It comes as no surprise to most of you, I'm sure, that I thoroughly enjoy running. For many reasons, to be honest with you. But the last three days have provided me with the perfect examples of why I love getting out and plugging away for a few miles.
Tuesday morning, I set out at 5:45 AM. It was still dark, and as I reached Main Street in Towanda, there was a brilliant green flash. I looked to the sky and watched a large object burning green descending towards the horizon. There was no bang, leading me to conclude this was no firework. Of course, as my Physics instructor led me to believe, it was most like a piece of space junk, but this is still a fairly rare sight.
Not much later, I saw a tree in a soybean field that looked suspsicious. I watched it as I passed. Suddenly, it came to me that it wasn't a tree. I grunted at it, and the largest 12+ point buck I have ever seen turned his head to look at me. I was in a near state of shock. This was bigger than many of the deer I have watched professionals take on television.
Mere meters down the road, something growled unhappily at me from the cover of a treeline. I had been growled at from that spot before, and I am growing more and more curious as to what is hiding in there.
Yesterday, while running in El Dorado, I was moving west on Sixth Street when I came to an intersection. There was a red sedan stopped at the stop sign, and a truck coming down the road. Figuring the car had to stay stopped until the coming truck passed, I proceeded to run across. Either the driver of the car did not see the truck or thought she could beat it, as she floored it.
Never having had the greatest athletic ability, I conclude that God must have instantaneously inspired me, as I not only reacted immediately, but managed to hurdle the hood of the coming car (not the best form, but I didn't make contact at all). I'm not sure the driver ever actually saw me, but I was somewhat impressed with my response.
This morning's events weren't quite as interesting, but were amusing to me, and truly a Kansas sight. I can hear a shrill siren in the distance. I have no idea what I'm hearing, and I'm beginning to get a little anxious. Even more so when I see several trucks parked at a corner up ahead. But it suddenly becomes clear what's going on when two men on horse gallup past. At the corner, I see a handful of men and an Australian shepherd driving about 20 head of cattle down the road. The siren, I would later learn, is a pretty common tactic for getting cattle to follow you or to come in for feed. One of the horsemen good-naturedly suggested I alter my route, as they would be driving the cattle for about 3 miles. I agreed that this was a good idea. He then asked if I would consider a race. Of course, he would win, I pointed out, to which he replied, "Well, with that attitude..."
Now. Changing gears altogether. I have discovered the best sandwich in Kansas. It lives in Towanda. That's right, Towanda has something worth bragging about. The little-known sandwich and coffee joint on Main Street, HeBrews, is home to the Santa Fe Chicken, an impossibly delicious little creation featuring bacon and smoked chicken. Need I say more? HeBrews also features phenomenal reubens, ice cream, teas, coffees, etc. IF ever in the sprawling metropolis of Towanda, KS, you MUST try it out. You won't be disappointed.
Now, my final order of business is one that most of you care even less about than the other tidbits. My favorite band, The Classic Crime, is releasing a new album in less than a month. I am highly excited about this. I have listened to the preview, and the sound is distinct from the other albums. That is something interesting about TCC; every successive album has a differing sound from the previous one, meaning that we can identify which album any given song is from simply by the sound. I think it's pretty cool. I look forward to Phoenix going on sale, because that is some money I am very willing a ready to spend.
Well, until next time folks. G'day.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Joplin
When I first learned that I would be traveling to Joplin, Missouri as part of my job as track coach at the El Dorado YMCA, I was very, very, excited for a variety of reasons. I love traveling to begin with, and this was my first solo road trip. I enjoy working with track athletes, as well. Last but not least, I was in Joplin about a year ago cleaning up after the catastrophic tornado. I wanted to see how things had developed since then.
I made careful preparations for the trip, my left-brain tendencies showing strongly as I utilized a list so as not to forget anything. I studied Google Maps, locating anyplace I thought I might want to go. Also, showcasing my maleness, I packed three days' worth of stuff into an overnight bag. Typical. After a nice, easy run and breakfast, I was on the road.
I am a fairly patient individual, and a three or three and a half hour drive is nothing to me, especially while singing at the top of my lungs to my iPod. Beyond that, I kept myself from boredom by counting the number of hybrid cars (especially Prius) that I passed on Highway 400, and throwing the occasional glance at the gorgeous scenery all around me. Southeast Kansas is truly a beautiful place, with hills, glens, and woodland, almost Ozark-like.
Upon arriving in Joplin, the first thing I noticed was the fact that gas prices are about 20-30 cents cheaper than they are here. The next thing I noticed was the neat downtown district. The next thing was the most prominent- angry, hectic traffic. I didn't do much looking around as I drove through Joplin, fearing the traffic around me as it moved about 10 mph above the speed limit. For a town of 50,000 or so, and a metro of 175,000 or so, the traffic was wild. Wichita doesn't even have that wild of traffic at rush hour on Rock Road.
My first stop was for lunch at McAllister's Deli, where I had a reuben and some of their famous sweet tea. I managed to grab the last table availible and enjoyed my meal. I would later learn that the environment in McAllister's was the way it would be in many restaurants in Joplin- crowded and loud. There seemed to be far more tables crammed into small spaces than anywhere I'd ever eaten before, and every restaurant in town seemed busier than anyplace in Wichita is on an average weekend.
After lunch, I checked into my hotel, the LaQuinta. It was a very large hotel, and very busy, being the official hotel of the AAU Region 16 championships. I had never had a room to myself, and looked forward to being able to set up how I wanted, watch what TV I wanted, and go to bed when I wanted. Overall, the hotel was pretty nice. The online reviews I had read said that it was very nice, except for less than satisfactory breakfast. This I found to be untrue. I had delicious eggs scrambled with green peppers and cheese, rye toast, and sausage, all of which more than met my lofty standards. The second day, I only had time to snag a chocolate oat muffin, which was also very good.
The first day, I only had two athletes competing, both long jumpers, and I was pleased when one young girl won her event with a big personal best- my first national qualifier. By the time the weekend was over, I had 6 of them altogether, a couple of them with multiple events. I was very pleased with everyone's performance, given the oppressive heat. Although, the meet served a little something-something to help manage the heat- Italian Ice. I had one both days- mango the first, pina colada the second. Both were terrific. Blue Raspberry seemed to be the most popular flavor, judging by the multitude of blue-lipped children running around. Overall, as far as the meet goes, I was very pleased with how it was run, and the way the parents of my athletes were so supportive. It was a terrific experience for me, and for the children. Something about being in charge, in addition to making the trip by myself, staying by myself, and being in charge of my own meal and shopping decisions made me feel like I had grown up about three years in a matter of three days.
And those meal decisions are worth mentioning. The first night, I walked the whole 50 yards down the street to a seafood buffet called Ocean Restaurant, uncertain of what to expect. A $10.99 all-you-can-eat seafood buffet, complete with crab, mussel, shrimp, oyster, and some traditional Asian dishes, was what greeted me. For seafood, that is good deal. And it was pretty good as well. The second night was the more interesting of my eating experiences. My director took me to discuss the events of the day over some pizza. The establishment was an Irish pub in the downtown district called Black Thorn. To be honest, I wasn't sure how good pizza from an Irish pub could be, but it was an Irish pub, so I wasn't going to complain. Now, when we walked in, there was plenty of Paddy Punk being blared over the speakers, and almost every guy inside had tattoos, gauged ears, a vest, and a handlebar mustache. All the women were also heavily tatted, and the locally brewed porter was strongly represented all around us. But what really drew people in was the pizza. And it was phenomenal. We had a Honey BBQ pizza, with real honey on it, with chicken and tomatoes, and it was phenomenal. The other one we ordered was called the Healthy Hippie, and it was covered with spinach, various varieties of olives, peppers, and chicken, along with feta cheese. It was truly amazing.
Back tracking a bit, I want to touch on the most powerful aspect of this whole trip- the fact that I was returning to a town that had been completely ravaged the last time I had been there. It certainly doesn't look as decimated as it did, but it is still eerie in a way. The trees still don't look right. Condemned buildings still stand abandoned, often between two newly built houses. Foundations of businesses can be seen in some places, and the remains of power poles are stacked in vacant lots.
I wanted to find the house that my friends from Hope and I had worked on, but we were unable to come up with the address. Well, God led me to it. I rose very early on Saturday morning to set out on a seven mile run. I jogged along easily in the humid dawn, and jogged past a road by a full 40 yards before deciding, for some reason, to turn back and run down that road. Finding this house was the furthest thing from my mind, as I was thinking about... well, my thoughts while running are my own. But I assure you that I wasn't trying to find this house. Anyway, I ended up coming into that neighborhood by the back way, and found the house sitting on the corner. When I saw it, the realization hit me like a load of bricks, and I immediately began to pray, thanking God for not only what I saw, but just for finding it for me. The house that had been reduced to a bathroom and two walls just a year ago was completely finished, and beautiful, and in fact, better than it had been prior to the storm. I was in awe that God could bring about a recovery so quickly. In fact, the two other houses on that cul-de-sac that had been destroyed were also now standing. Encouraged, I continued up Wisconsin and eventually came across the high school, or where it used to be. Sitting in front of the pile of rubble was the now famous sign. As corny as it sounds, it was extremely inspirational to see in person. For those of you who don't know, the sign originally read "Joplin" in large letter. The twister left only the "op." Somebody, using a can of blue spray paint, added a couple of letters, and the sign now reads "Hope." I think that there is a lot to that sign.
This had a big effect on my, showing how faithful God truly is. I hope to go back to Joplin several more times in the future, for the AAU meet, for the Southern Stampede, maybe for the tornado's memorial run, maybe merely passing through on my way to places like Branson. Who knows, perhaps I will live in the area someday? What I do know is that all of my most prominent Joplin memories will remind me of lessons God wanted me to learn. I was reflecting on this as I walked to my car after the track meet. I remembered that feeling, that spirit around my group as we worked together to help that family last summer, and felt a peace. That was when I noticed the young woman pushing her car. As I took over the pushing duties while she steered, I couldn't help but feel a connection to this town. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't home, but it will always hold a special place for me.
I made careful preparations for the trip, my left-brain tendencies showing strongly as I utilized a list so as not to forget anything. I studied Google Maps, locating anyplace I thought I might want to go. Also, showcasing my maleness, I packed three days' worth of stuff into an overnight bag. Typical. After a nice, easy run and breakfast, I was on the road.
I am a fairly patient individual, and a three or three and a half hour drive is nothing to me, especially while singing at the top of my lungs to my iPod. Beyond that, I kept myself from boredom by counting the number of hybrid cars (especially Prius) that I passed on Highway 400, and throwing the occasional glance at the gorgeous scenery all around me. Southeast Kansas is truly a beautiful place, with hills, glens, and woodland, almost Ozark-like.
Upon arriving in Joplin, the first thing I noticed was the fact that gas prices are about 20-30 cents cheaper than they are here. The next thing I noticed was the neat downtown district. The next thing was the most prominent- angry, hectic traffic. I didn't do much looking around as I drove through Joplin, fearing the traffic around me as it moved about 10 mph above the speed limit. For a town of 50,000 or so, and a metro of 175,000 or so, the traffic was wild. Wichita doesn't even have that wild of traffic at rush hour on Rock Road.
My first stop was for lunch at McAllister's Deli, where I had a reuben and some of their famous sweet tea. I managed to grab the last table availible and enjoyed my meal. I would later learn that the environment in McAllister's was the way it would be in many restaurants in Joplin- crowded and loud. There seemed to be far more tables crammed into small spaces than anywhere I'd ever eaten before, and every restaurant in town seemed busier than anyplace in Wichita is on an average weekend.
After lunch, I checked into my hotel, the LaQuinta. It was a very large hotel, and very busy, being the official hotel of the AAU Region 16 championships. I had never had a room to myself, and looked forward to being able to set up how I wanted, watch what TV I wanted, and go to bed when I wanted. Overall, the hotel was pretty nice. The online reviews I had read said that it was very nice, except for less than satisfactory breakfast. This I found to be untrue. I had delicious eggs scrambled with green peppers and cheese, rye toast, and sausage, all of which more than met my lofty standards. The second day, I only had time to snag a chocolate oat muffin, which was also very good.
The first day, I only had two athletes competing, both long jumpers, and I was pleased when one young girl won her event with a big personal best- my first national qualifier. By the time the weekend was over, I had 6 of them altogether, a couple of them with multiple events. I was very pleased with everyone's performance, given the oppressive heat. Although, the meet served a little something-something to help manage the heat- Italian Ice. I had one both days- mango the first, pina colada the second. Both were terrific. Blue Raspberry seemed to be the most popular flavor, judging by the multitude of blue-lipped children running around. Overall, as far as the meet goes, I was very pleased with how it was run, and the way the parents of my athletes were so supportive. It was a terrific experience for me, and for the children. Something about being in charge, in addition to making the trip by myself, staying by myself, and being in charge of my own meal and shopping decisions made me feel like I had grown up about three years in a matter of three days.
And those meal decisions are worth mentioning. The first night, I walked the whole 50 yards down the street to a seafood buffet called Ocean Restaurant, uncertain of what to expect. A $10.99 all-you-can-eat seafood buffet, complete with crab, mussel, shrimp, oyster, and some traditional Asian dishes, was what greeted me. For seafood, that is good deal. And it was pretty good as well. The second night was the more interesting of my eating experiences. My director took me to discuss the events of the day over some pizza. The establishment was an Irish pub in the downtown district called Black Thorn. To be honest, I wasn't sure how good pizza from an Irish pub could be, but it was an Irish pub, so I wasn't going to complain. Now, when we walked in, there was plenty of Paddy Punk being blared over the speakers, and almost every guy inside had tattoos, gauged ears, a vest, and a handlebar mustache. All the women were also heavily tatted, and the locally brewed porter was strongly represented all around us. But what really drew people in was the pizza. And it was phenomenal. We had a Honey BBQ pizza, with real honey on it, with chicken and tomatoes, and it was phenomenal. The other one we ordered was called the Healthy Hippie, and it was covered with spinach, various varieties of olives, peppers, and chicken, along with feta cheese. It was truly amazing.
Back tracking a bit, I want to touch on the most powerful aspect of this whole trip- the fact that I was returning to a town that had been completely ravaged the last time I had been there. It certainly doesn't look as decimated as it did, but it is still eerie in a way. The trees still don't look right. Condemned buildings still stand abandoned, often between two newly built houses. Foundations of businesses can be seen in some places, and the remains of power poles are stacked in vacant lots.
I wanted to find the house that my friends from Hope and I had worked on, but we were unable to come up with the address. Well, God led me to it. I rose very early on Saturday morning to set out on a seven mile run. I jogged along easily in the humid dawn, and jogged past a road by a full 40 yards before deciding, for some reason, to turn back and run down that road. Finding this house was the furthest thing from my mind, as I was thinking about... well, my thoughts while running are my own. But I assure you that I wasn't trying to find this house. Anyway, I ended up coming into that neighborhood by the back way, and found the house sitting on the corner. When I saw it, the realization hit me like a load of bricks, and I immediately began to pray, thanking God for not only what I saw, but just for finding it for me. The house that had been reduced to a bathroom and two walls just a year ago was completely finished, and beautiful, and in fact, better than it had been prior to the storm. I was in awe that God could bring about a recovery so quickly. In fact, the two other houses on that cul-de-sac that had been destroyed were also now standing. Encouraged, I continued up Wisconsin and eventually came across the high school, or where it used to be. Sitting in front of the pile of rubble was the now famous sign. As corny as it sounds, it was extremely inspirational to see in person. For those of you who don't know, the sign originally read "Joplin" in large letter. The twister left only the "op." Somebody, using a can of blue spray paint, added a couple of letters, and the sign now reads "Hope." I think that there is a lot to that sign.
This had a big effect on my, showing how faithful God truly is. I hope to go back to Joplin several more times in the future, for the AAU meet, for the Southern Stampede, maybe for the tornado's memorial run, maybe merely passing through on my way to places like Branson. Who knows, perhaps I will live in the area someday? What I do know is that all of my most prominent Joplin memories will remind me of lessons God wanted me to learn. I was reflecting on this as I walked to my car after the track meet. I remembered that feeling, that spirit around my group as we worked together to help that family last summer, and felt a peace. That was when I noticed the young woman pushing her car. As I took over the pushing duties while she steered, I couldn't help but feel a connection to this town. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't home, but it will always hold a special place for me.
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