Chariots of marginally warm, slightly smoldering ashes

For as far back as I can recall running being a thing you just did as opposed to a part of an actual game or something fun, I've had a love-hate relationship with it. Well, maybe that's more of a tolerate-hate relationship. In the twenty-plus years I've been running for some purpose or another, I don't think I've ever captured the mystical "runner's high," or finished a run feeling happy and better for having done it. But, that said, aside from the times where I've thought that running is the worst thing ever, it isn't the worst thing ever.

My first memory of running just to run was in middle school, because of the bear. One time a bear attacked my middle school and we all had to run away from it. No, totally kidding, although that would be a good means of motivation. I probably would have run a whole lot faster if it had been a real bear. The bear I'm referring to, letdown though it may be, was simply the vernacular for having to run around the schoolyard during gym class. As in, "that was a bear of a run." Or at least that's how I imagine it came about. According to Google Earth, that run was somewhere just north of half a mile, but everyone dreaded it when we had to run one. I can't recall enjoying it, but I did better than the kids who just strolled along talking to one another. I'd run the straights, walk the corners, and finish solidly midpack. From that point on, it was clear I was a born runner.

Fast-forward to high school, when one day during lunch a friend showed up with a mysterious blue sheet of paper. What was this paper? How could I get one? How many hours of physical activity would I be signing up for if I filled one out? These were the questions that should have raced through my head as I quickly filled one out so I could be cool, too, and I ended up on the track team. Now, track wasn't all bad for me. Everyone knows the ladies love athletes, and this was a sport I could actually do (since Scholastic Bowl allegedly didn't count as a sport). Not that I could particularly do it well, mind you, but I was part of an actual team. I had a smelly old uniform and everything.

Only one problem. They expected you to practice, which meant staying after school and running, like, every day. Fortunately for me, the long-distance coach was an incredible pushover, and I had a clever mind eager to think up excuse after excuse for how I couldn't practice that particular day. It was great. Particularly fond memories include discovering at my first meet that no, track runners don't take walking breaks during their races, and the time my coach, trying to decide what event to enter me in, imparted these words of inspiration: "Greg, you don't run fast, but you can run at the same pace for a long time. How about the mile?" Just to show him, I did go out there and run at a slow, steady pace. And unlike that damn tortoise, I didn't win anything. But it built character, and that's more important than anything... except those cool medals the real winners got.

I know what you're thinking. "Yes, Greg. Running sucks. But why do you need to tell us?" Well, I'm telling you because I'm going to try to start running. It's the twist ending for today's post. You see, this weekend I was in Chicago moving my sister in to college, when suddenly everyone just up and sailed away (literally) and I had three hours to kill. I decided to walk. It was a sunny Saturday in the mid-eighties, so I set off along the Lakefront Trail. And you know what? I wasn't alone. There were scads of people, outside, walking, running or cycling along the beautiful lakefront. Most of these people probably even had TVs at home, too, yet here they were running along the lake for no apparent reason. The more I walked amongst them, the more I yearned to understand them, and to even become one of them.

I will readily admit that some of the appeal may have been the environment, along one of the most gorgeous shores of waterfront in the country. Or it could have been sunstroke. But either way, it was far more appealing than jogging around the sterile McMansions my condo seems to be surrounded by. Could a grand setting truly make such a difference in how I view exercise? I aim to find out. It is true that in college, I always thought I studied better in the opulent surrounds of the library rotunda than I did in my drab dorm room. So, for a while anyway, I'm going to try running in some of the prettier parts of Des Moines and see how I like it.

Of course, hands down, the most scenic part of Des Moines has to be Grays Lake Park, and I certainly aim to use its tidy paths and sweeping bridge beneath the downtown skyline as I try this new program. There's also a nice trail running behind the Des Moines Art Center which should be an option. For today, though, I think I'll give the path around Blue Heron Lake at Raccoon River Park a shot. While it is nowhere near as scenic as downtown, it is significantly closer to home, and it fulfills my Chicago-born desire to run near the water. Depending on how that goes, I'll upgrade my surroundings and maybe even make it a regular occurrence. And maybe one day someone will be walking along Grays Lake, wondering how on earth I could be fool enough to run and actually enjoy it.

GGF - North By Northwest (1959)

Have you ever been mistaken for someone you're not? I can't recall a specific time that I have, though I do have vague memories of times I've thought a total stranger was someone I knew. It would start with a wave or a hello, returned by a look of puzzled consternation, all culminating in a me giving a muttered apology and quickly walking away in embarrassment. Since I naturally tend to over-analyze myself, those occasions have probably given me more grief in the short term than they should have, but they certainly could have been worse. What if a simple case of mistaken identity lasted longer than that awkward moment; if the stranger wouldn't accept your actual identity; and worst of all, was convinced that you were a super spy he wanted to snuff out? That one accidental interaction could change the course of your entire life, just as it does for Cary Grant in Alfred Hitchcock's North by Northwest, one of my favorite movies.

Grant plays Roger Thornhill, a dapper advertising executive in New York City, kind of a Don Draper before there was one. His case of mistaken identity occurs at a lunch with clients, when he inadvertently insinuates that he is one George Kaplan, just as a couple of goons working for the bad guy du jour are watching. In a matter of moments, the clients and the lunch are forgotten, as Thornhill is swept up into an elaborate cat-and-mouse game as he tries to figure out just who George Kaplan is, and the other guys try to kill him off for being Kaplan. I won't give too much away here, but suffice it to say that they have increasingly unusual ways of trying to go after him, including one of the most iconic scenes in film history. Even if you don't like mysteries or action movies or Cary Grant, you simply have to see this film for the plane chase.

I love this movie for the action and the convoluted plot - you have to keep on your toes a bit to know what's happening. I also enjoy Cary Grant as the protagonist. In a way, he's the everyman, just a regular guy thrown into the deep end of international espionage. But unlike the average man, he reacts to these ever-changing situations with wit and charm that few of us would be able to muster under the circumstances. The script is full of snappy exchanges, his suit stays immaculate through myriad explouts, and (of course) he gets the girl. This all helps keep the movie from getting too dark, and it remains a fun adventure throughout. A great example being Thornhill recognizing he is surrounded by the bad guys at an art auction, and the ingenious way he finds to save himself. You can't help but smile, even though he's sure his life is in serious jeopardy. I won't say what it is: you'll just have to watch the movie to find out.

On a lesser note, this movie is fun in that it really brings out the romance of rail travel. I've always wanted to take a trip by train: eating in the dining car, spending the night in a sleeper car, and I think a lot of it has to do with this film. Now, there is some literal romance to the rail travel, in that Thornhill meets the female lead (Eva Marie Saint) on the train, and things go rather, ahem, quickly. But I also just like the feel of sophistication, of something a little more special than driving or flying that you feel from the train in this movie. Granted, some of that may be due to the time period, but it still holds some allure for me. This has to be my favorite rail travel movie: on board the train is the one time Thornhill kind of "gets away" from the chase. And who wouldn't want to be incognito, hiding away in a sleeper compartment while the countryside rushes by?

At its heart, though, North by Northwest isn't a train movie - it's a thriller, and it ends in spectacular fashion. I won't give away the ending here, but I'll just say that for some reason the chase ends up in South Dakota. Perhaps you can imagine how a grandiose finale would go down in that state? And if everybody there has houses like the bad guy does in Rapid City, I don't know why we all don't live in South Dakota.

North by Northwest is a great film because of the action, the plot twists and turns, the debonair protagonist, and the great ambiance/feel of it all. This is one that I've seen so many times, but if I spot it on TV, I have to keep watching. It might not be Casablanca, and it doesn't have a ton of deeper meaning, but it's a lot of fun. And at 50 years old, it sure looks good for its age.


AFI notes: 40th best movie of all time (dropped to 55th in the 10 year version of the top 100), 4th best thriller, nominated movie hero, nominated film score, 7th best mystery.

Greg's Great Films

I read a fascinating blog post the other day, and I truly think it changed my life. I may try to write more on it later, but the way in which it pertained to my movie project is this: it is impossible to see every incredible, meaningful film in a lifetime. Try as I might, as dutifully as I work down lists from AFI, Oscar winners and nominees, all of IMDB's top 250, I'll simply never see them all. In my spreadsheet for AFI movies alone there are 1,951 movies nominated or awarded for some category. That would take me 5 and a half years of viewing, if I watched a movie every single day. If, instead I watch one or two a week, as is my typical pace, it ends up being between 18 and 37 years. And then what? By time I'm 65, when I finally check off the last movie off my list, will it be with a sense of accomplishment that I've spent 310,000 minutes (estimated) watching a screen?

Not that I'm trying to say there's anything wrong with watching movies - far from it, as I do enjoy it. But doing so simply to "check a box" as we like to say here at work isn't worth it. Why, just sitting here with the spreadsheet open, I can see that Madagascar is on the list, as a nominee for one of the best animated movies. I don't want to have to watch Madagascar. So I'm once again discovering what a normal person would do in this situation, and trying to adapt my strange self to accept it. I'm going to (gasp!) watch movies that I like, and similar ones that sound interesting. Now, I've certainly enjoyed several of the movies on the AFI lists and plan to mostly choose from their ranks, but recognizing that more of my favorites fell between the 1930's and 1950's I'll tend to focus on that era. If Casablanca is my favorite film of all time, that's a good starting point to look for similarities - in year, actors, writers, director, etc.

The other thing I want to do is try to be more present when I watch these movies. With a list of movies that I'm "working" on, I'd try to rush through things so I'd get one more check mark, sometimes missing out on truly enjoying the movie experience. I'd also tend to break things up, watching movies in 20 minute or so increments whenever I caught a little spare time. From now on, if it's a movie I really want to watch, I'm going to treat it like it is - make it more of a real movie night. That can mean popcorn and dim light, or not, but at a minimum I had better keep off Facebook, like I've been known to browse during a movie. If it can't hold my attention sufficiently to keep me from seeing what my high school friends are up to, it's probably not worth watching. Last week, I watched two classic movies, but I was really there for both of them. One was phenomenal - one of my all-time favorites. The other, not as good, but I chose it for a reason and gave it an honest shot.

I think this should make things more fun for me to blog about. Not trying to cram five films into one entry, not needing to rate movies I hated - should make the posts more positive overall. And although there is some benefit in warning people away from bad movies (M*A*S*H, anyone?), I'd rather focus on recommending ones that are truly great. Let's give it a whirl and see what happens.

Life Lessons from Wisconsin

Photos intended and should be coming soon

Four weeks ago this morning, I was in a car headed Northeast out of Madison, Wisconsin. With a full tank of gas, a stomach full of "breakfast" courtesy of the AmericInn, and my wonderful wife beside me, we were on our way to the beaches, boutiques and orchards of Door County. In terms of impressive sights and far-flung destinations, it certainly wasn't going to compare with prior vacations to Washington, D.C. or California's Sonoma Valley, but it was a beautiful respite from an otherwise busy schedule and the source of an important lesson for me.

In the weeks leading up to the trip, I was like an addict suffering the symptoms of withdrawal. No, not from any exotic substances, nor do I mean any sort of wanderlust from lack of travel (though it certainly had been a long time). Instead, I was struggling with my overwhelming desire to plan things out. I've noted on here my desire for preplanning, and touted its virtues when I talked about our trip to DC. And maybe it is a good thing in a big city like that, where you have one week to see countless memorials and world-class museums, many of which require prior reservations. But I'd noticed this need to control events sneaking into my life in general, and it was starting to cause me some anxiety in making sure everything did go to plan. The perfect antidote, it seemed, was a trip to a resort on the shore.

This was easier said than done, though. My usual routine in planning a trip was to go to TripAdvisor.com (a fabulous site, incidentally), and scour through all the categories - hotels, restaurants, activities, putting them into a spreadsheet that I'd gradually winnow down into a rough itinerary for the vacation. Cross-checking that info with stuff from the visitor's bureau, reviews on Yelp.com and pictures on the web added up to a monumental task to be sure we'd have the best possible vacation. It's what I've done on nearly every prior vacation I've planned. This time, though, I wanted to do things differently.

I will admit, on the hotel, I caved to my inner self and made my spreadsheet, pored over things and chose what seemed to me to be the very best. But all the while I kept telling myself I needed to keep things under control. I started lists of restaurants, but made myself delete them so I wouldn't overanalyze them. The weeks leading up to the trip were agonizing in some ways, as I wanted to do more research, but I forced myself to just go with it. Finally we hit the road, with a snazzy resort room booked, the Door County visitor's guide brochure and my mental notes on what had looked nice/sketchy/etc, and nothing else. No Excel sheets, no printouts of itineraries, nothing. Trust me, that was a big step.

We arrived in the county on a simply magnificent summer day, temperature around 80 beneath a sunny sky and with a gentle but cool breeze blowing inland from Green Bay (the body of water, not the city). We wanted to pick cherries, so I consulted the guide. They listed six options, not one like my itinerary would have. We asked our GPS, Beyonce, which one was closest, I thought back to a few things I'd seen online, and... we took a chance and tried one. And it was incredible. Friendly people, abundant delicious cherries, gorgeous orchards - I doubt I could have picked a better one had I tried. We picked cherries until our cooler was full. Counting another visit to the same orchard later that week, we ended up with 35 pounds of cherries!

After all that effort, we were pretty hungry so we needed to find a restaurant. Again, another place where my itinerary would have guided us had I actually made one. But operating without, Stacia leafed through the visitors guide once more and tossed out ideas. I commented on how nice a water view would be, and before I knew it we were sitting down at a restaurant I hadn't even seen online. As we gazed out onto Green Bay, sipping Spotted Cow beer and munching on cheese curds, I finally started to really relax. Was this place the best restaurant in all of Door County? Probably not - it was like a typical bar-and-grill, but with a Wisconsin flair. But who cares? In that moment it was perfect for us. After that point, I was ready to just chill out and take the vacation as it came.

So we spent the week doing whatever happened to strike our fancy at the moment. We went to the beach, we visited various shops, we visited (and quickly left) a mediocre winery. We discovered a delicious wood-fired pizza place and a groovy dinner restaurant, both of which featured local and sustainable ingredients. We lounged in the hot tub or at the pool, and even played shuffleboard at the resort! (more fun than you might guess) We ate ice cream from a local dairy nearly every single day. I can't imagine an itinerary that I'd crafted in advance featuring all of that, but it was so great I doubt I would change a thing.

Rereading some of this, I can see how you might wonder if I'm some sort of an alien. Who needs to learn that a vacation is about relaxing? Me, apparently. I always used to say I was innately a planner, and that making spreadsheets and charting out itineraries was just the way I am. But with one successful trip in the books without that level of detail, I'm now all about trying to just live in the moment. It's difficult, but I'm making progress. I think the main takeaway for me can be summed up in this quote from Dwight Eisenhower:

Plans are worthless, but planning is everything.


He makes a finer distinction between plans and planning than I do, but the idea is the same. In Door County I needed a small base level of knowledge of the area - what some of the more interesting attractions and dining options were, but I didn't need, and truthfully didn't want a master plan dictating which of those items needed to be done at any given time. Everything turned out well without it, and I was a lot less anxious about keeping our schedule and seeing what we "had to" see. I still think it was probably good to preplan Washington D.C., but life in general can be a lot more random and that may well be a good thing.

I'm heading back to Chicago this coming weekend, and I know for at least part of the time my brother and I will be in the city with a few hours to kill. The old me might have decided in advance how we should try to spend that time, but I think we'll just wing it this time.