps me organize while I run over to go check-in.  I look down at my watch and see that it's 8:50.  I have ten minutes before the race starts.  Panic has not set in but is clearly on the horizon.  I'm not in my wetsuit yet.  I haven't checked in.

I run across the parking lot to the registration booth.  I line up (there's no line at this time, obviously) under the "Last Name R-Z" sign.  I tell the woman working, let's call her Nancy, in a hurried voice, that I need to register.  Nancy gives me an odd look.  I take this as her judging me for being here so late.  Noted.  Then she hands me two forms to fill out.  In scrambled thoughts, I do not question this but just try to fill it out as quickly as possible.  I figured they were just your standard release of liability forms.  It takes me more than a few minutes to fill out, my scribble becoming less and less intelligible as time burns.  I look up and see a different woman at the desk.  I hand the woman, let's call her Linda, the forms and she looks it over.

"Okay, that will be $110 dollars please," Linda says.

"Oh, no. See, I've already paid.  I registered online," I plead.

Linda rips the forms in half and gives me a look like I just called her daughter a fatty.  "You needed to check in, not register.  You need to go over there."

I shuffle over and find Nancy.  She asks what's wrong.  I tell her that I already registered online.  Nancy apologizes, realizing the miscommunication.  A few seconds later, I hear Linda, who's a few feet away with her back turned to me, telling her co-worker something.

"Apparently, that guy can't read!" says Linda, with the tone of a bitchy eighth-grader.  I see Linda's co-worker give her a "he's standing right there" look.  Linda turns around and sees me.  She starts walking away with an embarrassed look.  I wanted to pull her hair and call her mean names.  But instead, with Linda still in earshot, I accept Nancy's apology and tell her, "it's not your fault.  I can't read."

I'm finally checked-in.  I grab get my goodie-bag and race numbers, one for each leg of the event.  I sprint over to the transition station where Tracy is helping to organize.  It's 8:57.

"Three minutes until race time!" the man on the PA painfully reminds me.  I don't say a word to Tracy.  I start slathering Body Glide all over my legs, arms, and wrists, so the tight wetsuit can slide on easier and faster.  It does.

"One minute till race time!" booms the voice from the PA.

I slide my booties over my feet, grab my head warmer and goggles.  I give Tracy a smooch and she wishes me luck. I start sprinting down the hill toward the Lake.  

The Swim
Apparently, the guy on the PA was lying.  It was more like two minutes until the race started.  When I got down to the lake, amazingly, Jonathan and Jenny were the first two I saw.  We snapped a few photos and began dialing in.  The look of intensity on Jonathan's face helped me appreciate the moment.  I thought to myself that's how I must have looked last year.  But then I realized that part of where that look came from was knowing what we both learned a few months ago.  A few months ago, the Washington Post published an article about recent deaths in triathlon.  The article detailed a few recent deaths that have taken place during the swim leg of the event and how they have been related to cold water, unclear water, and panic attacks.  Not having done another triathlon since reading this article in November, I felt the anxiety sit hard in the pit of my stomach.  Knowing that Jonathan had also read this article before having done a triathlon, I could only imagine where his thoughts were.  (Especially since the person who had sent us this article was watching us from shore.)  At least I knew what to expect.  But even then, the swim kept me up at night.  We resolved to take a slow start and stay together during the swim.

The whistle blew and everyone took off.  As planned, we hung back a bit and treaded slowly into the icy 48-degree water, letting the vets lead the way.   The two of us learned quickly, that once your head ducks into that cold of water, all thoughts of plan - or simply having any thoughts at all - go to shit. Within our first few strokes in the icy water, we had already lost track of each other.  Between swallowing the choppy water when coming up for breath, the hyperventilation that automatically kicks in, the inevitable fogging of your goggles, the clamoring under, over and between your fellow swimmers, and the fact that every swimmer looks exactly the same, we quickly found it was impossible to swim together.

Once my breathing finally calmed from the initial shock of the cold, I was able to keep my head fully immersed in the water and settle into a normal swim stroke, coming up for air on my right side every other stroke.  I attribute much of this quick adaptation to the cold to the ridiculous-looking hoodie head-warmer I purchased a few days before the race.  (Imagine a 1920's football player's helmet but instead of leather it is made of mesh insulating material.)  The booties on my feet were quite helpful too.    In settling into a good pace, I found myself drifting to the right-side of the pack.  This gave me some freedom from the group and stiller water to swim through.  Before I knew it, I noticed the group moving closer to me.  They were funneling closer and closer together into somewhat of a traffic jam.  I looked up and realized we were rounding the orange buoy.

After rounding the buoy and feeling the field open up again, it finally hit me:  I'm doing a fucking triathlon.  Arriving at the race late and literally sprinting to the starting line had provided me with no time to think about the race or its significance.  I couldn't get too amped or too nervous.  It was like getting the call to pinch hit when the pitcher was already in his wind-up.  No real strategy, just reaction.

As I head for the shore, and catch glimpses of the warm sun on each right turn for air, one calm stroke at a time, I appreciate how far I had come from last year.

The Bike
There is no better feeling than feet on sand.  Honestly, I think the race could end right after the swim and most of us would be happy and proud.  But of course it doesn't.  So we enjoy the moment for a minute and then start running and stripping onward to the transition station.

When I got to my bike, noticing that Jonathan's bike was still here, I took my time changing out of my wetsuit and into my biking gear.  I wanted to make sure Jonathan had made it out of the lake in one piece before I took off.  A few minutes later, as I buckled the strap to my helmet and grabbed my bike off the rack, I saw Jonathan heading toward me in his half-stripped wetsuit.  The look on his face conveyed what we were all feeling, like he had just gotten punched in the stomach while experiencing a horrendous brainfreeze.  Or in his words, "That was the most horribly cool thing I've ever done in my life!"

I hopped on my bike and headed toward the trail.  Within seconds, I was treading through deep puddles of mud surrounded by trees.  Here we go again, I thought.  A repeat of last year.   A 16-mile trail ride that in effect equals 22 or 24 miles due to the conditions.  The few days leading up to the event had experienced some hard rain, but I convinced myself that in no way could it be like last year, where it rained for two weeks straight leading up to the event.

I took my time with the first few climbs and descents, thinking that I will need every ounce of energy just to get through the ride.  Each drop in, or each turn, I mentally anticipated a swamp that I'd need to drive through, making sure I took the right angle into each pit.  But each time I anticipated the worst, I got something much better in return.  Maybe a quick mud puddle or no puddle at all.  Imagine that?  On the first 8-mile lap I kept telling myself, just wait for it.  Just wait.  There will be a tire-derailing rut packed with mud waiting to grab your tire and pull you to the ground.  So don't get cocky.  I didn't.  But by the time I hit the second lap, I realized that my worries were in vain.  It was all fine, nowhere near as bad as last year.  Now?  Enjoy this shit.

Just as I'm making my second lap and turning up the energy, I hear a voice yell from behind me, "Hey Anchorsteam!"  I figured it was a guy who was just really into Anchorsteam.  So I gave a nod in acknowledgement.  But as the person rode up alongside me, I realized it was Jonathan!  I was pumped. I was impressed with how much time he made up on the ride.

The next few minutes we set a great pace together with him leading the way and the guy who he was following throughout the first lap in front of him.  The trail narrowed and I followed close behind.

The trail took a sharp right turn into a descent.  We leaned into the turn and dropped in, gaining speed for the uphill climb that ensued.  The sound of gears changing, pedals squeaking, and accelerated breaths drowned out the songs of the birds in the trees.

When our bikes became more and more vertical as the hill escalated, we each searched to find the right gear.  In doing so, I hear Jonathan yell, "Shit!"  I redirect my bike to the right of him and he nearly falls off his bike the left.  I realize that his chain slipped.  "You alright?  Need anything?" I ask.  "Fine! Go ahead!" Jonathan responds.  I keep climbing.  Moments later I pass the guy who was ahead of Jonathan.  Now having a sense of the terrain on this second 8-mile lap, I take advantage of my newfound confidence and hit each turn harder and each hill faster.  On the downhills, I feel like a downhill skier traversing trees and moguls.  On the uphills, my pedals fly and my breath pants like I'm climbing Everest.  The rest of the ride I spend alone.

This is one of the amazing things about competing in these Xterra events.  The amount of time a racer can spend alone during the race is so unique to Xterra.  I've never run a full marathon, but any photo I've ever see of a friend or family member running one, there is always a ton of people surrounding the runner, either those participating in the race or those cheering for the runners on the sidelines.  Xterra races take place in relative obscurity.  There is one or two photographers set up somewhere on the trail and the support staff is pretty much relegated to a half-mile radius around the transition station.  I find this to be one of the best and worst things about these races.

This solitude is great because of the opportunity it presents for reflection.  You can reflect on all the training that took place in preparation for the race or the things you overcame in order to get to this point.  Or you can appreciate the beauty of the ever-changing tree-covered landscape and the sun reflecting off the lake and mountains.  But I'm immediately reminded of the downsides of this solitude when I make my final stretch and see Tracy, her parents, and Jenny cheering me through the final stretch and onto the run.

The Run
I planned on running in my Vibrams.  But my feet never recovered from the cold swim.  When I clipped out of my bike and took off my biking shoes, I still couldn't feel my feet.  They never had a chance to recover because every half mile throughout the ride there was a puddle that couldn't be avoided, and, as a result, my feet never dried.   As I made the decision at the transition station to go with my running shoes instead, Jonathan was just pulling up on his bike.  He saw that I was going with the running shoes.  Needless to say, with me being an influence behind him getting Vibrams in the first place, he was disappointed.  As was I, but I wasn't willing to risk it.  As Jonathan fidgeted with his Vibrams, I took off toward the trail.

A mile later I was all alone and lost in thought.  I was in an exhaustion-induced trance-like state, surrounded by trees with the lake to my left.  My thighs and groins tightening on each climb and descent. A half-mile later, I had a running partner.  Jonathan caught up with me and I couldn't have been happier.  We set a good pace for what would turn out to be the rest of the run.

For what seemed like the longest four mile run of our lives, when we had some oxygen to spare, we tried to convey to one another how awesome this was.  He thanked me for me inviting him.  I thanked him for pushing me during the race and throughout the past four months.  We passed a few runners, ran through a few more puddles, and prayed to see the finish line at the next turn.  We agreed we would cross the finish line together.  But just like our earlier agreement about sticking together during the swim, this plan also blew up.

We were on the final stretch with about a thousand yards to go.  We both see the finish line and are keeping in lock-step.  With about 150 yards to go, we hear my "buddy" on the PA.  I anticipate that he is about to call out our names and numbers as we head in.  Instead, we hear, "Hey, this isn't a running club!  This is a race!"

Jonathan and I look at each other, and without saying a word, we smile and both take off on a full-on sprint.  I hear the noise levels of the crowd increase with cheers and laughter.  Fifty yards to go and we're in a deadlock.  Jonathan pulls ahead slightly.  Then I pull ahead.  Then we're dead-even!

With five yards to the finish I lean my body weight forward to slightly edge him out.  The cheers and laughter continues, but as I soon discover that I no longer have the leg strength left to stop my momentum, I prepare for a full face-first encounter with the dirt.  The crowd's cheers turn to a concerned, "Ooooooohhh!"

Somehow, I manage to grab the shoulder of the volunteer worker who is coming for my number.  Amazingly, and regrettably for the audience, I avoid the face-plant and my ego retains its pride.

Post-Race
During my last race, last year in Tahoe, you'll recall, I was bailed out during the ride after my back tire went flat.  I was helped by two guys who suppressed their own self-interest in order to help me get through the race.  All that was asked in return was to "pay it forward."

So this race I was on the lookout.  I had a spare bag full of equipment so I could help out last year's me.  During the ride, anytime I saw someone pulled off to the side, I would ask, "Y'alright?  Need some help?"  The response was always the same, that they didn't need help.  So when I finished the race and I hadn't come to anyone's rescue, I was kind of disappointed.

Then I went over to Jonathan as we packed up after the race.  The first words out of his mouth were, "So, when's the next race?"  He was buzzing.  The look on his face said everything.

"I wanted to feel like an athlete again.  I now feel like one again.  Thank you."

Last year, my brother John gave me a gift.  Not just the Anchorsteam jersey, or the registration for the Folsom Xterra.  He gave me the gift of triathlon, of feeling like an athlete again.  This is a gift that Tracy and I have been able to share together.  And now, I learned, without realizing it before, that I had passed that gift on.

So who's next?

Exciting Things to Come

This is a very exciting time.  Here's a few reasons why, in no particular order:

1.  Tracy and I are a few weeks away from graduating law school.

2.  Tracy is one phone call away from a job offer in Sacramento - any day now!  I am one email away from getting someone to just open my job application. 

3.  We could move up to Sacramento in a few short weeks, or alternatively, we could move to LA to study for the bar.  Either way we are moving out of our apartment in San Francisco. 

4.  Tracy and I are getting married in October in South Lake Tahoe!

5.  We are competing in the Folsom Xterra Triathlon this Sunday, April 1st, with special guests.

6.  Last, but certainly not least, I am competing in the Brewskeeball National Championship in New York City on Memorial Day Weekend (May 24-26).

More to come, more to come...

Enlightenmentally Challenged

Meditation has always intrigued me.  Ever since taking a course in Eastern Religions during my first year of college, I've fantasized about bending spoons and levitating.  I'd daydream of floating around in the flowing and colorful robes.  I'd daydream of inexplicably going completely bald and settling in with a Buddha bulb of a belly.  Most importantly, I fantasized of becoming "enlightened."   


Eastern philosophy and practice has always seemed exotic to me, so different.  And that was part of the draw.  But deeper than this otherness was an intuitive feeling that a lot of their philosophies and practices just made a ton of sense.  Meditation and yoga, for example, just seemed very practical and focused on this world, the here and now, and not so much on what happens next.  However, on the other hand, these teachings and practices seemed so elusive, intangible, and impossible to understand. (Think: "what is the sound of one hand clapping?")


My irrational fantasizing was not all in vain, I guess, because it led me to actually try it out.  Six years ago, I moved back home after my first two years of college in San Diego.  At that point in my life, I was not in a good place psychologically, physically, or emotionally.  But instead of just continuing to imagine myself levitating and becoming the envy of society, I bought a book on meditation and decided to enroll in a yoga class at my new school.  


I read the meditation book first.  It was surprisingly straight-forward.  It laid out many of the physiological and psychological benefits of meditation.  It gave what I thought at the time were pretty simplistic directions in how to meditate: sit down, close your eyes, take deep breaths, focus on your breath, counting breaths helps maintain focus on breath.  It wasn't at all what I expected. By sitting and drawing in deep breath after deep breath, yea, I mean, I felt pretty relaxed after each session.  But I never levitated or bent any spoons.  Most of all, I didn't feel like I was getting anywhere cognitively or spiritually.  What am I missing?  Maybe yoga will resolve this. 


Heading into my first yoga class, I thought to myself, "I got this. I'm in decent shape.  What? All we're doing is some stretching and shit, right?"  But by the third "chair pose," my ass and hammies were on fire and I didn't know what hit me.  I was ready to walk out.  But I couldn't just walk out, if I quit I wouldn't get credit for the class.  So I stuck with it.  I had no choice.  After three weeks, all I had to show for it was a perpetually sore ass and an even more bruised ego.  Where was the spiritual bliss?  The only time I felt something remotely resembling bliss was when I was rolling up my mat and heading out the door.  


Fast forward six years.  I'm still regularly practicing yoga - once or twice a week - and have been since I enrolled in that class in college six years ago.  Why?  Because it works.  The physical, psychological, emotional, and spiritual benefits can be huge and have been for me.  It is not an overstatement to say that yoga has changed my life.  But the more I practice, the more I realize how little I know, and how there has been a key piece that I have been missing.  I mean, yea, I still hadn't levitated yet or been able to grow a mangy guru beard, but that's not what I am driving at.  What I mean is that after six years of regularly practicing yoga, I still hadn't come to understand meditation.


Even though I was trying to meditate every so often over the past six years, I still had no idea what I was doing.  Sure, it made me feel more relaxed than before I sat down, but it didn't seem like it was going anywhere.  Feeling frustrated, about six months ago, I just stopped doing it.  


Six or seven weeks ago, Tracy came home with a magazine called the "Shambhala Sun."  She said she saw it at Whole Foods.  She was intrigued and decided to pick it up.  She tossed it over to me.  On the cover was a 30 or 40 year-old man sitting cross-legged with eyes closed and hands clasped on his lap.  To the right of the man read, "Does Meditation Really Work?"  Flipping through, and finding out that yes, it does work, I was convinced but not inspired.  It just seemed too hard.  And where do I fit it into my schedule?  When Tracy suggested that we set a time each day to meditate, I shot the idea down immediately.  I got fussy, she laughed at me.  


About two weeks later, Tracy and I had just come out of a rare late afternoon Friday yoga class - we typically practice either Monday or Wednesday nights with the same instructor, Darren Main.  Walking out of the class, we hear, "you guys are cheating on me!"  We recognize the voice, turn left and see a smiling Darren.  We share a laugh.  We linger around and chat with Darren for a few minutes.  He was teaching the class after the one we just came out of.  As he heads into the studio to teach his class, T and I continue to hang around the lobby of the studio.  We poke around the bookshelf, checking out some of the titles.  I pull a book off the shelf, then Tracy pulls one off. The book I pull is titled, "Inner Tranquility: A Guide to Seated Meditation" by Darren Main.  The book Tracy pull is titled , "Yoga and the Path of the Urban Mystic," also by Darren Main.  


Darren pops back into the lobby to grab something he forgot.  We turn to him. "Hey, we're thinking about buying your books!" we say, excited. 


"So I've successfully guilt-tripped you into buying my books?  Great!  I have others!"  Darren responds dryly.  


I dove into Darren's book on meditation the very next day.  What struck me immediately was its clarity.  Reading it felt like I picked up "Meditation for Dummies."  And while it is written for the reader who has no previous knowledge of meditation, it is never condescending or patronizing.  Darren starts out by explaining the different ways to sit, how long to sit, when to sit, a few of the different styles of meditation, and what to do during meditation.  He recommends a thirty-day challenge: 1) Try meditating for twenty minutes a day for thirty straight days.  2) See if you want to continue practicing meditation after those thirty days.  3) If you do want to continue, do another thirty-day challenge.  


A few chapters into the short book I realized there was a lot that I was not doing right.  I learned I was not sitting cross-legged with a straight spine.  Nor was I breathing correctly.  Taking deep breaths is okay when settling in, I learned, but after a minute or so, your breathing should become natural and unforced.  The focus of the practice is to concentrate on your slight and effortless inhalation and exhalation.  That's all.  Whenever a distracting thought bubbles up, direct your concentration back to the breath.  I thought myself, "Really? That's all there is to it?  I got this."  


It was Sunday morning and I was ready to start the challenge.  


Then I closed my eyes and started Day One of the challenge.  It was Sunday morning, February 19th, and I was ready.  But two minutes into my first meditation and I thought I was insane.  Even though I had just gotten out of bed fifteen minutes beforehand and even though I hadn't eaten, drank, or logged on to anything, my mind felt like it had been substituted with the mind of a hyperactive chimpanzee.  Trying to focus on nothing but my slight inhalation and exhalation was like trying to lasso a wet cat. 


Okay, breathe...  Just focus on the breath... Inhale... Exhale...


"What are you gonna wear today?!  Ooo, breakfast?! Have you thought about breakfast?! You're out of fruit! Out of fruit!  Better go to the store!  Thought about dinner?? You're out of clean underwear too!  Laundry! Laundry!!"


Shut up, will you?  Okay, back to breath... Inhale...Exhale...


"You forgot to email your supervisor.  You said you were going to email her.  You haven't called your client back either.  I wonder what's on Facebook? I bet someone commented on your latest post.  Have you thought about what you're going to write for your next blog post?!  Hey, you should write about this!  That bird outside really needs to stop chirping.  Rush Limbaugh is such an asshole, huh?"


What?  I was convinced I was nuts.  But I was reassured that this was normal.  


The twenty minutes couldn't have gone slower.  My back started aching, my foot fell asleep, and my hips screamed.  Day One completed - barely. 


Having successfully completed the 30-day challenge, and now in my first few days of another 30 day challenge, I wish I could say to you, dear reader, that at the end of the 30-day challenge I have mentally crushed a few spoons and freed my mind of useless clutter.  It pains me to admit otherwise. My spoons are still in tact and my mind is not free of clutter.  


[Assuming you have already left the page upon hearing this devastating news, I will spend the rest of this post explaining (to myself) why meditation is still very worthwhile.]


I noticed the benefits right away.  Despite feeling crazy during those first few sessions, the sense of ease and calm that I felt throughout the rest of my day was unparalleled.  Whenever something frustrated me or made me anxious, I found myself bringing my attention back to my breath, just like I would during meditation.  Amazingly, that frustration or annoyance would cease, if not right away, then quicker than it used to.  For example, a woman yaking on her cell phone on the morning train was seen in different light.  It was seen as a challenge.  Can I take inventory of what I'm thinking and feeling and try to breathe through it?  Sometimes I could, sometimes I couldn't. 


While I could sense my patience growing for others, I also found a growing sense of patience for myself.  In his book, Darren explains the five main distractions or impulses that can detract from meditation: craving, aversion, fantasy, sloth, and agitation.  Most distracting thoughts and impulses can be traced back to these five.  Each distracts you from the present moment.  Whenever you notice you're experiencing one of these five distractions, I learned, recognize it, label it, and direct yourself back to the breath.  Easier said than done.  


I find that I am constantly engaging in fantasy, aversion, and agitation.  Sometimes all at the same time.  For example, I would find myself getting excited about an upcoming court hearing.  I would fantasize about the courtroom, my compelling argument, wooing everyone, and winning the case and being the hero.  One second later, I would find myself in aversion-mode and completely terrified.  What if I lose?  What if I look like a total moron?  I can't do this.  Then, I find myself agitated.  I can't sit still, my heart has sped up, and I'm fussy.  All this because of a fantasy.  Something completely made up in my mind, something that doesn't exist and has no basis in reality.  Something that takes me far away from the present moment, i.e., the breath.  


Or I would find myself fantasizing about becoming a famous writer.  I'd fantasize about all the books I will write, the adoration of fans, my NPR interviews, all the great people I would meet, and the great lifestyle I would live.  And then, aversion: what if I don't like my publisher?  What if the critics don't like my book? I should just stick to law.  Then I'm agitated and fussy again.  I realize this sounds ridiculous, and it is, but it's amazing how often we engage in this sort of thinking without ever realizing it.  


The great thing about meditation, I've noticed, is developing this awareness, gaining an insight into how my mind, thoughts, and emotions work so I can recognize when I am having these fantasies, aversions, and agitations.  And instead of engaging in them, never let them gain enough momentum to take flight.


I could go on and on about my experience with meditation.  I could talk about how great it has been for my focus and concentration, for my sleep, for my self-discipline in diet and exercise, or for my clarity in communication.  I could talk about how I set my alarm thirty minutes earlier every morning yet still look forward to meditating everyday.  I could talk about how the twenty minutes don't seem so long now and how the physical discomfort is all but gone while meditating.  I could talk about some of the moments of complete stillness that I have experienced during a few meditation sessions.  I could talk about how great it has been for Tracy and my relationship - we both completed the 30-day challenge together.  Or I could talk about how I finally feel like I'm starting to have a deeper understanding of yoga.


But I won't.  I'm far too "enlightened" now to keep boasting.  

Should Kids Get Life?

Do juvenile killers deserve life in prison?

The Supreme Court will hear arguments today on this question.  Specifically, the constitutional question that will be decided is whether it is "cruel and unusual punishment" under the Eight Amendment to sentence a minor to life in prison without the possibility of parole.  Nina Totenburg provided a great summary of the case on NPR this morning: Do Juvenile Killers Deserve Life?

To my mind, this decision will turn on psychology and, in the end, it will be found unconstitutional.  Sure, minors who kill deserve significant punishment and prison time, but not without the possibility of parole (the ability to demonstrate rehabilitation and potentially reenter the world).  At the very least, the Court will overturn the mandatory sentencing that is placed upon juries and judges.

The reason the juvenile court system came into existence one-hundred years ago was through the understanding that kids are different than adults.  As a result, they should be treated differently.  The court process should be different, the substantive law different, and the sentencing different.

The mind of a fourteen year-old is, well, you remember: it's jumbled.  You're developing very adult features and abilities.  But at the same time, your hormones are going wild.  You can't think of tomorrow or appreciate the consequences of your actions.

Think back to when you were fourteen or sixteen.  Remember that girl or guy you were dating?  Remember those clothes you were wearing?  The music you were listening to?  Imagine if you were stuck with that, for the rest of your life.

Not convinced?  Consider this op-ed by a former juvenile judge: Juveniles Don't Deserve Life Sentences.  And this from NPR:  Without Parole Juveniles Face Bleak Life

Okay, here's one more reason why the defendants will likely succeed.  They have this guy as their attorney:

What do you think?

Logging Off

After six years of loyally logging on, I have decided to opt out and resign my facebook account.  Soon enough I will explain my reasons for doing so here, where - with what I'm sure will be an abundance of free time now - I hope to spend more of my time writing shorter, more status update-like postings as well as longer stories about whatever awesome thing I'm up to now.  Please follow along.  (You can follow either openly or anonymously, just in case you don't want me to think you're creepy, which you aren't.)    

The shorthand for why I'm leaving?  Because I think I'll be a better friend.  And that I'll be happier.  Let's see if I'm right.    

I have gathered many friend's and family's email addresses from searching through the "info" on their pages, but if you have a better contact email, let me know @ dougskelton4@gmail.com.  Or just call me.  

It's been real.

Life After Coffee: The Post-Coffee Chronicles, Days 1 - 7

Day 1 - So It Begins:

Recently I've been having heart issues, annoyances, and anxieties.  It started in the summer but just picked up within the past week or so.   For example, I'd be sleepy after a long day.  Then I'd lay in bed, only to become startled by my slow but loudly thumping heart.  It would keep me up and make me anxious.  

Within the past week though, the pronounced beat has been bothersome not just at night but also throughout the day.  My heart has begun picking up speed after eating meals, and especially after my morning cup of coffee.  Not only has its speed been bothersome, but my heart has (in my mind at least) been skipping beats.  Thud-Thud-Thud- - - THUD - Thud - Thud.  This has resulted in some chest pressure and some weird beats coming from my left rib.  So I decided to see someone about it.

This morning at 6 a.m., Tracy and I went to the ER.  Amazingly, we were the only two people in the waiting room and they took me in right away. (Actually, an old man walked in just after the hospital took me in.  He told us he was sad that we were just arriving - he had been waiting there all morning by himself, he told us.  He was adorable.)  Before I knew what was happening, the nurses had me on the bed, shirt off with all sorts of cables attached to my chest and ribs.  They did an EKG test and drew blood from my right arm.  Then, just for shits, the nurse put another needle in my left arm.  (No, it was because apparently when she drew blood and tried to put the IV in my right arm, she had trouble making the switch to the IV.  As a result, splat.  Blood went everywhere.)  They ran the tests and I spoke with a couple nurses and two Doc's.  

Turns out, everything is fine.  My heart is in good shape.  But it just likes to palpitate.   My pulse was good, but slow due to all cardio activity we do.  So when the palpitations come, they come harder and louder because of the slowness of my heart rate.  

"So how do I stop the palpitations, Doc.?  What's causing them? "

"Not sure.  But you have to avoid caffeine, alcohol, and stress."  

"Caffeine?" gasp.  "Alcohol?"

"You just have to decrease and limit your intake."

Even though I'm in law school, surprisingly, I'm not all that stressed.  But do I like my drinks?  Hellz motha yes.   Coffee in the morning and a beer or a glass of wine in the evening is my IV.  I tried giving up coffee last year.  I lasted a day.  I remember that day vividly.  All day I dreamt of coffee.  I dreamt of coffee swishing and swirling around in my brain - giving my brain the magical nutrient goodness it needed to cure its mind-crushing headache.  It was horrible.  

Alcohol, not quite so severe.  I do love a drink at the end of the day, but I go many nights without it. I'm fine limiting my alcohol intake.  Coffee, on the other hand.  Besides the day I tried to quit, I haven't gone a day without coffee since we first fell in love four years ago.  It's been my loyal companion ever since.  It's there every morning to greet me in the kitchen.  And even when I'm out, I can find him virtually anywhere - on any street corner or restaurant.  It has given me the fuel to break through the morning mental fog and greet the day.  I used to sip on it all day.  But now, our relationship is at a fork.  Is it time to go our separate ways?  

Leaving the ER this morning, I decided that coffee had to go completely.  I know I can't just limit it, or do half decaf, half-regular, to ween myself off.  I just need to go cold turkey.   Tracy encouraged me.  She gave up coffee a few months ago - she has had an on-again, off-again relationship with Joe.  Needless to say, she is thrilled that I won't be tempting her with my morning coffee anymore.  She feels like she and her decaf crew have made a huge pick-up as far as recruitment is concerned.   This is gonna be rough.  

As I write this, I'm on my last few sips of my first cup of decaf.  It's not so bad.  But I'm still worried.  What will I become now that caffeine is no longer a part of my life?  As Letterman said, "if it weren't for coffee, I'd have no identifiable personality whatsoever."  

I plan on detailing my journey into the non-caffeinated world in the coming weeks.  My thought is that by making this as public as possible, I have no excuse.  I will be held accountable.  And hopefully try to make it fun.  WIsh me luck.  But if these become less and less interesting, and the entertainment value of my writing completely tanks, at least you'll know why.

Update:

‎2:00 pm: Headache comes with fury. Brain feels distinct from body. Feels decapitated and placed in ice chest with occasional jabs from ice pick. Walking proves difficult as all limbs seem confused. Not picking up on basic neurological firing signals. 


5:00 pm: Wake up from first weekday nap since college years. Confused. Its dark outside. Where am I?


9:30 - 10:30 pm: Roll personal record in Skeeball playoff match.  Highest average yet: 34.9.  Most full circles yet: 7 out of 10. (If this means nothing to you, you're dead to me!)   Team wins, advances to next round.  This no caffeine thing ain't so bad!

Day II  - Life In The Slow Lane

8:00 am:  Woken by new alarm: skull-splitting headache.  Brains feels like it guzzled 13 beers right before bed.  Toss back two Advil. 

8:30 am:  Big cup of decaf.  Feels like smoking cigarettes minus the nicotine.  Same ritual, smell, process, just none of the good stuff.  It'll do, I guess.  It'll have to do. 

9:00 am:  Morning reading not as enjoyable.  Brain is good for first paragraph, trails off on sentence six, only to return a few seconds later from a caffeine fantasy.  Where was I?

10:00 am: Head out for run.  Beautiful SF morning - brisk air, sun shining.  Feel, and must look, very clunky.  Limbs feel like they're being control by a puppeteer - disjointed, out of rhythm, but all in all still working...  Within first block, see man walking out of cafe with coffee in hand.  Suppress desire to forcibly grab cup out of his hand, chug, and splash remaining all over face... Thoughtless run.  Literally, unable to think.  Feels strange.  Almost dreamlike...

11:00 pm: Feel almost normal after run... Head to school.  Library.  Two more Advil.  

12:30 pm:  Burrito. (Professor's treat - can't pass.)

3:30 pm: Sinking hard and fast.  Fighting urge to nap in library.  End up getting in a fist fight with a snickers bar.  I lost. 

6:15 pm:  This day is never-ending.  Feel stuck in slow-mo.  Past three hours have felt like 12.  Realizing how much caffeine accelerates everything.  Surprisingly productive though.  

6:30 pm:  Night class. This will be rough.. 

11:00 pm: Sleep like baby.

Day III - It's Getting Better  

8:00 am:  Wake up to alarm instead of headache.  Maybe they're done? ...  Decaf creates wonderful placebo effect. 

10:00 am: Get on bike, head to pool for swim...  Headache hits hard.  Out of Advil.  Run to school cafe.  Purchase over-priced Advil gelcaps.  Take down two.  Becoming concerned that caffeine addiction has been replaced with Advil.  Just temporary, just temporary.  This shall pass...

10:30 am: So hard to get in pool.  Even harder to swim.  Feels like swimming through mud.  Slow, thoughtless, can't get lost in swim.  Spend way too much time staring at watch.  30 mins.  Out.  Feeling normal again.  

11 - 2:00:  Constant battle in head: Everyone drinks coffee v. You can't drink coffee; Productivity vs. Health; Brain vs. Heart...  Heart and health in the lead.  

2:30 pm:  Sinking at library.  Crushing headache.  Fight urge to buy candy.  Dreaming of snickers, M&M's, reese's, coffee.  Stay strong.  Buy decaf.  Helps a lot.  Two more Advil.  

5:00 pm: Energy picks up once sun starts going down.  Feeling of victory - another day past!  

6:00 pm:  Reward self with haircut.  Feeling good, looooking goooood.

7 - 11 pm: Heart is happy.  Heart rate is slow and less-pronounced; still a few palpitations/skipped beats, but nothing nearly severe...  Brain sleepy.  

Another day down.

Day 4 - I Never Want To Do This Again

Things continue to improve, while also presenting new challenges.  

- I'm sleeping like a log, but finding it hard to break the morning fog.  Things clear up mentally about an hour into the morning as opposed to the first smell/sip of joe.  

- My energy is more steady and even-keeled, yet still fighting a crushing dip in the afternoon.  

- My heartbeat continues to be less and less pronounced and the skipped beats have been minimal; which makes it virtually impossible to deny the correlation b/w my heart issues and coffee.  

- Focus has been pretty good.  Not as distractible as before.  My brain feels like it's in the early stages of training for a marathon.  Yet still thinking I couldn't have picked a worse time to cut out caffeine.  If I can cut out caffeine while preparing for three exams, then I'm pretty sure I can... I don't know... help me out here... do something pretty cool?

-The headaches aren't setting in until later in the day, and when they do, they aren't as severe.  Down to just two Advil per day.  

-My run felt less clunky and I kind of got lost in it - I chatted Tracy's ear off throughout.  However, the new challenge: coming down from that runner's high and experiencing my first day w/o coffee while in the presence of someone else in close quarters.  On days 1-3, I was practically alone in my misery while Tracy went off to her internship.  I could pout, I could nap, I could eat snickers bars when feeling low.  I didn't have to be responsible for how my feelings and actions affected anyone else.  Today, was different.  Today, Tracy had the great fortunate of experiencing the wreckage that hits her fiance' in the afternoon.  Patience?  Thoughtful dialogue?  Apparently, caffeine was responsible for that part of my personality.  But did I mention I got a super sweet looking haircut?

Day V - Just Keep Swimming

Saturday morning was rough.  And the fog hung around until late afternoon.  My eyes were crossing trying to study.  Even with coffee, my eyes used to cross enough during exam period.  All morning and afternoon I read my outline over and over, convinced nothing was registering.  It was torture.  This is one of the lows of the coffee abstinence so far.  I could practically smell the coffee beans brewing from a block away at Starbucks.  I needed strength.  I cannot lapse.  

Around 1 o'clock, I searched for strength.  I searched in the only way one knows how to in the Apple-age when confused or troubled and in need of strength.  Instead of asking God, I asked Google.  

- "Why should I quit caffeine, O Dearest Google?"  

- "What are the benefits of quitting caffeine, Goog?"  

- "Why caffeine is bad for you?"

I found answers.  I found what I was looking for, what I needed to persevere.  

Caffeine accelerates your heart rate.  It stimulates the fight-or-flight response in your body.  It manufactures this fight or flight response, only to result in an energy crash a few hours later.  Caffeine alters your natural energy and the natural hormones that fluctuate during the day that your body normally regulates.  Caffeine can interfere with your sleep, even if you had it much earlier in the day, it still stays in your system.  Caffeine accelerates your appetite/metabolism and can increase your desire for sweets.  There are people who are caffeine sensitive.  

I felt like a Democrat reading the Huffington Post, or a Republican reading Fox News.  I was seeking out what I wanted to hear, what I needed to persevere in my steadfast belief.  I didn't question the validity of the articles I was reading.   I needed to be on one side, the coffee drinkers needed to be on the other.  Us vs. Them.   I wanted to judge the coffee drinkers.  Don't you know you shouldn't be drinking that stuff?!  It helped me get through the day.  

I shoveled down a Cliff Bar around 2 o'clock.  It was pretty good.  It gave me a little energy.  

Around 4 o'clock, we went for a swim.  I was not looking forward to it at all.  But once I got in there and start flapping around, something kicked in.  I don't know if it was the Cliff Bar or something else, but a burst of energy came out of nowhere.  I flew through the swim.  The buzz felt better than anything coffee could have given me.  It was incredible.  

I thought of this Us vs. Them idea throughout the swim.  It occurred to me that this is probably a pretty normal part of the process.  You have to learn to hate the thing that once loved - that ain't easy for the brain.  So if you demonize it - and judge others who also enjoy it with frequency -  it's easier on your brain to kick it.  I imagine a lot of alcoholics go through a similar process when they first decide to give up alcohol.

It's also similar to politics too.  It's similar in the sense that it's so much easier to be liberal when you won't accept that there is any legitimacy to the conservative view, and vice versa.  But if you respect some legitimacy existing on both sides, then it's tough.  It's squishy and discomforting.  You might not know where you stand.

So it goes with coffee - and alcohol.  If you respect that there is much to be praised in a good cup of coffee in the morning, or a few drinks with friends, then you might not hold your ground.  You might slip up.  You might forget why it doesn't work for you.  

The trick is respecting the legitimacy, but knowing what works for you and what doesn't; what truly aligns with your values, and what doesn't.  

It's a balancing act.  

So if I start talking shit on coffee again, kick me back into balance. 

Day VI - The Light at the End

Despite not being able to fall asleep until very late, due to a late night gelato sugar blast, I woke up on Sunday with some unexpected perk.  The high from Saturday evenings' swim carried over to the morning.  And then it carried through the afternoon.  It was the first morning/afternoon where I wasn't fighting the fog.  Is this it?  Have I finally made it over the threshold?  

It was.  I had.  But just as quickly as it came, it was gone - to be replaced with a stuffed and runny nose, itchy eyes, and overall lethargy.  Thanks to the winds that came through and rocked the West Coast, I was finally over the caffeine hump, only to be beaten down by a sudden onset of allergies.  I tried to explain to Tracy that this was totally connected to the "no-caffeine crusade," but she wasn't buying it.  

"I mean, I've been drinking coffee for five years now! Everyday!  My body is probably confused.  It's probably rebelling!"

"Really, Doug?  Come on.  We slept with the window open last night.  The winds came through and stimulated some allergies." 

"Okay," I replied, agreeing, with slouched shoulders.  "But what about...!"

"No."

The rest of the day was characterized by a lot of my face inside tissue paper.  And skeeball championships later that night. 

Needless to say, I had plenty to keep me distracted.

Day VII - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.  

It has been exactly seven days since I lost a dear friend.  I have grieved, I have bitched, I have moaned, and I have most certainly been intolerable (ask Tracy).  

But at day seven, I have finally reached the last stage of grieving: acceptance.

For me, there was no real linear sequence to the first four stages.  They were all pretty interchangeable depending on the day.  There was much denial throughout the first few days.  I'd wake up and, just before crawling out of bed think, there is no fucking way I can do this.  There is no way coffee is gone.  So young!  A life taken too soon!  There was so much potential!  I couldn't believe it.  I couldn't wrap my head around the idea of living without it - especially during finals, and especially throughout a career as a lawyer. 

There was plenty of anger.  With coffee shops and cafes at virtually every corner in San Francisco, it was impossible not to feel anger at the world, at coffee, at myself.  Why can everyone drink it?  Why can't it?  Why Joe?! Why?!  I'd see a man walking down the street drinking a cup with a smug, cozy little look on his face and want to give him a good pelt.  

Because I made up my mind so early that I couldn't slowly ween myself off, the bargaining stage of the grieving process was the least pronounced.  For example, I didn't try bargaining for a cup only on special occasions, or half-decaf, half-regular, or whatever.  I just knew it wouldn't work.  But I did try this: Hey, if I can't have regular coffee, can I then have 10 cups of decaf instead?  But that fantasy fizzled out quickly after considering the urine complications that would ensue. 

Depression was a mainstay.  Man, coffee keeps you up.  Not only just up-up, in the sense of awake, but it can keep you from the low points.  The stimulant works wonders.  It brings comfort to misery - whether that's in the library, or in the morning when all you want to do is continue sleeping.  It's there to say, "hey, buddy, everything's gonna be juuuusstt fiiine."  But when it's gone, it's rough.  And it's unbelievably tough on those first few days.  But once those first few days are behind you, everything stabilizes.  The energy comes back and the low points are minimized.  

Acceptance.  Initially, it seemed impossible.  But honestly, not only am I back to feeling normal, I feel better than normal.  I am sleeping better.  The heart issues I was worried about have been almost completely subdued and back to normal.  My energy is better than it has ever been.  I wake up with a perk and start chatting away immediately (previously unheard of).  My workouts have regained the same intensity.  My focus is better and more sustained.  (I only check facebook and email 212 times a day instead 542).  I feel more relaxed.  And, most significantly, my skeeball game is on fire.  

As I write, and take the few last sips of my cup of decaf, I no longer feel the pain of loss.  Instead, I feel free.  I know that coffee is in a better place, looking up from the bowels of some other lucky soul's belly smiling, knowing he is better off in there, and knowing that our time together was done.  

Maybe in another life; maybe in another life...



EPILOGUE

Here is an imaginary question-and-response between me and my (imaginary) readers:

Q: Are you back to caffeine? 

It's been almost three months now.  I'd really love to tell a story about my excruciating journey over these past three months.  I'd love to tell of my epic showdowns with the coffee pot,  or my heroics when I finally broke down and ordered a cup at Starbucks, but when the cup made its way to my mouth how I overcame and slammed the steaming cup to the curb.  I want to be the James Frey of kicking caffeine.  I want to go on Oprah and tell the world how awesome I am.  But I can't.  I'd be a fraud, just like Frey.  

The reality?  The first week was hell.  But after that?  Eh.  Forget about it.  The craving for caffeine completely kicks after seven days.  The craving for the taste of warm coffee never leaves though.  But that's why on the Eight Day God created Decaf.  (Yes, I realize there is a hint of caffeine in decaf.  That's like saying there is alcohol in a non-alcoholic beer.  So this is me giving you the finger.)  

Since Day Seven I have started most days with a cup of decaf.  For a moment there I was worried I had substituted one habit for another.  But then there was a day without decaf... and... amazingly, everything was fine.  My world didn't fall apart.  Since then there have been many days without decaf.  It's less of an addictive ritual as regular coffee is, but instead is an, "oh yea, that sounds good" sort of thing. 

Q: Have you slipped?  

No.  Not once.  But I don't view this as an act of courage.  It's just preference.  Absence has not made my heart grow fonder. Truly, I no longer want the buzz from caffeine (or even sugar).  Just thinking about it makes me anxious, irritable, and jerky.  For me, caffeine was great for the first hour.  I felt smart, alert, and chatty.  But after that initial buzz, things would go downhill.  Anxious, stressed, distractible for starters.  Not to mention the heart rate issue and occasional bouts of sleeplessness. 

Q: You must be sleepy all the time, right?

Just the opposite.  I'm still waking up perky.  No more afternoon dips.  My focus is more sustained.  I'm still training just as hard for an upcoming triathlon.  When it's time for bed, I sleep. Most important though, the heart rate issue is eradicated.  

Q: So what's the downside?  

The only noticeable downside is my blogging.  (Unless, that is, there's something Tracy has yet been willing to share with me).  I haven't written here since, well, almost three months ago.  I'd like to attribute this to the fact that now without caffeine I have been able to focus better on "important things" such as school and work compared to previous semesters.  But really, I don't know.  I just need to pick my shit up and find more time to write.  

Q: So what's next, Doug?!

I've considered writing about the joys of wedding planning.  I'm still working on a title for the piece, but my favorite so far is, "Zen and the Art of Attending Floral Meetings with Your Fiance."  But I've decided to scratch that idea.  At least for the time being.  I was reminded that she still hasn't married me yet.  I'll push it off to November.  

Other than that, I am doing the Folsom Triathlon in April again.  This time with a few inspiring co-pilots.  Jonathan "Photographer Extraordinaire" Herre and Tracy Cook.  Tracy still hasn't signed up yet though.  My goal is that when she sees this expose', she will register immediately.   

Also, lastly and relatedly, I have began a new challenge that I plan on writing about.  It's a 30-day challenge that Tracy and I started on Sunday.  I'm not going to give it away, but it's the complete opposite of drinking caffeine.   We're on Day 5. 

Thanks for reading.  You guys have been great.   I look forward to doing this again.