Ep 54: Let's stop living in fear: The New York Times publishes its first front-page editorial in nearly a century, Dec 4, 2015 (Why lives matter more than "black guns")

Last night, Chelsea and I sat down to enjoy dinner (without the kids) at Julianna's, a local restaurant in Cortlandt Manor that we love.

However, within a few minutes of our arrival we were both distraught and literally fearing for our lives. Our trepidation proved "unfounded," but not without reason and not without consequence.

Across the way in this small one-room restaurant were a middle-aged couple with blue bandannas tied around their necks. The man kept putting the bandanna up over his face, up to his nose. However, more daunting was the t-shirt he was wearing that read in big capitalized white-against-black letters: BLACK GUNS MATTER.

This was a "nice" restaurant per se and so it simply didn't make sense to me why anyone would sport this shirt in public or have bandannas on. Chelsea and I kept nervously glancing at them, hoping they were leaving soon.

Chelsea leaned over and told me, "If something happens, the back door is right behind us." Having been trained for years by NY subway propaganda, "If you see something, say something," I contemplated calling the police to report these suspicious characters. But I balked, I bet on the notion that these people were simply expressing themselves, uncaring to the idea that they were stirring panic among patrons.

Being from Michigan, my wife reassured herself by saying it was likely more reminiscent of the culture she grew up in and not a reflection of the more liberal areas we live in. Her brother-in-law once told her "Only in New York and California do you have folk who don't equate freedom to the right to own your own gun."

Regardless, we were uncomfortable and I was perturbed and disturbed by the inciting. I suggested that maybe these were bikers, thus the bandannas. Alas, neither of us had noticed a motorcycle of any kind when we walked in.

Luckily, this out-of-place couple, soon left without incident and we tried to enjoy a rare night out when we get to focus more on being foodies‌‌ than parents‌.

Nonetheless, the moment made a great impact on me. It has compelled me to be more vocal about an issue that is stirring our nation.

I believe it is awful enough that I must be afraid of coming in and out of Grand Central every morning and every afternoon now. Thus, it is no strange coincidence that the front page of one of New York's most popular papers, the New York Post, reflected my emotions this morning reading FEAR ONLY FEAR.

Fortunately, The New York Times read my mind as well and published its first front-page editorial in nearly a century, calling for lawmakers to do more to ban the type of assault rifles used in the San Bernardino shootings and other mass shootings in the U.S. I couldn't agree more.

It's the least we can do. It makes me rather sad to know that we are so inept as a nation, so paralyzed by industry and archaic entitlement, and so utterly inane when it comes the question of what matters more—purported rights and materialism or life itself.

Here is an excerpt:

End the Gun Epidemic in America

BY THE TIMES EDITORIAL BOARD

DEC 4, 2015

It is a moral outrage and national disgrace that civilians can legally purchase weapons designed to kill people with brutal speed and efficiency.

All decent people feel sorrow and righteous fury about the latest slaughter of innocents, in California. Law enforcement and intelligence agencies are searching for motivations, including the vital question of how the murderers might have been connected to international terrorism. That is right and proper...

Read the full front page article:

End the Gun Epidemic in America

Ep 53: The Peekskill Fun Run!

I ran my first race in a year this morning, the second in over 20 years (1993 NYC Marathon). Inspired by my chat yesterday with a colleague, Lanse Natsch, I ran it as "training" run and a good base time to build from. 

My wife and three of our five kids "ran" with us. Milo and Olivia, the toddlers were the youngest among a field of 24 kids who ran a fun run once around the  track, they came in dead last, but got trophies nonetheless and were an inspiration to all. 

I absolutely loved the course because it was a tough climb up Division Street, right before Mile 2. Back in the days, hills were my forté, so although I struggled up this one, I'm looking forward to making this route a regular training run.

I did a 8:19 first mile, 17:53 second (at the top of a long hill and finished at about 28:00 (my 2 year old daughter walked out to me at finish line, so I walked a few feet with her to the tape).

On average the time converter says I did an acceptable 9 minute mile. I was happy with the results and fantasize that if I can get back to training in earnest I can reduce that mile time by two minutes. Having endured two Crossfit WODS in a row on Tuesday and Wednesday ( Abigail! and Metcon Grinding) and then two River Runs on Thursday and Friday ( New York Life Home Office Fitness Center River Run (4.43 Miles) my legs were pretty sore and stiff, so I cut myself some slack.

More critical to my diminished performance was the fact that I was catching my breath through the whole ordeal, indicating that I am significantly out of cardiovascular shape. I'm eager to improve that.

In 2013, when I'd run a 5k on the treadmill at the gym at work, roughly once or twice a week I averaged 7:20 or so on a good day. Inspired by talking to many of our colleagues about their marathon training has renewed my passion for my favorite sport (see Your Marathon Story & personal transformation). I'm sharing all this so that I might hold myself accountable to this challenge, like Jason Brooks has shown me to do.

Thank you one and all for reigniting that fire.

Ep. 52: “It’s so beautiful outside” 3-year-old Milodeus teaches Papa a lesson

The first thing our three year old son, Milo-Milodeus, said this morning as he was peering out from our bedroom, "Pop. I was just looking out the window. It's so beautiful outside."

And here I thought I was supposed to be teaching him how to live large.

Alas, in response, I thought, “Actually, it’s kind of overcast..”

Ugh. The contrasting POVs was a poignant reminder that every once in a while we must be reminded to shun our tainted perspective as adults and embrace things simply as they are and not how we (over)think them to be— skewed by our anxious agendas, the fears of what is or is not to come or disappointingly never was.

Albeit I risk banging on the drum of an old cliché, my son’s words at sunrise summarize an important chapter of a bestselling memoir I wrote ten years ago. It is not until now, after two marriages, almost 50 years and 5 children, that I realize that it was and is perhaps the most important lesson I’ve learned, if only because it belies another maxim, if youth is wasted on the young, wisdom is wasted on the old. Perhaps.

And perhaps it is a child’s perspective that intertwines the two.

Here is an excerpt from that ever-important chapter of 25 Lessons I’ve Learned about Photography…Life!

Lesson 4:  Take the Long Way Home

No matter where you live or work or go, there are treasures to be found everywhere. We only have to make an effort to look for them; sometimes it is simply a matter of opening our eyes and senses to see the beauty that envelopes our daily lives.

     A good way of achieving this is by trying to see the world through a child’s eyes. To do so, you must let go of all the things you must do, and simply explore without an agenda, without the compulsion to keep track of time and place, without a care to divert you away from appreciating all the glorious details of the environment that glimmers around you.

     On occasion, we must remind ourselves to think and run and play as freely as we once did, when we were kids, when, as children, we often took the long way home or spun in circles and made odd noises until we got so dizzy that we could no longer stand up straight, so that we spilled ourselves silly onto the grass, and with our arms splayed apart we watched the clouds congeal into giant animal crackers up above, until we caught our breath and our equilibrium again—if only, so that we could do it all over again without a second thought as to how sick we might feel afterward.

     I am fortunate to be a father of two wonderful boys who inspire me on a daily basis in this manner. As much as parents serve to guide their little ones via their own errors and experience, children likewise serve to prompt us to let go every once in a while, so that we might truly enjoy and appreciate life. Watching my sons play, I am constantly reminded that kids get in trouble mostly because their organic way of being does not naturally fit into the rigid outline of an adult agenda imposed upon them.

     For a number of reasons, I am particularly fond of a photo I once took of my youngest, Dominic, when we were crossing the bridge one late afternoon from Lambertville, NJ to New Hope PA. Not only do the spray of the sunshine, the two levels of depth with the railing to the left and bridge frame to the right and the shadows cast—cumulatively make a richly textured picture, but my son's rattling of fingers against the rail reminds me to "relax."

     For the first thing I thought when I saw him doing this was, "You’re going to dirty your hands, son!" Immediately realizing how inane my worries were, I let him be and let myself enjoy the moment.

     Reviewing photos of my children often reminds me of the adage that, indeed, our little ones become big ones all too soon. It is impossible to over-appreciate every minute of their blossoming, especially when, as adults, we are so eager to regain that blissful state of ignorance and freedom.

     Ironically enough, it is the inherent qualities of a child that lead us to the wisdom we often seek as adults. “Wisdom begins with wonder,” Confucius once said. Thus, it is through my boys that I am often reminded that it is curiosity that puts us on the path toward such enlightenment.

     Far too often, as adults, we forfeit the precious traits that are inherent in us as children—all in the name of fear, conservation, propriety and apathy.

     And often for good reason.

     But just as often, we do not risk enough, we are not willing to step out of our safety zone, to try something new, to just waste time in the name of frivolity—to take the long way home.

     As a result of succumbing to the requisite pragmatism of adulthood, we stay stagnant, we diminish our potential, we stop growing, and we proceed down the straight and narrow path until we become bored and unhappy.

     This is why we need to nudge ourselves off the road every once in a while, to take a detour without fearing to get lost. If anything, we must welcome the opportunity to see new things, meet new people, have adventures, and most importantly, learn.

And by learning, grow wiser via youthful ignorance, precocious restlessness and relentless inquisition about this and that, and this again.

Ep. 51: The Little Garden That Could

This final Summer Friday I have the pleasure of staying at home to spend time with my wife Chelsea and our two toddlers, Milo and Olivia Luz.

This morning Olivia and I went out to our front garden to pick part two of a beautiful bounty. I was astonished at how quickly the next batch ripened and how bountiful it was once again. We collected two baskets full of cherry and beef tomatoes, and one puny pickle-in-the-making.

As you can see by these photos, there's plenty more where that came from. This little garden of ours sits in our front yard and is the little garden that could because it gives and gives and it keeps on giving....cherry and beefsteak tomatoes, giant squash, jalapeño peppers and even a few pretty dark purple eggplants.

Brendan, our 70-year old Irish landscaper stopped by while we were plucking and pruning, and commented, in his charming native cadence, "Wow, you're blooming! It's because you get sun all day and you planted in virgin soil," repeating the latter part 2-3 times as he is apt to do.

We love Brendan, and to show our appreciation the kids gave him a little box decorated with paint and shells. We gave him a little bag of tomatoes to take home with him as well.

He was visibly excited about the gifts, which prompted him to tell us that he was just about to throw out a big box of sea shells which he brought back from his last trip to the homeland, Ireland, but that he was now going to bring them over for the kids.

A little later on Mama Bear took the little cubs to BJ's, while I stayed home and prepared an amazing salad with fresh mozzarella pearls; cherry tomatoes from our garden and yellow heirloom tomatoes picked at the farm; chipped cured kalamata, castelvetrano, and cerignola olives, the latter double-stuffed with garlic and jalapeño; freshly chopped basil from our tiny herb garden; freshly ground sea salt; and three types of olive oil - cold-pressed extra virgin, garlic-infused and Harina-infused.

Yes, this is how we do it at Domínguez Manor. It's good to be home.

Ep 50: Rhabdo is Real (and so is P90X)

“Since the start of the summer, I’ve gotten at least one case of Rhabdo a week,” shared my workout partner and wife, Chelsea, as we were wrapping up our workout. “And most of it is from Crossfit. A lot of patients are half our age.” I’m turning 48 soon, so it was a good reminder to keep hydrated and take it easy, and not bow to the peer pressure that this group-oriented exercise engenders. 

Chelsea’s a doctor of internal medicine at Northern Westchester Hospital, so I’m fortunate to have someone like her at my side to check my pulse as we push ourselves to the limit. Besides my age and her professional insight, with five children in tow, we also know that remaining cognizant of ourselves is crucial to not having to cash in on our term policies all too early. 

“The motivational loud music, the coaching, and the 'subtle' peer goading are designed to help you push pass the pain. However, they also  intrude on our ability to listen to our bodies,” she waxed, as we drove home. “The unforgiving pace of the workout also contributes to the spike in Rhabdo among Crossfitters,” I added. “Most other sports don’t induce such risk, because there are pauses or the pace is even-tempered enough to facilitate endurance.”

Having been inspired by Ahr-nold when I was a young man of 21, his Encyclopedia of Modern Bodybuilding, guided me during my daily 3-4 workouts for a full year. For the only time in my life I actually had a six-pack and I developed muscles I had never seen before (and have never seen since). Five years later I ran the New York City Marathon as one of three guides to a pack of blind Russian runners. With our feet literally on the starting line and 27,000 other runners behind us, we ran across the Verazano Bridge at 6:45 and covered the first 12 miles at that same pace. And we were on pace to cross the finish line in under three hours,  but, ultimately, we averaged only 7:20 because our tethered friends had been training in Siberia and had decided not to drink water for the first half of a slightly humid race. In turn, our comrades had to stop 22 miles in and we walked for half a mile, killing our goal.  Point is, I know pushing the limits, I know going the distance, I know intense training, which is why half my life later, I'm well aware (and concerned) of the real risks of these intense Crossfit workouts.

In addition to my wife’s experience, as soon as I read about Rhabdo when we began Crossfit a couple of weeks ago, I was reminded of a former colleague or ours (she recently left our company) who had Rhabdo as well. She is only 28 and she had relayed the traumatic experience of enduring Rhabdo and the recovery required. It had not occurred to me until we began our own workouts, that this is likely how my friend had been stricken. 

“Recently, a patient came in with Rhabdo at the same time that his wife was going into labor,” relayed Mrs. Doctor. “For three days he had to wheel around an IV to the delivery room because we were pumping in the equivalent of three small water (12 oz) bottles of liquid into him every hour.” Apparently, the kidney malfunction that Rhabdo causes does not allow you to exorcise the breakdown of muscle protein that occurs when you workout and your pee turns brown. Ewww. 

If you’re a layman like me, who does not understand half of what his wife is saying most of the time, trying to read and understand what Rhabdo is via all the medical literature is virtually impossible. Luckily, healthline.combreaks it down for us in simpler terms, “Rhabdomyolysis is breakdown of muscle fibers. Muscle breakdown causes the release of myoglobin into the bloodstream. [Too much] myoglobin can cause kidney damage. Symptoms include dark urine, muscle weakness, and fatigue.”

That’s why it’s vital to always drink water before, after and even during your workouts. The hydration helps your body take out the trash.

“I’ve also gotten two cases of P90X Rhabdo as well. Ever heard of it?” Chelsea asked. I hadn’t, nor had she. P90X, x is for Extreme and according to Wikipedia, “is a commercial home exercise regimen on DVD designed to take 90 days, and consisting of an intense training program (designed for those who are already fit) that uses cross-training and ‘periodization’ and is combined with a nutrition and dietary supplement plan.” Ugh. 

Such programs (or regimens like Crossfit) present a problem in a society like ours that values and promotes get-fit, lose-weight, and get-rich quick schemes. Those who fall prey to them are usually those at the greatest levels of risk and most in danger of serious harm.

So, if you’re anything like me, either on the brink of 50, or stretched and taxed and worn to the max by a sticky web of obligation—accepting that you’re going south on that slippery slope of life and listening to what your body tells you, will allow you to enjoy that steep climb back toward youth and rejuvenation.  In other words, just do it, but just don’t over do it. And at our age you've got to also remember that its often wiser to enjoy the journey, rather than to reach a destination.

In closing, if only for our amusement, I must say that intense workouts like today’s Partner WOD, not only effectively breaks down muscles (so that we may build stronger and bigger ones), but it can also break down communications and relationships. 

Admittedly, Chelsea and I almost got into a fight (how apropos, in a gym) because we were doing our relay reps differently. She started doing them in sets (I do 15, you do 15), where I was doing the relay one at a time (you do 1, I do 1). The latter method allows you focus on form and is more difficult because the minute(my-noot) delay conveys a greater burn. Whereas her way, let’s you get through the workout faster, so that you are more likely to finish it. 

After some tense misunderstanding, nudged by the fact that we are falling behind the others, I cajoled her into doing it my way.  If I have to drink a glass of yucky-icky organic-but-quite-bitter kale each morning, take a baby aspirin each day, and eat an inordinate amount of vegetables, I think it’s only fair that for onceshe follows my lead.

Related

Severe Rhabdomyolysis Associated With a Popular High-Intensity At-Home Exercise Program
(Case report from the Journal of Medical Cases documenting a 23-year-old athlete, who after two sessions of the extreme workout known as the “P90X” developed rhabdomyolyis.)

Ep 49: The Terror of The Toddlers (at a restaurant, in Cold Spring)

Last night, Chelsea and I took the toddlers to the Tots playground in Cold Spring, and then to Whistling Willies for dinner.

All was going quite well until the very end when both our toddlers had to go to the bathroom. 

I should have taken it as an omen, but I dismissed the fact that my sandal strap broke as I got out of the car right before entering the restaurant as merely the inevitable. They were my favorite abused sandals from Walmart in Atlanta that I purchased almost ten years ago, so the time had come.

Anyway, I was wrong. The broken strap was definitely a sign that something else would snap later on.

They were small restrooms, kind of grungy, especially the Men's room, so I thought best that Olivia go with Mama and Milo with me. Of course, neither would have it. Each wanted to go with the other parent. 

Acting quickly I deceived Milo into seeing "the BIG" porcelain urinal. Alas, I could hear Olivia screaming as if her mother was torturing her, so I opened the door and took them both in. Crouching on bare knees to hold Olivia while holding onto a broken sandal with my toes and simultaneously ensuring Milo did not touch anything was a stretch for my multitasking-ass. 

Of course, Olivia did not really have "to go," so I tried to put on a new diaper while she was standing (not easy) and then had to scrunch each kid under my armpit, one at a time, so they could wash their hands - another challenge, especially as each child became impatient and upset and began screaming to demonstrate that they were not happy. 

Now, it was apparently the parent abusing our kids. 

By the time we had emerged, Olivia was a raging mad toddler and she made sure that everyone within the town limits of Cold Spring knew. 

Chelsea asked "Did you pay yet?" Perplexed, I simply nudged Milo to his mother and tried to dig out my wallet as I handed it, more like tossed it, to Chelsea, while I tried to escape with Olivia, so that her screaming tantrum would no longer be amplified by Willes four walls, but rather be complemented by the breeze of the temperate summer evening. 

Once outside, the fresh air seemingly only invigorated Olivia and gave her the oxygen she needed to take her lovely tantrum a pitch higher. 

With my ears ringing I quickly opened the car door and strapped her in her car seat, while hushing her with promises of a big stuffed bird we had in a big box of toys that we had just acquired from Tamsin. 

Still sobbing, with cheeks wet with the frustration that her parents could not meet her needs for whatever mysterious reason, the big bird saved the day. She half-slept on the twenty minute ride home.

Relieved, Chelsea and I ignorantly thought it was over, as we plotted, agreeing to each take a sleeping child up to their beds. 

When Olivia awoke she announced in no clearer terms that our troubles had only begun, and began to scream bloody murder as her mama tried to put on her princess pajamas. 

After seeing that Milo was placated and ecstatically preoccupied with playing with his new noisy monster truck from the hand-over ("here, now it's your turn to clean up the clutter") box, I ran upstairs to see if I could help tame the beast.

Upon opening the bedroom door, Olivia came over to her Papa and placed her weeping head on my shoulder, as I carried her over to the bathtub to rinse off the residual playground sand and dust, and more importantly, to run warm soothing water over her. 

It worked. Yay. We got her dressed, brushed her hair and teeth, while Chelsea did the same for Milo. 

Finally, I rocked Olivia in my arms, while Chelsea laid down next to Milo and we sang the nightly Christmas songs that the kids require as lullabies (Santa, Rudolph, Frosty). 

Within in a minute of the last refrain, both of our little monsters were out cold and we escaped exhausted ourselves, although, well knowing we could not yet go to sleep, because there was much work to be done, even though it was 10 pm on a Sunday night and we could barely keep our eyes open. Ugh. Double-ugh.

Hence, this presentation of a very special Toddlers edition of parenting memes. Parental discretion advised.

Ep 48: I got beat up last night (by my WOD)

I took this screenshot from my Wodify app last night after a grueling work-out that was not for the faint-hearted. I truly felt like I had been beat up after I barely-barely finished. At 24 minutes I still had 10 (ring) pull-ups to do, so I cut the killer Burpees in half and finished the work out. 

Admittedly, 20 minutes later at home I texted my younger sister in California who has been doing Crossfit for two years now -  "I'm still feeling woozy and weak." As bothWendy Yee and my sister have assured me, once you get in the grove, its all well worth the pain. 

At 47, soon to be 48 (i.e. 2 years from 50), I'm willingly taking up the challenge, but we'll have to see how long my dedication lasts. Being out of shape is one challenge, having the time to work out is a much greater one. And although I've been religiously taking my baby aspirin on a daily basis, my workout partner and Dr. spouse still worries about how the stress might ultimately affect me. 

Not to discourage anyone, but she did say that she imagines there might be a high risk of heart attacks, especially among those in their 40s, because the instructors do not seem to be certified as physical therapists or have degrees in physical education or fitness, and therefore don't seem to be fully conscious of individual's limits. When we joined Crossfit Peekskill, there was no health assessment and a minor read on your athletic ability. And by having everyone do the same WOD, you're unduly upping the ante for those at risk for heart failure or Rhabdomyolysis, which causes death of muscle fiber and kidney failure - yikes!

So, fellow Crossfitters although I encourage you to push your limits, I also suggest you have a good idea of what those limits are and to allow yourself to cut back when your body simply says you just can't do it anymore, even if everyone else can. 

As Dr. Richard Besser, chief health and medical editor for ABC News, says in the following story, "No pain, no gain is the worst approach to exercise." Instead, listen to what your body is telling you, lest you want to "fry your kidneys and kill your muscles." Ugh.