Earning this felt like an accomplishment.
Nobody likes to fail. Our human minds are set up to remember our failures, so why would we do something at which we are unlikely to succeed?
The better question is how are we to really know we have done all that we can if we never push ourselves to the point of failure? The problem with failure is the ease with which we see it as an end rather than a measuring stick used for future endeavors to expand our abilities. It is OK to fail so long as we have done all we could at the time.
I still love Samuel Beckett’s “Ever Tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail Again. Fail Better.”
It is with this mindset that I set out on my attempt to run my second half marathon on a beautiful June Saturday morning at Yellowstone. I have to admit, I had many doubts about my ability to complete the race. I had not run that far in two and a half years. I had a stomach virus hit me very hard on Thursday night leaving me dealing with having shit the bed four times until finally, there was just nothing left. I had not had an MS treatment for 2 months as I continued through the washout period needed to switch meds. Finally there were the two reasons my wife gifted me with the trip in the first place: I turned forty and have had MS for ten years.
As I sat there Friday morning thinking about this list of reasons to fail, I realized these are excuses, and we all have excuses. The question is whether those should stop me from trying. I showered for the fourth time that night, drank some more water and went to bed wondering if my stomach would keep me from an item on my bucket list, seeing Old Faithful. Thankfully, my body did what it normally does to viruses; hit it with a tactical nuke. After a dreadful evening, I went downstairs and bought a Gatorade to be followed by 2 more in short order. Then I went with T, my brother in law, to continue sight seeing in Yellowstone for a third day where we got to see Old Faithful along with many of the other cool geysers, springs and pools. Castle Geyser just keeps going and going for 25 min. We saw it before and after Old Faithful. I thought about it while running.
On day four of our trip, I got up and ran the half marathon. I worried about whether I would be able to finish the 13-mile run at altitudes of 6,000 feet to 6,850 feet, especially when I fell twice in mile 10 because foot drop and a long run over very uneven terrain can do that to me. Still, I finished in 906th place. When I shared the results with my kids, they started to commiserate as if it was sad so many people were faster than I. I told them over 2,700 people finished the race, and I was in the top third of all finishers. I am anything but disappointed with the finish. I meant it when I started, and I mean it now. The challenge was for me to finish, not to finish faster than anyone else. Two hours and twenty-four minutes after I crossed the start line, I succeeded. It was a beautiful trip, and a great reminder that 40 & 10 are just numbers. They are just another measurement of time, and not the most meaningful ones at that.
Thank you T and J for a wonderful trip complete with great memories. I needed the break from reality, and my self esteem needed the half marathon attempt. Thank you T for showing me around. I would never have seen as much without you.
I got a lot of great photos on the trip, and I will create a page with just those in the next few days.
How does your child see you?When it comes to perspective, I am not sure there is a single perspective more powerful than how we ourselves. However if there is one, I bet it is how we think others see us. Do they see all of our failings or our strengths? Do they see us as worthy of love?
Over the weekend, J and I took a hit in the how we think we are viewed by our kids. Our son,O, ran away. It started off as his usual morning defiance, riling up his younger sister and refusing to do the normal morning routine. He thought we would chase him down and force him to do it. So when I told him I had our foster baby in my arms because I was feeding him and there would be consequences if I had to go get him, he said “Make me.” After another minute of him dancing around, I put down R, and I went to go get him. He was waiting by the door which he opened with a smile towards me when he knew I could see him. He ran out into a down poor of rain. I texted J, and we thought his attempt to get attention shouldn’t work. He would come right back. After all, he wasn’t even wearing shoes.
He did not come back. He ran and 20 minutes later while J was out looking for him, he got into a stranger’s car. He told them he did not want to come home because his mom “mistreats him.” He was so lucky, because the older couple took him to the police station. The woman fell carrying our shoeless son into the police station treating him like the brave abused boy he was portraying himself. The cops heard he was “mistreated at home” and there were two other girls and a foster baby in the home. The cops took him to the hospital for an exam and to take photo’s of the bruises on his body as evidence of his abuse.
Of course by this time, I have called the police department giving his name and description trying to get their help to find him. After we had heard nothing for another 30 minutes, I called them back. They said a car was in route to my house. Two cops came in and asked if they could search the house. I replied, “Sure, I have looked everywhere in case he snuck back in somehow, and we have had a neighbor who does searches for the police over to look already, but the more eyes the better.” At this point, we have most of our street looking for him with phone calls out to all of the friends we could think he might try to reach. When they called back in, they said another cop was on the way to our house, their commander. When he got there is when I got the phone call saying O was safe at the precinct, but he was on the way to the hospital for an exam. We were relieved, and J wanted to go be with him, but we were asked to stay at home for questioning.
They took pictures of his bruises, none of which were from us. Wrestling on a trampoline with a kid who outweighs you by 30% will do that as will falling from the lip of a bathtub he was dancing on for his sister’s giggles. As I spoke with the ER doctor, I felt his hostility towards me grow steadily less when I explained his diagnoses and medications. Even though the doctor and Child Protective Services agent believed me, we still had to wait for him to come home and find out if there will be an investigation effectively ending our ability to foster children.
Now O had no idea the ramifications of what he was doing. He started off afraid of being yelled at again for misbehaving. Then it was a fear of being yelled at for running outside, and when I didn’t chase him he worried more. Fear drove him to act and then exaggerate. When the cops said they were going to go get the other kids in his house, he was happy. It never occurred to him that did not mean they would be with him in a new home. He just did not want to be yelled at again. When we questioned him about the ordeal that night, we had to be extremely careful with the wording of questions, because he was searching to say only what he thought we wanted to hear. He was still scared to the point he would have agreed to leave our house because he felt scared there.
I know his very early childhood before us was hard, but will he always be this scared? Will he always act impulsively to better his immediate situation without understanding how others perceive his actions and the motivation for them?
If one reads the Atlantic this month, it would seem likely. The article, There’s No Such Thing as Free Will, argues our thought process is predetermined by chemicals in our brains and the neural paths signals can take. Science seems to be arguing the nature side of the nature vs. nurture is the better bet for predicting and explaining actions. I buy the science behind the article, but I think it is too static. Sure we can predict/explain a behavior or action by looking at the brains pathways, but over time are we explaining the actions or the predispositions to certain actions?
Can we change the brain process over time? Is this self determinism or free will changing the determinism?
Having seen Ericksonian hypnotherapy work, I also question how fixed these predetermined thoughts, reactions and emotions are to given stimuli. Can we not change how our brains work? If we can decide to change these paths, then the predictive value of the determinist model would seem to fall apart. Granted, one may say the decision to change was predictable, but were the situations to allow us to do so also predictable? Family, it does a soul good. The next step is teaching our body to react to this truth.
Raising kids who have gone through trauma but still have highly malleable brains, I have to hope the nurture model can help. Maybe I am but a part of the masses needing to be gullible, but I tend to think the brain was wired to make this choice and do this action is believable only in a specific static scenario. My brain, as it is right now, will always decide A if given a choice between A and B. However, I might train to look at both choices and sometimes choose B based on a different decision model. My thought processes are not carved in stone, and I hope my neuro paths are not either…though a bit more resistance to cuts of those paths would be nice (Sorry, bad MS joke since Multple sclerosis, which I have, means many cuts).
Could we not plausibly argue the brain paths simply predispose us to a course of action or thought at a given time under given circumstances? Can we then work to narrow the range of circumstances prompting the bad reactions and broaden the number of paths to the preferred outcome? If not, then why bother with parenting?
Side note: The highlight of my week came when I heard O tried to calm a girl in his class using what I had taught him. I have been working with him to be the candle giving a soft glow rather than an inferno burning everything to ash. It was all based on a nintendo Wii game where you have to sit perfectly still. We started saying to each other, “Be the candle, not an inferno.” Of course for me, the candle is my grandfather’s torch of my dreams.
