Strength

It wasn't my fault. I was cheated.

When I came back to baseball after missing my 7th grade year as a result of a late sign-up, I experienced a miraculous transformation in my game. I went from being a kid who barely played and never contributed to an all-star catcher and a major part of the best team in the league. What happened? I don't know.

The next year I moved up to High School and joined the Frosh-Soph team. I went right back to riding the pine. This time, though, it wasn't for lack of ability. I was slotted as the backup catcher to the best player on our team. Chris Nelson, one of the few sophmores on the team, was also a catcher. For the first few weeks of the season I warmed the bench and practiced my seed cracking skills.

Then my chance came.

The catcher on the Junior Varsity team got injured and Chris was called up. Into the 8 hole on Coach Z's lineup card went my name. And I did alright. I was never a great hitter, but I was solid defensively. Then the varsity head coach pulled me aside after a game.

During the game, a runner at first got too far off the base after a pitch. I gave him a pump fake. He froze maybe twenty feet off of first base. I had a choice. I could throw it to second base which would prevent him from advancing, but also allow him to safely return to first. Or I could throw it to first, a more risky move. There's a better chance of getting the runner out, but also a better chance the runner takes off and beats the first baseman's throw to second.

None of this went through my mind.

I don't know why I threw to first and took the risky option, but I did. And we got the runner out. After the game, Coach Ruth came up to me and affirmed my decision and the guts I had to go after the runner. As a fourteen year old, I probably did a Beavis and Butthead, "Wow."

I felt good and played with more confidence and guts the rest of the year. I became a better hitter and a better catcher. The following year Coach Ruth took a job at another school and we got a new coach. As for me, I moved up to Junior Varsity, started every game, hit better, and helped my team win league.

The next year I moved up to Varsity. I assumed I was going to start since I had two good years under my belt. I was a solid defensive catcher and an average hitter.

I guess I was too average, because the new head coach decided to move our best hitter to the catcher's position. I busted my butt in preseason and tried to win the job from him. At the end, the coach went with the (much) better hitter.

From that point on, I started maybe a dozen games over the next two years. I made excuses, embraced injuries, and took to my role on the bench. I complained about the coach and pretty much inspired JT's "cry me a river."

I quit. That's the truth.

Sure, I could hang out at the local bar and convince my drinking buddies of how good I could have been if it wasn't for some (fill in the blank) coach. I could pass it off as not being my fault, how I was slighted. Frankly, I could probably convince some people that was true.

At the end of the day, I quit. I chose to sulk and not to fight. I chose to go to the pity party over going to work. I chose the easy way.

I run frequently. And I hate it.

It's probably less than 10% of the time when I go running that I'm excited about it. I get no more than 30 feet from my house and I begin a 20 second debate on whether I should turn back. "This is hard." "I think I'm cramping up." "I'm missing Wheel of Fortune." I make excuses for why I shouldn't endure the pain of the next hour. Most of the time I don't cave. Most of the time I run.

And that's why I do it. Running, for me, is more than a physical experience. It trains in me the ability to say no....to myself.

I say yes far too often. I say yes to to eating rediculous amounts of candy during Christmas and Easter. I say yes to avoiding the difficult conversation that should happen with another person. I say yes to to putting down the book and pulling up ESPN on my computer. I say yes to stopping at 8 reps when the workout calls for 10. I say yes to all sorts of temptations.

Basically, I say yes to the easy choice; to the choice that presents the least bit of resistance and discomfort.

When I was trekking in Nepal last month my friend told me that I was a strong hiker. After days of prideful giddiness over the comment, I began to reflect on what strength really is. What does it mean to really be strong?

Does it mean bench pressing 200 pounds?

Does it mean withstanding the urge to cry when Rose lets go of Jack's hand in Titanic?

How about beating testicular cancer, winning the Tour de France seven times, and leaving your family in the process? Is that strong? (sorry - tangent rant)

For some people, that stuff is easy. It comes natural. It's not difficult for Arnold Schwarzenager to lift a couple hundred pounds. Heck, he could probably do it if he had never touched weights before.

My conclusion, strength is the ability to endure discomfort.

Trekking comes easy to me. It's natural. I think my body was built for it. I have abnormally strong legs (though I never really work them out) and I have the lung capacity of an olympic rower. For some reason, I was built that way. So hiking long uphill distances at elevation isn't as hard for me as it would be for someone who might naturally have weak legs and poor lung capacity. Am I strong for being good at the things that come easy to me?

Real strength comes when we face those things that are hard and painful for us. Overcoming those things should not be easy. If you want to run a marathon and you've never run more than a neighborhood block, the road ahead of you will be tough. If you want to better manage your finances even though you have a Starbucks and Nordstrom habit, it's not going to be easy. If you want to be a better boyfriend/girlfriend even though you have made bad or selfish decisions in the past, it's not going to all of a sudden become easy. The finish line won't get closer. Nordstroms won't magically disappear. The perfect girlfriend won't all of a sudden make you into the perfect boyfriend. You have to work at it.

This new year, go to work. Overcome yourself. Avoid comfort and tackle the things that cause you discomfort. Don't make excuses. Don't look for ways out. Don't fool yourself thinking you can grow without discomfort. You can do it. It won't be easy, but you'll be stronger for it.

Organic

It should have been on my list. In hindsight, I want to add it. It is worthy.

I call it my "30 by 30" list. Thirty things I want to do before I turn thirty years old. It's not a complete list yet and I doubt it will be before I turn thirty, but there are some sweet things I hope to do on there. Like hike the John Muir Trail or rock a mullet or tip someone $100. Some I have knocked off, like learn to two-step and ask a complete stranger out. Most of them, though, will hopefully occupy my next 498 days.

Well, I experienced something totally awesome a week back and I want to add it to the list.

I rode a motorcycle in a 3rd world country.

It was organic.

I don't usually buy organic products. I know it's better for the environment, the plants, and for me. But I'm cheap and an organic potato costs as much as a 5lb bag of pesticide laced taters. Really when it comes down to it, that's it. You can explain the benefits and try to reason me, but at the end of the day, I'm cheap. Sorry.

But I did experience something organic....and I liked it. No, I'm not ready to buy organic fruit, join the Democratic party (nor the Republican for that matter), or talk to the Green Peace guy outside Trader Joe's, but it did open my eyes to something.

The last time I was in Nepal (2002) I worked at an orphanage/boarding school. It was a great experience for myself and, I hope, a great experience for the kids as well. It was during the middle of Nepal's decade long civil war and things heated up when we were there. So much so, that the organization we were working with decided to pull us out the country early. We were on a plane to Thailand in less than 24 hours. So, our goodbyes to the kids and the country was a blur.

So, being back in the country for the first time since then, I decided to pay a visit. The orphanage is in the town of Dhulikel, which is about 90 minutes outside of Kathmandu by bus. That was the plan...take a bus to the town and back on my one free day in Kathmandu. Then I had a stroke of genius.

These are rare so I try to take advantage of them. You never know when, or if, another one will occur again. So I acted.

Why not rent a motorcycle and drive there? Sure I haven't been on a motorcycle in over a year. Sure it's driving in a 3rd world country on the other side of the road. But it's only $7 a day to rent a bike.

Did I mention that I'm cheap?

I arrived at the rental building at 8am and traded my passport (security deposit) for a sport bike that boasted a 150cc engine and shiny blue paint. I strapped on the helmet I was given, flipped down the visor, and then flipped it back up. It must have been dragged along the asphalt. It was scratched like the underside of a teenage boy's skateboard. As I drove away through the tourist heavy area of Thamel, it dawned on me, they never asked for proof of a motorcycle license or even whether I knew how to operate one. I must project, "he's tough, awesome, and knows what he's doing."

8:15am on a weekday in a major city is not the best time to take your 15 year old child on their first behind the wheel experience. 8:15am on a weekday in the capital city of a 3rd world country is also probably not the best time to reacquaint yourself with driving a motorcycle. But it had to do.

As I drove through the narrow alleyways dodging potholes and people, I quickly realized that sidewalks, lanes, signals, and the horn were different from my previous experience with them in the states. For starters, there really aren't any sidewalks in Kathmandu. Where do people walk you ask? Yep, right down the middle of the street. And so, they are an obstacle. What about lanes? They're there. Maybe one day they were adhered to, but not today. Two cars can take up a lane or one car can take up two lanes. A bus can pass at anytime so there are times when your "lane" is being almost completely occupied by an oncoming bus. At this moment, the shoulder becomes your friend. Turn signals? I'm pretty sure they are for decoration only. The horn? Well, that puppy is gold in Nepal. If you're horn is busted you may as well take the bus. It's not an instrument to dispense anger, but rather a symphony of "hey look at me." It alerts everyone within ear shot of where you are. Passing a bus? Beep, beep, beep. Coming up on a crowd of people walking down the street? Beep, beep, beeeep. Enjoying too much silence and sanity? Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beeeeep!

So, driving in Nepal is different. Organic? Yes.

Driving through the city and then the hill country of Nepal alerted all my senses. You become one with your bike as you feel every part of the road. There's no need to use your mirrors. Your ears becomes tuned to the constant horns around you. You're constantly scanning the horizon for people about to dart out and the road for craters to emerge. You can smell taste the exhaust of never smogged buses on your tongue (that was one I could do without).

Most of all, though, driving through Nepal was about sensing movement and motion. I never had to slam on my breaks or accelerate to avoid an accident. I had to anticipate the next movement of the bus, dog, and taxi. I had to watch and feel where the pedestrian, cow, or motorcycle would go. As I found my space in the throngs of other, I had be aware of all their slight movements and always be ready to adjust to fit myself in amongst them

And yet, it was totally fluid. It was completely natural. It was organic. And I liked it.

For a day, I was spiderman.

Dichotomy

India is a dichotomy in the purest sense.

I arrived home yesterday from my travels in Nepal and India. If it wasn't for compartitively cheap airfare out of Delhi, my travels would have been limited to Nepal. India was never on my radar. It was not a place I had much desire to visit. No real reason for that. It just never interested me.

My time in India was short, but full. In my three days in the country, I saw three major cities and had a variety of experiences. At the end of it all, my conclusion? India is....India. As far as I know, there is no place like it. It's a dichotomy from block to block and person to person.

Varanasi, arguably the holiest city of the world, is the destination of millions of pilgrims every year. Each day, locals and people from all over the world come to participate in the holy ritual of bathing in the Ganges river to wash away their sins. Holy water? Maybe. The water has 1.5 million faecal coliform bacteria per 100mL of water. In water that is safe for bathing this figure should be less than 500.

In India, cows are revered and monkeys are praised. Dogs? The only thing they are worthy of is a beating.

Shoes are removed as you enter homes, buildings, and places of worship to keep the area clean. If you need to relieve yourself, the gutter on the side of the street is an acceptable and common place to do so.

India is home to a third of the world's poor with over 40% of the population living on under $1.25 a day. India is also fourth on the list of countries with the most billionaires (USD) - behind the US, China, and Russia.

A local man told me that, "Nine out ten Indians are bad people. They are dangerous. The other one [Indian] is like Ghandi."

This is India.

Did I love India? Yes, parts.

Did I hate India? Yes, parts.

In the end, India is India.

Delayed Dreams

You should have seen me on the Annapruna Circuit and Base Camp treks. I was a machine. I jammed. Our group hiked fast, passed other trekkers, and never slowed down for hills. Additionally, we carried our own 30-40lb packs while most other trekkers employed porters to carry their gear. We crushed it.

When I booked my flights a few months back it made sense to stay as late as possible. I'm cheap and prefer to get the most out of my airfare. It didn't matter that I would be staying in Nepal on my own. It gave me the opportunity to pursue a dream that's been with me since high school. When I was forced to read Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air, an account of the 1996 tragedy on Everest, it lit a desire in me to see the monumental mountain in person. Almost a dozen years later, the dream was about to be realized. I could do the trek to Base Camp in my extra two weeks in Nepal.

The dream will have to wait. It might have been the stomach virus I got on the first day that caused me to regularly empty my bowels for the next 48 hours. It might have been the fact that I labored to hike at a snail's pace, repeatedly being passed by elderly people. It might have been that my body was just done with trekking after three straight weeks of it. Maybe my body thought we were done with this nonsense after three days rest, a half dozen movies, and four nights of steak dinners. Maybe it was the fact that all the cute girls were hiking down while I was among a rare few hiking up this late in the season. It could have been the fact that after hiking with friends for three weeks I was now hiking alone.

So, after a couple days on the trail, I turned back. Tail between my legs, I labored back to Lukla, boarded a flight to Kathmandu, and prepared to go home early.

And that's okay.

As much as I want to see Everest up close, I want to enjoy it. I didn't enjoy the first two days and I doubt I would have enjoyed the next 12 hiking alone. There should be more excitement about an adventure like this. But what I've been most excited about for the last couple weeks is coming home. I'm ready. I'm ready to play with Stout, see family and friends, coach baseball, find a job, hang out at church, waste time at coffee shops, line dance, not live out of a suitcase, and enjoy some sort of routine. I'm ready.

So I'm coming home...hopefully within the next week. For me, right now, that's exciting.