Month: January 2007

When I attended my first Exercise the Back class at the YMCA last week I was a little taken aback to discover I was the only man in a class of 20.

It didn’t help that I couldn’t keep up with many of the women on some of the exercises, and not only the exercises that relied on “dance moves.” Of course, I told myself that women are just plain more limber than men, but that still didn’t explain why they could do more side leg lifts than I could.

I doubted I would return to the class when I left, even though all the class members were friendly and helpful.

It wasn’t until the next day I decided that I needed to return. What really convinced me — beyond my initial realization that I need to do everything I can to strengthen my back to avoid surgery — was that the next day I had sore muscles I didn’t even know I had. The class was working muscles I have neglected in my other exercises. And if those muscles are the ones a back class is targeting, I’d better pay attention to them.

Though I’m also looking forward to doing some weight lifting, I think I’ll make this class the foundation of my exercise program.

I’ve been tagged by TAGEZ Photo to blog about 5 things that people wouldn’t necessarily know about me:

After blogging for over five years now, I doubt that there’s much worth knowing — at least that I want known — that people don’t already know about me if they’ve read all that I’ve written here.

Still, here are 5 things you probably never wanted to know about me:

Perhaps some people don’t realize how competitive I am. I couldn’t even stand to purposely lose games to my kids. So I had to buy games that relied on pure chance so they could win once in awhile.

On first appearance, people probably think I come across more as a jock than as an artistic or literary type. As I once noted, I used to make fun of kids who had to go home to piano lessons while we were playing street football.

I entered the University of Washington as a Physics major, and then switched to English. In fact, I scored so low on the English portion of the SAT that I ended up in an “Honors,” Bone-Head English class my senior year of high school.

I fought my way through grade school. It was after I saw my first serious fight in a Seattle junior high school that I decided I’d rather be a scholar than a street fighter, though a quick temper didn’t always make that easy.

My favorite comic character is Donald Duck. See above.

I suspect that most of the bloggers I know who would want to do this have already done so, so I’ll leave up to others to decide if they’d like to do this rather than putting friends on the spot.

We went cross country skiing today, the first time in nearly three years. And it felt like it, at least for me.

Leslie dragged me up the mountain, not literally, of course, but certainly figuratively. About half way up the trail I started having cramps in my legs, and it just got worse from there, particularly when I tried to slow down by snowplowing on the steep grades.

Still, we made it to the Snow Hut, and that’s what we set out to reach when we began skiing.

The Mount Tahoma Trails Association maintain the trails we skied today. We met two people from MTTA, one who took this picture, and both were friendly, helpful people. I suspect I’ll be making a donation shortly since despite the pain, I’m looking forward to skiing there several more times this year.

Unfortunately, the leg cramps didn’t stop once we were off the trail. We even had to stop the car so I could get out and stretch nearly an hour later. Now I remember why we signed up for the YMCA last week. Not just to lose another ten pounds, but to try to get back in shape so that I can actually take a couple of backpacks this summer.

Luckily, I’m not planning anything more strenuous than eating breakfast with Mike and, hopefully, Kevin tomorrow.

I think I’ve admitted before that I seldom read for entertainment. It’s even rarer that I sit down and read a book of essays unless it’s been assigned for a class.

Thus, it’s not surprising that I’ve resisted reading Thomas McGuane’s An Outside Chance for over a year despite Mike’s recommendation.

No, the surprising thing is that I actually liked it after I got started. Not as much as poetry, certainly, but the reading was easy and the hours slipped by, and every once in awhile there was a real nugget, just waiting to be picked up.

McGuane covers a wide range of “sports,” from motocross, to golf, to, most importantly, fly fishing. But it’s obvious his heart lies with fly fishing and horseback riding.

The first chapter on fly fishing in the Florida Keys actually had me looking up fishing sites in order to see what kind of fish he was fishing for. His first chapter on catching the elusive “permit” ends with him finally getting his fish, followed by this startling insight into why fishing is so addictive:

I don’t know what this kind of thing indicates beyond the necessary, ecstatic resignation to the moment. With the beginning over and,
possibly, nothing learned, I was persuaded that once was not enough.

I was hooked with the very first chapter, but McGuane probably set the hook with a totally different approach in the second chapter, where he describes the Golden Gate Angling and Casting Club and makes the following revelation:

Still, it is difficult to imagine a tournament caster who would confess to having no interest at all in fishing-though that is exactly the case with some of them. Ritualistically, they continue to refer their activities to practical streamcraft.

McGuane obviously views casting as an essential part of fishing, and he seems somewhat bemused by these gentleman casters, but he still recognizes something “singular, more eloquent” about them practicing their art in the silent evening.

Like most fishermen, McGuane spends considerable time fishing alone but recognizes that a fishing buddy is someone special:

We sit down in the skiff, drifting under the dome of unsoiled marine sky. Guy hands me a sandwich and we have our lunch, chewing and ruminating like cattle. We are comfortable enough together that we can fall silent for long periods of time. A flats skiff is a confined place and one in which potentials for irritation are brought to bear as surely as in an arctic cabin, but this comfort of solitude enhanced by companionship is the rarest commodity of angling. Pure solitude, nearly its equal, is rather more available.

Part of what makes McGaune’s writing exceptional is how he can easily move from the ordinary to the sublime, and right back again, a common feeling in those who enjoy the outdoors:

In a moment he is beside the boat, bright and powerful-looking. I take the pliers and seize the shank of the hook, and with a twist the tarpon is free, though he is slow to realize it. I reach down and hold him for a moment, and I sense in this touch of his ocean-traveling power almost a dimensional breakthrough. An instant later he has vanished.

Guy tells me it’s my turn to pole.

Anyone who’s trekked to the top of a mountain and stood in awe of the view from the top but is soon overcome by the sheer exhaustion of his effort will recognize himself in these pages.