TEST #2 TODAY! DON’T BE LATE — and DON’T MISS IT.
If you miss the test, you have to write a paper. I don’t give makeups (per the syllabus)
See you bright and early.
TEST #2 TODAY! DON’T BE LATE — and DON’T MISS IT.
If you miss the test, you have to write a paper. I don’t give makeups (per the syllabus)
See you bright and early.
26.2 miles. That’s what the sticker read on my car. One hundred yards from it, I was winded. I could barely make it up to the door to the radio station.
Oh how the mighty had fallen.
Oct. 31, 2010, I weighted 195 lbs. and had completed the Marine Corps Marathon. A year later, I was pushing 250 and wheezing.
I was heart attack waiting to happen.
I looked at that 26.2 sticker and was embarrassed. How could I have let myself go? And how could it have happened so quickly? I tell you how. I had to pick up a second job and I was working my butt off. And I used sugary sodas to prop my energy up.
I was tired. And I was out of shape.
Five years later, I’m about to run my second marathon. I weigh 213 lbs. and work five jobs (six if you count freelance.) I have three kids who need taxiing around. I’m busier than ever.
I’m still tired. But now I’m in shape.
I can tell you this: Being tired when you are out of shape sucks a whole lot more than being tired when you are in shape. I have energy reserves I didn’t have back then. And I am getting so much more done.
People tell me they are too tired to exercise. I get that. But let me tell you from experience: You’re too tired not to exercise. It makes all the difference in the world.
The 2nd test will be Thursday, October 15. Be on time. No makeups will be given. You, per the syllabus, can write a paper to make up your grade. I pick the topic.
The Test will be derived from the first three chapters of Jab, Jab, Jab, Right Hook.
We will review and go over Chapter 3 (about Facebook) today. Hope midterms are going well.
Jab, Jab, Jab, Right Hook: How to Tell Your Story in a Noisy Social World by Gary Vaynerchuck. Chapters 1-3
The world needs more Louis Zamperinis. And if you don’t know who he is, you obviously haven’t read the best selling novel Unbroken or watched the movie of the same name. He was an athlete in the 1936 Berlin Olympics and then later a prisoner of war during World War II. Zamperini recently died at the age of 96 — after living a full, amazing life.
Zamperini survived torture at the hands of Japanese prison guards by will and then later defeated PTSD by faith. He could have chosen a path of victimhood (and had every right to do so) but didn’t. After being forced to go to a Billy Graham revival by his wife, he chose the path of forgiveness. His torment, nightmares and alcoholism ceased. He went on to pay that blessing forward by helping scores of underprivileged kids throughout the years.
He chose forgiveness. He ceased being a victim. He changed the script playing in his head.
And for that he’s my hero. I see so many people who are being held prisoner by past events — I know I am at times. I think about how many blessings I’ve missed because of my anger.
I highly recommend that you read Laura Hillenbrand’s excellent book if you haven’t (she also wrote the amazing Seabiscuit, too.) The world needs more Louis Zamperinis. And Lord knows, I need his spirit.
Fatigue is a liar. Like a perverted siren, it will call you until you crumble upon its rocks. It’s song is negativity. Negativity that steals your hope. Your purpose. And at times, your will.
Last night, I heard its song. My schedule is mad these days and I honestly have lost sight of the big picture. I’m thrashing around, praying I won’t slip beneath the surface. Fatigue makes you fear failure. Fatigue is a liar.
Sure, failure is a possibility. I have so many moving pieces in my life right now that I could easy screw up any one of them. But where fatigue is truly lying is that failure isn’t always a bad thing. Hang in there with me — I am not delusional. And I know, winning is the only thing. But sometimes you need to take a step back to take two steps forward. As long as you learn from that step back, you will sail past your fears.
I’m sore and tired. The big picture is a bit fuzzy, too. Plus, I have a lot of questions about the future.
But right now, I’m going to get some caffeine, have a little hope, put on my headphones and ignore fatigue’s song. I have something to prove. I’m going to prove my doubts wrong.
This is the last year I’ll ever drive my oldest son to school.
It’s a long tradition that started many, many years ago when I’d take him to Mother’s Morning Out. Back then, I saw a round cherub face in my mirror. Now I see a handsome 15-year-old sitting next to me.
I hate the traffic but I do cherish the time. Time that I know I need to hang onto for dear life.
Sometimes we sit in silence. He’ll text and I’ll listen to a song on the radio. Other times, we’ll talk about our currency — things that we have in common to talk about. He and I did Paul Lacoste training last summer, so we talk about my workout and his latest run. My dad and I had UT football. Dad has dementia now so we can’t have those discussions. Like I said, I hang onto these moments with my son for dear life.
I hope he knows how much I love him. I know how much my dad loves me — even though his light is slowly flickering out. I see him light up when I walk into the door of where he lives now. I can see the love in his eyes, even when he’s struggling to remember. I have that look in my eyes when I see my son. As I do when I see his brothers.
I’ve discovered love is not guaranteed. You sometimes don’t get it from the people you should. But my boys will always get it from me. That’s a guarantee. I will be proud to be their father until the day I die — and then beyond.
This morning we talked about the one thing we truly have control about is how we respond to things. That people in situations worse than ours succeed. We spoke about why that was. And how lame it was to make excuses and blame others for your problems. He told me a few things I needed to hear. For 15, he shows flashes of brilliance.
For the next few months, we’ll drive through traffic on those mornings when he needs to go to school. He’ll be in a hurry to get to school. I’ll be trying to slow time down to a crawl.
At the very last moments of today’s of workout, I was lying on the turf with my hands on my head, holding my feet at six inches off the ground. I listened to Coach Clark count down from 10.
9.
8.
7.
6.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
I exhaled and put my feet on the turf. At some point during our final workout of the day (which was core), I heard Coach Neil say something about ignoring the suck.
I didn’t think it sucked at all. In fact, I was thankful for the pain. I even craved more.
We started by doing jumping jacks every five yards (adding one each line) to the 50. Then we switched to burpees. From there, we ran up and down the stadium stairs and did a lap around the school’s road. We came back into the stadium and ran up and down the visitor’s stands. Then we ran up and down the hill in endzone. From there, we sprinted 100 yards and then sprinted another 100 yards while zig-zagging in and out of the numbers. When we got to the other end zone, we bear crawled for 30 yards, frog leaped for 40 and then crab crawled for another 30.
I looked like a dog rubbing his butt on the carpet.
Then we zig-zagged in and out of the numbers and ended it with a final 100-yard sprint. I figure we probably ran between 2.5 and 3 miles. I ran it faster than I normally do — and I yes, it was painful at times.
Then the core workout began. I know I did over 50 sit-ups — even maybe closer to 100. We did side crunches and in-outs while raising our feet.
But whatever pain I felt was washed away by the confidence from succeeding. I did everything. I did everything (except the crab crawls) well. I focused each step of the drill and I did it.
I did it.
Life is hard. But there is no sense of complaining about it, whining or blaming other people. Instead, you have to take action. You have to feel positive pain. That makes the bad pain go away.
When I was done running, I went back went out and crab-crawled with another struggling team mate. I counted down each yard and encouraged him along the way and cheered when he finished, too.
No, today’s workout didn’t suck. Yes it did hurt at times. But in a strange way, it was painfully glorious.
I come from a family of teachers and preachers. My great great grandfather (who was a preacher) co-founded Wood College in Mathiston. His daughter was a college professor. Her daughter taught kindergarten. So did my mom’s mom. Mom taught art. My sister teaches history. My aunt teaches math. My cousin talks about having the heart of a teacher. My wife (who has a huge heart) teaches elementary school art.
There are a lot of teachers in my family.
But not me. I liked being the uncle not the parent — I could zip in a class, be funny man and zip out.
This fall, I’m teaching a Social Media class at Jackson State University. Teaching Social Media to college students is like teaching a school of fish to swim — they have been doing it from birth. I wish I had all my family’s teaching super powers. I’m sure my class does, too.
I’m learning as I go.
Let me tell you this, though: It’s a most rewarding experience. Oh sure, there are days when my students roll their eyes at me. And sometimes I roll mine right back. But there are moments — moments when I connect. It’s those moments that energize me. I had one of those moments today. I watched one of my students show off (rightfully) her YouTube Channel. She’s doing amazing work. It made me want to try new things and grow.
The energy in the classroom flowed both ways.
My career is changing by the second. My students’ will, too. It’s that energy that will propel all of us through these changes.
I’ve learned one thing from the experience: Sometimes the teacher can be the student.
Hang on a second. I need to put down my glass of Tang.
OK. Let’s talk about the movie The Martian for a second. I saw Ridley Scott’s fantastic new film this weekend — and as you might guess, I loved it. Matt Damon, who makes it a habit of having to be rescued in movies, was spot on as Mark Watney, the astronaut left behind. And as you can probably tell by my Tang reference, I’m a space geek. My imagination was tweaked by the Apollo missions. I cheered Skylab. I loved the Shuttle. I believe in the hope that exploration brings. And astronauts are just darn cool.
So as a space geek, I enjoyed the movie. It was a big wet kiss to NASA. And it was very well done. Scott stayed true to the book (which is also excellent). You got all its hope and grit.
But I liked it for a deeper reason — a reason why I loved the early space program. It wasn’t about what we can’t do. Or whose fault it is. It was about, “Houston, we have a problem — how can we fix it?”
Mark Watney didn’t blame his fellow astronauts for leaving him behind. He didn’t blame NASA for not leaving him enough supplies. He didn’t whine about it being a conservative/liberal plot. Nope. He used his wit, his knowledge and got busy to save his stranded butt.
My son and I talked about that on the way home. The emphasis on science appealed to him (he is taking engineering in 10th grade). But Watney’s no excuses/can-do attitude really impressed me.
That’s what makes us great. Not excuses. Anyone can make excuses.
The Martian is a great movie. And on a day when I don’t have hope, I’ll go see it again.
I like to tell a few stories about my kids here. But my wife and I want them to grow up outside of the public eye — so I leave details kind of fuzzy. And we want them to stand on their own — and while they are proud of what we do, they are succeeding on their own.
That said, as a parent, the greatest challenge their mom and I face are teaching them how to fail. It’s hard because they don’t fail. They’re very talented kids — and yes, I am very proud of them for that. But at this stage of their life, they have to know how to recover when they fall down. I didn’t learn it until college and afterwards. (Life has been giving me lots of opportunities to hone that skill since then). I nearly failed Accounting II in college and would have until I got a 92 on the final. I cleaned toilets for a year when I thought I’d be a cartoonist. I had never “failed” until then. I quickly learned that whining about it didn’t solve jack squat.
I had to get busy.
My kids have to learn that, too. They have to make mistakes and learn from them. And sometimes, it might be someone else’s fault that you face difficulty. But your reaction is all on you. They also have to understand that a failure is only truly a failure if you don’t learn from it. If the rules are stacked against you, you have to be so damn good that you can overcome that.
Life isn’t fair. But it’s darn good teacher. I hope I’m one as well. It’s the one time I truly can’t afford to fail.