Wow, has it really been almost a week since I posted reason #7? Whatever happened to that whole 'one reason per day' thing? Which brings us to $40G reason #8!
My whole life, I've had this habit of taking on or, to be most accurate, creating insanely huge tasks for myself. Occasionally they work out great (e.g. ditching the whole professoring thing and starting a career in student services), most times they don't even get started (e.g. composing a requiem mass), and in more cases than I like to admit, I get super excited about them, get rolling on them, and then give up (e.g. pick any of about a dozen in-progress home projects), or, my personal favorite, come up with yet another big idea and start the whole process over again so in no time at all, I find myself overextended and burnt out to a crisp. It's as if my personal mantra is something like: "Anything that can be done ought to be overdone." Or, maybe, "Are you kidding? Of course I wanna supersize that!"
Check it out: Here I am, smack dab in the middle of yet another impossible venture that I created for myself: raising $40G for HIV/AIDS. I've got about 5 ideas for fundraisers in my mind; a list of two dozen folks I want to invite personally to make a larger-than-typical donation (You know who you are, so how about saving me the trouble and doing me a solid by clicking here and just donating already?); a tandem that needs some serious TLC; and, oh yeah, a full-time job and a smokin' hot wife. And what do I do? I take on yet another fairly-not-really-possible activity: trying to blog a short piece about why I'm doing all this in the first place. Oh, wait, not just one piece, but FORTY of them! In forty days!
When I think about it, there's a lot that goes into getting stuck out here as often as I do. Some of the reasons that come up most often when I'm wondering how the hell I got here AGAIN in the first place:
1) Something about using big, long term projects that require thinking about the future as a distraction from the discomfort I feel in the present moment.
2) Wanting to be EXTRAordinary instead of just ordinary as a way of:
a) setting myself apart from others;
b) attracting positive, supportive attention and reinforcement;
c) mirroring my dad's behavior (yes, I realize he's been coming up a lot lately):, and/or
d) something else that might be totally obvious to you that I'm just not getting right now.
3) Intentionally, but subconsciously, setting myself up for failure.
4) Wanting to feel kind of out of control.
5) [Email me your reason!]
Back in May when I was thinking about actually taking on this $40G thing, I was certain that I'd get to that point of extreme discomfort where I was tempted to take on something else. And I wanted to be awake enough to see how I'd handle it. And one way I've handled it this time around is by taking on, not a wholly different task, but another, related impossible tasklet: 40 Reasons Why. Oh, Joaquin, we are so disappointed.
Through this year of doing or not-doing the impossible, I'm hoping that I'll gain a better understanding of why it's so important to me to create unrealistic goals for myself, and what would it be like to have 'just' realistic goals in the first place? But it's weird how that works, isn't it? If my goal were $18G, I'd be there already. However, I'm pretty sure that part of the reason I'm at $18G right now is that I'm trying to raise $40G. If my goal were 'just' $18G, I bet I wouldn't be there right now.
So, yeah, I'm trying to limit myself to just one impossible task this year - $40G - and sticking with it this whole year, not getting distracted, and not giving up, and being happy with whatever number I finish at.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
40G Reason No. 7: Yoda was a punk
Yoda. Everyone's favorite Jedi Master. And, in my book at least, the source of some of the best movie fight scenes ever, world without end, forever and ever, amen. And remember he does all that fighting with only three digits on his hands and feet AND some other guy's hand jammed up his butt. Four out of five dentists agree, when it comes to tearing it up against the Dark Side, Yoda just can't be beat. Except I guess he was ...
Anyhow, Yoda's probably most famous for his quote, "Do or do not. There is no try." Unfortunately, like a lot of boys growing up in the US, I internalized Yoda's oversimplified outlook on life, as well as a lot of other similar cultural messages from actual people, that promoted a narrow binary, on/off, yes/no, fail/succeed. happy/sad, kill or be killed perspective that is elegantly summarized by this image. As far as I'm concerned, that's just not a good way to be. In Joaquin World, it's not "do or do not," it's "trial and error." And sometimes a whole lot of trials and a whole lot of errors before something that feels like progress is made. Failure IS always an option. And, for me at least, recognizing and appreciating the possibility of failure makes it easier to make plans and strategize to minimize the chances of it happening. But while that seems pretty obvious right now as I'm writing, it's not always so easy to make it a reality in my non-blogging life. Which is where the $40G comes in.
Frankly, every time I give myself some time to think about it, raising $40G in a year seems totally impossible. Check it out: so far I've raised over twelve times more than the minimum required to ride in the 2011 NCAC. That's more than three times as much money as I've ever raised in my life and it's the most money raised by a single person in the history of the event. And yet I'm not even halfway there. And I feel like I'm running out of ideas, energy, and the goodwill of others. After a few more turns down this mental death spiral I get to: I'LL NEVER MAKE IT! GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As sadomasochistic as it may sound, getting myself stirred up into such a frenzy like that every few days is kind of the point of this $40G thing. One of at least 40, anyway. Because every time that happens I get to also practice thinking stuff like: "That's 100% true, dude. You might not make it to $40G. But that's just fine. You can quit at any time and, while it'll be a little embarrassing, it won't really be a problem in the grand scheme of things. And you will still have raised an F-load of cash for a great cause." And that gives me great comfort. In fact, by my last count, I've quit trying to raise $40G at least five times already. But, so far at least, it didn't take long for me to decide to un-quit and keep on trying, coming up with new ideas, contacting donors, yadda yadda yadda. And, oddly enough, giving my self permission to quit, and even quitting for awhile, is making it easier and easier to stick with it.
My hope is that having so many opportunities to practice turning "Do or do not" into "Try, err sometimes, then try again" in this $40G microcosm will translate into making it easier to practice that same mental flip in all the other areas of my life.
Anyhow, Yoda's probably most famous for his quote, "Do or do not. There is no try." Unfortunately, like a lot of boys growing up in the US, I internalized Yoda's oversimplified outlook on life, as well as a lot of other similar cultural messages from actual people, that promoted a narrow binary, on/off, yes/no, fail/succeed. happy/sad, kill or be killed perspective that is elegantly summarized by this image. As far as I'm concerned, that's just not a good way to be. In Joaquin World, it's not "do or do not," it's "trial and error." And sometimes a whole lot of trials and a whole lot of errors before something that feels like progress is made. Failure IS always an option. And, for me at least, recognizing and appreciating the possibility of failure makes it easier to make plans and strategize to minimize the chances of it happening. But while that seems pretty obvious right now as I'm writing, it's not always so easy to make it a reality in my non-blogging life. Which is where the $40G comes in.
Frankly, every time I give myself some time to think about it, raising $40G in a year seems totally impossible. Check it out: so far I've raised over twelve times more than the minimum required to ride in the 2011 NCAC. That's more than three times as much money as I've ever raised in my life and it's the most money raised by a single person in the history of the event. And yet I'm not even halfway there. And I feel like I'm running out of ideas, energy, and the goodwill of others. After a few more turns down this mental death spiral I get to: I'LL NEVER MAKE IT! GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As sadomasochistic as it may sound, getting myself stirred up into such a frenzy like that every few days is kind of the point of this $40G thing. One of at least 40, anyway. Because every time that happens I get to also practice thinking stuff like: "That's 100% true, dude. You might not make it to $40G. But that's just fine. You can quit at any time and, while it'll be a little embarrassing, it won't really be a problem in the grand scheme of things. And you will still have raised an F-load of cash for a great cause." And that gives me great comfort. In fact, by my last count, I've quit trying to raise $40G at least five times already. But, so far at least, it didn't take long for me to decide to un-quit and keep on trying, coming up with new ideas, contacting donors, yadda yadda yadda. And, oddly enough, giving my self permission to quit, and even quitting for awhile, is making it easier and easier to stick with it.
My hope is that having so many opportunities to practice turning "Do or do not" into "Try, err sometimes, then try again" in this $40G microcosm will translate into making it easier to practice that same mental flip in all the other areas of my life.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
40 Reasons Why - Reason #6: Normative Male Alexithymia
Like most families, whenever the Feliciano Clan gets together there's usually a period of telling the same favorite stories from childhood over and over again. If you listen closely, and especially if you listen closely with my ears, you'll notice that pretty much every story that features me ends with: "...and then Joaquin started crying!" Cue the laughter.
Growing up, I was the emotional kid and a bigtime crier. Sad crying, happy crying, angry crying, getting-beaned-by-a-pitch crying, and everyone's favorite: I-have-no-F-ing-idea-why crying. You name it and I was probably crying about it And whether it was through being made fun of or, even better, being punished, for doing it, I learned very early on that crying and other displays of really strong emotion were Not Quite The Thing. So like pretty much every other Young American Male, I learned it was really important to take it like a man and quit crying like a little girl. Or you'd just be making things worse for yourself
That phenomenon is so prevalent in the US that there's even a fancy name for it: Normative Male Alexithymia. GENIUS ALERT: When I laid this term on my wife, without missing a beat she no shit, said: "Alexithymia. Hmmm...'a' means without; 'lexi' means 'words;' and ' thymia' means 'feelings.' So alexithymia must be an inability to express emotion." Gotta love that woman! So yeah, NMA is the learned condition of being unable to recognize or describe one's feelings. And if you're a dude who grew up in the US you'ev almost definitely got it, too. But it's not totally our fault. By not being expected or allowed to show strong emotion, most dudes in the US just don't ever learn how. Actually, that's not totally true. The Man does give us two emotions that we're allowed to express: anger and violence. But I don't even think that second one is an emotion.
So like most guys in the US, I grew up ashamed and embarassed at having this super emotional side of me that I had to keep hidden and that had a habit of popping out - as anger and violence - at the least convenient times. But as I got older I started recognizing that this lack of emotion was seriously getting in the way of my own personal life and my life with Anno. But despite recognizing that there was a problem, I felt like I had no idea how to make things better.
Fast forward to 2002, when I started road cycling. Two significant things, relative to this whole emotion thing, occurred in that first year: My father died and I did my first multi-day HIV/AIDS ride. When my dad died, I was initially horrified about how unfeeling I felt about the whole thing outside of the officially sanctioned times when it's ok for men to cry (e.g. upon first hearing the news; at 2am in the first week after death; during the eulogy if you're delivering it; in Top Gun during the scene when Maverick is in the ocean cradling Goose's dead body). However, a strange thing happened when I started getting abck onto my bike after the funeral. During almost every ride the summer after he died, all I would have to do was think of him and, BAM!, I'd be bawling, sometimes so bad that I'd have to pull over because I couldn't see through the tears. Yeah, pretty wild and disconcerting. But just at first. After awhile I kind of got into it and started riding a lot just to get back to that place where all I could do was get slammed by a big wall of feeling. 'Cuz I felt a lot better afterwards. It felt like the only way I could access all of that grieving stuff was from the seat of my bicycle. It had something to do with the solitude, the easy repetitive motion of turning over the pedals, and, mostly, getting myself so exhausted that I wasn't able to keep that little emotional critter inside of me so tightly packaged away.
The next year I rode the AIDS/LifeCycle from SF to LA and that was when things kicked into emotional overdrive. That was a trip, literally. Seven days of riding my brains out to exhaustion while being surrounded by gobs and gobs of on-your-jersey-sleeve searing personal tragedy and triumph and everything in between. And, gods help me, it felt awesome! Just realizing that, no, I was not in fact incapable of experiencing or showing emotion, I was just seriously out of practice. And that I had discovered this activity and this community where it was not only okay to show emotion, it was literally impossible not to.
Now that I'm looking at turning 40, the situation is: Yes, I am getting better at accessing and living with and celebrating this emotional side of myself. But, damnit, do I really need to ride my bike so far, so hard, and so long just to get there? Wouldn't it be nice if Stoic and Rational Joaquin were able to just chill with Emotional Joaquin without needing a few hours in the Pain Cave beforehand?
Through taking on this $40G project, my hope, which happily is turning out to be true, is that this year long fundraising effort will be filled with tons and tons of opportunities to spend some time in almost every seat of the Emotional Rollercoaster that's just plain old being a mature, caring, and loving human being. And challenge myself to stay connected through the whole thing and celebrate feeling good as well as feeling shitty about how things are going without worrying too much about how I feel about how I'm feeling or how it looks or sounds or reads to others.
Growing up, I was the emotional kid and a bigtime crier. Sad crying, happy crying, angry crying, getting-beaned-by-a-pitch crying, and everyone's favorite: I-have-no-F-ing-idea-why crying. You name it and I was probably crying about it And whether it was through being made fun of or, even better, being punished, for doing it, I learned very early on that crying and other displays of really strong emotion were Not Quite The Thing. So like pretty much every other Young American Male, I learned it was really important to take it like a man and quit crying like a little girl. Or you'd just be making things worse for yourself
That phenomenon is so prevalent in the US that there's even a fancy name for it: Normative Male Alexithymia. GENIUS ALERT: When I laid this term on my wife, without missing a beat she no shit, said: "Alexithymia. Hmmm...'a' means without; 'lexi' means 'words;' and ' thymia' means 'feelings.' So alexithymia must be an inability to express emotion." Gotta love that woman! So yeah, NMA is the learned condition of being unable to recognize or describe one's feelings. And if you're a dude who grew up in the US you'ev almost definitely got it, too. But it's not totally our fault. By not being expected or allowed to show strong emotion, most dudes in the US just don't ever learn how. Actually, that's not totally true. The Man does give us two emotions that we're allowed to express: anger and violence. But I don't even think that second one is an emotion.
So like most guys in the US, I grew up ashamed and embarassed at having this super emotional side of me that I had to keep hidden and that had a habit of popping out - as anger and violence - at the least convenient times. But as I got older I started recognizing that this lack of emotion was seriously getting in the way of my own personal life and my life with Anno. But despite recognizing that there was a problem, I felt like I had no idea how to make things better.
Fast forward to 2002, when I started road cycling. Two significant things, relative to this whole emotion thing, occurred in that first year: My father died and I did my first multi-day HIV/AIDS ride. When my dad died, I was initially horrified about how unfeeling I felt about the whole thing outside of the officially sanctioned times when it's ok for men to cry (e.g. upon first hearing the news; at 2am in the first week after death; during the eulogy if you're delivering it; in Top Gun during the scene when Maverick is in the ocean cradling Goose's dead body). However, a strange thing happened when I started getting abck onto my bike after the funeral. During almost every ride the summer after he died, all I would have to do was think of him and, BAM!, I'd be bawling, sometimes so bad that I'd have to pull over because I couldn't see through the tears. Yeah, pretty wild and disconcerting. But just at first. After awhile I kind of got into it and started riding a lot just to get back to that place where all I could do was get slammed by a big wall of feeling. 'Cuz I felt a lot better afterwards. It felt like the only way I could access all of that grieving stuff was from the seat of my bicycle. It had something to do with the solitude, the easy repetitive motion of turning over the pedals, and, mostly, getting myself so exhausted that I wasn't able to keep that little emotional critter inside of me so tightly packaged away.
The next year I rode the AIDS/LifeCycle from SF to LA and that was when things kicked into emotional overdrive. That was a trip, literally. Seven days of riding my brains out to exhaustion while being surrounded by gobs and gobs of on-your-jersey-sleeve searing personal tragedy and triumph and everything in between. And, gods help me, it felt awesome! Just realizing that, no, I was not in fact incapable of experiencing or showing emotion, I was just seriously out of practice. And that I had discovered this activity and this community where it was not only okay to show emotion, it was literally impossible not to.
Now that I'm looking at turning 40, the situation is: Yes, I am getting better at accessing and living with and celebrating this emotional side of myself. But, damnit, do I really need to ride my bike so far, so hard, and so long just to get there? Wouldn't it be nice if Stoic and Rational Joaquin were able to just chill with Emotional Joaquin without needing a few hours in the Pain Cave beforehand?
Through taking on this $40G project, my hope, which happily is turning out to be true, is that this year long fundraising effort will be filled with tons and tons of opportunities to spend some time in almost every seat of the Emotional Rollercoaster that's just plain old being a mature, caring, and loving human being. And challenge myself to stay connected through the whole thing and celebrate feeling good as well as feeling shitty about how things are going without worrying too much about how I feel about how I'm feeling or how it looks or sounds or reads to others.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Reason #5: Because Lance isn't HIV+ (as far as I know)
Lance Armstrong's comeback from testicular cancer to win the Tour de France more times than anyone ever thought possible is one of the most motivational, feel-good stories of the past twenty years. And then, as if that weren't already enough, he's used his cycling to raise dozens, maybe hundreds, of millions of dollars for cancer related services. The man's face and name and yellow rubber bracelets are some of the most recognizable, iconic images of the 21st century. In fact, I heard from a friend of a friend that Chuck Norris wears a special bracelet that reads, "WWLD?"
Which makes me wonder: How much money would Lance have been able to raise if the diagnosis weren't cancer, but HIV? Of the people and companies that stood by him when it looked like his racing days were over, how many would have still been there if he had announced he was HIV+ as the result of unprotected sex or sharing needles? Nobody can say for sure, but my spidey sense tells me that the answer is something along the lines of, "a whole lot less."
Although some cancers are correlated with specific risk factors, for the most part cancer is perceived as a disease that could strike anyone at anytime. You don't have to do anything to get cancer and there's not a whole lot you can do to avoid it. Consequently, there's very little stigma attached to being cancer+. Now contrast that to the history and common perception of HIV and AIDS in the US. Yeah, pretty different.
In part, it's thinking about stuff like that that motivates me to be such an ardent HIV/AIDS activist. The fact that people who contract HIV tend to be some of the most marginalized, least powerful, and therefore least supported members of our community really, really torques me off. I mean, come on, why does it matter who it is that's suffering? Suffering is suffering, dude. For me, this imbalance of regard and care for the HIV+ and at-risk-of-contracting-HIV community is especially maddening because unlike with cancer, we are 100% certain about how HIV is spread and it's 100% preventable. So with just a little more effort from The Man we really could have a very significant effect on reducing HIV's impact in our communities.
There is something about this unfairness of regard and treatment and funding for everything HIV as well as the lingering stigma attached to being HIV+ that obviously resonates very strongly with me. But I always feel inadequate to the task of trying to characterize it accurately to others or even myself. The best I can do is point to everything I do now and have done for the NorCal AIDS Cycle and the AIDS LifeCycle before that and say that all of that work and training is an attempt to somehow understand and soothe these intense feelings of anger and injustice that well up inside of me anytime I think about HIV and AIDS.
Which makes me wonder: How much money would Lance have been able to raise if the diagnosis weren't cancer, but HIV? Of the people and companies that stood by him when it looked like his racing days were over, how many would have still been there if he had announced he was HIV+ as the result of unprotected sex or sharing needles? Nobody can say for sure, but my spidey sense tells me that the answer is something along the lines of, "a whole lot less."
Although some cancers are correlated with specific risk factors, for the most part cancer is perceived as a disease that could strike anyone at anytime. You don't have to do anything to get cancer and there's not a whole lot you can do to avoid it. Consequently, there's very little stigma attached to being cancer+. Now contrast that to the history and common perception of HIV and AIDS in the US. Yeah, pretty different.
In part, it's thinking about stuff like that that motivates me to be such an ardent HIV/AIDS activist. The fact that people who contract HIV tend to be some of the most marginalized, least powerful, and therefore least supported members of our community really, really torques me off. I mean, come on, why does it matter who it is that's suffering? Suffering is suffering, dude. For me, this imbalance of regard and care for the HIV+ and at-risk-of-contracting-HIV community is especially maddening because unlike with cancer, we are 100% certain about how HIV is spread and it's 100% preventable. So with just a little more effort from The Man we really could have a very significant effect on reducing HIV's impact in our communities.
There is something about this unfairness of regard and treatment and funding for everything HIV as well as the lingering stigma attached to being HIV+ that obviously resonates very strongly with me. But I always feel inadequate to the task of trying to characterize it accurately to others or even myself. The best I can do is point to everything I do now and have done for the NorCal AIDS Cycle and the AIDS LifeCycle before that and say that all of that work and training is an attempt to somehow understand and soothe these intense feelings of anger and injustice that well up inside of me anytime I think about HIV and AIDS.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
40 Reasons Why: Reason #4 - Men on a mission!
For today's reason for why I'm raising $40G for HIV and riding the event itself on a tandem instead of on my single bike, I'm providing some photos of me and Jerry on this morning's NorCal AIDS Cycle training ride. I'll let you add in the reason.
Friday, November 5, 2010
40 Reasons Why: Reason #3 - Getting better at 'Thanks!'
40 Reasons Why: Day #3, Reason #3 - Getting better at 'Thanks!'
Confession time! And what better place to confess a deep, dark secret than in this private, intimate setting with just you and my 8.2e12 closest internet friends, right? Here 'tis: I am absolutely rotten at saying, 'thank you.' How rotten? This rotten: Back in '89 my folks threw a joint graduation party for my older brother (college) and me (high school). It was attended by tons of school and family friends, some who knew me since pretty much the time I was conceived, and I finished the day with a metric buttload of loot and $$$. Guess how many thank you notes got sent out from me to all of these generous people. That's right: ZERO! To give you some perspective on how significant that is: If you lined up all those thank you notes end to end, they would circle the earth exactly zero times. No, I'm not really proud of that.
Since then, expressing thanks hasn't ever come very easy to me. In my [weak-ass] defense, there were a lot of significant circumstances that led to zero thank you notes getting written after that party. But now that I'm at the starting blocks of my 5th decade, it seems like it's time to understand and get over whatever it is that makes it hard to express simple gratitude and thanks. I mean, come on, already! What takes less effort, yet leaves such good feelings, as a heartfelt "thank you?" It's right up there with, "I love you;" "You been working out?' and; "You wanna share these french fries?"
Which is where raising $40G for HIV comes in. In my past fundraising endeavors, the average individual donation size has consistently been about $40. So in $40G there's 1000 potential opportunities for me to say, write, email, and blog a little slice of gratitude. And don't forget all of the fundraising event venues, prize donors, riding partners, encouraging emails and phone calls, and friend-of-a-friend connections that will be/are part of raising all that cash. All told, that's a gajillion opportunities to be grateful and share those feelings of gratitude and understand what's made it so challenging in the first place and, ideally, make it easier to say thanks in the future.
And on that note, this past Monday's fundraiser at Sophia's Thai Kitchen raised $1000! So when it hits my account we'll be at about $17,500. Thank you ALL so much for that!
Confession time! And what better place to confess a deep, dark secret than in this private, intimate setting with just you and my 8.2e12 closest internet friends, right? Here 'tis: I am absolutely rotten at saying, 'thank you.' How rotten? This rotten: Back in '89 my folks threw a joint graduation party for my older brother (college) and me (high school). It was attended by tons of school and family friends, some who knew me since pretty much the time I was conceived, and I finished the day with a metric buttload of loot and $$$. Guess how many thank you notes got sent out from me to all of these generous people. That's right: ZERO! To give you some perspective on how significant that is: If you lined up all those thank you notes end to end, they would circle the earth exactly zero times. No, I'm not really proud of that.
Since then, expressing thanks hasn't ever come very easy to me. In my [weak-ass] defense, there were a lot of significant circumstances that led to zero thank you notes getting written after that party. But now that I'm at the starting blocks of my 5th decade, it seems like it's time to understand and get over whatever it is that makes it hard to express simple gratitude and thanks. I mean, come on, already! What takes less effort, yet leaves such good feelings, as a heartfelt "thank you?" It's right up there with, "I love you;" "You been working out?' and; "You wanna share these french fries?"
Which is where raising $40G for HIV comes in. In my past fundraising endeavors, the average individual donation size has consistently been about $40. So in $40G there's 1000 potential opportunities for me to say, write, email, and blog a little slice of gratitude. And don't forget all of the fundraising event venues, prize donors, riding partners, encouraging emails and phone calls, and friend-of-a-friend connections that will be/are part of raising all that cash. All told, that's a gajillion opportunities to be grateful and share those feelings of gratitude and understand what's made it so challenging in the first place and, ideally, make it easier to say thanks in the future.
And on that note, this past Monday's fundraiser at Sophia's Thai Kitchen raised $1000! So when it hits my account we'll be at about $17,500. Thank you ALL so much for that!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
40 Reasons Why: Reason #2 - We're a long way from the street
40 Reasons Why: Reason #2 - We're a long way from the street
A little over a year ago, on Monday August 31st, 2009 in fact, I was laid off from my job with the UC Office of the President. Let's see...how am I supposed to phrase that? Oh, yeah: "Due to budget constraints the decision was made to temporarily cease operations at the Center while other, more cost effective ways to offer the program in these difficult economic times were developed."
The following morning, for literally the very first time since 1975 when I started nursery school at Mrs. Degenaro's -- NOTE: I'm sure that wasn't the name of the place, but that's what we called it. And I have no idea if I spelled her name correctly, 'cuz I couldn't read back then, either -- nobody was expecting me to be anywhere on that day or any day in the future. Up until that morning, I hadn't quite realized how much of my self worth was tied up into stuff like having a job, having professional responsibilities, just plain old having a profession, bringing home the bacon every day, and feeling like I had a place where I belonged where I and my work were valued. Nobody actually cut off my nuts, but it sure felt emasculating. If you don't belive me, try it sometime. I promise, you won't like it.
Of all the many wonderful things my very wonderful wife said to me during that time, the phrase that stuck out most was: "We are a long way from the street, Joaquin" Even though it felt like we were on the brink of financial disaster, we were lucky enough to have a ton of resources to fall back on if I wasn't able to find work right away: a generous severance package, including health benefits, from UCOP; some rainy day savings; a massive network of friends and professional contacts; two moms more than willing to help out; likewise siblings and extended family; and let's not forget our youth, our health, and our enterprising spirits.
Through the whole process of job searching and interviewing, "We're a long way from the street" became my mantra. Maybe not as fun as: "Sit back, relax, have a homebrew," but a lot easier on the waist line. Yeah, there were plenty of times when the mantra didn't help me get to sleep at night, but it sure did help to beat back the demons during my waking life.
Luckily, I found work very quickly. But even though we were never in danger of losing our house, our standard of living, or any other comforts we've gotten for ourselves, the experience and emotions of having been laid off, cast adrift on the pink slip sea, if you will, has stayed very close to the surface for me and continues to affect my every day life. Like getting engaged, the death of my father, 9/11, and the passage of Prop 8, it's become a defining moment in my life.
And that mantra, "we're a long way from the street," is something I think about almost every day, too. Except now it also makes me realize how many other people are NOT a long way from the street as a result of having been unemployed or having public services yanked out from under them due to budgetary cuts. One of my friends on the cycling team who works on the state budget said it best back in 2008: "Joaquin, people are going to start DYING as a result of this budget we're putting together."
People are not only on the street because of this economic downturn, they're out on the streets dying there. The tragedy is that with just a little extra funding, and maybe a shift in priorities here or there, they'd be off the street, getting better, earning a living. So this $40G thing, it's partly a reminder to me of how excruciatingly lucky I am to have such a great support system that helps keep the street further away from me than for most. And it's also an attempt to acknowledge that, while I view myself as a pretty capable guy, a lot of it is just plain old stupid, unfair luck and circumstance that puts me here and others out on the street. Raising $40G is my attempt to provide at least some relief where Lady Luck and The Man have fallen short.
A little over a year ago, on Monday August 31st, 2009 in fact, I was laid off from my job with the UC Office of the President. Let's see...how am I supposed to phrase that? Oh, yeah: "Due to budget constraints the decision was made to temporarily cease operations at the Center while other, more cost effective ways to offer the program in these difficult economic times were developed."
The following morning, for literally the very first time since 1975 when I started nursery school at Mrs. Degenaro's -- NOTE: I'm sure that wasn't the name of the place, but that's what we called it. And I have no idea if I spelled her name correctly, 'cuz I couldn't read back then, either -- nobody was expecting me to be anywhere on that day or any day in the future. Up until that morning, I hadn't quite realized how much of my self worth was tied up into stuff like having a job, having professional responsibilities, just plain old having a profession, bringing home the bacon every day, and feeling like I had a place where I belonged where I and my work were valued. Nobody actually cut off my nuts, but it sure felt emasculating. If you don't belive me, try it sometime. I promise, you won't like it.
Of all the many wonderful things my very wonderful wife said to me during that time, the phrase that stuck out most was: "We are a long way from the street, Joaquin" Even though it felt like we were on the brink of financial disaster, we were lucky enough to have a ton of resources to fall back on if I wasn't able to find work right away: a generous severance package, including health benefits, from UCOP; some rainy day savings; a massive network of friends and professional contacts; two moms more than willing to help out; likewise siblings and extended family; and let's not forget our youth, our health, and our enterprising spirits.
Through the whole process of job searching and interviewing, "We're a long way from the street" became my mantra. Maybe not as fun as: "Sit back, relax, have a homebrew," but a lot easier on the waist line. Yeah, there were plenty of times when the mantra didn't help me get to sleep at night, but it sure did help to beat back the demons during my waking life.
Luckily, I found work very quickly. But even though we were never in danger of losing our house, our standard of living, or any other comforts we've gotten for ourselves, the experience and emotions of having been laid off, cast adrift on the pink slip sea, if you will, has stayed very close to the surface for me and continues to affect my every day life. Like getting engaged, the death of my father, 9/11, and the passage of Prop 8, it's become a defining moment in my life.
And that mantra, "we're a long way from the street," is something I think about almost every day, too. Except now it also makes me realize how many other people are NOT a long way from the street as a result of having been unemployed or having public services yanked out from under them due to budgetary cuts. One of my friends on the cycling team who works on the state budget said it best back in 2008: "Joaquin, people are going to start DYING as a result of this budget we're putting together."
People are not only on the street because of this economic downturn, they're out on the streets dying there. The tragedy is that with just a little extra funding, and maybe a shift in priorities here or there, they'd be off the street, getting better, earning a living. So this $40G thing, it's partly a reminder to me of how excruciatingly lucky I am to have such a great support system that helps keep the street further away from me than for most. And it's also an attempt to acknowledge that, while I view myself as a pretty capable guy, a lot of it is just plain old stupid, unfair luck and circumstance that puts me here and others out on the street. Raising $40G is my attempt to provide at least some relief where Lady Luck and The Man have fallen short.
40 Days of Why?: Day 1 - Just look between my legs
Anytime I'm out on a ride and feel like I've forgotten why raising $40G for HIV/AIDS seemed like a good idea, all I have to do is look down between my legs for a reminder.
Because every time I ride, between my legs and under my ass you will find a $100 saddle clamped onto a $2500 bike rolling down the road on $600 wheels and a $100 pair of tires. Under the saddle is nestled a $15 pouch filled with $15 of tools and spare parts. On the downtube you'll find two $3 water bottles, each filled with $0.50 of energy drink. Since I'm a data hound, there's also the head unit to a $600 powermeter strapped to the handlebars. And if it's a night ride, there will be a $100 front headlight and a $20 tail light letting everyone know I'm out there tearing it up. And because I [almost] never ride naked or without a helmet, I'll be wearing $650 of cycling clothing, helmet, shoes, eyeglasses, chamois cream, and gloves. If it's especially cold or wet, tack on an additional $300 for warmer, waterproofier clothing.
Add it all up and that's $5000. Yeah, I know, right? And then consider that the last time I raced, I lined up against 49 other guys, each sporting about the same amount of stuff between their legs, under their asses and on their bodies. That brings us to a cool $250,000. In addition to 50 racing bikes and assorted paraphernalia, that quarter of a million bucks (?!?!?!) could cover a year's worth of maintenance and repairs to all of the AIDS Housing Alliance's permanent housing units, a year of rent for the Breaking Barriers office, a year of food for two families at Breaking Barrier's food closet, AND one thousand primary care visits at the Center for AIDS Research, Education, and Services in Sacramento. Next to numbers like that, $40,000 doesn't really seem like a whole helluva lot of money.
Now, I don't believe that all cyclists, myself included, are a bunch of selfish gits who waste their money on a too-expensive form of recreation. I will be the first and loudest person to tell any non-cyclist that the time I spend on my bicycle improves every aspect of my life and makes me a better, more mature, more balanced person. However, I'm also happy to blab at you about how taking some of that bike time, some of that bike money, as well as some of that bike karma, and putting it somewhere else, for someone a lot less fortunate, living much closer to, or past, the margin, will also help make me a better, more mature, and more balanced person as well.
Because every time I ride, between my legs and under my ass you will find a $100 saddle clamped onto a $2500 bike rolling down the road on $600 wheels and a $100 pair of tires. Under the saddle is nestled a $15 pouch filled with $15 of tools and spare parts. On the downtube you'll find two $3 water bottles, each filled with $0.50 of energy drink. Since I'm a data hound, there's also the head unit to a $600 powermeter strapped to the handlebars. And if it's a night ride, there will be a $100 front headlight and a $20 tail light letting everyone know I'm out there tearing it up. And because I [almost] never ride naked or without a helmet, I'll be wearing $650 of cycling clothing, helmet, shoes, eyeglasses, chamois cream, and gloves. If it's especially cold or wet, tack on an additional $300 for warmer, waterproofier clothing.
Add it all up and that's $5000. Yeah, I know, right? And then consider that the last time I raced, I lined up against 49 other guys, each sporting about the same amount of stuff between their legs, under their asses and on their bodies. That brings us to a cool $250,000. In addition to 50 racing bikes and assorted paraphernalia, that quarter of a million bucks (?!?!?!) could cover a year's worth of maintenance and repairs to all of the AIDS Housing Alliance's permanent housing units, a year of rent for the Breaking Barriers office, a year of food for two families at Breaking Barrier's food closet, AND one thousand primary care visits at the Center for AIDS Research, Education, and Services in Sacramento. Next to numbers like that, $40,000 doesn't really seem like a whole helluva lot of money.
Now, I don't believe that all cyclists, myself included, are a bunch of selfish gits who waste their money on a too-expensive form of recreation. I will be the first and loudest person to tell any non-cyclist that the time I spend on my bicycle improves every aspect of my life and makes me a better, more mature, more balanced person. However, I'm also happy to blab at you about how taking some of that bike time, some of that bike money, as well as some of that bike karma, and putting it somewhere else, for someone a lot less fortunate, living much closer to, or past, the margin, will also help make me a better, more mature, and more balanced person as well.
Monday, October 11, 2010
How to Raise $6500 In Spite of Yourselves
Wow, has it really been two months since I last posted on here? It's not like I haven't been working my butt off toward the $40G goal. I have been, I swear! Have you seen my fundraising total lately? Up from a respectable $4400 or so during my last post in August to over $12000 as of this morning. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about!
So, a wrap up of the 10/1 Rominger West fundraising dinner/music concert/wine tasting/silent auction throw down. Here's the short story: 100 people showed up and we raised $6500 while everyone had a grand old time!
The longer story, complete with pictures: Maybe ten years down the road when I'm 49 and contemplating turning 50 I'll have an appropriate set of words to describe the feeling of seeing so many friends and loved ones and their friends and loved ones show up to support the AIDS Cycle. But for now I'm limited to the unimaginative blogger's two BFFs, the adverb and the endash (or is it the emdash?): the event was really, really, jaw-droppingly, make-me-giggle-ingly fun and successful. Please correct me if I'm wrong, you superfriends who actually helped throw the party while I glad-handed and worked my way through all the drinks people were buying for me, but I think the most significant glitch of the evening was running out of forks and the crapass, but compostable, plates purchased by yours truly that started composting in your hand even before you were done eating. Other than that, the evening was perfect.
Going into the event I had no idea how many folks would show up or how much they'd be into bidding for the donated silent auction items. It wasn't until about an hour after we opened the doors, when I realized that over 50 people had shown up with a line of people out the door still trying to get in and every item had already been bid on, including $2000 for a custom AIDS cycle-inspired scuplture by Steve Nowicki, that I knew it was going to be a pretty big night. Here's that $2000 sculpture in Steve's shop:
And then Steve with the sculpture at the event itself:
But these photos really don't do it justice. In case you didn't make it to the event, here's an SAT/GRE-style analogy to help you understand how awesome the sculpture is:
Fake Eiffel Tower in Las Vegas : Real Eiffel Tower in Paris
Photo of Steve's sculpture : Steve's sculpture in person
One of the things I really like about the event was that there were a ton of ways people were able to contribute. In addition to the sculpture above, there were dozens of items folks were able to walk away with, many going for as little as $10. Here's an action shot of some of the other auction items working it for the AIDS Cycle:
And then here's a picture of Ann and me and the Mike Justis band working it for the AIDS Cycle. We're singing John Prine's 'In Spite of Ourselves.' If you're not familair with the song, here's a link. We were introduced to it over 10 years ago and since then it's become one of our favorite sing-in-the-car songs. We think it pretty much sums up the past 20 years of our relationship. There is a video of our performance but it sounds a lot better after several glasses of wine, so you'll have to come over (and bring some wine) if you want to see our version.
Here's a link if you'd like to see more pictures from the event.
To close, I just wanted to take a moment to correct a quote from the very first R-rated movie I ever saw, Conan the Barbarian. (Yeah, I was 11 when that movie came out. My dad took me to see it. That explains a lot, doesn't it?) Crushing your enemies, seeing them driven before you, and hearing the lamentation of their women is not, in fact, what's best in life. But our future Governator should be forgiven since when he uttered those immortal words he was only 35. As a soon-to-be 40 year old, I know that what's best in life is to crush grapes, see them fermented and then poured before you, and to drink them down while raising a ton of money for folks who really, really need it.
Fundraising Tracker:
Funds Raised to date: $12271
Funds Remaining: $27729 or $924.30 per week!?!?
So, a wrap up of the 10/1 Rominger West fundraising dinner/music concert/wine tasting/silent auction throw down. Here's the short story: 100 people showed up and we raised $6500 while everyone had a grand old time!
The longer story, complete with pictures: Maybe ten years down the road when I'm 49 and contemplating turning 50 I'll have an appropriate set of words to describe the feeling of seeing so many friends and loved ones and their friends and loved ones show up to support the AIDS Cycle. But for now I'm limited to the unimaginative blogger's two BFFs, the adverb and the endash (or is it the emdash?): the event was really, really, jaw-droppingly, make-me-giggle-ingly fun and successful. Please correct me if I'm wrong, you superfriends who actually helped throw the party while I glad-handed and worked my way through all the drinks people were buying for me, but I think the most significant glitch of the evening was running out of forks and the crapass, but compostable, plates purchased by yours truly that started composting in your hand even before you were done eating. Other than that, the evening was perfect.
Going into the event I had no idea how many folks would show up or how much they'd be into bidding for the donated silent auction items. It wasn't until about an hour after we opened the doors, when I realized that over 50 people had shown up with a line of people out the door still trying to get in and every item had already been bid on, including $2000 for a custom AIDS cycle-inspired scuplture by Steve Nowicki, that I knew it was going to be a pretty big night. Here's that $2000 sculpture in Steve's shop:
And then Steve with the sculpture at the event itself:
Fake Eiffel Tower in Las Vegas : Real Eiffel Tower in Paris
Photo of Steve's sculpture : Steve's sculpture in person
One of the things I really like about the event was that there were a ton of ways people were able to contribute. In addition to the sculpture above, there were dozens of items folks were able to walk away with, many going for as little as $10. Here's an action shot of some of the other auction items working it for the AIDS Cycle:
To close, I just wanted to take a moment to correct a quote from the very first R-rated movie I ever saw, Conan the Barbarian. (Yeah, I was 11 when that movie came out. My dad took me to see it. That explains a lot, doesn't it?) Crushing your enemies, seeing them driven before you, and hearing the lamentation of their women is not, in fact, what's best in life. But our future Governator should be forgiven since when he uttered those immortal words he was only 35. As a soon-to-be 40 year old, I know that what's best in life is to crush grapes, see them fermented and then poured before you, and to drink them down while raising a ton of money for folks who really, really need it.
Fundraising Tracker:
Funds Raised to date: $12271
Funds Remaining: $27729 or $924.30 per week!?!?
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
With friends like these...
…raising $40G ought to be a breeze!
[NOTE: My most sincere apologies for that horrible rhyme. It’s not me, it’s my upbringing. It has to do with growing up as an East Coast Filipino-American. Whenever my parents got together with their friends they would share the WORST jokes based on bad rhymes, puns, and word play. And it was considered especially hilarious if you took advantage of the Filipino tendency to switch the ‘p’ and ‘f’ and ‘b’ and ‘v’ sounds when speaking English. For instance, here’s a classic knee-slapper. Stop me if you’ve heard it already:
Q: How many bears were in the taxicab with Goldilocks?
A: Four. The Mama bear, the Papa bear, the Baby bear, and the Driver.
See what I mean? Yeah, just shake your head and pity me.]
So where was I? Oh, yeah, this morning I wanted to blog about another neat and unexpected aspect of this whole raising $40G thing. Twice now I’ve sent out not-quite-spam fundraising messages to everyone I can think of, letting them know what I’m up to, asking for help, and sending out updates on my progress. That’s a lot of messages. Exactly how many? Let’s just say that if everyone I emailed donated $26.67 I’d be at my goal. For those of you who prefer the Roman numeral system, I think it’s ‘MDM.’ But I could be wrong. In binary it would be…oh nevermind. It’s 1500 people.
I’ve sent out emails to a lot of people before, but never to this many all at once on a regular basis, so I didn’t quite know what to expect in the way of replies. I hit the ‘Send’ button and did the electronic version of a duck-and-cover, waiting for people, especially the ones who probably didn’t remember me, like the AT&T mobile service rep who helped us consolidate our phone, wireless, and DSL bills back in 2007, to e-flay me for spamming them at 5:30am in the morning. Imagine my surprise, then, when I started to get responses like the following:
“Joaquin this is awesome!!! I am so proud of you and confident you will reach your goal.”
“Love what you are doing!”
“JOAQUIN, YOU.... ARE... AMAZING :)”
“Love you, my power tool of a friend!”
I mean, really, how cool is that? Talk about your daily affirmation. And some of these even included donations. It motivates me to spam my entire email list every day if people are going to respond like that. Even the people who weren’t into it were extremely polite. Here is literally the only non-super positive response I’ve received so far:
“Joaquin, love what you’re doing and wish you success. But can you take me off your distribution list for future messages?”
Wow. I heart this guy even though he said no. Makes me wonder what a ‘yes’ message is like from him. The next time I get a chance to launder some big money for the former Chief of Staff of the deposed Nigerian Prime Minister I’m gonna use that response:
“Dear BELOVED. THANK you for this OPPORTUNITY to ASSIST with your RIGHTEOUS CAUSE and the GIFT of $4 MILLION US. But can you please take me off your DISTRIBUTION LIST?”
And then there are the folks who took the extra step and did some soliciting for me:
“I heart you! I'm racking my brain on how I can contribute to this fantastic cause. I may be able to convince a winemaker we work with to donate a barrel of wine made with Thomson Vineyards grapes for the silent auction you speak of.” NB: Not a case, but an F-ing barrel of wine!
“I checked with the band members about your fundraiser. Our bass player will be out of town, but myself and guitar player will play pro bono for ya'll. So, if you still want us, consider us booked.”
“Went out with a friend this morning, and mentioned your fundraising. She'd like to donate a clock for your auction! :)”
“I spoke with an artist friend of ours today and asked if he would have interest in donating something to your fundraiser in October. He thought he had something he could donate and said I could give you his number.”
Which just goes to show, my friends - you all - kick major butt. Thank you thank you thanks for all of this encouragement and support! You help make it feel like that $40G is just around the corner!
Fundraising Update, as of Tue, Aug 10th:
Funds Raised: $4415.00 or 11% of goal.
Remaining to Raise: $35585 or $912.44 per week.
[NOTE: My most sincere apologies for that horrible rhyme. It’s not me, it’s my upbringing. It has to do with growing up as an East Coast Filipino-American. Whenever my parents got together with their friends they would share the WORST jokes based on bad rhymes, puns, and word play. And it was considered especially hilarious if you took advantage of the Filipino tendency to switch the ‘p’ and ‘f’ and ‘b’ and ‘v’ sounds when speaking English. For instance, here’s a classic knee-slapper. Stop me if you’ve heard it already:
Q: How many bears were in the taxicab with Goldilocks?
A: Four. The Mama bear, the Papa bear, the Baby bear, and the Driver.
See what I mean? Yeah, just shake your head and pity me.]
So where was I? Oh, yeah, this morning I wanted to blog about another neat and unexpected aspect of this whole raising $40G thing. Twice now I’ve sent out not-quite-spam fundraising messages to everyone I can think of, letting them know what I’m up to, asking for help, and sending out updates on my progress. That’s a lot of messages. Exactly how many? Let’s just say that if everyone I emailed donated $26.67 I’d be at my goal. For those of you who prefer the Roman numeral system, I think it’s ‘MDM.’ But I could be wrong. In binary it would be…oh nevermind. It’s 1500 people.
I’ve sent out emails to a lot of people before, but never to this many all at once on a regular basis, so I didn’t quite know what to expect in the way of replies. I hit the ‘Send’ button and did the electronic version of a duck-and-cover, waiting for people, especially the ones who probably didn’t remember me, like the AT&T mobile service rep who helped us consolidate our phone, wireless, and DSL bills back in 2007, to e-flay me for spamming them at 5:30am in the morning. Imagine my surprise, then, when I started to get responses like the following:
“Joaquin this is awesome!!! I am so proud of you and confident you will reach your goal.”
“Love what you are doing!”
“JOAQUIN, YOU.... ARE... AMAZING :)”
“Love you, my power tool of a friend!”
I mean, really, how cool is that? Talk about your daily affirmation. And some of these even included donations. It motivates me to spam my entire email list every day if people are going to respond like that. Even the people who weren’t into it were extremely polite. Here is literally the only non-super positive response I’ve received so far:
“Joaquin, love what you’re doing and wish you success. But can you take me off your distribution list for future messages?”
Wow. I heart this guy even though he said no. Makes me wonder what a ‘yes’ message is like from him. The next time I get a chance to launder some big money for the former Chief of Staff of the deposed Nigerian Prime Minister I’m gonna use that response:
“Dear BELOVED. THANK you for this OPPORTUNITY to ASSIST with your RIGHTEOUS CAUSE and the GIFT of $4 MILLION US. But can you please take me off your DISTRIBUTION LIST?”
And then there are the folks who took the extra step and did some soliciting for me:
“I heart you! I'm racking my brain on how I can contribute to this fantastic cause. I may be able to convince a winemaker we work with to donate a barrel of wine made with Thomson Vineyards grapes for the silent auction you speak of.” NB: Not a case, but an F-ing barrel of wine!
“I checked with the band members about your fundraiser. Our bass player will be out of town, but myself and guitar player will play pro bono for ya'll. So, if you still want us, consider us booked.”
“Went out with a friend this morning, and mentioned your fundraising. She'd like to donate a clock for your auction! :)”
“I spoke with an artist friend of ours today and asked if he would have interest in donating something to your fundraiser in October. He thought he had something he could donate and said I could give you his number.”
Which just goes to show, my friends - you all - kick major butt. Thank you thank you thanks for all of this encouragement and support! You help make it feel like that $40G is just around the corner!
Fundraising Update, as of Tue, Aug 10th:
Funds Raised: $4415.00 or 11% of goal.
Remaining to Raise: $35585 or $912.44 per week.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Why am I only now learning about riding out near Mt. Tam?
Just back from a great ride on the peninsula from Fairfax to Mt. Tam and back. 40 miles in all with several sustained climbs, moderate temperatures, great views, plenty of other road and mtn. bikers, and very few cars. We like all that. Here's a link for folks who want to check it out.
Everything about this ride was awesome and it makes me wonder why it's taken 9 years of riding to realize that all these great miles are just over an hour down the highway. Thanks to NCACers Tara and Capt. Cullen for instigating the ride. Anno, Jarad, Risotto and a few other soon-to-be NCACers also showed up for the fun. The ride started in an easy-to-find lot that contained plenty of space and, even better, a drive through coffee stand. How cool is that?
The coffee stand was such a pleasant surprise that I didn't even mind the 4-mile grinder rising right out of Fairfax less than a mile from the parking lot. Here's a snippet from a post-ride conversation Jarad and Anno had about the climb:
Jarad: I'm sooo glad we didn't get re-passed by that jogger on the first climb.
Ann: Yeah, we really showed him.
After a quick, beautiful descent to Alpine Dam there were 2 more miles of steeper climbing up into the fog that only a Sasquatch could love:
Another 1/4 mile down the road and we burst out into the sun, following a ridge that marked the inland border of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. The Pacific Ocean and, I suppose, Hawaii and Japan are in this picture, but the fog was just a little too thick to see them clearly:
A couple more miles of rolling hills and three more miles of up led us to the end of the road near the top of Mt. Tam and views of the fog covering San Francisco. I'm sure it's out there somewhere.
All in all, a great day of riding, even better for the fact that, except for the one climb away from the dam, it was almost all downhill back to the car. It took just under two hours to get to the top of Mt. Tam and just over an hour to get all the way back. Plus, when I got back I learned that the Iron Springs Pub and Brewery was just across the street and open for business. I highly recommend the Kolsch.
Everything about this ride was awesome and it makes me wonder why it's taken 9 years of riding to realize that all these great miles are just over an hour down the highway. Thanks to NCACers Tara and Capt. Cullen for instigating the ride. Anno, Jarad, Risotto and a few other soon-to-be NCACers also showed up for the fun. The ride started in an easy-to-find lot that contained plenty of space and, even better, a drive through coffee stand. How cool is that?
The coffee stand was such a pleasant surprise that I didn't even mind the 4-mile grinder rising right out of Fairfax less than a mile from the parking lot. Here's a snippet from a post-ride conversation Jarad and Anno had about the climb:
Jarad: I'm sooo glad we didn't get re-passed by that jogger on the first climb.
Ann: Yeah, we really showed him.
After a quick, beautiful descent to Alpine Dam there were 2 more miles of steeper climbing up into the fog that only a Sasquatch could love:
Another 1/4 mile down the road and we burst out into the sun, following a ridge that marked the inland border of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. The Pacific Ocean and, I suppose, Hawaii and Japan are in this picture, but the fog was just a little too thick to see them clearly:
A couple more miles of rolling hills and three more miles of up led us to the end of the road near the top of Mt. Tam and views of the fog covering San Francisco. I'm sure it's out there somewhere.
All in all, a great day of riding, even better for the fact that, except for the one climb away from the dam, it was almost all downhill back to the car. It took just under two hours to get to the top of Mt. Tam and just over an hour to get all the way back. Plus, when I got back I learned that the Iron Springs Pub and Brewery was just across the street and open for business. I highly recommend the Kolsch.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Chicagoland Trip, Part I: Ninja Monks of Chicago
If it feels like it's been a little quiet on the "Let's raise $40k right now Now NOW!!" front that's because it has - I'm just back from a weeklong visit to Chicago for my sister-in-law's wedding and my nephew's baptism. I didn't know this would happen when we left CA, but I really appreciated the short break from all of the fundraising mayhem. The visit was great for everything except for the health of my digestive tract and inner diameter of most of my major blood vessels, but more on that later.
Some of the unexpected trip highlights:
1) The B&B run by the Benedictine Ninja Monks of the Monastery of the Holy Cross - Ann, me, Ann's mom, Ann's sister and her man Joe, Ann's brother, his woman Michelle, and their two kids Erik and Paige all stayed at this quaint B&B that was, I kid you not, run by actual monks at an actual monastery in the middle of Chicago, complete with black robes, vows of silence, Gregorian chant, terce,matins, lauds, the whole nine yards. Here's a nighttime picture of the outside of the place:
Strictly as a B&B, this place rocked - quiet, clean, convenient, and super comfortable without that creepy, "yeah-there-are-probably-peepholes-all-over-this-place-especially-the-bedroom-and-I-used-to-own-48-cats-can-you-tell" kind of feel you get at some places. Being in the back of a church and functioning monastery definitely added to the provenance and cool factor of the place. But the hands down best part about the stay was definitely breakfast. Every morning at 8am a 'breakfast' plate would magically appear halfway up the stairs. I write 'breakfast' because the term would only be appropriate in a place like Chicago, the same place that had a football player called 'The Refrigerator.' Here in California the meal they served us would be called, "myocardial infarction, anyone?" Here's a picture of one morning's feast for 5:
A dozen eggs over medium, sausages, hash browns, grapes, cherries, muffins, and yogurts. Not pictured are the half gallons of whole milk and orange juice that acompanied the meal. Oh, and the special gluten-free dish they prepared for Ann each morning. Including this morning, even though eggs, sausages, and hash browns are already gluten free. How serious were the meals? Let's just say that I wasn't able to finish my fair share of two of them - the eggs benedict (hahahahahaha!!!!!) served over toast and an inch-thick slab of fried ham and the bread-and-bacon pudding masquerading as creme brulee french toast. In my lifetime there have been very few meals that have ever gotten the better of me and to be stuffed two morning in a row was heretofore unheard of.
It occurred to me that, aside from the celibacy thing, these monks would great make husbands - quiet, hospitality-minded, good singers, keep a clean house, and know the value of a quiet weekend at home. Or maybe the celibacy thing would be a plus? I don't know about all that. Oddly, although the monks certainly knew their way around the Fried Breakfast Items food group, they were a bit lacking in the coffee department. For coffee all we got was the one-gallon red tub of Folger's Regular or the green tub of Folger's decaf. What's up with that, monks?!?! But that was okay, because just down the corner from us was highlight #2 of the trip. Stay tuned!
Some of the unexpected trip highlights:
1) The B&B run by the Benedictine Ninja Monks of the Monastery of the Holy Cross - Ann, me, Ann's mom, Ann's sister and her man Joe, Ann's brother, his woman Michelle, and their two kids Erik and Paige all stayed at this quaint B&B that was, I kid you not, run by actual monks at an actual monastery in the middle of Chicago, complete with black robes, vows of silence, Gregorian chant, terce,matins, lauds, the whole nine yards. Here's a nighttime picture of the outside of the place:
A dozen eggs over medium, sausages, hash browns, grapes, cherries, muffins, and yogurts. Not pictured are the half gallons of whole milk and orange juice that acompanied the meal. Oh, and the special gluten-free dish they prepared for Ann each morning. Including this morning, even though eggs, sausages, and hash browns are already gluten free. How serious were the meals? Let's just say that I wasn't able to finish my fair share of two of them - the eggs benedict (hahahahahaha!!!!!) served over toast and an inch-thick slab of fried ham and the bread-and-bacon pudding masquerading as creme brulee french toast. In my lifetime there have been very few meals that have ever gotten the better of me and to be stuffed two morning in a row was heretofore unheard of.
It occurred to me that, aside from the celibacy thing, these monks would great make husbands - quiet, hospitality-minded, good singers, keep a clean house, and know the value of a quiet weekend at home. Or maybe the celibacy thing would be a plus? I don't know about all that. Oddly, although the monks certainly knew their way around the Fried Breakfast Items food group, they were a bit lacking in the coffee department. For coffee all we got was the one-gallon red tub of Folger's Regular or the green tub of Folger's decaf. What's up with that, monks?!?! But that was okay, because just down the corner from us was highlight #2 of the trip. Stay tuned!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
All Aboard the J Train!
Woo hoo! As promised, here's a picture of the tandem Jerry and I will be riding during next year's NCAC. A member of the Davis Bike Club gave us a really great deal on it once he heard what we were going to be doing with it:
I guess I should also include a picture of Jerry, the other half of the J Train and the guy who'll be riding stoker. Here's a picture of us on the last day of the 2010 NorCal AIDS Challenge. I think that's Mindy waving her hand and sprouting out of the top of my head:
For those of you who've never met him, last time I checked Jerry was ranked somewhere in the top 10 of nicest and most generous people in California. And, ironically, so is Mindy. I have no idea why I'm in the picture, though. I have never been able to even break into the top 50. The best I've ever done was 129th, and that was only after I gave my wheel up to a teammate in the 2009 Winters Road Race and cooked dinner and washed the dishes three times in the same week.
Jerry's been a part of the NCAC since 2007 and has consistently been one of the top, if not THE top, fundraiser for the past three years. Jerry was too sick from a systemic infection to ride all of his first NCAC and so ended up crewing for three of the four days. Which was awesome for us because 2007 was the super hot year - the four hottest days of 2007, actually - and we really needed his help out on the road. He was literally a lifesaver for many cyclists. Since then Jerry has become an almost-indispensable crewmember. No joke, he drove over 1000 miles providing SAG (support and gear) for the cyclists in the 2010 NCAC. I write 'almost' because the crew will have to do without him in 2011 while he's stoking on the J Train.
For those of you who've never done it, stoking on a tandem can really bite. At its worst, the view never changes, you don't see any of the bumps coming up, you can't look around too much because that throws off the balance of the bike, you never know when the Captain (that's me) is going to be shifting, and you're always pedaling at the Captain's cadence, which is inevitably too fast or too slow. At its best, the view still never changes. So we're planning on putting in lots of tandem time between now and then to work out all of the kinks and maximize our chances of still being friends when the ride is all done.
And to help us with that, I'm happy to announce a really cool sponsorship we just received! Another long-time NCACer has pledged to donate $0.25 for every mile we train on the tandem leading up to the NCAC. And once we pass 400 training miles she or he will bump it up to $0.50 for every mile. And to top it all off she's going to donate another $0.10 for every mile of the actual NCAC we complete on the tandem. How cool is that?!?!
Fundraising Update:
Raised as of 7/10: $2080 or 5.2%
Left to raise: $37920
Click here to donate right now!
For those of you who've never met him, last time I checked Jerry was ranked somewhere in the top 10 of nicest and most generous people in California. And, ironically, so is Mindy. I have no idea why I'm in the picture, though. I have never been able to even break into the top 50. The best I've ever done was 129th, and that was only after I gave my wheel up to a teammate in the 2009 Winters Road Race and cooked dinner and washed the dishes three times in the same week.
Jerry's been a part of the NCAC since 2007 and has consistently been one of the top, if not THE top, fundraiser for the past three years. Jerry was too sick from a systemic infection to ride all of his first NCAC and so ended up crewing for three of the four days. Which was awesome for us because 2007 was the super hot year - the four hottest days of 2007, actually - and we really needed his help out on the road. He was literally a lifesaver for many cyclists. Since then Jerry has become an almost-indispensable crewmember. No joke, he drove over 1000 miles providing SAG (support and gear) for the cyclists in the 2010 NCAC. I write 'almost' because the crew will have to do without him in 2011 while he's stoking on the J Train.
For those of you who've never done it, stoking on a tandem can really bite. At its worst, the view never changes, you don't see any of the bumps coming up, you can't look around too much because that throws off the balance of the bike, you never know when the Captain (that's me) is going to be shifting, and you're always pedaling at the Captain's cadence, which is inevitably too fast or too slow. At its best, the view still never changes. So we're planning on putting in lots of tandem time between now and then to work out all of the kinks and maximize our chances of still being friends when the ride is all done.
And to help us with that, I'm happy to announce a really cool sponsorship we just received! Another long-time NCACer has pledged to donate $0.25 for every mile we train on the tandem leading up to the NCAC. And once we pass 400 training miles she or he will bump it up to $0.50 for every mile. And to top it all off she's going to donate another $0.10 for every mile of the actual NCAC we complete on the tandem. How cool is that?!?!
Fundraising Update:
Raised as of 7/10: $2080 or 5.2%
Left to raise: $37920
Click here to donate right now!
Friday, July 2, 2010
Shouldn't there at least be podium girlz?
"I won! I won! I don't have to go to school anymore." -- Eddy Merckx
For the past few decades there's been an organized race ride in Davis that departs at 6pm every Tuesday and Thursday during Daylight Savings Time. It's a super fast but, thanks to the efforts of Alan Rowland and Dan Shadoan before him, very disciplined and as-safe-as-possible training ride that's become a rite of passage for thousands of racers and wanna be hammerheads. On any given evening it's not unusual for more than 50 riders, including a handful of pros and former pros, to show up for the 40-mile hammerfest. The format of the ride is pretty simple: a 15 minute group roll out to warm up and then three high speed sections lasting 12, 5, and 8 miles, respectively, separated by a few minutes of recovery to let everyone catch up before things get savage again. In the race-y sections it's not unusual to be thundering down the road at over 30mph within inches of the riders in front, behind, and right next to you and then, when the wind's favorable, ramping it up to almost 40mph in the final sprint to the finish line.
My first experience with the ride was back in 2002 but I got torched so badly just getting through the warm up in my first 4 or 5 attempts that I quit going altogether until I started racing regularly in 2007. And even now, with a couple seasons of racing under my belt, when the speed starts picking up I often feel as if I'm in the middle of a knife fight with nothing more than a moldy Slim Jim and a colorful vocabulary. To just survive the fast sections I usually have to resort to major amounts of wheel sucking and drafting behind stronger riders while I try not to burn my lungs down to two shriveled bronchial stumps. And even then, despite all of my attempts to ride as smart as possible, it's a fairly routine experience for me to get spit out the back of the pack faster than last night's Blue Plate Special while the rest of the field fades off into the distance.
So imagine my surprise last night as the group entered the final mile of the 2nd race section and I found myself in great position to contest the sprint. Not only was I in good position, I was NOT feeling as craptastic as I usually do at this point. Indeed, I was actually feeling relaxed and like I still had some gas left in the tank. Even more remarkable, up until then I had decided to not follow my usual strategy of hiding in the pack and riding the draft to the finish line. Instead, I had done my best to stay in the mix up until that point, taking turns rotating through the front as often as possible and spending energy like it was somebody else's money, for once not worrying about not getting dropped. Usually when I do that I'm cooked and eaten and paid for by the middle of the 2nd fast section. I don't know what made last night different, but all I could think was: Whose body have I swapped with with and, boy, is he gonna be pissed when he realizes he's got mine!
Back to the sprint: As the finish line got closer, the group started bunching up as more people surged to the front. I was squeezed up against the yellow line and halfway to deciding to just roll to the finish without trying for the win when the rider in front of me moved just enough to the right for me to squeeze by. I hitched up my Big Boy pants, got out of the saddle, and shot the gap to make my move for the line. Just as I got my legs spun all the way up to speed another rider alongside of me faded left, forcing me to move over the center line to avoid a collision. I tried to maintain my speed and continue moving left to get out of everyone's way as a consequence of breaking the center line rule but the racer who had been in my draft started yelling, "Go, go, go!!!!" so I picked up the speed again and found that extra 1/2" of space I needed to get back over the yellow line. And then something totally unexpected happened - it was just me and one other guy gunning for the line with everyone else behind us. I swear to Dog that it was just like in the movies. There was no sound except for the rushing of blood and wind in my ears, every pedal stroke lasted a lifetime, and the finish line got foreshortened to infinity until it was just one long white smear fading out to the horizon. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that my front wheel was crossing his rear wheel, a pedal stroke later and it was passing his rear derailleur, one more turn to pass his bottom bracket, now his fork, and then his front wheel!
I crossed the finish line in first place fully expecting my cell phone to start ringing with a call from France and an urgent request to see if I could get on a 747 to make it to France in time to start the Tour on Saturday. As the pack regrouped and we rolled to the start of the third sprint, I couldn't understand why everyone else wasn't grinning as big as I was or whooping it up as much as I wanted to right then. What was the matter with these people? Didn't they realize I just came as close to winning a real race as I probably ever will in my entire life and all the reincarnations forever after world without end amen?!?!?! I know that men in the US generally don't show strong emotion but come on people, I just won the second sprint for my first time ever on some random Tue/Thu race ride! Throw me an F-ing bone already! And to make matters even worse, I got dropped in the last sprint of the night a full mile from the finish. And as I rode in with the father of the racer I beat in the second sprint, I tried to be all casual as I mentioned that I went one-two with his son. His reply was perfect: "Oh, that's nice. Did you notice his new bike? It's totally sweet!"
JHC, give me strength!
Fundraising Update:
Raised as of 7/2: $1720 or 4.3%
Left to raise: $38280 or $850.67/wk
Click here to donate right now!
For the past few decades there's been an organized race ride in Davis that departs at 6pm every Tuesday and Thursday during Daylight Savings Time. It's a super fast but, thanks to the efforts of Alan Rowland and Dan Shadoan before him, very disciplined and as-safe-as-possible training ride that's become a rite of passage for thousands of racers and wanna be hammerheads. On any given evening it's not unusual for more than 50 riders, including a handful of pros and former pros, to show up for the 40-mile hammerfest. The format of the ride is pretty simple: a 15 minute group roll out to warm up and then three high speed sections lasting 12, 5, and 8 miles, respectively, separated by a few minutes of recovery to let everyone catch up before things get savage again. In the race-y sections it's not unusual to be thundering down the road at over 30mph within inches of the riders in front, behind, and right next to you and then, when the wind's favorable, ramping it up to almost 40mph in the final sprint to the finish line.
My first experience with the ride was back in 2002 but I got torched so badly just getting through the warm up in my first 4 or 5 attempts that I quit going altogether until I started racing regularly in 2007. And even now, with a couple seasons of racing under my belt, when the speed starts picking up I often feel as if I'm in the middle of a knife fight with nothing more than a moldy Slim Jim and a colorful vocabulary. To just survive the fast sections I usually have to resort to major amounts of wheel sucking and drafting behind stronger riders while I try not to burn my lungs down to two shriveled bronchial stumps. And even then, despite all of my attempts to ride as smart as possible, it's a fairly routine experience for me to get spit out the back of the pack faster than last night's Blue Plate Special while the rest of the field fades off into the distance.
So imagine my surprise last night as the group entered the final mile of the 2nd race section and I found myself in great position to contest the sprint. Not only was I in good position, I was NOT feeling as craptastic as I usually do at this point. Indeed, I was actually feeling relaxed and like I still had some gas left in the tank. Even more remarkable, up until then I had decided to not follow my usual strategy of hiding in the pack and riding the draft to the finish line. Instead, I had done my best to stay in the mix up until that point, taking turns rotating through the front as often as possible and spending energy like it was somebody else's money, for once not worrying about not getting dropped. Usually when I do that I'm cooked and eaten and paid for by the middle of the 2nd fast section. I don't know what made last night different, but all I could think was: Whose body have I swapped with with and, boy, is he gonna be pissed when he realizes he's got mine!
Back to the sprint: As the finish line got closer, the group started bunching up as more people surged to the front. I was squeezed up against the yellow line and halfway to deciding to just roll to the finish without trying for the win when the rider in front of me moved just enough to the right for me to squeeze by. I hitched up my Big Boy pants, got out of the saddle, and shot the gap to make my move for the line. Just as I got my legs spun all the way up to speed another rider alongside of me faded left, forcing me to move over the center line to avoid a collision. I tried to maintain my speed and continue moving left to get out of everyone's way as a consequence of breaking the center line rule but the racer who had been in my draft started yelling, "Go, go, go!!!!" so I picked up the speed again and found that extra 1/2" of space I needed to get back over the yellow line. And then something totally unexpected happened - it was just me and one other guy gunning for the line with everyone else behind us. I swear to Dog that it was just like in the movies. There was no sound except for the rushing of blood and wind in my ears, every pedal stroke lasted a lifetime, and the finish line got foreshortened to infinity until it was just one long white smear fading out to the horizon. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that my front wheel was crossing his rear wheel, a pedal stroke later and it was passing his rear derailleur, one more turn to pass his bottom bracket, now his fork, and then his front wheel!
I crossed the finish line in first place fully expecting my cell phone to start ringing with a call from France and an urgent request to see if I could get on a 747 to make it to France in time to start the Tour on Saturday. As the pack regrouped and we rolled to the start of the third sprint, I couldn't understand why everyone else wasn't grinning as big as I was or whooping it up as much as I wanted to right then. What was the matter with these people? Didn't they realize I just came as close to winning a real race as I probably ever will in my entire life and all the reincarnations forever after world without end amen?!?!?! I know that men in the US generally don't show strong emotion but come on people, I just won the second sprint for my first time ever on some random Tue/Thu race ride! Throw me an F-ing bone already! And to make matters even worse, I got dropped in the last sprint of the night a full mile from the finish. And as I rode in with the father of the racer I beat in the second sprint, I tried to be all casual as I mentioned that I went one-two with his son. His reply was perfect: "Oh, that's nice. Did you notice his new bike? It's totally sweet!"
JHC, give me strength!
Fundraising Update:
Raised as of 7/2: $1720 or 4.3%
Left to raise: $38280 or $850.67/wk
Click here to donate right now!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Making use of suffering
Funds raised as of Wed, 6/30: $1210 or 3.025%
Left to raise: $38790 or $862/wk
What a rollercoaster of a week! In the middle of Friday night I kept myself awake for an hour or so feeling like a total idiot for wanting to raise $40G and telling everyone about it and then yesterday my fundraising total literally doubled over lunchtime. And then I had an email waiting for me from the gang at Cedaron Medical Inc. saying they would match the first $1000 of donations in October AND an email from one of my friends volunteered to start investigating grants I could apply for.
Last summer when I was training for and racing in my A races for the season and dealing with being laid off (two weeks early, thanks very much!) from my job, I came across this quote from Swiss philosopher and poet Henri-Frederic Amiel: "You desire to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: Make use of suffering." [Disclaimer: Beyond what's written about him in the wikiverse, I don't know anything about this guy. So please forgive me if he happens to be an A1 nutcase who espoused all sorts of hateful junk, in addition to writing something that resonated with me at the time. I promise to go down to my public library to learn more about him in the next few days.] At the time it was very comforting to try to turn my frowns upside down and take advantage of the learning and growth opportunities I had in front of me because of all the new sorts of suffering I was going through. That, and knowing that, in the very grand scheme of things, the suffering I was feeling could have been a lot worse: Ann and I were a long way from the street even when I was without a job and, after all, I still had the time, health and $$$ to spend gobs of time racing on a couple thousand dollars of rubber, welded steel, and sex appeal.
So fast forward to June and getting started on this $40,000 fundraising adventure. If the past week is any indication of what the next 10 months will be like, I'm in store for a whole lot more opportunities to suffer even before I hop onto the new tandem (pictures coming soon, I promise!). From the sleep-depriving worry of whether or not it's even possible; the wondering for the millionth time, 'why don't they F-ing donate already? Can't they see I'm suffering here?!?!'; the stress of staying organized and on top of the entire campaign while also balancing the other important parts of my life like, oh yeah, my wife, my friends, and my job to the frabjous joy of friends coming through with unexpectedly big donations and offers of assistance, these intense mood swings are tough to handle for someone like me who's still working on identifying and expressing strong emotions. Even after just one cycle of this up-and-down-and-up I'm feeling like I might like to pull over and have a little barf. But I guess the good thing is that I'll go through lots more these emotional suffering cycles before I'm done with this project and with each one maybe I'll get a little better at handling it.
Left to raise: $38790 or $862/wk
What a rollercoaster of a week! In the middle of Friday night I kept myself awake for an hour or so feeling like a total idiot for wanting to raise $40G and telling everyone about it and then yesterday my fundraising total literally doubled over lunchtime. And then I had an email waiting for me from the gang at Cedaron Medical Inc. saying they would match the first $1000 of donations in October AND an email from one of my friends volunteered to start investigating grants I could apply for.
Last summer when I was training for and racing in my A races for the season and dealing with being laid off (two weeks early, thanks very much!) from my job, I came across this quote from Swiss philosopher and poet Henri-Frederic Amiel: "You desire to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: Make use of suffering." [Disclaimer: Beyond what's written about him in the wikiverse, I don't know anything about this guy. So please forgive me if he happens to be an A1 nutcase who espoused all sorts of hateful junk, in addition to writing something that resonated with me at the time. I promise to go down to my public library to learn more about him in the next few days.] At the time it was very comforting to try to turn my frowns upside down and take advantage of the learning and growth opportunities I had in front of me because of all the new sorts of suffering I was going through. That, and knowing that, in the very grand scheme of things, the suffering I was feeling could have been a lot worse: Ann and I were a long way from the street even when I was without a job and, after all, I still had the time, health and $$$ to spend gobs of time racing on a couple thousand dollars of rubber, welded steel, and sex appeal.
So fast forward to June and getting started on this $40,000 fundraising adventure. If the past week is any indication of what the next 10 months will be like, I'm in store for a whole lot more opportunities to suffer even before I hop onto the new tandem (pictures coming soon, I promise!). From the sleep-depriving worry of whether or not it's even possible; the wondering for the millionth time, 'why don't they F-ing donate already? Can't they see I'm suffering here?!?!'; the stress of staying organized and on top of the entire campaign while also balancing the other important parts of my life like, oh yeah, my wife, my friends, and my job to the frabjous joy of friends coming through with unexpectedly big donations and offers of assistance, these intense mood swings are tough to handle for someone like me who's still working on identifying and expressing strong emotions. Even after just one cycle of this up-and-down-and-up I'm feeling like I might like to pull over and have a little barf. But I guess the good thing is that I'll go through lots more these emotional suffering cycles before I'm done with this project and with each one maybe I'll get a little better at handling it.
Making use of suffering at the top of Cardiac Hill
or
What the end of an LT set looks like
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Thank you, Wheelworks! For the $1G and that Felt
Fundraising update: $460 raised; $39540 to go
B3FI: $859.57/wk
It's a good fundraising day today! This morning I received the following message from Joe S., the owner of Davis Wheelworks: "Quick reply here...taxiing on airport runway. Will do $1k." Nevermind the fact that he's probably texting well after the flight attendants told him not to, that '$1k' means he's committed to matching the first $1000 of donations made until the end of July. Thank you, Joe!
For those of you who aren't from Davis or aren't cyclists, out of the 7 bike shops in town, Davis Wheelworks is the most high profile and high end shop in town. It caters to road cyclists and triathletes looking to put something really fast between their legs. My relationship with Wheelworks goes back to 2002, when it was owned by Steve Larsen, a Davis native and former pro road cyclist, mountain biker, and triathlete. I wandered in there in January 2002 not having a clue about what I was looking for. What a noob I must have looked, dressed in felted Birkenstocks, mismatched socks (socks! with Birkenstocks!), torn Grammicis, and a big UPenn NROTC cotton hoodie. Steve himself helped me and spent several hours, including two of them past closing time, talking to me seriously about bikes and sending me out on test ride after test ride to find the one that worked best for me.
I finally settled on an entry level Felt 75 and that was pretty much all she wrote. I rode that thing like the devil after I got it, getting in over 6000 miles in my first year of riding. What I remember most, ironically, was the lack of pain. My knees have always given me problems when I exercised, but for some reason cycling, for the first three years at least, didn't bother them at all. I still remember the sense of speed and joy and freedom I felt just hammering my brains out on the road for hour after hour. Especially after my dad died later that first Winter, it seemed like all I really wanted to do was ride and ride and ride. I had almost all of my significant cycling firsts on that bike: first ride out to Winters and back, first rides up Cardiac and Cantelow and Mix, first rides up Cardiac and Cantelow and Mix without stopping, first crash on the way down Mix, first ride on the American River Bike Trail, first metric century, first century, first double century, first flat tire (at mile 196 of my first double century!), first Tue/Thu race ride.
I sold that Felt after about a year of riding on it and Steve sold the shop to Joe S. and moved back up to Bend soon after that. Awesomely, as far as I know that Felt has been the first road bike for two other people now, including another NorCal AIDS Cycler. And I still see it around Davis occasionally, going fast between someone else's legs.
B3FI: $859.57/wk
It's a good fundraising day today! This morning I received the following message from Joe S., the owner of Davis Wheelworks: "Quick reply here...taxiing on airport runway. Will do $1k." Nevermind the fact that he's probably texting well after the flight attendants told him not to, that '$1k' means he's committed to matching the first $1000 of donations made until the end of July. Thank you, Joe!
For those of you who aren't from Davis or aren't cyclists, out of the 7 bike shops in town, Davis Wheelworks is the most high profile and high end shop in town. It caters to road cyclists and triathletes looking to put something really fast between their legs. My relationship with Wheelworks goes back to 2002, when it was owned by Steve Larsen, a Davis native and former pro road cyclist, mountain biker, and triathlete. I wandered in there in January 2002 not having a clue about what I was looking for. What a noob I must have looked, dressed in felted Birkenstocks, mismatched socks (socks! with Birkenstocks!), torn Grammicis, and a big UPenn NROTC cotton hoodie. Steve himself helped me and spent several hours, including two of them past closing time, talking to me seriously about bikes and sending me out on test ride after test ride to find the one that worked best for me.
I finally settled on an entry level Felt 75 and that was pretty much all she wrote. I rode that thing like the devil after I got it, getting in over 6000 miles in my first year of riding. What I remember most, ironically, was the lack of pain. My knees have always given me problems when I exercised, but for some reason cycling, for the first three years at least, didn't bother them at all. I still remember the sense of speed and joy and freedom I felt just hammering my brains out on the road for hour after hour. Especially after my dad died later that first Winter, it seemed like all I really wanted to do was ride and ride and ride. I had almost all of my significant cycling firsts on that bike: first ride out to Winters and back, first rides up Cardiac and Cantelow and Mix, first rides up Cardiac and Cantelow and Mix without stopping, first crash on the way down Mix, first ride on the American River Bike Trail, first metric century, first century, first double century, first flat tire (at mile 196 of my first double century!), first Tue/Thu race ride.
I sold that Felt after about a year of riding on it and Steve sold the shop to Joe S. and moved back up to Bend soon after that. Awesomely, as far as I know that Felt has been the first road bike for two other people now, including another NorCal AIDS Cycler. And I still see it around Davis occasionally, going fast between someone else's legs.
Monday, June 21, 2010
$40G's a nice round number
Okay, I'm all registered for the 2011 NCACycle, the blog is finally up, the tandem is purchased, and there's already some $$$ in my fundraising account (Thanks, you two!) Let's see...I've raised $125 so far, leaving me $39875 dollars left to raise and...46 weeks to raise it in. That comes out to an average of $866.85/week between now and next May. Zoinks!
Joaquin's Big Fundraising Plan is also starting to come together. So far I've got four different strategies for raising hunks of that $40G - $10G in donations from individuals; $10G in donor matching from local businesses and philanthropists to match the $10G from individuals; $10G in a series of slammin' fundraising events in Winter and Spring 2011; and then the final $10G using some combination of luck, divine intervention, the teeth-and-dimples, and finding out that, yes, it is possible to find the end of a rainbow and, yes, there is a little leprechaun there who wants to share her pot of gold with me. Admittedly, the plan needs a little work, but that's what I've got so far.
I've got two businesses and an anonymous philanthropist all set for donor matching in the months of June/July, August, and September. Thanks Davis Wheelworks and CustomerLink! I'm hopeful that I can find folks to donor match for the other 7 months before the NCACycle. Also, Beth at B&L Bike Shop is donating a cruiser bike to raffle off to jumpstart the fundraising. I'm hoping to have a ton of other stuff available to motivate and reward donors along the way. So stay tuned and feel free to donate early, late, and often!
At this point, there are all sorts of popular sayings that come to mind about long journeys starting with a single step or eating elephants one bite at a time or birds in the hand versus them being in the bush, but right now what comes to my mind is: "WTF were you thinking when you said $40G?!?!?!" Reminds me of my favorite scene in Cool Hand Luke:
DRAGLINE: Why'd you have to say fifty [eggs]? Why not thirty five or thirty nine?
LUKE: Fifty's a nice round number.
I'm sure I'll have more to think and write about that over the next year or so as I start whittling away at my goal. I hope to explore that as well as what it is about bicycle riding, HIV/AIDS advocacy, taking on huge projects, tandem riding, etc. that are so attractive and compelling to me. And maybe inspire readers to get involved and/or donate by clicking on one of the links at the bottom of the blog. So stay tuned and thanks for reading!
Joaquin's Big Fundraising Plan is also starting to come together. So far I've got four different strategies for raising hunks of that $40G - $10G in donations from individuals; $10G in donor matching from local businesses and philanthropists to match the $10G from individuals; $10G in a series of slammin' fundraising events in Winter and Spring 2011; and then the final $10G using some combination of luck, divine intervention, the teeth-and-dimples, and finding out that, yes, it is possible to find the end of a rainbow and, yes, there is a little leprechaun there who wants to share her pot of gold with me. Admittedly, the plan needs a little work, but that's what I've got so far.
I've got two businesses and an anonymous philanthropist all set for donor matching in the months of June/July, August, and September. Thanks Davis Wheelworks and CustomerLink! I'm hopeful that I can find folks to donor match for the other 7 months before the NCACycle. Also, Beth at B&L Bike Shop is donating a cruiser bike to raffle off to jumpstart the fundraising. I'm hoping to have a ton of other stuff available to motivate and reward donors along the way. So stay tuned and feel free to donate early, late, and often!
At this point, there are all sorts of popular sayings that come to mind about long journeys starting with a single step or eating elephants one bite at a time or birds in the hand versus them being in the bush, but right now what comes to my mind is: "WTF were you thinking when you said $40G?!?!?!" Reminds me of my favorite scene in Cool Hand Luke:
DRAGLINE: Why'd you have to say fifty [eggs]? Why not thirty five or thirty nine?
LUKE: Fifty's a nice round number.
I'm sure I'll have more to think and write about that over the next year or so as I start whittling away at my goal. I hope to explore that as well as what it is about bicycle riding, HIV/AIDS advocacy, taking on huge projects, tandem riding, etc. that are so attractive and compelling to me. And maybe inspire readers to get involved and/or donate by clicking on one of the links at the bottom of the blog. So stay tuned and thanks for reading!
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