Defiance (Road to the Toronto Waterfront Half-Marathon)

1. Pleading Insanity

On October 20th, I will run my first half-marathon, namely the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon. For the past year or so, everyone who would listen has been forced to endure my incessant and overly exuberant talk about running and my goal of completing a full marathon. Finally, by registering to run this race, I suppose my actions match the level of my talk, and I will soon face the first real test of whether or not I can run a full marathon.

The typical reaction to this decision has been an interesting mix of encouragement coupled with an allegation that I might be insane. Friends and family jokingly make mention of the fact that they tire from simply walking up the stairs or tell me how many cigarettes they’ve had by the time I’ve completed my morning training. It seems to be the typical way of providing encouragement, but also reminding you of just how unusual and absurd a task you’re undertaking as far as they’re concerned.

Running is a boon to both physical and mental health, that no one can deny. The fact is, however, that excellent health does not require that anyone run a full marathon or even a half-marathon at any time. In fact, attempting to cover either of these distances without proper training, preparation, diet, and ensuring that you’re not at risk for incurring long-term damage, can result in more harm that good. In our busy modern lives, something requiring such dedication seems a bit much.

There was a time, which I have written about previously, when running was natural to our species and covering long distances was a necessity for survival. Scientists and anthropologists contend that our bodies evolved for running and perhaps this is why running just feels so damn good. This time, however, is gone. It’s no longer a necessity. Excellent health and conditioning is possible and achievable by so many other challenging but significantly less draining and excruciating means. The time investment and level of commitment required for a marathon is a full-time job in itself.

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Crazy Young Soldiers (Brandon Rios vs. Mike Alvarado)

1. Eternal Life

I typically refuse to partake in any debate concerning boxing being a “dying sport.” Cultural prophesy, in the words of the great Harold Bloom, is always a mug’s game. The forces that shape fads, trends, shifts, and fascinations from age to age are just too complex for any of us to be making on the spot pronouncements of what the future will bring, especially ones so simplistic as “_____ is dead,” which is quite in vogue at the moment.

Additionally, despite the humility that I propose in looking to the future, I don’t believe that boxing is dying or will ever die. I believe so not out of hope that something I love will always be with us, but because rather than rushing to pronounce it dead I find it more prudent to simply acknowledge that it’s mainstream popularity is currently waining.

If you’re Mexican, boxing is always flourishing. Same if you’re a Montrealer whose city is rapidly establishing itself as a North American fight capitol. For American audiences not of the diehard variety, for whom boxing means the heavyweight division, one currently characterized by a severe dearth of American talent, boxing is a thing of the past.

Brandon Rios v Mike Alvarado

Image via Examiner. More photos of the fight from the Examiner here.

It’s a sport that seems to have its time and place, both constantly varying. Heroes rise and fall and occasionally a Jack Dempsey, Muhammad Ali, Mike Tyson, Joe Louis, Oscar De La Hoya, or Ray Leonard reaches the mainstream and captures the attention of the public at large. In Europe, the spectacle of a big fight puts us North Americans to shame. In the Philippines, Manny Pacquiao will always bring an entire nation to a halt when he enters the ring.

I choose to believe, however naively, that behind these individual figures who achieve prominence in their time is an art that we find eternally relatable whether or not we ourselves enter a ring. No matter the level of boxing’s mainstream appeal at any given time, we speak its language every day.

In a crucial moment of fear we’re “saved by the bell” at the precise moment when we were “backed up against the ropes.” In deciding to go for glory, we must first “throw our hat into the ring,” a phrase dating back to the pre-modern era of prizefighting when competitors signalled their readiness to fight by literally throwing their hat into the ring.

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I’m Grateful For…25 in 25 (Part Two)

This is the second part of my list of 25 things for which I’m grateful, which I’ve written for my 25th birthday. The first part, comprised of my first twelve items, can be read here. You can also check out the piece that I wrote for my 24th, which covered 24 things I learned over the course of 24 years, here. Now to think of a theme for my 26th… In the meantime, here’s the rest of my list. Hope to return soon with more super serious topics.

13. Baldwin

I’ve never given my piano a name, but let’s call him Baldwin. Not very creative, as that just happens to be the name engraved above the keys. Baldwin has the quality that the best of friends have. No matter how long we spend apart, and regretfully I do let long stretches of time pass without spending time with him, it always feels like we were together only yesterday when we finally do meet again. No matter how much I might rough him up or how ungraceful I might be around him because of rust from being away, he always lets me move at my own pace and welcomes me with opened arms every time.

The music we make together might not be passable as music to some ears, but that’s what great friends are for. When you’re with a truly great friend, you speak your own language that makes sense only to yourselves while those listening in might think that you’re both insane. That’s Baldwin and I, though I do think we manage to make some beautiful music on occasion that serves as a force of calm, at least for me if for no one else who can hear it.

14. Green

Not money, though that’s nice too. I’m talking about parks and forests, which are few and far between in the city. If you don’t have green space, you will go insane. If you don’t get up from your desk and go for a walk, you will go insane. The longer you spend sitting at your desk past the point of fatigue, the more your work will suck. If you don’t have green spaces, you can’t breathe, your water’s not clean, and your food won’t grow. We are not made to be sedentary creatures. Our nature is to move and use our bodies, which is in turn the best thing we can do for our minds. It’s really quite simple.

15. Kurt Vonnegut

Reading him for the first time in the ninth grade, I knew there was much about our world that was absurd. Vonnegut was the first author that I read who could be labelled as subversive and it was he who confirmed that our world was indeed run by people who were insane. He confirmed a great suspicion of mine, that those who expressed the radical idea that we be humane and kind to one another were deemed to be cynics or outright delusional. We were indeed, Mr. Vonnegut informed me, living in a world in which most believed in laughable rituals and the shedding of so much blood simply because we were told enough times that we should.

He taught me, most of all, to laugh at these things. They were what they were and if we could acknowledge them, the best we could do was to be hopelessly naive by believing in and practicing kindness though we risked being labelled insane for doing so.

“We are healthy only to the extent that our ideas are humane“. - Kilgore Trout (Vonnegut’s alter-ego)

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I’m Grateful For…25 in 25 (Part One)

Last year, I turned 24 and decided to share 24 things I learned in those years. If the reader will let me be self-indulgent again this year, I’m continuing on a similar theme and sharing 25 things for which I’m truly grateful as my 25th birthday approaches in a few weeks. These are really just the items that happened to occur to me as I wrote, but I suppose that makes them raw and honest. It grew quite a bit, so I’ll be splitting it into two parts. Here’s the first.

UPDATE: Part two can be read here.

1. Cooking

A wise man once told me that cooking is one of the highest forms of lovemaking. A good meal appeals to all the senses and when you cook for someone – a friend, lover, family, anyone – they know that you’ve laboured to make them happy. Cooking and sitting down together for a meal is how we take care of one another. Cooking ensures that our loved ones’ basic nutritional needs are met, but also offers us time to come together to share in one another’s company. The most valuable thing that you can give someone is your time and when you cook for someone, you give them your time in creating a beautiful meal and in enjoying it with them.

2. Writing

The most obvious item on this list for anyone who knows me. Since I’ve started keeping this blog, I’ve written the equivalent of three books and the adrenaline rush I get from putting an idea onto the page is beyond words, even for someone as verbose as I can be. I am in full agreement with the late great Christopher Hitchens, who in his last days said, “My life is my writing before it’s anything. Because that’s who I am and my children come later and that’s what they’ve had to put up with.” I am happiest when I write, and if no one were to read my words – hardly anyone does as it is – that would be fine by me.

3. The Films of Quentin Tarantino

Films don’t just have to entertain us. They can challenge us, scare us, offend us, and thrill us in a way that causes us to lose sight of that reassuring mantra, “It’s just a movie.” This is what I learned when John Travolta drove that adrenaline shot into Uma Thurman’s chest and when Michael Madsen made sure that I would think of only one thing when I hear Stealers Wheel. Quentin Tarantino was and is the maverick filmmaker for my generation, the storyteller who made me fall in love with cinema.

His films were the gateway drug which have left me with an insatiable appetite for films that don’t just seek to entertain, but assault the viewer’s senses and sensibilities. Since developing this appetite in my teens, I’ve found and savoured Ingmar Bergman, Martin Scorsese, Luis Bunuel, Federico Fellini, Woody Allen, Terrence Malick, Roman Polanski, Werner Herzog, Francois Truffaut, Orson Welles, Stanley Kubrick, and the Coen Brothers.

4. My Nieces

It simply doesn’t matter that I’m a grown man in a position of authority over my nieces. When a four year old tells you that she is going to comb your hair so that you can “look like a princess,” you kind of just have to go along with it. If anything, kids humble you. Any parent, uncle, aunt, or even older cousin or sibling, knows that when it comes to the young people in your life, you find yourself willing to work especially hard for their happiness or stoop to especially low levels for their amusement. They’ll even challenge you and ask questions about a Dr. Seuss story that never crossed your mind. Having been an uncle for almost five years now, I’m actually proud of myself for learning not to be so self-centred and put the lives of others ahead of my own.

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An Atheist Reads the Bible – Part 1 (Becoming a Miracle Worker)

1. An Atheist Reads the Bible

Last year, I decided that I was going to read the Bible. The whole thing. I don’t know why. Just as I’ve decided that I am going to run a full marathon and teach myself a whole new language, over the last year or so I seem to have shunned the idea of small goals that were challenging but achievable.

Reading an excerpt from the Bible each day should have been the easiest of these goals, yet I’ve made far more progress toward my goal of running a full marathon despite starting 2012 in the worst shape of my life and learning a new language despite trying to do so several times before and failing miserably.

I own a copy of the Bible, as does pretty much anyone. I’ve read many portions of it before and of course have heard the stories again and again. Yet somehow I couldn’t maintain the discipline to stick to my reading schedule and often lost interest for lengthy periods of time before giving up altogether.

In January of this year I tried again. I lasted about a week. I tried several different reading plans and none were working for me. Thankfully, a dear friend stepped in with a sensible and almost too obvious strategy. Read one psalm, or half it it’s long, and a chapter of one of the Gospels each day. This approach allows me to take on small portions at a time, provides continuity in reading, and sets no target dates for finishing, which I had been doing previously. This is my new starting point.

Currently, other than the Psalms, I am working my way through Mark. This, I hope, will be the first of many reflections that I offer readers.

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Bruce: The Innocence, The Darkness, and the Rising (Book Review)

This piece is part of the What’s in a Name Reading Challenge, where readers pick six books based on six different categories. They then read those books and write about them. Simple, right? Best of all, it’s not too late to join. More information on the challenge can be found at Beth Fish Reads, who is hosting it for the year. In this piece, I reflect upon Peter Ames Carlin’s biography of Bruce Springsteen entitled Bruce: The Innocence, The Darkness, and the Rising.

1. When the Big Man Joined the Band

Tenth Avenue Freeze Out is one of Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band’s signature tunes, yet it’s meaning remains unclear to many fans. The Boss himself seems unable to pinpoint the precise meaning of the title. No matter. Roy Bittan’s piano, the brightly upbeat horn-section, Clarence Clemons’ raging saxophone, and a chorus tailor-made for a singalong, are really enough to secure the song’s status as a piece of musical brilliance.

The lyrics, more  cryptic than we’re used to from a man who thrives on storytelling that’s powerful in its simplicity, serve as a creation myth for the E-Street band. It begins with our hero, Bad Scooter, obviously a stand-in for Springsteen himself, “searching for his groove.”

Like many creation myths, the initial setting is chaos –  ”I’m stranded in the jungle, Taking all the heat they was giving,” – and it’s not quite clear what’s going on – “From a tenement window a transistor blasts, Turn around the corner things got quiet real fast, She hit me with a Tenth Avenue freeze out.” It makes some, but not total sense.

Following the typical arc of a creation story, something beautiful emerges from the chaos. Here, there’s no ambiguity and every devotee of the E-Street band knows exactly of what Bruce speaks when he declares that “…the change was made uptown, And the Big Man joined the band.” The congregation knows to testify when Bruce proclaims “I’m gonna sit back right easy and laugh, When Scooter and the Big Man bust this city in half.”

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You Can’t Be Happy All the Time (Review of Silver Linings Playbook)

This piece is part essay on my love for films that refuse to take the easy way out, and part review of  the film Silver Linings Playbook. The review might even be called more of a reflection, so be forewarned that MAJOR SPOILERS lay ahead.

My love affair with film began in earnest during my high school years. Much like George Orwell as he describes himself in Why I Write, “I was somewhat lonely, and I soon developed disagreeable mannerisms which made me unpopular throughout my schooldays.” Just as Orwell escaped the horrors of social interaction brought upon by his inherent shyness by retreating into the world of literature, which I certainly did as well and continue to do to this day, I also escaped through film.

Whereas the obligations placed in front of me as a student seemed pointless, unchallenging, and unfulfilling, and whereas socializing with other students seemed utterly draining and devoid of any type of intellectual stimulation, film was the mechanism by which I ventured into new worlds, encountered thought provoking questions about life, visited cities that I simply could not have visited in reality, and came face to face with individuals who could be fascinating, loveable, captivating, reprehensible, or perhaps all those things at once.

I learned to dream on weekends that began with a Friday night visit to Revue Video on the Danforth, a little hole in the wall operation where Luis Bunuel was not just maybe buried somewhere in the “Foreign” section but had his own section, and continued with late night marathons during which my soul was moved by the power of this medium to strike at emotions I didn’t even know I had.

I was vehemently antisocial and in love with film, that was for sure. What reinforced that dynamic was the fact that I fell in love with a particular type of film. Certainly, I loved the classics of Hollywood and more accessible pieces, but I can most vividly recall my first viewings of films that often lacked story, conventional narrative, or unambiguity in its message. Maybe it was because life itself is unambiguous, complex, leaving questions unanswered or prompting a million new ones for every one that it does deign to answer.

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2013 What’s in a Name Reading Challenge

I often find that despite the fact that I’m someone who reads often, I nonetheless easily fall in to the trap of reading “narrowly.” What I mean by this is that I gravitate to the genres and authors that I find comfortable and that I know will bring gratification. I am also admittedly partial to fiction over non-fiction, and when I do pick up a history book, it usually covers a period of time and place that I have already visited through reading fiction.

For 2013, my goal is to read more “widely” and creatively. To help me do so, I have signed up for the What’s in a Name Reading Challenge being hosted by blogger Beth Fish Reads. The challenge is simple enough, asking the participant to read a book that falls into six different categories and subsequently share their thoughts through reviews and reflections. These reviews and reflections will subsequently be collected and shared on the Beth Fish Reads blog (follow the first link in this paragraph for more details).

Below are the six categories in the challenge and my selections. Participants have the entirety of 2013 to complete the challenge, so I will be providing updates throughout the year as I progress. As I said, this is a great way for readers to make more creative choices and also to share their thoughts with one another as they read and I would encourage everyone to get onboard.

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Practice Makes Perfect (On Surviving Christmas)

This piece is inspired by The Atheist’s Guide to Christmas , a superb collection of essays on the Holiday season written by atheist scientists, writers, comedians, and thinkers. The book offers funny, thoughtful, and practical advice for surviving Christmas and appreciating its finer aspects, regardless of one’s belief system. I’ve also dropped in some of my favourite Christmas tunes throughout.

Christmas comes but once a year, and an often hellish time it is. It’s easy to understand why. Gathering together a massive collection of your insane relatives, your insane drunk relatives, your insane racist relatives, your insane homophobic relatives, your insane judgemental relatives, all of whom you have little contact with throughout the year and thus really mean very little to you, all for the sake of engaging in an orgy of smalltalk and gluttony that often leaves one feeling unwell and guilty by the time it’s all done really isn’t a brilliant idea.

Almost everything about Christmas is irrational and would make no sense at any other time of year and even in mid to late December can only really be justified with the qualification of “Come on, it’s Christmas!” This is how we justify spending an ungodly amount on gifts that are usually impractical both in terms of cost and usefulness, horrid food and beverages like Christmas pudding and eggnog, extremely wasteful Christmas lights and displays on our front lawns, and the absolutely insufferable musical stylings of Michael Bublé.

Exactly how can the existence of eggnog, something that goes bad faster than you can drink it, is loaded with fat, can only be made tolerable with alcohol, and makes you (or at least me) sick almost immediately upon consumption, be rationally justified? Any other time of the year, we would see it for what it is, an inexplicably expensive health hazard that cannot be relied as a source of nutrition or enjoyment. But, of course, come the day after Halloween – we’re lucky if Christmas starts that late – we fall in line with the Holiday spirit and make our customary visits to “friends” and “love ones,” who offer us a festive drink that we do not dare turn down for fear of being rude. As the Christmas Industrial Complex has expanded beyond limits, the Nog is also now available in latte form, coffee form, tea form, etc.

But I digress. My objective here is not to write another curmudgeonly rant against the Christmas season laced with snark, the type of which is now as clichéd and liable to make you roll your eyes as the most saccharine and overdone of Christmas customs. I do believe, however, that Christmas asks us to do so much that we’re not used to doing, and such is the source of our greatest anxieties at this time of year.

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Still Without an Answer (Manny Pacquiao vs. Juan Manuel Marquez III)

This is my final piece looking back at the trilogy of fights between Juan Manuel Marquez and Manny Pacquiao. They fight for the fourth time on December 8th, 2012. My pieces on their first two fights can be read here and here

***

In the lead-up to his third fight with Juan Manuel Marquez, the narrative espoused by nearly every fight writer and outlet needing to hype the fight was that Manny was no longer the animalistic destroyer that he once was. He had slacked in his training routine to lend focus to teaching Bible study and tending to his duties as a Congressman in his native Philippines. We might just have been witnessing the fall of a champion and the long awaited triumph of Marquez. The seemingly invincible Pacquiao was about to get caught.

Gone was the gambling, cockfighting, and adultery, replaced with an evangelical zeal for his newfound faith. Talks of retirement were more frequent in his comments. Had Manny traded his killer instinct for spirituality and would this fundamentally change his style in the ring?

We might be led to believe that this was indeed the case given his less brutal performances against Shane Mosley and Joshua Clottey, both of whom Manny seemingly refused to knock out, opting instead to just outpunch and outhustle his clearly overmatched foes, winning comfortably rather than dominantly. The Pacman had mellowed. He was more “mature,” a quality not necessarily highly valued in a prizefighter.

It’s certainly hard to deny that Pacquiao had changed, both in and out of the ring. In the fight in question, a change was beyond doubt in the mind of this writer, but it was change in the form of continued evolution and brilliance.

As much as I lauded the subtle improvements made by Pacquiao in my write-up on their second contest, I feel that this was once again the story of the third fight. What we witnessed was certainly not vintage Pacman, a forward moving phone booth style fighter who relished trading punches but was sure to get the best of close exchanges, but it was spectacular. Furthermore, while Marquez gave as good as he got in several instances, repeated viewings of the contest show that he simply did not do what he does best, namely frequent and clean counterpunching.

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