Why Getting Older Is Not Such A Bad Thing

For most people, when a milestone birthday begins approaching, they begin thinking a lot.  This is particularly true when approaching a new decade such as thirty, forty, or fifty.  People start thinking “Am I where I want to be in my life? Are things going to change? Oh man, I can’t believe I’m going to be thirty!  Where has the time gone?”  There are many different sentiments that people have about aging.  Some people embrace it, and others will say, often in a joking manner, that getting older is not such a great thing.  As my thirtieth birthday approached, there was no shortage of people teasing me with the typical “dirty thirty” and “it’s all downhill from here” banter.  But as I write this, I am seventeen months into my thirties and for me, my thirties so far have been nothing short of amazing.  When I say “amazing” I don’t mean that things have been perfect. In fact, far from it.  Since I’ve hit thirty, there have been incredible highs as well as devastating lows.  I’ve learned to embrace and celebrate the highs and keep my head up and plow through the lows.  It hasn’t always been easy, but attitude is everything.  Your whole life is in your hands and it is what you make it.

As I reflect on how far I’ve come since turning thirty, I now see that with each decade of my life thus far, there have been major changes, even as far back as when I was ten.  When I was ten and eleven years old, I began focusing more in school and being more social.  I wasn’t a straight A student, but I achieved better grades, made more friends, and turned the tables with a lot of schoolmates I had problems with simply by changing my attitude.  When I was nineteen years old, I was a student at Western Michigan University.  One day in November, I was done with classes for the day and was preparing to go to work at my part time job which I worked three nights a week at a local restaurant.  As I was about to leave, I heard a knock on my apartment door.  When I opened it, I saw my dad standing there.  He hadn’t called and said he was going to make the two-and-a-half-hour drive to come see me, so I could tell right away that something was amiss.  “Hey Dad” I said confusingly.  “What’s going on?”.  He didn’t answer. “Dad?”  after a good ten seconds, he finally embraced me with tears in his eyes and told me that my mom had passed away earlier that day.  I simply couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  I was in so much shock, I could barely articulate a response to what he said.  It didn’t seem real.  I had to have been dreaming.  But it was, unfortunately, very real and all I could do was deal with it as best as I could.  After the initial shock wore off, and I went through the grieving process, things got weird.  Even though I had been away at college, a life without my mom around was a bizarre and sad feeling.  I was in a haze for the next several months and although I continued to live a typical college life of partying and good times, I sometimes felt very hollow. Even with the comfort of my friends, my life seemed dreamlike and I found it difficult to focus on anything.  I thought about my mom every single day.  But then my twentieth birthday approached.  School was about to let out for the year, and soon I would be heading back to my hometown, working a full-time summer job, spending time with old friends and family, and taking a break from school.  By this time, I had a chance to reflect on what happened and the haziness of my life subsided.  At one point, I think it was on a random Saturday night after a party, things became crystal clear and I had a decision to make; I could either dive face first into a life of drugs, alcohol, and despair to cope with the pain or I could not let this beat me down and I could rise above the pain and put that energy into being happy, having fun, and improving myself.  It was a crucial moment.  The last five months had been weird and the blow to my family was devastating, leaving a black hole in my life.  But was I alive?  Was I healthy?  Did I have a lot to be thankful for even though my mom was gone?  The answer to all three of those questions was “Yes”.  Would my mom want me to spiral down a path of self-destruction? Did I really want to throw away everything I had in my life at that point, including a great family, great friends, and a college education?  “No” on both accounts.  It was as if I had awakened from the five-month dream I was living in, and the choice was clear; Time to start improving things.  I subconsciously began a transformation including taking less for granted, treating people better, being truer to who I am, not letting things bother me too much, and getting into better physical shape.  The most challenging part of the transformation was the physical part.  I had a busy schedule and didn’t always prioritize exercise.  I stood around six feet tall and weighed one hundred and eighty-five pounds.  I wasn’t obese, but clearly not in great shape.  I began running at twenty-two in December of 2008 and soon dropped to one hundred and fifty-five pounds.  I felt better than I ever had before and when I reached twenty-nine, I looked back at how much I had changed during my twenties.  I had earned a college degree, lost thirty pounds, suffered a tragic loss, rebuilt myself, moved to Chicago and Los Angeles, became more carefree, had lots of friends, and discovered my passion for running. 

   

When my thirtieth birthday rolled around, I didn’t experience any kind of weird feelings about getting older or a milestone birthday.  Instead I thought to myself “what’s going to be instore for me in the next decade?”  And man, has a lot happened since then.  I’ve since dealt with the tragic loss of our dog, gotten married, improved myself professionally, cleaned up my diet, and continued to push my limits in running.  When I was thirty I ran my first ultra-marathon; the Bulldog 50K, I attempted a 100K race in Foresthill, was handed my first DNF, learned from my mistakes, and began running longer distances on more challenging mountain trails.  Over the three years I worked at BlackLine, we had quadruped in size, gone through a full IPO, and filed our first 10-K.  I learned a ton, and found a better job that has allowed me to learn even more.  I’ve learned how to be a good husband (still learning), and began eating healthier.  I have since incorporated more fruit and vegetables into my diet, placing less emphasis on meat, and even eating at vegan restaurants for the first time and going vegetarian one or two days a week.  My morning breakfast now consists of a piece of peanut butter toast, an apple, and a cup of Greek yogurt.  I’ve been drinking lemon water, eating avocados, and, thanks to the juicer my wife and I purchased a few weeks ago, been drinking homemade juice.  I’m one month shy of thirty-one and a half now and I still have eight and a half years left in this decade.  I plan to keep all of this up and will keep learning and growing throughout my thirties and inevitably, when I hit my forties, there will be new challenges, new setbacks, and most importantly, new experiences and opportunities to learn and grow.  It will be no different than how it’s been with my twenties and thirties.  Milestone birthdays should not come with fear.  If you’re living life the way you should, they should come with a sense of adventure.  Instead of looking at what you don’t have, look at what you’ve accomplished, set goals, and be excited about what is in store for you next.  It doesn’t matter who you are, if you aren’t constantly challenging yourself, learning new things, and finding new ways to improve yourself and your quality of life, you’re missing out on what life is all about.  There’s a whole world out there for us.  Get after it!

Lost and Found

There are several factors that mold the persona and behavior of humans.  Much of it stems from childhood experiences, parenting, and what our minds absorb when we’re young.  As we grow we follow our own morals and beliefs and do what we think is the right thing.  However, no two people have the same exact reality.  What one person believes is the right thing may seem idiotic to another person.  Most runners, hikers, and other outdoor enthusiasts are generally happy people.  And happy people often look out for each other and will help someone else who has an unfortunate mishap, while others may take advantage of their situation instead.  So, I like to think that runners, hikers, and other outdoor enthusiasts have adopted the ‘do the right thing’ type of moral attitude, rather than act selfishly.  At least that’s what I was hoping during my drive home from my morning trail run on Sunday.  Allow me to explain why.  

Earlier that morning, I began running at 6:00 AM on the Ice House Canyon trail towards the saddle, then proceeded up the Three Tee’s Trail towards Telegraph Peak.  The morning air was cool and still as the sun slowly rose.  It was the first time in the last several months that I required the use of my arm warmers in this section of the San Bernardino Mountains.  When I reached Telegraph Peak, the sun had made its way into the sky as I stood, admiring the view.  On my way back down to the parking lot I was having a blast.  I was cruising down the trail at a nice pace and I felt good and energized.  All was going splendidly until I arrived back at the parking lot and patted the left side of my shorts.  That’s when I realized something peculiar.  This was the pocket I had put my cell phone in, as I had so many other times when I went running.  But when I patted it, I felt nothing.  I lifted my shirt and peered down my left side, and sure enough, my phone was gone.  “Shit!” I exclaimed.  I stood there for a moment, then turned around and headed back up the trail, eyes glued to the ground, searching carefully.  I began seeing some of the people I had passed moments earlier before reaching the parking lot.  Our exchanges went a little something like this: “Dude, are you going to jog back up again?” “(laughs) nope I dropped my phone.  You haven’t seen a phone on the trail, have you?” “Nope, sorry.  Good luck”.  “Whoa man, you again?” “Yeah, I dropped my phone.  You haven’t seen it, have you?” “Aww dude that blows.  Sorry man, I haven’t”.  “Did you lose your keys, man?” “Nope, cell phone”.  After about five minutes of walking at a brisk pace up to the trail, I began to realize that this was a losing battle.  The last time I had used my phone was to take a picture on the Three Tee’s Trail near Telegraph Peak.  After that, I hadn’t checked my pocket to make sure it hadn’t fallen out.  Essentially, the damn thing could have been anywhere between where I was standing and six miles up the trail.  And if that wasn’t ridiculous enough, add 4,600 feet of elevation gain.  I didn’t have the time or sufficient water supply to trek that far again.  I decided the best thing to do was to head home and figure it out from there.  It was approaching 9:30 AM and it made little sense to spend potentially another four hours wandering around the trail.  Once I reached the base of the mountains, I called my wife, Janet from Von’s in Claremont.  The ladies working the balloon counter were kind enough to let me borrow the store phone after having a chuckle at my current predicament.

   

And that brings us back to my thoughts on how outdoor enthusiasts are generally “cool” people.  Based on the people I’ve met and befriended through the running and hiking community, reading memoirs by Dean Karnazes, Scott Jurek, and other outdoor enthusiasts, and the level of impact that outdoor activities has had on my own life, I have formed the theory there is a direct correlation between our happiness level and how much time we spent outdoors.  Sure, it’s nice to watch a hockey game or a TV show on a weeknight after work while eating dinner but Janet and I very rarely watch TV during the day on weekends.  Some people prefer to spend their weekends indoors glued to their TVs and laptops.  That bores me.  I’d rather be spending my time outside on the trails or out and about with Janet and Brady eating at good restaurants, walking around town, or running errands.  The more we spend time outdoors, the happier we are, and happy people are generally more understanding of others and treat them with more tolerance and compassion.  This thought is always in the back of my mind, but at this particular moment it was burning in my mind like a wild fire, mainly because I was hoping that if someone found my phone on the trail, they would be living proof of my theory and would either turn it into the ranger station or contact Janet so it can be returned to me, rather than try to sell it or throw it away.  Most people who hike the Three Tee’s Trail are in a no phone service area for a good portion of the day, so my plan was to wait until late afternoon and call and text my phone from Janet’s phone to see if anyone had picked it up.  If someone had found it, they would likely be finished hiking and in an area with service by late afternoon.  If that didn’t work, I would try calling the ranger station to see if anyone had turned it in.  I was going to try everything I could before having to resort to getting a new one.  

Once I arrived back home, I took a shower and we headed out to run a couple errands and stopped at Corner Bakery for lunch.  We had just sat down and were waiting for our food to arrive when I noticed that Janet’s phone was buzzing on the table.  I looked down and to my amazement and delight, the caller ID said she was getting a call from my cell phone!  She picked it up right away.  The guy who was calling had been hiking earlier that day and stumbled upon my phone near the junction where the Ice House Canyon Trail meets up with the Chapman Trail.  Luckily for me, I don’t lock my phone so he was able to get in and see my text messages.  Judging by the texts between Janet and I, he made a strong assumption that she was my wife or girlfriend and dialed her phone.   He lived in Upland and said he would be home for the rest of the day.  Later on in the evening, we killed two birds with one stone and had dinner in West Covina before stopping at the guy’s place in Upland.  I received my phone back, thanked the guy immensely for his act of kindness and honesty, and all was well again.  I was extremely grateful that I had my phone back in one piece and narrowly avoided the frustration, not to mention the financial burden, of getting a new one. 

I felt extraordinarily lucky because my theory on outdoorsy people proved to be true.  This guy is a testament to the fact that there are some very honest people on the trails who watch out for others and generally care about their well-being.  Not that I don’t love the city of Los Angeles, but if I had dropped my phone there, for example, things could have easily swung in the other direction and the chances of getting my phone back likely would have been much slimmer.  These qualities are they kinds of factors that create a strong sense of friendship and unity among those who frequent the mountain trails.  This guy saved my ass, and if I get the opportunity in the future, I will surely return the favor for someone else!

Euro Honeymoon Part 2: Greece

The windy, narrow road passed by old ruins, stone walls, and along the foothills of a small mountain range as we rode through the hills of Santorini in the back of a taxi.  Finally, we arrived at our apartment which was situated in the hills above the village of Emporio. Our Air bnb hostess was awaiting our arrival and after greeting us, we began walking up a flight of winding white stone steps that led past other apartments up to ours.  Our apartment was one of the highest on the hill and included an enclosed patio and a small pool about the size of a hot tub.  The interior was small but very charming and perfect for two people.  Our hostess was delightfully talkative and helpful as she showed us around.  We marveled in the conversation and listened to her patiently, but we had a dinner reservation in Imerovigli in thirty minutes that we didn’t want to miss.  I finally was able to break in and ask her how far away the town was.  “Oh, that’s far at all” she replied.  “It’s about two, maybe three cigarettes”.  I looked at her quizzically.  “Two or three cigarettes?”.  She sensed my confusion and began laughing.  “In Santorini, we measure car ride times by how many cigarettes you can smoke along the way”.  By two or three cigarettes, she meant that the car ride was about twelve to fifteen minutes.  All three of us had a good laugh at that one.  Thirty minutes later, we arrived at La Maison restaurant and were escorted to our table.  Once we sat down at our outdoor table, I noticed the view and thought I was dreaming.  The sun was beginning set, turning the horizon reddish orange.  Directly in front of us was a beautiful view of the ocean with the island of Nea Kameni in the center, some twelve hundred feet below.  White buildings lined the cliff side above the ocean on either side of us and were visible all the way down the coast in both directions, owing to Santorini’s unique shape loosely resembling a backwards “C”.  The white buildings were mostly villas and houses and were lighting up as the sun gradually set.  Our food was remarkable and we lounged around for a couple of hours, taking in the view.  When it was time to leave, we had trouble dialing a cab driver with our cell phones, so the hostess kindly offered to call for us.  She came back a minute later letting us know that the driver was on his way.  “Efcharisto poli” I said, thanking her.  The people of Santorini were incredibly welcoming and accommodating.  Our hostess at our apartment had also helped us by calling the same cab driver who had dropped us off from the airport to drive us to the restaurant.  We made small chit chat with the wait staff.  Many of them were from the mainland, close to Athens, and were in Santorini doing seasonal work.

 

We spent the next three days riding our rented ATV around the island visiting beaches, shopping in Thira, sailing around the caldera, swimming in the ocean, and eating delicious cuisine at the local restaurants.  As a gyro fanatic, I was thoroughly impressed with the food just about everywhere we ate.  The gyro was juicy and flavorful, but the tzatziki sauce was noticeably more robust than most of the Mediterranean restaurants I frequented in the U.S.  Every morning I woke up and went for a run to start off the day.  I would run from our apartment down the windy road into Emporio, and out to the beach.  After returning home, I would take a shower and ride the ATV down to the local bakery to buy fruit and baklava for breakfast.  When I bit into the first piece of baklava I had, I almost fainted.  It was about two inches thick and deliciously sweet with honey dripping from the bottom as I picked it up.  Three days later, we departed the ferry boat and arrived on the island of Mykonos.  Santorini had been beautiful and relaxing, but Mykonos, which is known for its vibrant night life and being home to over forty beaches, had a different vibe.  The view from our villa was the best yet.  It rested peacefully at the end of a steep, narrow road overlooking the pure blue ocean below with other Greek islands visible in the distance.  As the sun fell below the horizon, the lights began to shine from the houses on the hills and the ferry boats in the ocean.  The next morning, we jumped into our rental car and headed out to explore the famous beaches.  Our hostess was very informative and told us about the best beaches to explore the night before.  We stopped at a small restaurant at the foot of the hill near the water where the food was delicious and my Greek coffee was strong, muddy, and thick as motor oil.  It was better than any coffee I had ever had in the United States and wired me with energy.  The fascinating and magical thing about Mykonos is that one moment you could be driving through old ancient ruins in the middle of nowhere, and the next moment you crest a hill and a beautiful beach appears below.  Such as the case when we drove to Paradise Beach.  It was a gorgeous sandy beach with umbrella chairs, a gift shop, restaurant, and of course a couple of bars.  We laid in the sun and when we got too hot, we’d run into the clear blue ocean and swim for a while to cool off.  Then we’d lay in the sun and dry off and repeat the same process over again.  We followed the same process at Super Paradise Beach, which was a little bigger and known for its parties.  When we left the beach at 6:00 PM, dance music was playing and people were already starting to dance on the tables in the bars.  I imagined what it would have been like if we came back at 11:00 PM.  We spent the evening walking around the town of Mykonos, which is the main town on the island and where most of the island’s residents live.  The town offers numerous activities and services catering to tourists including several restaurants, bars, clubs, and stores.  The scene resembled an outdoor mall as we walked along the narrow walkway through a maze of white buildings.  We passed expensive clothing stores, gelato shops, restaurants with small outdoor tables, and clubs with dance music thumping inside.  There were all walks of life around.  College students, millennials, and older folks from all over the world and everyone seemed to be having a great time. 

The next morning, I awoke before dawn feeling energized.  The jet lag had turned my sleeping pattern upside down and although I was getting enough sleep, it was difficult to wake up before sunrise, which was something I am used to doing regularly.  This was the earliest I had woken up during our trip and I thought it would be a great opportunity to get a longer ten or eleven mile run in.  I threw my gear on and opened the door to our villa, breathing in the fresh, cool air.  I took off down the narrow road, running down a steep downhill path with lights along the hill in the distance below me leading to the ocean, which appeared to be a giant black hole in the predawn darkness.  The path led to a junction where the road forked off to the left and continued down towards the ocean with the other road veering slightly right, leading further into the hills towards a lighthouse.  I chose the latter.  Our hostess had talked about a lighthouse located at the end of a desolate road in the hills that had a great view.  After a steep climb, I came upon it.  It rested majestically atop a hill on the edge of a cliff side.  The steep road had led to a small dirt parking lot with a path leading up to the lighthouse.  The sun was just cracking the eastern skyline and the light still shined brightly, bringing back memories of visiting the beaches in Michigan where just about every pier has a lighthouse at the end.  During the overnight sailing trips with my Dad and his racing pals along the Michigan coastline, we would always see the lighthouses on shore, sometimes using them as navigation tools.  I always marveled in how cool it looked being out on the lake in the middle of the night and watching the lights make their 360-degree turn, flashing out on the lake, around the mainland, then back out to the lake every few seconds.  I stood on the cliff side admiring the view of the ocean and slowly turned back, looking towards the hills behind me.  I noticed a distant mountain peak a few miles away that appeared to be the highest point on the island.  Once I found my way back to the dirt parking lot, I located a road that appeared to lead towards this peak.  The road began a gradual incline and crested a hill, with several houses and villas along the road at the top.  From there, it dipped down and started winding towards a small valley where a few horses were standing in the field below.  I veered to the left, crested another hill, and came upon a fork in the road with one path continuing straight, the other leading towards the peak.  At the corner was a wooden sign in the shape of an arrow pointing up the road to the summit.  All it read was “Kastro” in Greek letters.  I figured this was likely the name of the peak and I began running up the road, which soon turned to a dirt trail along the mountain side.  The peak was getting closer and closer and after several twists and turns, I finally made it to the rocky summit.  I was standing on the highest peak in the area which offered a sweeping panoramic view of the island of Mykonos, as well as the surrounding islands and the ocean.  The sun had now made its way into the sky, adding a vibrant orange to the surroundings.  The experience was surreal.  I spent about ten minutes admiring the view on top of that peak and for those ten minutes it felt as if nothing else mattered.  All my concerns melted away and I didn’t have a care in the world.  I didn’t think about the future, or the past.  I just lived in the moment.  I focused completely on the present, on what I was doing and where I was at that particular moment.  While running down, I thought about the story of Pheidippides, the ancient Greek messenger who ran from Marathon to Athens to deliver the news of a Greek victory over the Persians in the Battle of Marathon and immediately collapsing and dying after proclaiming the victory to the people of Athens, thus creating the basis for the modern-day marathon.  I was about one hundred miles away from where this run took place but running through the hills in the country where long distance running was invented was one of the most inspiring experiences of my life.  My journey continued down towards the ocean, along the road, and when I arrived back at our villa, I had covered around eleven miles.  Janet was awake in bed so I drove into town to get us some breakfast.  I felt like the happiest guy in the world and was all smiles when I greeted the employees of the bakery and fruit market with an enthusiastic “Ya Sas!”, a standard Greek greeting that doubles as both hello and goodbye. 

The following afternoon, we boarded our flight to begin the long journey home.  We had a twelve-hour layover in Moscow, followed by a twelve-hour flight back home to Los Angeles.  Let me tell you, spending twelve hours in an airport terminal is not pleasant.  It was tough getting sleep on a tile floor using a backpack as a pillow, and after listening to the flight announcements on the PA system almost non-stop for eight hours, it took every ounce of composure I had to not scale the pillar like a koala bear, tear the speaker off and throw it out the window.  When we finally made it home, Janet and I both fell asleep at 5:00 PM and slept straight through the night.  I awoke in the middle of the night thinking about our trip and what an incredible journey it was.  The history, delicious food, kind people, natural beauty, all things I will miss about Italy and Greece, and how I would love to return to both countries someday.  My last thought before falling back asleep was how rejuvenating it felt being back home in my own bed.