Fatherhood – Page 2 – Serenity Through Sweat

Fear

“I must not fear

Fear is the mind killer

Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration

I will face my fear

I will permit it to pass over me and through me

And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.

Only I will remain.”

This is “The litany against fear” from Frank Herbert’s Dune. If you watched the recent movie, you hear Paul Atriedes (played by Timothy Chamelet) recite it.

It was taught to him by his mother, the Lady Jessica. A member of the Bene Gesserit, lady Jessica has total control over every muscle in her body, down to facial reactions. She can influence and control others through the use of voice (sort of a Jedi mind control). She has access to all the memories and opinions of all of her ancestors and her fellow Bene Gesserit ancestors. She has a significant portion of human history at her immediate disposal.

Despite these awesome powers, the Lady Jessica finds herself in need of this most basic Bene Gesserit teaching (the litany against fear) frequently throughout the story.

She teaches these skills as well as the litany to her son (which is forbidden knowledge for males). They live in dangerous times.

I had to go searching for the exact quote. I remembered reading it. I recalled the general message, but the actual words have a powerful calming essence. As they are supposed to.

I could feel the fear welling up inside of me. I could sense that it was enough to take over. I would be able to contain it temporarily, but not stop it.

I had to find a safe place to permit the fear to pass over me and through me. This isn’t how I expected my Wednesday afternoon to go.

El duderino had been showing signs of near sightedness. I needed glasses at his age and wear them now. He probably would as well. It is exceedingly difficult to escape the gravity of your genetics.

We asked the pediatrician at his normal check-up to evaluate his eyes. They used what looked like a cell phone camera to take a picture and said he was good to go. I remained unconvinced but temporarily placated.

I’ve started my morning the last few weeks with a cold plunge. Working my way down now to 46°

As his vision deficiency became increasingly evident, we decided to schedule an appointment with a pediatric ophthalmologist.

The standard methods of testing eye sight have been the butt of many a joke over the years. Better 1, or better 2? Is this more blurry, or less blurry?

These methods seem even more humorous when applied to si eone whi is still learning their numbers and letter, (and cant see well).

I think the book containing the color blind texts was older than I was. Its pavés frayed and tattered. It looked like something from a museum display rather than a tools at a cutting edge medical facility

Congratulations to the happy couple. My second wedding of the month on a layover

I watched proudly as 5 year old El duderino squinted and squirmed his was through the exam. Just knowing the letter and number, and his ability to articulate throughout the process was impressive, even when he was wrong.

And he was wrong a lot. Some of it was age and knowledge, but a lot of it was clearly eye sight. Again, I had glasses at his age and expected him to need them as well.

So I was shocked when at the end of the exam the doctor said glasses wouldn’t help him.

The doctor told me, in a very matter of fact tone, that El duderino had cataracts and would need surgery on both eyes.

El duderino happy as clam playing superheroes

I’m not sure I fully understood what he was saying. But after having to wrestle him like an alligator just to get in the dilation eye drops, I knew that multiple eye surgeries were going to be a hurdle.

That meant anesthesia. That meant multiple procedures. What were the complications? What were the risks? He’s only five year old, what a shitty hand to be dealt.

I don’t approach most things in my life in terms of fear, but in terms of risk. Risk can be mitigated. Risk can be assessed. Risk can be managed. Risk is never fully removed, but it can be weighed and measured against the potential rewards.

Some layover training getting ready for the last triathlon of the season

I didn’t see this situation as a risk, I only saw fear. I felt my complete and utter inability to change the situation, to protect my first born, to prevent any pain that may come.

There was no assessment, no mitigation, there was only fear. I tried not to spiral in the office. I tried to be present and ask questions of the doctor. I scheduled the follow up appointment and tried to put on a brave face for El duderino.

Thankfully, in spite of how smart he is, he either didn’t hear or didn’t understand the exchange we were having right in front of him.

I found the litany on my phone in the parking lot. I recited it a few times and took some deep breaths. We still had a 45-minute drive through rush hour traffic on I4 (the worst road in the country for accidents) in order to get home.

El duderino was none the wiser, and happy that we were out of the office and his dilated eyes were returning to normal. I called my wife and told her I would fill her in on the appointment when I got home, but that I would need a few minutes.

I set a ten minute timer for myself. Then, I sat quietly in my closet and cried.

One of the reasons I am particularly drawn to the litany, is that it gives you power over fear but doesn’t tell you to fight it or ignore it.

Feel your emotion, don’t fight it or hide from it, but rather, allow it to pass over you and through you.

Fear cannot be managed, or mitigated, or assessed. It is an overwhelming and irrational emotion. But it can pass over you and through you, and you can remain.

One more day up in the canyon. Putting in miles in salt lake city

I don’t know how El Duderino’s diagnosis and treatment will play out. I am still afraid. I am comforted by the words in, and the ideas behind the litany. I am trying to see the situation as a set of risks, rather than something to be feared. Even if my ability to manipulate those risks is minimal.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Formidability

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. I found this study scrolling through my news feed and wanted to share and reflect on it with you.

It seems like there has been a recent push in our culture to think about gender and gender norms. Maybe that is the Baader-Meinhoff phenomenon (the topic of next week’s post). Or maybe it is a genuine societal interest.

Since becoming a father to two boys, it is something I think about in the context of explaining masculinity to them. What does it mean to be a man? Is there even a good working definition.

The study by Mitch Brown and Ryan Tracy was titled “Preliminary evidence for neck musculature in shaping functional stereotypes of men’s relationship motives” the article covering the study was titled “Men’s neck musculature informs perceptions of parental abilities and interest in long-term relationships”

The researchers sought to find out how men with muscular necks are perceived as compared to their less muscular counterparts.

Matt brown said, “I became interested in this particular topic in two ways. First, I had a growing interest in the signal value of men’s formidability and how it shapes perceptions of their social value. With a growing understanding of parental motivational systems, I thought it would be pertinent to understand the possible tradeoffs associated with formidability that we see in other domains, particularly related to the protection of offspring at the expense of nurturance,”

He also said, “For neck musculature, I became interested in the topic both after seeing data from Neil Caton about the evolutionary value of neck musculature and some of my own me-search. I’m a former wrestler who has tried to have a beefy neck my whole life!”

As a nerd who reads and blogs about scientific papers, a fellow grappler with a beefy neck, and a father who is looking to teach his sons about perceptions of masculinity, this study checks all the boxes.

The researchers presented a series of images to a group of college students from a university in the south eastern United States.

The images were all of the same man, but, were digitally altered to vary the size of the trapezius muscles. This minimized variables, which may otherwise confound the participants perceptions.

Participants were asked to rate their perceptions of the men (varying i.ages of the same man) on fighting ability, interest in long-term vs. short-term mating, and effectiveness at protecting and nurturing offspring.

Men, or the computer enhanced version of this particular man, were perceived as better protectors and more interested in short-term term mating the larger and more muscular their neck was.

The counterparts with the smaller trapezii (I don’t know why, but I really like that word) were perceived as more nurturing and long-term mating partners.

Brown again, “Men’s neck musculature is informative in shaping perceptions of men in terms of their relationship preferences, Namely, large trapezius muscles connote greater interest to perceivers in promiscuous mating strategies and a disinterest in the conventions of biparental investment (e.g., monogamy, offspring nurturance).”

The study seems to have been well carried out. There are no glaring flaws in the methodology, the data analysis, or the conclusions.

This was a study focused on perception. I like to think that with a few exceptions, perception is reality. But, like the top button of my work shirt clamped around my beefy wrestler neck, those perceptions chafe a little.

The size of the trapezius muscle was used as a metric for formidability. The researchers’ previous work showed an inverse relationship between perceptions of protection versus nurturing offspring with changes in perceived formidability.

It has been a stereotypical and archetypal role for males to be protectors. There are obvious exceptions to that rule, but biological sex differences make that an easy principle to understand.

I would argue that nurturing falls under that role. Without nurturing, your children will never be able to protect themselves. Isn’t that the ultimate form of protection we want to provide? To teach them to do the job and pass it on to their kids after we are gone.

These are obviously stereotypes and perceptions. The best way to change them, is to confront them head on. To be the nurturing dad with the beefy neck.

Collecting jerseys on this round of zwift

I wrote a piece a while back that I think talked about formidability in a round about way. “In order to be peaceful you must be capable of violence. If you are incapable of violence, you aren’t peaceful, you are harmless”

I think for both mental and physical well-being, being peaceful is essential. That would mean being capable of violence is essential. Wrestling and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu are my outlets for violence.

The word has such a negative connotation, but thought of in the context of formidability, protection of offspring, and a necessity for peace reframes it nicely, I think.

I don’t want to be in a cultural discussion about gender norms. Rather, I want to be an example. For my boys, for their friends, for the other parents in our social circle.

Musculature (around the trapezii or otherwise) and being a good father are not mutually exclusive. Perceptions may be reality, but they can be changed, one sweaty, beefy, good natured parenting neck at a time.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Loss

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. This past weekend I competed in the Pan American Jiu Jitsu championships, and I wanted to share my results and my experience.

One of my favorite TV shows in college was scrubs. This was in a TV era where dvr technology had just emerged but I couldn’t afford it at the time.

New episodes of your favorite show aired at a certain time, on a certain day. If you weren’t able to watch it you had to wait till the episode reran. Or, maybe you were lucky enough to have a friend with a dvr and could watch it at their house.

This also gave rise to the spoiler, and the spoiler alert. Someone who watched the newest episode would inevitably want to discuss it with you, knowing that you were also a fan, but unaware that you hadn’t seen it yet.

My roommates and I watched a lot of scrubs. The show was humorous and heartwarming. I was never really concerned about spoilers. (Lost was another story)

Most of the show was narrated in the voice of JD, John Dorian. The main character played by Zach Braff who works his way as a doctor through the Sacred Heart Hospital and grows up along the way.

There are a few episodes which are narrated by his tough love mentor figure, Dr Cox. These episodes occur after Dr Cox’s botched vasectomy where he is having overly philosophical conversations with his infant son Jack, swinging in a baby rock n play. (Way more back story than you needed, but that was more for my trip down memory lane than anything else)

That image of a grown man, established and respected in his profession, bearing his soul to an unresponsive drooling baby swinging back and forth, is one I think about often with this blog.

It is a very one sided conversation, a monologue with a captive audience that is unable to respond.

It is also a beautiful moment of vulnerability and sensitivity for an otherwise rough and gruff character. Dr Cox bearing his soul to a child who likely won’t remember any of what is said.

A lot of this blog is directly or indirectly for my boys. That they might look back in time at the man their father was before they were able to understand such adult intricacies. I found myself in one of those conversations yesterday with El Duderino.

My wife had taken the boys to a birthday party while I went to the Jiu Jitsu tournament. I was able to join them after a rather unceremonious first round loss. By the time I got there El Duderino was in a full meltdown.

My wife scooped him up and took him home. I stayed with Speedy for another hour or so, letting him play while I caught up with friends.

We had a very nice rest of the evening as a family, bit when it came time for bed El Duderino was still struggling. There were lots of things I could have said to him. Things I know have worked in the past to calm him down. But I found myself giving one of those Dr Cox like monologues to a somewhat captive audience instead. (El Duderino had crawled into his trundle bed mattress while it was still tucked under his twin bed, I layed at the lengthwise exit so he was very much a captive audience)

I told him he seemed sad and upset. I told him I felt sad, and upset, and disappointed. I told him I had competed that afternoon and lost. I told him I fell short of my goals and expectations. I told him that good things can be born from disappointment.

I tried to boil my feelings down to a five year old, hiding under the bed, level. To put my disappointment, frustration, and anger into a positive light for El Duderino to see. To show him the soil that can be tilled for growth out of loss.

I don’t know if the lesson sank in. I may never know. I don’t think I was as gracious in loss as I ought to have been in the moment. Losing 0-0 by advantage is a tough pill to swallow. But there was a unique catharsis in sharing the emotions of my loss with my young son. I had never experienced that before.

I don’t like to lose. I am very fortunate to still be somewhat unaccustomed to it, after essentially thirty years of grappling. Still, I recognize the lessons to be learned. Even more so now that I am a father. I hadn’t competed in a Jiu Jitsu tournament in three years, and I hadn’t lost a competition match since having kids. It only felt right to share that with them, and I hope they can learn as much from it as I did.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Bumps

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. I have not been writing nearly as much as I want to.

There are dozens of excuses. Some are very understandable and relatable. Other are a niche of my particular hobbies and career lifestyle. Still others are very much first world problems.

None of that changes the fact that words are not making their way to paper. Or the digital equivalent o suppose. Thoughts are not being worked over and properly curated. Ideas wilt on the vine.

While I hope that you get something out of these musings, it is ultimately a selfish endeavor. One that helps me think. Reflect. Ultimately better understand my own worldview. To realize any changes that I need to make for myself or my family.

Dedicating the time to this pursuit is one of those changes. Alas, life has a way, of getting in the way. I noticed this same problem manifest itself on El Duderino’s daily scooter ride.

Nothing makes him happier than being picked up from school with his scooter. I’m not sure if it the the excitement of escape. The satisfaction of scooting. Or the perception Infront of his peers. El Duderino loves scooting home from school.

He takes off on a tear down the sidewalk, often times before I am done talking with his teacher and ready to start my pursuit.

He can be heard halfway around the block engaging his dragon power, or eagle power, or whatever the day’s inner monologue calls for.

He will scoot right into the open garage and then come back to look for me. Being sure to let me know how much he beat me by.

Occasionally he will stop for no apparent reason. He will abandon his scooter and walk back to give me a hug and tell me he loves me. Such unabashed emotion is powerful amongst men. I hope he never loses it.

Sometimes he makes the cardinal sin of racers. He removes his focus from the road ahead to look back and see how close I am behind him.

This is normally not necessary. I’m hard to miss since I’m prancing with his dinosaur backpack slung over my right shoulder. The leftover contents of his lunchtime trail mix shaking like a maraca in it’s tiny Tupperware. It is not by any means a stealthy pursuit.

This has lead, on occasion, to El Duderino wiping out pretty hard on some of the bumps in the sidewalk. Sometimes he can maintain composure and keep it upright. Other times it is a full yard sale crash.

Knowing that this happens. Knowing where and why it happens, I try to adjust my pursuit, lagging further behind El Duderino on the sidewalk sections with bumps.

When you are moving forward with some momentum small bumps in the road are little more than a nuisance. When you are moving too slow, they can derail you entirely. Especially if your focus is elsewhere.

I didn’t really need to see El Duderino eat it on the sidewalk to understand the concept. But it does have a way of illustrating it in living color. Bringing that idea right to the forefront. Screaming bloody knees and all.

Momentum is a powerful thing. Without enough of it, the smallest of bumps can totally derail us. But, we are also capable of squishing those obstacles like pennies on a train track.

I hope to be able to report fewer derailments, and more squished pennies going forward.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Kindness

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. Against all odds, I found myself in a central Iowa bar, in the middle of a snow storm talking about surfing this Christmas Eve, and I wanted to share the experience with you.

This trip was the first line choice on my bid for December. I should have known better, but as has been revealed here before, I am a masochist and a glutton for pain. This trip was set to have a 30 hour layover in cedar rapids Iowa, followed by a 15 hour layover in Boise, and then finishing on Christmas day in Orlando around 2:00 pm.

It looked good on paper when I was bidding it in early November. The bomb cyclone that appeared days beforehand had other ideas. We landed in Cedar rapids around ten o’clock at night in blowing snow and 40+mph winds.

The crew who was bringing in the airplane we were to fly out didn’t fair as well, and never made it in. So that is what set me up to be in a local bar on Christmas Eve, watching the Bills game with some locals, and engaging in the conversation I want to share with you.

The first couple that sat down next to me came from an army household and had lived all over. One of their stops was Patrick air force base in Florida. We talked about the changes in central Florida over the past few decades. We talked about surfing the warm water of the Atlantic in contrast to the below freezing wind chill outside.

We shared our fondness for the space coast. The welcoming and small town feeling it had, despite it’s continuing technological progress. We shared our appreciation for the sunshine state.

They left around half time of the bills game, to be replaced by another local mother and son duo. The son appeared to be around my age or so, heavily bearded and heavily jeweled. I think he was wearing more rings, with more gemstones than my wife owns in entirety. Granted that is a low bar, but every finger was covered in a unique ring with a different color stone.

His mother was a self proclaimed long muscled and lithe woman who would outlast me on the bar’s non existent dance floor. She was an ardent disciple of stretching and long muscles, and as I found out, a proponent of being “kind” to your body.

Despite my agreeing with most of what she had to say about stretching and long, lithe muscles, when I twisted my chair to show her the IronMan logo on the back of my jacket, and I told her this was the eleventh year of my annual Christmas half marathon tradition, she rolled her eyes in disapproval.

Running for any length, but certainly a marathon (which she thought was 25 miles, but that may have been the 2-4-1 happy hour talking) was being ‘unkind’ to your body. Why would you ever want to be unkind to your body? What good could that bring?

We had a very nice conversation, agreeing on many fronts and agreeing to disagree on many others. It was a refreshing human interaction. But, it also got me thinking about the primary point of contention. Certain activities I was participating in were deemed as ‘unkind’ to the body, but then what is kindness?

Her argument was that running, biking swimming, triathlon, and certainly weight training, were unkind to the body. That their short term benefits did more long term damage. That the practice of them was unkind to the body, in pushing it beyond it’s limits.

It was difficult to pin down exactly where limits where pushed. Where was too far, or what was too heavy, or when a limit was exceeded. But in her mind stretching, lengthening exercises that promoted mobility and flexibility, and the ability to dance in her 70’s were all that mattered.

By this point the Bills game was wrapping up with the Bills coasting towards a division clinching win over the Bears. The 2-4-1’s had been flowing steadily throughout the duration of the game and my normal excitement to engage in debate was wanning.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder, what is it to be kind to your body. What is it to be kind to your children? My five year old loves to tell me that making him do difficult things by himself is not being kind. And in a sense he is right. I could do it for him with greater efficiency and effectiveness. The immediacy of that kindness, would in my opinion, be dwarfed by the disservice it would do him for future development.

I feel the same way about my body. Treating it ‘kindly’ at the expense of future development doesn’t seem like a good option to me. Sure the masochistic tendencies might seem ‘unkind’ to the outside observer, but they come from a place of love. I love my body and all of the incredible things it can do. All of the grand adventures I am able to have and share in because of the ‘unkind’ stresses my body has endured and grown from.

No one watching a parent talk a toddler through a ten minute shoe tying session would deem the exchange ‘unkind’. Providing the parent was coming from a place of love and respect and engaging the toddler on an appropriately challenging level.

Be kind to yourself. Sometimes that might mean a little bit of a break, but sometimes it might mean a kick in the ass. And, it will always include a little serenity.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Heavy

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. This week I want to talk about magic. Specifically the magical powers that our children have.

I found myself contemplating this magic while taking in a particularly enjoyable Florida evening. We have finally reached the point where summer temperatures have started to yield intheir oppression and give way to milder mornings and evenings.

The soft droning of the blower fan was soothing in it’s monotony. There were no clouds in the evening sky, at least not in my vantage point. The horizon was beginning it’s diurnal shift from blue to black, showcasing the majestic purples, pinks, and oranges along the way.

I was enjoying this unusual moment of tranquility on a school night home with my boys, because of their magic. They had made me “heavy” inside our bounce house while they ran away.

El Duderino got the idea from an episode of Bluey. Bluey is a family of Australian dogs that have cheeky adventures. It is available on the Disney channel.

The writers do a great job of working in adult humor and a family environment that children are drawn to. My only complaint is the unrealistic commitment to bits that Bluey and Bingo’s Mum And Dad have. It sets an almost unattainable bar for us real life human parents to strive for.

In the episode El Duderino is particularly fond of, Bluey and Bingo come into a magic feather with the power to make things “heavy” or “unheavy”. Childish shenanigans ensue as the kids make everything their parents are trying to do or use heavy, and the parents are all to happy to play along.

Morning breakfast cereal, heavy. Car keys, heavy. Neck tie, heavy. It is seven and a half minutes (out of a nine minute show) of Mum and Dad dragging themselves and their items across the floor until the magic feather is retrieved from the kids.

So when El Duderino and Speedy got tired of me tickling them in the bounce house, they made me “heavy” and ran away. It was there laying on the bounce house floor, taking in the majesty of the sky changing colors in the waning minutes of the evening, and the serenity of that peaceful moment, that I thought about their real magic powers of heavy and unheavy.

Their laughter, their smiles, their unprompted embraces. Their growth and learning, even if it sometimes feels like a snails pace. These are the things that magic is made of. More than any magic feather, these lift all the weight of the day I may be carrying more than any “unheavy” spell ever could.

they boys new favorite Halloween race video

At the same time their struggles, their cries, their whining, and general inability or willful decision not to listen, add a weight that can seem unbearable. Like a neck tie made heavy when you are trying to get out the door. Dragging you to the floor with a determination that is insurmountable.

To them it is just a game. But to my wife and I, to all parents, their magic is very real. It can be “heavy”, and it can be “unheavy”. It can bounce back and forth between the two as quickly as my boys imagination does when we play. From their depths of despair that I feel powerless to help them in, to the peaks of parental pleasure when everyone is playing together happily, there is a magic in children that is hard to quantify.

That magic, the emotions that it elicits within us, could also be described as heavy. Probably by a cast member from Dazed and Confused, but heavy nonetheless. And certainly a part of the path to serenity.

i may have got a little overzealous for Zwift Pretzel fest.

Thanks for joining me. Stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Camaraderie

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. This week I’m musing on our social interactions, and sometimes the lack thereof.

The last few years has seen a lot of change in the way people socialize and engage with each other. Distancing, masking, video calls, all of them remove some of what it is to be together.

It is easy to feel lonely in this profession. Lots of time away from home. A rotation of coworkers you may not even see again. Strangers with the same occupation, in some cases, is a better description.

I find beauty and purpose in what I do, and the opportunities that it affords me. But, that loneliness is one of the burdons. Always finding it’s way into your checked baggage.

This past week hurricane Ian came through the Florida peninsula. In a major shift from the early days of COVID, this was a time to rally around family instead of distance from it.

It was also a time of checking on friends and neighbors. Some that I hadn’t heard from in a while. Some that I had been meaning to reach out to but hadn’t found the time. Or whatever combination of excuse and apathy leads to old friends fading away.

Regardless phones were dialed and conversations were had. Conversations that lasted well into the night. Reviving that essential part of us that yearns for connection. That yearns for camaraderie.

The time with family. The time with friends, was good for my soul. But, it was a different scene that had me thinking about camaraderie.

Dropping off El Duderino to school and Speedy to daycare when I am home is a great privilege. I recognize there are lots of parents who must choose between time with their kids or providing for them. I’m blessed to draw balance in that regard. It is however, a bit like herding cats.

Both boys are on totally different sleep schedules. Speedy will be up most morning around 5:30. El Duderino often needs to be woken up around 7:30 so he has time to scarf something before going to VPK.

Boys day out to spooky Crayola and Waffle House

The second mommy leaves for work, she magically becomes the only one capable of solving problems. Our motley crew of misguided testosterone makes it out the door most mornings in a disheveled whirlwind of whining and pleading, with nary a minute to spare. (Despite two thirds of us already being up for two and half hours prior)

This past week after dropping off Speedy and circling back to El Duderino’s pre school, we made it to the curb in from of the drop off line right at the buzzer. The rest of the class was lined up and the teachers seemed impatient, waiting on those of us subpar parents utilizing every one of the 15 minutes in window for drop off.

El Duderino got out of the car noncommittally. I gave him a hug and put his back pack around his shoulders. The bag is far too big for him. The fact that it is nearly empty, and off balanced by the metal juice bottle on the side, only adds to the eccentricity of his saunter the 29 yards from my car, through the fence, and into the back of the line.

A beautiful day in Tucson, running the Arizona Wildcats’ stadium

Just as he passed the fence line two of his classmates broke rank. I could hear them calling his name as they ran to embrace him. Two more joined in the group hug before it was done.

El Duderino seemed very nonchalant about the entire episode. It is hard to tell his reaction because he was facing away from me. But he seemed to treat it as a normal occurrence. For me it was all I could to to keep it together watching through the windshield.

Such unbridled joy and excitement. Spectacular social connection for a boy who (somewhat like his father) has a tendency towards being a loner. It was a welcome reminder of the power of camaraderie.

Zwift Academy, getting faster and stronger

One I’m fortunate my son was able to show me, even though he has no idea.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Storms

My boy’s schedule is all out of whack.

Two separate family beach trips sandwiched in-between the seemingly never ending cold/fever/congestion/runny nose episodes of this summer, and they are off their normal routine.

Melting down at some point during the day has become the rule rather than the exception. I was thinking about this as I elected to sleep at home on my short Orlando layover last night.

We were delayed almost an hour and half waiting for a gate amid the chaos of thunderstorms, wind shear, and ground stops. If I was lucky I would make it home about 15 minutes before the boys bedtime. I would have to wake up predawn and try to sneak back out of the house without waking them.

How much value is there in that short of a visit? Will I be able to rest and be ready for the challenges of another flight day? Will my presence be appreciated? Will it be calming? These are tough questions to answer, especially in the short window that is available to make that decision.

Waffling back and forth on my stroll through the crowded Orlando terminal, I decided smiling faces and little hugs trump peace and quiet every time.

The boys were very excited to see me. Their excitement, their smiling faces, laughter, and playfulness, are never something I regret getting extra of. Then came the melting.

El Duderino complained of a belly ache to which I offered a cracker. Unbeknownst to me, and before I arrived, El Duderino had forgone his dinner. He was subsequently told there would be no other food if he elected not to eat dinner.

El Duderino honed in on this uncommunicated parental discrepancy like a boxer seeing his opponents hands start to dip. The offer was made, but I was unable to follow through without hamstringing my wife. The proverbial left hooks flew. Tears, stomping, jumping, a full blown temper-tantrum.

Once the wheels come off, it’s hard to get back on track. Temper tantrum’s lead to not following directions. Not following directions leads to undesirable consequences. Undesirable consequences lead to more emotion and less listening.

I couldn’t help but think about the quiet hotel room I opted out of.

I started to regret my decision. I love my boys, but no one wants to deal with a temper tantrum. I began to revisit that question of if my presence would be calming. Would this emotional excursion have happened if I hadn’t come home?

Then I started to think about my wife. This was a more taxing and demanding evening for me than going to a hotel, but this is what she does all the time when I’m gone. Having a 1:1 adult to child ratio as well as another adult to sympathize with After the storm was surely a benefit.

El Duderino wore himself out. Much like the afternoon convection in Orlando, it was a quick build up, a torrential outburst and over as quick as it started.

I stayed up later than I probably ought to have, catching up with my wife. It felt like we were stealing time together. Being “at work” but being able to be home is a blessing in this industry. Heck being at home with family is a blessing for everyone with the way the last few years have played out.

After catching up we fell into our usual evening routine. We put on whatever show we are watching together, have a drink, and do some light stretching and mobility work before bed.

We happened to be on the final episode of Peaky Blinders that evening. Birmingham gangsters who have been through the full gamut over 5 seasons are having a toast to their remaining family.

The head of the family Tommy Shelby says, “To family, sometimes it is shelter from the storm. Sometimes it is the storm itself.”

Here’s to to my own little slice of serenity, and my own personal storm front. I love you all to the moon and back, and I’m on my way home.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Tactics

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. This is one of my favorite (and incidentally my wife’s least favorite) time of the year. It’s tour season.

The Tour de France that is. The grand daddy of classic bike races that spans 21 days of self inflicted punishment across the natural beauty of the French countryside.

There is a special place in my heart for endurance athletes, fellow sadists, doing objectively silly things solely in the name of glory. Who really needs to ride that many miles in the name of personal aggrandizement?

But within any challenge or any game there are tactics. And the best tacticians can adjust in real time as it becomes necessary and suits them.

I’m enjoying a store picked single barrel bourbon from Lexington that I picked up on a layover a few weeks ago. There is an undeniable similarity between the bourbon and the the tour replay I’m watching. The smooth pedal strokes of the professional cyclists dancing up the Col du Galibier, (The highest pass in the TDF), match the smooth amber liquid. Yet, there is a subtle burning that lingers in the background. The natural beauty passing through the French Alps . The confluence of nature from the corn, rye, barley, and charred oak. The internal struggle as the lactic acid accumulation begins to burn. The ethanol’s pungent reminder that beauty is not without it’s cost

As I’m watching this stage on my short La Guardia layover, I’m reminded of game nights with my brother and my father. I come from a family that plays a lot of cards. Euchre, hearts, and pinochle, and board games like risk, monopoly, and anything else where variable strategies and adjusting tactics are rewarded.

The ability to start with a a tactical plan, and adjust those tactics based on real world scenarios is a skill I admire In the professional bike riders. It is also a skill I sought to develop in those family game nights. It is an aspect I look for when buying new games. (Which I do frequently, much to my wife’s chagrin)

A strategy is the plan of action, where you want to go. Tactics describe a procedure or set of maneuvers engaged in to achieve an end, an aim, or a goal. tactics are the individual steps and actions that will get you there.

In the middle of a battle, bike race, or board game or card game as it were, your strategy doesn’t change, your tactics do.

The Tour de France is broken up into 21 stages. The overall leader based on cumulative time wears the yellow jersey. Within each stage are sprint points and mountain climbs. There is also a competition for the best cumulative time for those riders under 23. Plus each stage is its own race. There is a level of prestige reserved for professional cyclists who win a stage on the tour de France, even if the don’t finish the whole tour.

This leads to the necessity of variable tactics. There are races within races going on. In order to maintain your strategic goals, your tactics might have to change based on how any one of those individual races with the tour is unfolding on a particular day.

You might be trying to protect your lead in the King of the Mountains competition, and end up having to battle the Yellow jersey competitors to do so. The sprint point might be in-between two large climbs, or at the end of a stage. Your path to an individual stage win might risk the attention of the overall competitors chasing you down to keep their overall rankings intact.

The point is, these athletes are able to adjust in real time. Roll with the punches. Start off with one tactical plan, and have the awareness, despite days of self inflicted suffering, to adjust those tactics as necessary.

We talk a lot on this platform about tools. Having the right tool for the job. Tools that I want to equip my boys with. Being able to adjust tactics as a game, competition, (or life for that matter) unfolds, is certainly one of them.

It is one of the many skills I am happy my parents passed on to me, largely through games. It is one of the many reasons I love the Tour. As my toddlers melt down when their “plan” for bedtime routine doesn’t match up with reality, I realize we have a little more work to do towards variable tactics, and serenity.

Knoxville River run and treadmills in LaGuardia

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Boys

Boys will be boys as the saying goes. This is something that has been at the back of my mind for a long time. Something I have been, and probably still am, unable to effectively articulate. But, the right combination of calorie deficit, morning cardio, bourbon, and this CNN article led me to a state where I wanted to write about it.

I was so hopeful clicking on the article. After all this is something that has been on my mind well before I became a father to two beautiful boys.

I remember standing up in an auditorium my freshman year in college. Arguing with my professor Infront of 50 or 60 strangers that men were capable of being caregivers. Capable of being single caregiver’s at that. That attitudes to the contrary were equally detrimental to the expectations placed on women and men alike.

We agreed to disagree.

My wife and I had a similar argument after a Florence and the machine concert. When Florence took the time in between songs to disparage toxic masculinity I shook my head in disgust. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. My point to my wife, (and to Florence if she is so Inclined to read) and my contention here, if men shouldn’t have a voice in women’s issues, where does Florence get off talking about toxic masculinity?

I digress.

This article had some aspects that were reassuring. “If you come at anyone with a list of everything they do wrong, they are going to get defensive and angry.”

But the article titled “talking to boys about being a boy” took a wrong turn around Albuquerque and turned into “Tell your boys they are not bad simply because they are male. Tell them they can be a part of the movement towards gender equality, and it isn’t just something for girls to talk about it,”

El Duderino and Speedy have no concept of male being “bad” or “toxic”, but they are very aware that they are little boys. Why would my conversation with them about masculinity have to start out with an assertion and proof of a concept that is inherently flawed?

The article had it’s merits. Chief amongst them the admission of the author regarding conversations with her young sons “We never once spoke directly about masculinity or dug into what it means to be a boy or a man.
A big reason for this failure was inadequate vocabulary.”

The article then touts responsibilities and expectations placed on boys, mostly centered around gender equality and inclusivity. These are admirable things and deserve their own discussion. Neither are exclusive to boys. Neither have anything to do with being a boy. One could argue they are the responsibility of a good citizen of the universe, regardless of gender.

I think my biggest problem with the article, (after a nights reflection, I was a little heated when I read it last night) is the title. Call the article “talking to young men about inclusion and equality” and I’m on board. When you call it “talking to boys about being a boy” and then spend very little time or effort to developing that inadequate vocabulary, we are gonna butt heads.

“Aspirational masculinity”, the term coined by Don McPherson, is referenced in the article to help combat the inadequate vocabulary. “a way to engage with men in “a positive and deliberate examination of male identity and the relationships and behaviors of and between men,”

This sounds good. And without having heard McPherson speak I’m sure he has a lot of wonderful things to say on the topic. For the purpose of the CNN article I found it vague and underwhelming. The vocabulary is still very much lacking.

This is one of the questions I have talked about regularly on the blog. One I struggle with and one I am passionate about. When Speedy or El Duderino ask me what it means to be a man I’m not sure how that conversation will go.

While the necessary vocabulary is still lacking I assure you my response will not include “toxic”. There is a necessary time and place in the world for almost every trait that falls under the umbrella of “toxic masculinity”. Aggression, competitiveness, self reliance, and emotional repression. All of these can be beneficial tools.

We’ve previously discussed tools and words on the blog. Having the right one for the job is important. Having improper or inadequate tools makes the task at hand harder. It seems to me that the most well developed boys will have the biggest tool boxes. (Not just a clever ploy to get my wife to sign off on me buying more tools) That includes those tools that some would call toxic, so long as they are used only for the appropriate job.

Talking to boys about being boys, becomes a conversation about expanding the toolbox. What tools are available and when to use them. The fact that not everyone’s toolbox will be the same. That individual skill and precision with a given tool will vary from person to person.

Somehow (for the third or fourth time on the blog) I’m reminded of the toolbox my father gave me as Christmas gift when I was too young to appreciate it. I still have that toolbox. Along with a physical/mental/emotional toolbox that has been crafted and curated by both of my parents and so many other wonderful mentors, coaches, and friends. Full of the tools that I hope to pass on to my boys.

Run. Layover miles in Burlington and Lexington

Most of this was written a week ago and sometimes life gets in the way of this pet project of mine. Still it seems this is as fitting a Father’s Day post as any. Happy Father’s day to all the dad’s out there helping the next generation of boys be the best boys they can be.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.