I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell
Reading I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, I laughed so hard, so often, I could only finish a chapter at a time – my face ached and stomach hurt that much from all my laughing. I wanted to read the book on an upcoming plane flight, but there’s no way. I’d be laughing so much and so hard, the flight attendants would make me sit on the wing.
Read MoreThe 23 Annual Sallie Mae 10K
This run is my marker, my litmus test to see how far I’ve slacked in the off season and how hard I’m training now. Each year for the past three, I’ve checked my run in this race. If I do well, I know I can focus on the bike and the swim, confident the run is already ready. If I do poorly, I know I am in trouble.
Arriving at the Start Line without bike trouble, I grab my race number and get in the bathroom line. Long it is, slow it moves, the Port-a-Potty dance is another annual tradition, one I could live without.
Read MoreWe Are All Immigrants
No matter where you start, and I can go back to where my mother’s family came over from England during the founding of this country, or entrants to her family from the Blackfoot Indians or my father’s family from Mexican Indians, someone, somewhere, in all our family histories was an immigrant to this continent. Even the American Indians walked or sailed here from somewhere. And with all that history of immigration, I am always amazed at America’s schizophrenic relationship with immigrants today. Schizophrenia that has a whole nation on the march to protest the crazy plans of small-minded fools in Congress.
Read MoreI Have a Heart Murmur
Whoosh, sha.. Woosh, sha.. This is the sound of my heart beating. This is what I hear as I lay on this table while I get a Doppler 2-D echocardiogram. On a screen behind me, the technician is watching my heart beat, using the Doppler to see where my blood is going. Looking for what my doctor suspects and I fear: the source of my heart murmur.
Read MorePassing Peñas Blancas
As a traveler with way too many countries under my belt, most of the those entered overland, I’ve passed my share of borders. Some, like the one between Mongolia and China were a desolate spot only marked with barbed wire. Others, like the crossing between Thailand and Cambodia was a lesson is chaos theory as swarms of locals flowed effortless around border guards that plucked travelers from the stream.
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