Devil Dawg

I finally participated in the first comptetitive athletic event of my life on Saturday-- the Devil Dog Duathlon. I'm going to indulge in some blatant bragging, cause I'm pretty proud of myself. Sure, I finished 432nd out of around 465. Sure, I was completely trounced by a significant number of people in their 60s, but I accomplished what I set out to do--finish the race without resorting to walking and without utterly embarrassing myself. I mean, I haven't even owned a bike for two years. It wasn't that long ago when I couldn't even run a mile at a time, and I did over 6 miles with a long bike ride in between. I had attempted to train for an event like this last year, but I completely overestimated my abilities and washed out pretty quickly. This year, I've been pretty deliberate about my training and determined to learn some self discipline, if nothing else. I think I've at least become a little more disciplined-- I did the race in spite of coming down with a nasty bout of the flu three weeks before the big day. I was so nervous the night before the race that I could hardly sleep, mostly because of the prospect of participating in the same event as lots of people who are much, much, much better shape than I am who would probably think I'm an idiot for trying. Now I know there wasn't anything to worry about. Everyone was very supportive, and some very nice peoepl yelled encouragement to me throughout the race. The whole thing was such a great experience. I'm excited to move on toward my goal of participating in a triathlon in July, confident that I can improve a lot on my running and bike times now that I know what I'm getting into (and that I should take two puffs from my inhaler before I start the race, not just one), and happy to know that, even though I'm still a beginning swimmer, most athletes have been where I am at some point and will be supportive of me for just participating. I'm also excited that I may finally be making headway on my long-term goal--establishing a habit of fitness in my life that I hope to be able to maintain well into middle age or longer.

I will stop blabbing before I start sounding like a coach after the Super Bowl. Sports are exciting, but there isn't a whole lot to say about them other than that. :) Here are some photos.

Feeding the soul, Part II

I've been browsing more of the Mennonite cookbook, mostly to see whether my mom contributed any recipes. I haven't found any. Maybe the book was published after we started going to a different church. 1984, Mom? In the process, I've found some recipes definitely worth making, like an ice cream pie with crust made out of peanut butter and rice crispies. Yum! Then there's the "Preacher's cake". There's no explanation for the name, but it's the only recipe I've seen so far to feature sour milk.

I'm also enjoying looking at the names; they definitely reflect the region and the denomination. Plenty of Yoders, Millers, Hostetlers, and Hartmans. Plus a Schloneger and a Swartzentruber. Of course, there's a Martinez and a Khambay thrown in, reminders that the book was published in 20th, not the 19th century, Ohio.

Timely words

I've finally gotten around to reading The Closing of the American Mind. (No, it wasn't required reading in any of my Hillsdale classes, surprisingly enough.) For a book written twenty years ago, it's surprisingly timely. Here's an excerpt that seems more appropriate now than it was then:

"It goes without saying that Weber never for a moment considered whether Calvin might actually have had a revelation from God--which would certainly change the looks of things. Weber's atheism was dogmatic, but he was not interested in proving that Calvin was a charlatan or a madman. He rather preferred to believe in the authenticity of Calvin was a charlatan or a madman. He rather preferred to believe in the authenticity of Calvin and other such founding figures as representing peak psychological types who have an inner sureness or commitment. The religious experience is the thing, not God. The old quarrel between reason and revelation is a matter of indifference, because both sides were wrong, had faulty self-understandings. However, revelation teaches us what man is and needs. Men like Calvin are the value producers and hence the models for action in history. We cannot believe in the ground (God) of their experience, but that experience is critical. We are not interested in finding out how the understood themselves but rather in searching in the self for the mysterious substitute for their ground. We cannot have, and do not want to have, their peculiar illusions; but we do not want values and commitments. The result of this atheistic religiosity is the mysterious musings and language of Weber and many others (think of Sartre) about belief and action, which culminate in something very different from what either religious leaders or rational statesmen ever said or did. It fuses the two kinds of men, but with greater weight given to the former, to the necessity of faith and all that goes with it." (210-211)

Is it any wonder that seeker-sensitive churches aren't turning out real converts when they have people attending in droves? They're providing what people seek, what Bloom describes, which is the religious experience without the content.

Feeding the soul

I have been reorganizing my kitchen (very, exciting, I know). As I sorted through my cookbooks, I found one published by the Mennonite church my family attended when I was little. I flipped through it and found the recipe below. Keep in mind that all of the recipes were contributed by individuals in the church, so someone must have actually made this and eaten it at some point:

Corned Beef Salad
1-1/3 c boiling water
1 box lemon Jello
3/4 cup salad dressing

Cool, when partly set, add:
1 can chopped corned eef
2 cups chopped celery
1 small chopped onion
3 hardboiled eggs, chopped fine

For individual salads, put in muffin pans and serve on lettuce.

Yummy.

The longest day--tales of public transit in LA

I thought nothing could top the day I missed my connecting commuter train, took the local train instead, which got caught behind another train that was in an accident, took a bus to get around it, and arrived at work an hour and a half late instead of 30 minutes early. Or the time I got off the train to try to catch a bus in El Monte, only to wander around for half an hour looking for the bus then find out later that there are two El Monte Stations--one for trains and one for buses. Or the time I decided to try to take a certain bus home, but arrived at the bus stop only to learn that the line had been discontinued by deciphering a cryptic, handwritten sign in Spanish taped to the bus stop sign.

But today beat them all. Having figured out two-station mystery in El Monte, I decided to try again. When I reached the El Monte bus station, I followed the sign for buses. I waited, and waited, and wandered around a little, finally realizing that I should have followed the signs to the parking lot, which is apparently where I was supposed to catch my bus. "Oh well," thought I, "I'll catch the next bus an hour from now. It's not the end of the world." Then a bus miraculously appeared after only a few minutes with the number of the bus line I was waiting for. I got on, only to realize after one stop that it was going the wrong direction. I asked the bus driver where to catch the bus going the other direction and got off. She had told me to wait on the southwest corner of the intersection we were at. I went to the southwest corner, there was a sign for the bus line I wanted (going in the correct direction this time), and I waited. As I waited, I saw my bus go by on the northwest corner of the intersection. I decided the bus driver had told me to wait in the wrong place, or that they'd switched the bus stops or something. So I got on another bus that would take me back to the El Monte bus station, hoping I'd figure out something from there, like getting back on the train. As I rode back toward the station, I saw my bus coming back in the direction of the stop where I'd been waiting. I guess the bus made a loop or something. So, I had to wait another hour for the next bus. Of course, that bus came, and the sign on it indicated it was going the wrong direction. Good thing I double checked with the driver, or I would have been waiting out in the cold for three hours. Eventually I got to work. I got there so late, I needed to stay late and couldn't take my normal train route home. I decided to try another bus route. "Bad idea! Danger! Danger!" you must be thinking. Too true. I arrived at the bus stop nice and early. As I approached, I saw a bus with my route's number on it, but, again, saying it was going the wrong direction, and 5 minutes earlier than my bus was scheduled to go by. So I didn't try to flag it down. Turns out it was my bus. I had to wait for the next one (an hour later, again). At least this time I was near where I could get some dinner. I finally got on a bus and arrived at the train station. At this point, I was expecting to get home around 9 pm. Until I saw the sign saying the trains were running 60-90 minutes late. I'll just leave the story there.

I keep telling people LA secretly has a great public transit system. Really, you can pretty much get anywhere you want using trains and buses. If you're psychic and know the train and bus maps and schedules by heart and have all the time in the world to wait if they're not on schedule.