When...

I shared my 'activity' schedule a short time ago. It's a basic routine, not unlike others across the globe.

The premise is simple:

Move.

Sunday - hockey, swim and/or run
Monday - Interval training/run
Tuesday - weights
Wednesday - rest
Thursday - Interval training/run
Friday - Weights
Saturday - rest

Keep moving.

Swap out what you'd like but this is pretty much the week. Today is a weight day, heavy, in fact. As the day wears on my body wears down, recovering. Before I go to sleep, my muscles are complaining.

The biggest, documented, question I get is "why?"

I say do until someone tells you, you can't do any longer...then do some more.

My scan results are 8 days away....I do because I feel I have to.


2012 was a year like most. It came and went. The country as well as many personal lives faced a common formula - loss, euphoria, struggle, fight, anger, happiness, joy....etc. The Mayan's ancestors had a nice chuckle. People are still killing others in the name of some god, yet the world for the  most part has peace.

It's a mixed bag. One hopes to have more positives at the end of time than negatives.

Or is it how we choose to handle the negativity?

Negative is coming. When you live life, you are surrounded by it. Just watch the news. Hence, I don't watch the news.

In the past few years, I've had a lot to be down about. It's not a pity parade, it's just my statement of how events have gone by in my life.

Yet, backing up one step, I can state that I am alive and breathing. Many can't. Many can't stand. I can and I'm thankful for that as well.

Many simply can't 'do'...I can.

I've learned a few tricks along the way. I am not one to make huge contributions to the Sunshine Club but I am learning to back up for a moment, count my blessings and carry on.

It all happens......when....

When I am around the holiday table, I take note of the relatives who have lived a long life and go on living, feeding those childhood memories I savor like candy.

When I am floundering at the gym, I remind myself that I am active. I am moving more than others...many others. Three years ago, I thought I'd never move again.

When stress hits me, I remind myself to keep breathing.

When I am alone, I remind myself that I have friends who care.

When I am on a cold road, struggling to run, I know that I am alive.

When I hear an inhospitable wind, I look up to admire the roof over my head.

When I long for my son to be three again, I smile that he is growing older and that I am there to see it.

We can't all be positive 24/7. That much is understood. I even think it is unhealthy. There is a dark reality that sits around ever corner.

What we choose to do with it defines how we will look at everything else in our lives.

I get my results in 8 days.

When I get those results, I know I'll walk out healthy.

Life...

*Note to reader: To the people of Newtown, Connecticut - nothing can be said to bring back your loved ones. No one can pretend to understand what you are going through. It is this writer's hope that the precious metal we call Life be eternally held as priceless by all of us going forward. 

"There are some upon this earth of yours," returned the Spirit, "who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all out kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us." - A Christmas Carol

There was a story of a pride of lions. Scientists had followed this pride for over a year. Their social patterns were fascinating. The males sired, and the females hunted. They held court in their hard earned territory.

One day, the pride, mostly the females, turned on a young male. He was far off from being the alpha male but still, he was young and strong. The lionesses fought him tooth and nail until they drove him from the pride. 

Left on his own, he would either suffer his fate and die on the plains or he would have to fight his way into another pride.

The scientists were baffled. Why had the pride turned on this one lion? They were so threatening that the scientists were sure had he not left the group he would surely have been killed. 

Then a thought occurred. The young male had been acting strangely. Nothing too overt, but there were signs that something was amiss. He would eye the young cubs suspiciously and nose around the nursery too close for the comfort of the lionesses. 

The scientists concluded that the pride knew something was wrong with this young male lion. In the law of the land where every animal fights for survival, it is essential that only the strongest DNA be passed on from generation to generation. Any break in this chain, dooms that line of creature. 

The lions knew something was not right with the male. Even the scientists admitted later that he probably would have killed cubs if left to his own devices. 

This was a true story.

Animals know what's wrong. They feel it. Their instinct for survival supersedes our social order as humans.

A lion does not need to be told that life is prized above all else in the universe. Every ounce of their being is bent on life and its preservation.

Humans? We can be different. Unless we are pushed to the brink - fight or flight. Unless a human is facing his/her mortality, we barely acknowledge our right to live...worse yet, our love of life. 

We are afraid. Afraid to grasp life because it is a dragon and a thrashing one at that. Life will whip you around, throw you to the ground, and toss you to the heavens. Its teeth will snap on you. Life will make you bleed. 

But it will also let you breathe. It will let you swim and fly. Life will make you wonder. It will make you sing. It will make you love. 

Life can destroy, and in the same instance, mend. It can be maddening, perplexing, muddling, and a paradox from where there is no escape. And we shouldn't want to. 

Life is challenging and laughter. It is thoughtful and kind. Life can be cruel and wicked. 

It is the greatest treasure we can hold in our hearts. We often forget that. 

Tragedy is solemn and serious. 

We cannot wait for tragic moments to remind us that we, everyone on Earth and beyond, survivors of every day, are the universe's most invaluable living entities. 

Now we have to share that. Share it going forward. With everyone.

If we all fought for Life, we would never cast it aside again. 

....Appreciate...

*Note to reader: This posting is dedicated to a young man who passed from a brain tumor November 13, 2012. In deference to his family, I will not refer to his name. Just know that for all of the fighting and all of the bravado, there are losses and this fact, on every level, is tragic. I, for one, refuse to think this death or any other is in vain.

Ten years for an automobile is a long time. Ten years for child is nary a beginning.

I am approaching an age where loss, passing on and death tug at the corners of one's mind. A generation prior quickly becomes a generation lost.

In the battles with disease, when you are just trying to tread water, you can forget easily that your own mortality is in the balance just from time alone.

In recent days, news of the fallen has spilled in. One in particular is that of a ten year old boy who succumbed to a brain tumor. I confess to not personally knowing the boy but that doesn't cause one to pause for a very long moment.

During this time of year, our culture constricts the family bond to, sometimes, force us all in reminder that what is present now will not be guaranteed to have a future presence at all.

Immediately, there is a family who will not have their son, cousin, nephew, friend with them.

I know this is not uncommon. It's a sad truth. The world continues to rotate as we cling to the fabric of memory, every fiber stretching before us.

This isn't to focus on death. Tribulation berates us at every turn. So much so, that we often grow numb to the message.

This is a reminder that life is beyond price. Your life is priceless. We need you here. We want you here.

If we could pause for every loss, even for a moment, we would remind ourselves that there is a need, a demand, to be thankful for every breath we take.

We don't know where we will be tomorrow. I am not into the preordained. I am into appreciating every step we can take together.


This season, be thankful. Be grateful. Be humble. If we could all do these things at once, the universe would suddenly be in sync. Just an opinion.

Consciously remember to breathe. It is a treasure to do so. We want to celebrate life and the memory of how people lived, not how they left us.

Tell someone you appreciate them every day. It is our duty. It is our truth.


To the boy I never got to meet...be at peace.

Take it back...

It's breast cancer awareness month.

I think most of us, even casual observers have seen the wave of pink in everyday life. Whether it is pink hair extensions, pink football cleats, or pink Fiats driving around Downcity, you get the point. It is one month of pure focus on a type of disease that wreaks havoc on both female, and surprise, male populations.

I propose a new color for the ages. I submit that we don't just acknowledge ribbons, t-shirts, arm bands or pink elephants of all sizes. I offer up a new wave. A new outlook. A new mantra.

Trust me. I don't test the gods with a brave, foolish, cocky attitude. I understand my place amongst them. They often laugh at us with our trivial desires at a normal life, an old age, and a sip or twelve on the porch.

But as I sit bobbing in a sea of pink, it struck me - We are survivors. However, what does that term elicit when you say the word? Millions of people clinging to a life raft? Thousands thankful that they are "lucky"?

I think it is time to add a new color to our list. Here's the deal - you get to pick it out.

Me? I don't think there is anything wrong with a black tee, replete with skulls and a screaming word "WARRIOR" in blood red ink.

Why the hell not?

We are not just hanging on. We are not just sitting waiting for the next storm. We are taking back that which was taken from us - our health and well being.

You demand to take it back.

Jack LaLanne said it best. "You body is your slave. It works for you."

I don't have the scope of readers or listeners that good ole Jack had. But I say just the same. Something took your most prized possession - your health. Now get it back.

Put on your dark boots, adorn yourself in cammo, and streak the eye black on. Do it for real. Do it mentally. Do it anyway you want. Pierce whatever. Tattoo the mantra. Do what it takes because when you look in the mirror you will see one thing - your true self. Lying to yourself won't do you any good. Waiting for the next storm is for someone else. Sure, we all lose sleep over getting older but listen to yourself - you ARE getting older.

People live until they are one hundred, and why the hell not you. Yes we've been hit, and hit hard but if we focus, rally ourselves, hit the street, literally running and pour the perfect fuel into our bodies, you might, just might turn the tide. And your immediate result? A better quality of life.

Like all maxims, being absolute is, well, absolutely hard. It takes saying no to certain aspects in life more often than not. It takes discipline but ask yourself this - if you were being chased by a large bear would you just sit and wait for it to eat you? (Okay all the Nature Channel viewers, now is not the time to remind me about being "prey" when you run and curling up in a ball instead - you get my point).

Get up and fight for it. Take it back. We aren't just survivors. We aren't in a really bad lottery. It's not a god who has a sick sense of humor. It's not "why me".

I've done all of it. Sarcastic to sardonic. Tears until your gut twists into itself.

We can't be superheroes. We can't be superhuman. But we can be at our best.

We are breathing, right here, right now.

For a brief moment, you are a warrior. Forget the pink. Embrace the black....

And take it back.

Prisoner of War

*Note the reader. This blog posting is posed as an analogy. War is a disease unto itself. There is no disrespect intended for the men and women that guard our shores. This is meant to illustrate on how the war on disease can be just as brutal and unforgiving. Some of the imagery you are about to read can be considered graphic by some. - JM

It's an old story.

We all know it. Most of us understand it.

We see it everyday.

It's on all of the media. It trends. It lives and breathes as a nightly headline.

It's a war that rages every minute of every day of every month of every year.

In terms of victims, whole nations are swallowed.

Millions have died. 

And the soldiers?

These are people who are struck down in a matter of seconds or decades.

They don't volunteer.

They are definitely drafted.

For once there is no discrimination.

Men. Women. Children. Adults. Teens. Toddlers. African American. Native American, Caucasian. Hispanic. Asian. Every nationality is drafted. 

As with all conflicts,  often there is no real grace to speak of. Politics fail here. Many times dignity is an afterthought.

There is a fragmented story of one six year old in particular.

The day he was drafted was the day his father discovered a lump the size of a golfball on his neck.

He was wounded from the outset. 

Gashed to be saved. Saved only to be gashed again.

He saw angels in the form of nurses, and ministers both medical and spiritual. 

He had nightmares that led to habitual sleeplessness that led to staring at television patterns until the dawn finally broke.  

He suffered from what one of his many psychiatrists later called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

He vomited from medicines that may have been called poison by anyone who happened to fall upon them in a darkened cupboard. 

When he finally saw the shore, he suffered a relapse. 

"Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more." 

Swimming against a current that never relented, he cried to his mother that he wanted to die.

He wanted to lose his own personal war...

This was his childhood. 

A domino had fallen. Rarely does one fall in solitary confinement. It hits other dominoes and the cascade continues.

The child made it to adulthood. He had hit the shore and for a time there was peace.

But this war is never truly over. It just recedes with the tide only to come back in full force once again, drafting at will. 

The soldier suffered from other wounds. Heart blockages. Radiation fallout. Etc Etc Etc.

The story could go on, and probably will go on for a millennia. Just insert another name. Jane Doe. John Doe. No matter. The beat will go forth. A pentameter of retreat and resolve...personal defeat and penultimate victory. 

However, there is one other story that runs parallel to this war account. 

It, too, is a never ending story. It will never end until the last human has breathed the last breath. 

Amazingly enough, it is a short tome. It has one everlasting chapter with one line that coincidentally contains the same words as the title of the book.

It is a simple four words.

Four words that unite every soldier, every doctor, every nurse, every patient, and every being. 

The title of the book is We Are Still Here.

The chapter states the same. 

It's a book of hope. It's a book of determination. It's a book for all of us. 

May we continue to write in this book and may this story continue to have no ending but rather a continuing repetitive chant.... 

We are still here.

Want vs Need

Friday morning. 4:30 am.

I hear the alarm. I know it's on. It will just get louder and louder. Some random song will torture me for as long as I let it.

Just 2 more hours of sleep. You were up at 2 am. Then 3 am. You just want that time back. It's dark and a blue moon is mocking you through the window. Even those damn birds that love to nest right under your ear drums are fast asleep.

It would be easy. Just roll over. You will catch up another day.

But there's the burn. You've had your rest day on Wednesday. Now you complete the week. Push. Push. Push. If you don't...someone will put you in a hospital.

One day ain't gonna do you in.

One leg over the edge. Then the other. Dressing in the dark. iPod clicked in, torn up workout notes in the pocket.

You should drink Gatorade.

Pomegranate juice.
Vitamin C.
B-Complex.
Resveratrol.
CO Q10.
Multi Vitamin.
Toporol.
Aspirin.
Fish oil.

One big gulp.

Lights are barely on. The trap bar awaits. Last day of the light phase month ends today.

Ten repetitions. Water. Now for 20 more.

Cut it. Stop at 10. Rest up. 

20.

Lat pull downs.
Close grip benches.
Dumbell triceps

Rest more. Everyone is talking around you. ESPN is on. You are so tired from the other night.

Twisting sit-ups.

Roll away ball abs

Give it up. You really want a donut. 

Truth is, I REALLY DO want a donut. What happens is that I will eat a bowl of chia seeds and almond milk with blackberries instead. It's not a donut though.

A donut. That would be really good about now.

http://www.etsy.com/treasury/MjIyNTYxODh8MjcyMDQxMzcwOQ/do-or-donut-there-is-no-try?ref=pr_treasury

Jelly, please. Thanks. Leave the box too....

From 9 to 90

I catch myself in fits of nostalgia during the final furlong of summer.

I'll be running and the wind will shift. The sweet smell of cut grass wafts over you and you are transported to the hot summer days of your youth. 

I don't peruse the obituaries as a rule. I was looking for someone but I stumbled onto someone else. What caught my eye was that she was the age of 9. I'll call her Betty.

Before a run, I'll always check which directions the clouds are moving. As a boy, I'd lay in the warm grass staring up at a stark blue sky. The slight movement of a few scattered wisps of clouds was the only indication that time was passing. The silence was beautiful and humbling. 

The article was brief, like Betty's life. She died of cancer in a local hospital surrounded by her family. 

My son is past 8 years old. I was 6 when I was first diagnosed. I see his summer of awesome and I think of Betty's family. 

Let's face it. We all want our obits to read the same. Dead at 90, after sex, with a 1/2 a glass of wine in our hand.

I think back to the sounds of the street when I was a kid. My cousin and I would walk the streets, up and down, scraping old gum with a rusted nail. We were going green before it was fashionable. No need to check in with the parents. It was sun up to sun down.

There was no i-Anything. No white earbuds keeping your bad music to yourself.  

Music was shared by people blasting it from their garage or their driveways. And best part of all was that it was free.

All you needed was a t-shirt and shorts. No shoes required at Cumberland Farms.

I wondered if Betty had any beach days. Did she miss a lot of school? 

In the evenings, the temperature would be 85 but 70 in the shade of a tree. The grass under there was even cooler and green just from rain, no chemicals to kill weeds and everything else.

Dinner was always at dusk and no matter how much you feigned ignorance, you mother knew you could hear her calling for you three streets away. 

Betty will no longer have these memories if she had them at all.

Time will slip through your hands no matter how you may attempt to freeze it. To stay in your own personal snow globe where time stays still forever.

I am looking to run longer these days. I curse myself for not being better. But it doesn't last long. I remind myself I am breathing. I am giving it my all to go beyond what I feel is an acceptable time to leave this world. 

We should all strive. One day at a time. Make a memory not just for yourself but for those around you.

You don't know when. Why would you really want to know?

Betty's obit read that she was of the age of 9. It should have read 90...