Before Freddy had been born, I vowed to avoid getting Dad-Fat, the general puffyness associated with being a dad. Lucky for me the stress of work/finding work, school, fixing/selling home, moving of the last year has actually taken about ten pounds off of me and a good amount of the hair on my head. Having a second vehicle has made me complacent about biking everywhere and there just hasn't been the time to go to a gym.
And so I've started waking up at 6:00 and going for a run. I put the clothes by the bed, the iPod by the door and I usually wake up by the time I'm a quarter mile in (I shit you not I yawned while passing City Hall). The new neighborhood I live in, Glendale Missouri is a picturesque and I see as many as a dozen other runners, mostly older, mid-career professionals by the looks of them. This is only my fifth morning running, but I'm already feeling the same silly competition as when I would bike over the Williamsburg Bridge in the morning.
I'm not too sure what I'll do for my 31st birthday. I'd kind of like to crush my 1/2 marathon time again. If I train regularly, I can do it. I feel so damned good the rest of the day that I probably will.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Caterpillar just came out with the pricing for their new hybrid diesel bulldozer. Apparently, the thing costs 20% more ($600K vs. $500K) and has a fuel payback of less than three years. This seems like a kind of a game changer when you think about how many of these enormous vehicles there are out there, their service life and how much diesel exhaust they belch into the air.
I just hope they have a mineraturized toy version of it by the time Freddy is really into earth moving equipment.
I remember hearing a story on NPR about a young, American raised Afghan who was traveling back to Afghanistan to visit his family. One morning, his uncle asked him for some help removing a piece of soviet era shrapnel that had begun to work its way out of his forehead.
This morning, as my son looked on and at times played with cabinet doors, I removed some sort of surgical wire that had been left in my ankle 11 years ago after I broke the ever-loving hell out of it. It was amazing.
Those who have known me for a while also know that for years I kept the surgical plate that held my tibia together for a summer on my keychain. It's still hanging on a hook in my basement. What came out this morning looked like nothing more than a small curly piece of boar bristle. No souvenir, but a fun reminder that I am still part machine.