Tag: Shared

Hitting the Wall: A Run Through Berlin

Post author By Dave
Post date November 12, 2024

In 1961, someone in the German government unfolded a map of Berlin, grabbed a pen, and drew a line that would forever change the course of world history.

Sixty-three years later, a guy named Mike did the same — with two slight differences.

He used a neon highlighter.
He didn’t change the course of world history.

The line drawn in 1961 became the Berlin Wall. Mike’s bright yellow line became the route for a running tour, crisscrossing areas once strictly divided into East and West Berlin.

Although the Wall was dismantled 35 years ago, its palimpsest is still there, and I was about to run all over it.

A map of Berlin with a running route drawn on it. — Meet route.

Introducing Mike

Mike, the guy with the highlighter, is the founder and namesake of Mike’s SightRunning. I found him while researching running tours in Berlin. He’s highly rated on TripAdvisor and Google.

Here’s what I liked about Mike:

He customized a route just for me.
He is a great conversationalist — he shared his experiences and insights, not just facts and dates.
He let me set the pace, which is important because I move slower than a slug after Thanksgiving dinner.
He took great photos.
He’s just an all-around great guy.

I Never Promised You a Tiergarten

With our route planned, Mike and I headed to the Tiergarten. It was a great day for a run — a sunny yet cool Sunday morning in September.¹

Berlin’s central park was green, welcoming, and buzzing with happy people — but it hadn’t always been that way. Most of the park was destroyed in World War II, and Berliners ransacked it for firewood during fuel shortages that followed the war. According to Mike’s grandmother, the Tiergarten looked like a wasteland by the end of the ’40s.²

We ended up at the Victory Column, which, if you’ve read any history books published after 1918, you know has nothing to do with either World War. It was built after Prussia and Austria defeated Denmark in 1864.³

Mike said there’s a viewing platform atop the Victory Column, and the views would be spectacular that day. He asked if I wanted to climb the 300 or so steps to see it. I did not.

Dave pointing at the Victory Column in Berlin. — Look! A woman dipped in gold!

Mike told me that Hitler had the column moved in the 1930s to make room for bigger monuments and grander buildings as he redesigned Berlin.

Instead of a 300-foot-tall arch, Berlin got a 100-mile-long wall. We began running west, along the Spree River, to a spot where Berlin was once physically divided but now symbolically united.

A Capital Idea

You’ll find most of Germany’s government buildings in a district called — wait for it — the Government District.

What, you expected something whimsical?

Honestly, it’s a much too literal and colorless name for an area that meaningfully and — dare I say it — joyfully ties together Berlin’s past, present, and future.⁴

This is where Hitler began clearing the ground for his grand designs for Berlin. What he didn’t raze, the Allies did. The Wall went up. And then it came down. The land that once symbolized German aggression, defeat, and separation could now become the home for German healing, democracy, and progress.

Yeah, even I’m sickened by how over-the-top that last sentence was.

Here’s a better way to think of it: Germany needed a slew of new government buildings quickly, and plenty of newly available land was in the middle of Berlin. It was a no-brainer decision, symbolic or not.

Several gleaming new glass-and-concrete buildings straddle the Spree, connected stylistically with architecture and realistically with bridges. Mike pointed out details I certainly would have missed, like the complementary roofs of the Paul-Löbe-Haus and Marie-Elisabeth-Lüders-Haus, which face each other across the river.

What about the area’s older buildings? Well, you’ll be glad to hear that they finally fixed the roof on the Reichstag. In 1933, the building went up in flames in what was first described as arson but may, in fact, have been set by German patriots on a “normal tourist visit” on a “day of love” in support of their dear leader. Wait, that sounds familiar.

The Reichstag’s glass dome, completed in 1999, is an engineering and architectural masterpiece that serves two purposes:

Symbolically, it represents transparency in government.
Structurally, it keeps rain out of the main hall where parliament meets, which is considered a good thing.⁵

To truly capture the Government District’s historical, cultural, and architectural significance, I made Mike take a bunch of photos.

Dave running along the Spree with the Reichstag in the background. — A running spree on the Spree.

A picture of Dave with the Reichstag in the background. — Essentially the same photo, but in this one I’m not pretending to run.

Dave on a Bridge over the Spree River. — Thumbs up, Berlin!

After running past the Reichstag, Mike took me to one of Berlin’s most famous landmarks, the hotel where Michael Jackson dangled his newborn over a balcony. To get there, we had to pass through the Brandenburg Gate, which, now that I think about it, is probably more noteworthy.

Dave leans nonchalantly against a lamppost near the Brandenburg Gate. — Why am I smiling? Because I’m smart enough to know not to dangle newborns over balconies.

The Brandenburg Gate is where John F. Kennedy, Jr., proclaimed “Ich bin ein Berliner,” and Ronald Reagan ordered Mikhail Gorbachev to “Tear down this wall.” Were these speeches important? Yes. But did they make the front page of the National Enquirer? No. So, if you’re keeping score, it’s Presidents 0, Pop Star 1.

I have no idea where I’m going with this nonsense, but do you know who has a route planned out? Mike. Let’s get back to that.⁶

On our way to the Russian Embassy, we passed several other landmarks, including the American Embassy (a symbol of American freedom and democracy) and Dunkin Donuts (ditto). I asked Mike to take me because I wanted to see the Ukrainian protest and vigil out front. It began when Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022 and hasn’t stopped since.⁷

A vigil outside the Russian embassy in Berlin. — Slava Ukraini!

Mike said one of the Russian tanks captured by the Ukrainian military was parked for a short time in front of the embassy. I wish I could have seen that. Nothing says “Fuck You” than taunting your enemy with a 50-ton war prize.

The Way Back

After our detour to the Russian Embassy, we began heading back to my hotel. This meant running around past the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, which is a solemn and sobering place. Writing about it in a rambling, goofy blog post would be disrespectful, so I won’t.⁸

We continued south to Potsdamer Platz, where a few sections of the Wall are on display. But don’t expect to see graffiti, bullet holes, or anything reminiscent of the Cold War. They’re covered with wads of gum, much to Mike’s dismay. Tourists began doing that several years ago.

I told Mike that one of Seattle’s top tourist attractions is the Gum Wall near the original Starbucks. I think it’s kinda cool. I guess I’m OK with using wads of gum for quirky things, but not for defacing historical artifacts.

Sections of the Berlin Wall covered with tourists' gum. — Gumming up the works.

Mike suggested we duck into the Ritz-Carlton to check out the lobby. I agreed, mainly because I needed to use the bathroom, and people tend to frown on public urination these days.

We talked to the hotel manager for a bit and poked our heads into the restaurant. That’s where I discovered one of Berlin’s lesser-known but most important treasures: a giant jar of Nutella with a pump.

The manager refused to let me pump Nutella directly into my mouth, even though I asked politely. He was OK with me taking a picture.

Dave discovers a giant jar of Nutella. — I want one of these in every room of my house.

Our last stop was Center Potsdamer Platz, formerly the Sony Center. This was one of the first major commercial developments after Germany’s reunification. The first time I visited, on a Friday night in 2007, it was a hubbub of activity. Not so much before noon on a Sunday morning 17 years later. A lot of construction work was underway; Mike said the center was adding new stores and attractions to compete with the nearby Mall of Berlin.⁹

We ended the tour where it began: in the hotel lobby.

Mike and Dave pose with a bear statue in the hotel lobby. — That’s Mike on the left. I just realized his jacket and hat match his highlighter.

On every trip to Berlin, I’m reminded of how large a role the Wall still plays in, well, everything. Its existence once defined the city. Now, its absence does. As a visitor, running along and through where the Wall once stood makes this easier to see.

The route Mike drew with his yellow highlighter didn’t change world history, but it helped me understand and appreciate it.

A close-up of Dave's shoe and a marker showing where the Berlin Wall used to be.

The run wasn’t just about the Wall, of course. I’ve found there’s no better way to experience a city — not just see it — than with running shoes on your feet and an engaging guide leading the way.

Thanks, Mike, for being that guide in Berlin. I hope it’s not long till we can lace up and run again.

By the Numbers

As a reminder, here’s the route Mike prepared:

Here’s the map of our run. You’ll see it follows Mike’s route precisely, except we went further west on Under den Linden to see the vigil in front of the Russian Embassy.

Stats

Total distance: 5.7 miles (9.2 km)
Workout time: 1 hour, 40 minutes
Total time (including stops): 2 hours, 20 minutes
Average pace: 17’28” per mile (10’28” per km)
Temperature: 58°F, 14°C
Nutella pumps: 0

The Obligatory Footnotes

September 15, to be exact. I put off writing this for nearly two months. Hey, a lot of thought and effort goes into writing the world’s ~~best~~ okay-est blog post about a guided running tour in Berlin! You can’t rush ~~excellence~~ okay-ence. ↩︎
Mike’s grandmother wasn’t running with us. Mike was conveying to me what he had heard from her. ↩︎
This happened long before the invention of Legos, which meant the Danish army couldn’t slow down its foes by strewing plastic blocks everywhere. Ever try walking over those things in bare feet? I’d retreat in a second. ↩︎
In German, it’s sometimes called the Band des Bundes, which translates to Federal Ribbon. That’s more charismatic, but it sounds like Band des Bundts, which makes me think of cake. ↩︎
I’m disappointed no one proposed a retractable roof, like the ones you see at stadiums. ↩︎
Who the hell writes this asinine blog? Oh wait, it’s me. At least this proves that ChatGPT didn’t generate this blog post. No computer would write something so absurd and inane. ↩︎
I can trace part of my family tree back to Ukraine, but that was many generations ago, and it would be a stretch to call myself a Ukrainian-American. My outrage is based on my desire for justice, not my lineage. ↩︎
Here’s a video I made a day before: Walking Through the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. ↩︎
At least they didn’t call it the Berlin Mall. That would cause some confusion. ↩︎

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Entertainment

Behind the Music

Post author By Dave
Post date October 2, 2024

Orchestra conductors are always facing the music — literally, not metaphorically — which means they never face me. Name any other profession where keeping your back turned to your customers is not considered rude.¹

After who-knows-how-many classical concerts, I have finally seen what the front side of conducting looks like. It gave me a new perspective on music — literally and metaphorically.

Here’s what happened and what I saw:

On a trip to Berlin a few weeks ago, I saw the Berlin Philharmonic play. The concert hall is oddly shaped,² and while most of the audience faces the stage, some seating sections wrap around the sides and back. I bought seat 14 in row 5 in block H — not only an affordable seat at €50 but one that would afford me a direct view of Chief Conductor Kirill Petrenko!

Dave outside the Berlin Philharmonic. — This was my first visit to the Berlin Philharmonic. When I got inside, I discovered the building is about 25% performance space and 75% stairs.³

View from my seat at the Berlin Philharmonic. — Here’s the view from my seat at the Berlin Philharmonic. I took this picture before the concert started because you’re not supposed to take photos during the performance and Germans, I’ve heard, are sticklers for rules.

Berlin Philharmonic - panoramic view from my seat — This panorama gives you a good idea of how the seats wrap around the stage.

The program featured two works written 100 years apart: Wolfgang Rihm’s modern and experimental IN-SCHRIFT⁴ from 1995 and Anton Bruckner’s Fifth Symphony from 1895. From my seat behind the stage, I saw how Petrenko adjusted his conducting style for each composition.

Up several flights of stairs. Find my seat. The lights dim. An announcement in German that I assume means, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please silence your mobile devices. Photography and recording are prohibited during this performance,” but may have been, “Any rebroadcast, reproduction, or other use of the pictures and accounts of this performance without the express written consent of Major League Baseball is prohibited.”

IN-SCHRIFT

Rihm was a bittersweet addition to the program. He was supposed to be the Berlin Philharmonic’s Composer in Residence for 2024-2025 but died in July, one month before the season began. The performance was dedicated to him.

If I had to describe IN-SCHRIFT with just one word, it would be “heavy.” It emphasizes percussion and downplays strings. There were five percussionists, each with a full set of drums, cymbals, gongs, chimes, bells, pachinko machines,⁵ and more. In a break with convention, most of the string instruments were placed in the middle rows of the orchestra, while woodwinds (and one harp) got first-class seats at the front.

So, how did Petrenko handle a work like this? He led the orchestra with intense focus and discipline. I recognized the look on his face — it’s the same look I have when trying my hardest to concentrate on something complicated instead of slipping into a state of flow and falling back on instinct.⁶

Each movement was deliberate and seemed practiced. And it had to be. IN-SCHRIFT is unorthodox in structure, pacing, and orchestration. Petrenko’s precision left no room for error.

Intense applause. Intermission. Down some stairs. Restroom! Whew. Get a drink? Nope, the line’s too long. More stairs. Oh, hey, a gift shop!⁷ Oh, that’s the signal to head back to my seat. Oy, so many stairs.

Bruckner’s Fifth

After the intermission, Petrenko was just as precise as before — but also lively, energetic, and joyful. Anton Bruckner’s Symphony No. 5 in B-flat major is more conventional and better known than IN-SCHRIFT. Even if Petrenko and the musicians had never performed it before, they’d be familiar with similar works from the same era. That made everyone on the stage more comfortable and confident than with Rihm’s piece.

Petrenko looked like he was having fun. His motions were fluid and animated. He smiled more. He was more engaged with the musicians, acknowledging their hard work with thumbs-up gestures.

Now, this was an artist in a state of flow. He was having the time of his life, and I was, too.⁸

Thunderous applause. Everyone jumps to their feet. Lights come up. Other people start taking photos, so I do too. No longer need to fear discipline from the Berlin Philharmonic and/or Major League Baseball.

Take a Bow

The well-deserved standing ovation lasted more than five minutes. Petrenko returned to the stage several times to bow to the audience and recognize the musicians.

Petrenko thanks his musicians. Note that he’s not wearing a traditional suit. Would that be considered a Nehru jacket?

The musicians bow to those of us behind the stage.

Sometimes, when I drag the Complimentary Spouse to the symphony, I’ll nudge him and joke about how the conductors take all the credit while the musicians do all the work. Of course, I know conducting is hard work, but I couldn’t fully understand or appreciate it until I saw it for myself.

A new perspective on music, indeed. Literally and metaphorically. Bravo, maestro.

The Berlin Philharmonic concert hall at night.

Eine Kleine Footnotes

OK, yeah, drivers and chauffeurs. Stop interrupting me with facts. You know what I’m getting at. ↩︎
It’s an irregular hexadecagon. ↩︎
This also describes the Straz Center in here Tampa. ↩︎
“IN-SCHRIFT” is German for “My caps lock button is stuck.” ↩︎
Of course, there weren’t any pachinko machines. Just seeing if you were paying attention. ↩︎
I’m certain Petrenko is much better in these situations than I am. ↩︎
Alas, no “Karajan My Wayward Son” or “Yabba-Abbado-Doo” T-shirts. ↩︎
Nein, so habe ich mich noch nie gefühlt. Ja, ich schwöre, es ist die Wahrheit. Und das alles habe ich dir zu verdanken. ↩︎

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Travel & Food

Llamas and Nausea and Ruins, Oh My! My Trip to Machu Picchu.

Post author By Dave
Post date July 5, 2024

My last post was a bunch of logorrhea and omphaloskepsis about my experience at Machu Picchu. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s cut out the five-dollar words and see some pictures!

I’m going to start in Cusco. If you’d rather skip this part and go directly to the sections about Machu Picchu, you can click here. Just go ahead. Jump over my carefully crafted, witty prose and wonderful photos. I don’t care. Whatever.

Getting There Wasn’t Half the Fun. It Was No Fun.

One does not simply walk into Machu Picchu. Getting there requires trains, planes, and automobiles, but not in that order.

Also a bus.

First, you fly to Cusco, which is 11,150 feet (3,400 meters) above sea level. Everyone warned the Complimentary Spouse and me about the lack of oxygen at that altitude, but I didn’t feel it one bit!

For about five minutes, anyway.

By the time we reached the baggage carousel, I was breathing heavily and felt a twinge of nausea. (Spoiler alert: Nausea will be a recurring theme in this travelogue.)

From Cusco, you need to get to Ollantaytambo, which is about two hours by car East-northeast. We had arranged for a driver to take us there. My half-assed Spanish was better than his nonexistent English, so Britt didn’t understand a word we said, and I’m not sure the driver and I understood each other either.

About an hour into the drive, I was severely nauseated. I asked the driver to pull over at the next shoulder, hopped out, and heaved for a few minutes.

Are we close to Machu Picchu yet, Dave? Not even close. Calm down.

Ollantaytambo is notable for only one thing: the Ollantaytambo train station.¹ I got some water, and we boarded the train to Aguas Calientes. I instantly felt sick, as if someone had turned my nausea dial up to 11. I tried to focus on the landscape rolling past the window. Then I closed my eyes and listened to relaxing music on my headphones. This was interrupted by a rather loud and lousy Incan dance performance in the middle of the trip.²

From Ollantaytambo to Aguas Calientes

Two queasy hours later, I stepped off the train and into a maze of souvenir shops. Aguas Calientes is the town closest to Machu Picchu, and its sole industry seems to be tourism — hotels, restaurants, tour guides, and souvenirs. It’s the Kissimmee of the Sacred Valley: A place that’s only visited because it’s close to the place people really want to visit.³

A view of Aguas Calientes. — Not a Starbucks or Marriott in sight. That’s OK.

View of Aguas Calientes — The Urubamba River bisects Agua Calientes.

A view of the Urubamba River. — For dinner, we went to Full House Peruvian Cuisine. Our table overlooked the Urubamba River.

A dish of lomo salteado and a glass of pisco sour. — I ordered the lomo salteado with alpaca. Looks good, but how will it taste?

Dave bites into some lomo salteado. — Alpaca doesn’t taste like chicken. It’s very lean and somewhat sweet. Texture-wise, it’s somewhere between tough and chewy. I was a bit disappointed, but I was in a touristy restaurant in a touristy town, which often doesn’t equate to quality meals.

We spent the night in a hotel whose staircase was inspired by M.C. Escher. In the morning, we met our guide, boarded a bus, and headed at last to Machu Picchu.

And, since I know you’re curious, the road was indeed narrow, twisty, and nausea-inducing.

Morning at Machu Picchu

At last, we had arrived at one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World, the snack bar outside Machu Picchu.

Our guide, Mauro, suggested we wait about half an hour for the best views. Right now, he explained, the site would be shrouded in fog. Later, there would be no fog at all. In 30 minutes, things would be spectacular.

Boy oh boy, he was right.

After walking up about eight flights of uneven, rocky stairs, we turned the corner and saw this:

A view of Machu Picchu, framed by branches and leaves. — With all due respect to Carl Sandburg, the fog creeps in on little alpaca feet.

A few minutes later, Mauro offered to snap a photo. Who were we to refuse?

A panorame of Machu Picchu taken from the upper terrace with Britt and Dave on the left. — Our heads are in the clouds. As usual.

If you move those two handsome gentlemen out of the way, here’s what you’d see:

Machu Picchu in the fog, as seen from the upper terrace area. — A spectacular view from the upper platform as the fog begins to burn off.

The weather was pleasant — 65°F (18°C) with 68% humidity — but the trek was quite a workout and Britt and I warmed up quickly.

Machu Picchu is 8,000 feet (2,400 meters) above sea level — well below Cusco, but high enough to make breathing difficult. There was a lot of uphill and downhill walking, and the stairs were treacherous, so we had to walk carefully.

By George, There Are Some Animals Here

First, here’s a llama …

And a llama, llama, llama, llama …

Four llamas — … llama, llama, llama, llama …

And now a chameleon.

A lizard (or other reptile) peeking out from the rocks. — … chameleon.

Now, let’s all sing it together!

Llama, llama, llama, llama, chameleon.
You come and go, you come and go.
Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dreams.
Red, gold, and green, red, gold, and green.⁴

A Closer View

What can I say about the view from the upper terrace? This view is as iconic as the Mona Lisa — everyone on the planet has seen it — but it’s another thing to be there and experience it for yourself.⁵

The fog burned off quickly, revealing this view from the upper terrace.

Britt and Dave look at Machu Picchu. Their backs are to the camera. — This photo is in no way staged.

Dave and Britt sitting on a rock with Machu Picchu in the background. — Three of the Wonders of the Modern World.

Urban Legend

From the upper terrace, we slowly worked our way down to what’s called the urban zone. “Urban” simply means it is where people lived, worked, and congregated. It is not, as you probably thought, named after Australian country musician Keith Urban.

The stones in the Main Temple fit together so precisely that the Incas didn’t need to use mortar or fill in any gaps. Some spots look a little worse for wear, but that doesn’t make the building any less impressive. Let’s see how good your house looks after 500 years.

The Temple of the Three Windows also features precision Inca stonework.

The Temple of the Condor in Machu Picchu — The Temple of the Condor combines natural rock formations with Incan stonework.

Mauro said that it’s very likely that human sacrifices were performed at the Temple of the Condor, which makes it very unlike any of the temples I’ve ever belonged to. Our services usually end with a little nosh. As advanced as the Incas were, I don’t think they had mini black-and-white cookies.

Heading Out

You know how you can check out of the Hotel California any time you want, but you can never leave?

Machu Picchu isn’t like that. Visitors have a four-hour maximum limit, and you can leave. In fact, I think they’d be quite upset if you tried to stay.

Machu Picchu vista — From this angle, you can see where we began our Machu Picchu adventure. So many ups and downs.

Sacred Rock at Machu Picchu. — Sacred Rock was one of the last things we saw on our tour. Its shape matches that of nearby Yanantin Mountain, and it could be used to track astronomical and solar movements. It was also used for offerings and sacrifices. If you ignore the death stuff, it was basically the Apple Watch of its day.

Presented for Your Consideration

My short video about Machu Picchu won the Palm d’Or at Cannes.

By the Numbers

Here’s how long and far we travelled:

Time spent at Machu Picchu: 2 hours, 49 minutes
Total distance: 1.25 miles (2 km)
Total flights climbed: 109
Cumulative elevation gain: 252 feet (77 meters)

More Long and Winding Roads

Before heading back to Cusco, we had to return to Aguas Calientes. That meant, once again, a nausea-inducing ride on a bus along comically narrow roads with no guardrails. Would I throw up? Plummet to my death? Or both?

Fortunately, neither. So we were able to treat Mauro to lunch at a restaurant whose name I have forgotten.

Lunch with our tour guide, Mauro, after our Machu Picchu visit.

I was still somewhat nauseated, so Mauro ordered me a glass of muna tea. Muna is similar to, but not quite the same as, mint. It settled my stomach for a while.

At last, the time had come to reverse our steps and return to Cusco. After receiving our bags from the hotel, we boarded the train to Ollantaytambo. My nausea returned as soon as the train started moving, and because I was facing backward, it was twice as bad as the previous day.

It took about 15 minutes to locate our driver in the chaos outside the Ollantaytambo train station. Less than two queasy hours later, we arrived at our hotel.

Our Machu Picchu adventure had come to an end, but there’s an old Incan proverb I learned that comes to mind when I think of this once-in-a-lifetime experience.

As they say in Quechua, the language of the Incans: “Ama kaypi wiksaykipi kaqta qarquychu.”

Rough English translation: “Do not throw up here.”

The Footnotes

If anyone from the Ollantaytambo tourism authority is reading this, your town was full of culture, history, and entertainment. Don’t @ me. ↩︎
If anyone from Inca Rail is reading this, your dance demonstration was full of culture, history, and entertainment. Don’t @ me. ↩︎
If anyone from the Aguas Calientes tourism authority is reading this, your town was full of culture, history, and entertainment. Don’t @ me. ↩︎
If Boy George is reading this, holy fucking shit! How awesome! You can definitely @ me. ↩︎
Seeing Machu Picchu for real is incredible. Seeing the Mona Lisa for real is a huge letdown. Just buy a postcard from the Louvre gift shop. Also, if anyone from the Paris tourism authority is reading this, your big museum was full of culture, history, and entertainment. Don’t @ me. ↩︎

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Oversharing Travel & Food

Trying to Wrap My Head Around Machu Picchu

Post author By Dave
Post date July 4, 2024

I visited Machu Picchu 81 days ago. I understand it as well as I did 82 days ago. In fact, I understand it less.

That’s why I’ve taken so long to write this post. I still struggle to describe the nonphysical part of the experience. So many of the words other people use to describe Machu Picchu simply don’t capture my feelings.

Spiritual means supernatural.¹
Metaphysical means supernatural with crystals.
Mystical means supernatural with unicorns.

Finding the Right Words

There are only two terms that accurately describe my experience at Machu Picchu. The first is groin-grabblingly transcendent.

Homer says "groin-grabbingly transcendent." — It’s a perfectly cromulent word.

My editor rejected that.

Lisa says "uh, I don't think so." — Good call.

That leaves me with sublime. I’m thinking specifically about how Enlightenment philosopher Immanuel Kant² defined the word, not how it’s used broadly today.

Whereas the beautiful is limited, the sublime is limitless, so that the mind in the presence of the sublime, attempting to imagine what it cannot, has pain in the failure but pleasure in contemplating the immensity of the attempt.
Immanuel Kant, “Critique of Pure Reason”

I know what you’re thinking: What the fuck do you know about philosophy or sublimity, Dave? Well, for one thing, I think you should watch your fucking language. For another, travel writer Mark Adams came to this realization first.³

For the first time since dropping out of graduate school, I remembered an unpleasant weekend spent struggling to comprehend the philosopher Immanuel Kant’s explanation of the difference between calling something beautiful and calling it sublime. Nowadays, we throw around the word “sublime” to describe gooey desserts or overpriced handbags.

In Kant’s epistemology, it meant something limitless, an aesthetically pleasing entity so huge that it made the perceiver’s head hurt. Machu Picchu isn’t just beautiful, it’s sublime.
Mark Adams, “Turn Right at Machu Picchu”

Adams, referring to Kant, found the most appropriate word — perhaps the only word — to describe what I felt at Machu Picchu.

There’s No Place Like Place

Why was Machu Picchu so agonizing to understand but so wonderful to contemplate? Because it blew up my understanding of what a “place” is.

I think of places as distinct things.

My home is a place.
Our synagogue is a place.
San Francisco is a place.
The moon is a place.
Pike’s Peak is a place.
Australia is a place.
Barcelona is a place.⁴

At Machu Picchu, I saw that the Incas didn’t make these differentiations. The built environment (like temples, living spaces, terraces, irrigation systems, and roads) was aligned with the natural environment (like the mountains and the movements of the sun, moon, and stars).

These connections weren’t limited to the area around Machu Picchu. The Incas didn’t have modern surveying equipment or a written language, but almost everything they built was aligned with manufactured or natural features long distances away.

What happens to the concept of “place” when every place is integrated into all other places? Is my kitchen no longer a discrete space but part of something larger, connected not just to my house but to grocery stores, distribution routes, farms, factories, sunlight, soil, and whatever layer of hell Brussells spouts come from?

Contemplating all that is like drinking a Slurpee. Your brain hurts, yet you want to keep sipping.

Everywhere Is Everywhere

I had read about these alignments before visiting Machu Picchu, but I didn’t truly appreciate them till I was there with a guide pointing them out. Seeing was believing, and believing was overwhelming. Every engineering decision was deliberate and precise, and every pebble and blade of grass seemed to have been positioned for a purpose.

That doesn’t happen by accident. It comes from a cultural understanding of “place” fundamentally different from ours, based on the interconnectedness of everything at a subatomic level.⁵

To put that in the form of a Zen kōan: Machu Picchu is one place and every place.

Now you see why I keep coming back to the word sublime. Machu Picchu challenged me to look at the world differently. I haven’t gained a different perspective on things; rather, I’ve become aware that there is a different perspective I may never see or comprehend. You can interpret that last sentence literally or figuratively. Both ways are correct.

Mark Adams,⁶ the author I quoted above, has the perfect analogy:

Anyone who has ever studied string theory in physics may have some idea of how I felt. You walk into class one day confident that you live in a three-dimensional world. An hour later you walk out with only the faintest grasp of the concept that there are actually nine or ten dimensions and, quite possibly, parallel universes on top of our own.
Mark Adams, “Turn Right at Machu Picchu”

Will I ever truly understand what Machu Picchu means? No. But I’m fine with that. There’s more to be learned by appreciating this mystery than by solving it.

The Inevitable Footnotes

As you may recall, I’m a skeptic about such things. ↩︎
Here’s a short educational video about Kant and other philosophers: link. ↩︎
I can’t recommend his book, “Turn Right at Machu Picchu,” enough. Buy it now. Do not pass Go. Do not pay $200. ↩︎
A massively overrated place that is inferior to Madrid in every way. ↩︎
Let’s pretend I’m smart enough to understand subatomic entanglement. ↩︎
Why haven’t you bought his book yet? Did you not see the earlier footnote? ↩︎

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Entertainment LGBTQ

🏳️‍🌈 Man, What Are You Doing Here?

Post author By Dave
Post date June 13, 2024

Dave sitting at piano, with the words "It's me they've been coming to see" superimposed on the image.

“Piano Man” is about a straight entertainer oblivious to the fact he’s playing in a gay bar.

People have theorized about this for a long time. But I can prove it.

“Piano Man,” of course, is Billy Joel’s signature song. It’s a clarion call for straight people. They stop what they’re doing when they hear the first few notes. By the time the harmonica licks begin, they’re on their feet. They belt out the entire song from memory, unironically, as if they were overcome with religious fervor.

I suppose it’s their “I Will Survive.”

I’m going to lay out my case in two parts: First, I’ll provide some background information and context. Then I’ll analyze the lyrics, focusing on each character named in the song. By the end, you’ll be convinced and will never hear the song the same way again.

This is part of my Gayskool project:
A new LGBTQ-themed post every day for Pride month.

The Early Seventies After Stonewall

Joel says he based “Piano Man” on his experiences playing in lounges in Los Angeles in the early 1970s. It was a transformational and challenging time for both straight and gay men.

Straight men had to ensure the horror of leisure suits. (Shudder.)

Gay men, on the other hand, had to reevaluate and reorient their lives after Stonewall broke all of the paradigms and conventions of dealing with society. No one knew how to navigate this new world. Freedom went hand-in-hand with fear. But at least we avoided the leisure suits.

In 2024, it’s hard to fathom the rapid and fundamental changes gay men experienced in the early ’70s. They saw things that would have been unimaginable just a few years earlier, including the first Pride parades.

Before Stonewall, LGBTQ activism was mainly cautious, reserved, and incremental. To be fair, it was a pragmatic and calculated approach led by realists who understood the politics and culture of the time. Stonewall ignited a new type of activism: We no longer wanted to be polite and non-threatening in the hopes that the majority would reward us with rights and dignity. We would go out and win rights and demand dignity. Gay is good was supplanted by Out of the closets and into the streets!

This new attitude changed the way many gay men socialized. They were done hiding in the dark and in the closet. A gay bar in San Francisco tore down walls (literally and figuratively) and installed windows. Think about what that meant! For the first time, gay men were willing to be seen publicly in a gay bar.

View of the Castro showing the Twin Peaks Lounge sign an a large Pride flag. — The Twin Peaks Lounge, a bar that opened in the 1930s on the corner of Castro and Market streets in San Francisco, installed street-facing windows in 1972. That made it the first gay bar in the world where people inside could be seen by passers-by.

We also stopped hiding when we turned out en masse for disco. Our celebrations were louder, bigger, more visible — and much more fabulous — than ever.

This is an incredible story, but I’ve left out an important part: Not everyone was ready to come out and get down. Many people had no option but to remain in the closet. Their livelihoods and very lives were on the line.

These folks couldn’t risk being spotted sipping cocktails in one of these new bars, or sweating under a mirror ball on an electrified dance floor. They needed to seek refuge in a familiar place where they would feel safe and comfortable.

Somwhere like a piano bar.

Meet the Customers and Staff

Listen carefully to “Piano Man” and you’ll notice that the customers:

Are all men
Are regulars
Aren’t happy

This would fit the cultural and historical context I’ve described above. The men at this bar feel life is passing them by. This is because they are locked out of the joy, excitement, and validation now open to so many others. They have always known the misery of exclusion from the straight world, and now they also had to deal with the weight of feeling left out of an exciting new gay world.

All they have is a bar they’ve patronized for years … where they feel welcome and secure … and where the clueless piano player won’t out them.

Unnamed Customer

There’s an old man sittin’ next to me
Makin’ love to his tonic and gin
He says, “Son, can you play me a memory?
I’m not really sure how it goes
But it’s sad, and it’s sweet, and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man’s clothes”

This customer feels out of place today, so he wants to be reminded of a time when the world made sense. I picture him as a WW2 veteran who found some degree of happiness and security in California after the war. He’s about 50 years old now, afraid to change, and envious of the young people who can enjoy the freedom and happiness he never experienced.

Two more points:

The younger man’s clothes may not have been his clothes. The Complimentary Spouse is older than I am, so every time he raids my closet, he’s wearing a younger man’s clothes.
I assume that he’s requesting a Judy Garland song.

John the Bartender

Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he’s quick with a joke, or to light up your smoke
But there’s someplace that he’d rather be
He says, “Bill, I believe this is killing me”
As the smile ran away from his face
“Well, I’m sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place”

There are two things to unpack here.

First, John is hitting on the piano player. I know of what I speak. I’ve been hit on by bartenders. I’ve hit on bartenders. I’ve gotten a lot more than free drinks, flirty jokes, and a light from bartenders, if you catch my drift.

Second, John fantasizes about being a movie star but knows he’ll never be on a marquee. If we are to assume this bar is in Los Angeles (because the song is about Joel’s real-life experience as a piano player there), Hollywood is right down the road. So when John says, “if I could only get out of this place,” he’s not talking about somewhere on a map. The place he can’t escape from is the closet.

Paul

Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife

Two things here:

First, “Who never had time for a wife” — uh, duh. You don’t need gaydar to figure this one out.

Second, unless Paul writes novels about real estate (“Zen and the Art of Property Maintenance”?), he’s compartmentalizing his professional life (real estate) and his creative life (writing). Gay men learn how to compartmentalize early. It’s a survival skill that allows us to integrate with society without opening parts of our identity to judgment and ridicule. It also helps explain why Paul, like every other customer, is miserable.

The damaging part of learning to live your life in two parts, whether in reality or fantasy, cannot be underestimated. It is an infectious skill that you learned, one that would eventually spread beyond the bedroom of your life. Life wasn’t ever what it seemed on the surface. Nothing could be trusted for what it appeared to be. After all, you weren’t what you appeared to be. In learning to hide part of yourself, you lost the ability to trust anything or anyone fully. Without knowing it, you traded humane innocence for dry cynicism.

Alan Downs, “The Velvet Rage: Overcoming the Pain of Growing Up Gay in a Straight Man’s World.”

Davy

And he’s talkin’ with Davy, who’s still in the Navy
And probably will be for life

Davy is in the closet. If the military learns he is gay, he will be dishonorably discharged. Coming to a piano bar, instead of one of the new gay bars or a disco, minimizes his chance of being outed — which his how he’ll ensure he’ll be in the Navy for life.

Why stay in the Navy instead of pursuing a government or private sector job? In the 1970s, it didn’t matter who you worked for. Being outed most likely meant being fired.

Also: In the Navy, you can put your mind at ease.

The Waitress

And the waitress is practicing politics

There are two ways to interpret this:

The waitress is discussing politics. Since it’s the early ’70s, that means she’s talking about things like the Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam, and Watergate. These are not good topics to bring up if you want tips from uptight straight guys.
The waitress is playing politics. That means manipulation, gossip, alliances, and backstabbing. So. Much. Drama. And you know who loves drama?

Jenna Maroney, star of “The Rural Juror” and “Jackie Jormp-Jomp.”

The Manager

And the manager gives me a smile
‘Cause he knows that it’s me they’ve been comin’ to see
To forget about life for a while

Stroking your talent’s ego isn’t a gay or straight thing. It’s just good management.

The Ending

The song ends with:

And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say, “Man, what are you doin’ here?”

Are the customers asking a direct question? Or just dropping a hint? No matter how you interpret this last line, it’s ~~clearly~~ queerly obvious that the piano player is the only person who doesn’t know he’s in a gay bar.

“Piano Man,” like many songs, is open to interpretation. I have shared mine. Yours might be different. Who’s to say which one is correct?

Or, in other words …

You may be wrong, but you may be right.

Tags Gayskool, Shared

Travel & Food

Sedona Rocks!

Post author By Dave
Post date December 25, 2023

Dave at sunrise, overlooking Sedona from the Airport Mesa

Now that you’ve slogged through the megillah about my energy vortex experience, let’s review the rest of my trip to Sedona. Expect more photos and less logorrhea this time.

Scenic Rim and Schnebly Hill Road

Pioneers T.C. and Sedona Schnebly moved to this area in Arizona in the late 1890s. The area was growing rapidly, so they petitioned the U.S. Postmaster General to open a post office, proposing the names Oak Creek Crossing and Schnebly Station. They were both rejected as being too long — the preference at the time was for one-word names.

Fortunately, they settled on Sedona, not Schnebly, as the name for the post office. As a consolation prize, the road from Sedona to Flagstaff was named Schnebly Hill Road. It’s a bumpy ride — it wasn’t long before I felt nauseated.

I think my photos are of the Mogollon Rim, but don’t quote me on that.

BTW, if you’re headed to Sedona, I highly recommend Pink Adventure Tours.

Merry-Go-Round Rock as seen from Schnebly Hill Road

Dave at the Outer Rim — The Outer Rim is outta sight!

Outer Rim with moon in the sky — (In Obi-Wan Kenobi voice) That’s no moon. That’s a space station.

Broken Arrow Trail

Broken Arrow Trail is like Schnebly Hill Road: bumpy and beautiful. Our driver navigated the rocky terrain with aplomb, but I still got jostled around plenty.

In Sedona, the off-road trails are as steep as the hotel prices.

Here’s another Jeep descending the same trail.

Sunset at Upper Red Rock Loop Road Overlook

Stunning. I did get a few photos, but most of the time, I set down my phone so I could mute my inner dialogue and be fully present for the experience.

Sunset from Upper Red Rock Loop Road — I’m facing east. As the sun sinks, shadows spread out before me and begin crawling toward the rocks in the distance.

Close-up of a formation seen from the Upper Red Rock Loop Road Overlook. — This rock formation looks like a manmade structure with imposing columns and a great golden dome — like a grand French Baroque palace or a fancy Taco Bell.

Dave at sunset in Sedona — A quick sunset selfie before I dash to the car and crank up the heat because the temperature is now about 35°F and falling.

Sunrise From Somewhere That Is Close to, But Not, the Airport Mesa Overlook

You’d have to be a complete idiot not to find the Airport Mesa Overlook, which is clearly marked and has everything you’d expect to see at a site for tourists: a huge parking lot, paved walkways, outdoor exhibits, coin-operated telescopes, yappy families, and so on.

Fortunately, being a complete idiot sometimes pays off. I parked nowhere near the overlook, lucked upon a rocky trail, followed it for about 25 minutes, and found a secluded spot to watch the sunrise in solitude.

I’m still not sure how I ended up there. Was it the happy accident of a man who got too little sleep, was in a cold, dark, and unfamiliar place, and failed to make sense of the directions on his phone? Or was he drawn in by mysterious vortex energy?

(Of course, it was an accident. However, if I look at the geotags on my photos, it appears that I had stumbled my way into the Airport Mesa Vortex. Cue the Twilight Zone music.)

Sedona sunrise seen from somewhere near the Airport Mesa overlook — As the sun rises, the shadow seems to melt off the tallest peak in the distance. The photos don’t capture how the peak is glowing, as if the reds, golds, and browns are lit from within.

Sunrise in Sonoma — Sunlight continues to trickle down the peak but hasn’t yet hit the town below.

Sunrise in Sonoma, as seen with a wide-angle lens — As the sun continues to rise, the sky becomes bluer and the clouds become whiter.

Dave somewhere in or near the Mesa Airport Vortex — Not a bad way to spend a morning.

A sign that says to close the gate to keep deer off the runway. — One of the many clues that I was, in fact, nowhere near the tourist-friendly official overlook area.

Concerning that last photo, I should point out that my painstaking research (i.e., a cursory scan of Google search results) indicates that deer are quite good at jumping over fences but really bad at reading signs.

Donuts

What, I’m not allowed a special treat while on vacation?

Deve eating a donut — This Red Rock Velvet donut didn’t last long. Also highly recommended: the Vortex (a massive cinnamon roll topped with pecans) and the Red Rock Oreo (a red velvet donut topped with crushed Oreos).

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Travel & Food

Into the Vortex

Post author By Dave
Post date December 22, 2023

My first experience with mystical energy vortices began, as these things sometimes do, under angry gray clouds in the parking lot of the Sedona Public Library.

After parking my rental car (a non-mystical Chevrolet Malibu from non-mystical Alamo in the most decidedly non-mystical Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport), I found my guide Rosane (ten out of ten on the mystical scale) in her white Jeep (mystical level: undetermined).

I clicked with Rosane before I even clicked my seatbelt. She was welcoming, warm, and chatty — just like me — and wasn’t fazed when I told her I was a skeptic. “Don’t worry, I’ve met many skeptics,” she said, with traces of her Brazilian background in her voice. “Maybe you’ll be less of a skeptic when we’re done.”

And Away We Go

While I wasn’t sure I’d achieve transcendence that afternoon, I was 100% sure I’d experience bad weather. As Rosana drove up the hill to our destination, the sky turned from slate to charcoal. At the security gate — the only way to reach the site was to drive through a gated golf course community (the complete opposite of mysticalness) — we were warned of the possibility of snow.

The precipitation had trailed off when we reached Rachel’s Knoll, the center of a vortex, but the temperature had dropped to about 30°F (-1°C).

One to Beam Up. Energize.

According to Rosane, vortices are places where the earth’s energy converges and swirls — like an eddy in a stream or a tornado in a trailer park. Rachel’s Knoll, like other vortices, functions as both a magnet and a bowl for this energy. Large deposits of quartz and iron attract the energy, and the red rock formations around the site keep the energy in.

So, what does it feel like to be at the center of the vortex, where life, the universe, and all the elements united my body and spirit into a singular being capable of constructing overwrought and pompous sentences such as this one?

Well, it kinda feels like nothing. Not even a tingle of static electricity. The immense power of the universe was swirling around me, yet I couldn’t even charge up my dying phone battery.

And yet … I felt more serene and open than usual. It was like someone turned on the Do Not Disturb mode in my head. The acerbic old man who narrates my inner dialogue decided to step out for a break. I no longer felt fixated by every fleeting thought.

Was there, in fact, some kind of psychic energy coursing through my mind and body? I don’t believe so. But standing there under a heavy gray sky, encircled by rusty red peaks and specks of dark green foliage, and experiencing Mother Nature’s schizophrenia, I knew I was somewhere different and special.

More about the weather later. Let’s first turn to …

My Spiritual Toolbox

Rosane said we’re all born with a spiritual toolbox, but using each tool properly takes knowledge and practice. She led me through a few mental and physical exercises to put the tools to use.

Circle Circle

Rosane traced a circle in the dirt with her shoe. She had me stand in the middle, shout my name into the vortex, and then draw my hands back to my body to welcome any energy coming my way.

Dave in the circle — This is the vortex version of being in the on-deck circle.

Dave shouts into the vortex — Vortex, can you hear me?
Vortex, can you see me?
Vortex, can you find me in the night?

Welcoming the returning energy — Nothing really matters
The vortex is all we need
Everything I give you
All comes back to me

Senses and Sensibility

Rosane challenged me to identify things I could see, hear, feel, smell, and taste at that moment. Sight and sound were easy (mountains and rain). For touch and smell, I crushed some juniper needles in my very cold hands. For taste, Rosane came prepared with a flask of hot tea and some miniature Hershey bars.

Because this exercise is so quick and simple, I find myself using it when I realize I’ve been operating on autopilot.

Walk This Way

Rosane showed me how to connect physical motions to energy flow. First, she had me step backward while pulling my arms into my chest. This helps draw in creative energy and inspiration, she said.

Next, she had me step forward and push outward. This action forces energy back into the world, which leads to confidence and strength.

I’ve started doing some of these movements because they allow me to step away from my desk, move around for a bit, and clear my head. Also, they confuse the dogs, which delights me to no end.

Embiggening My Conciousness

Rosane asked me to focus on where my body ended and the rest of the world began. It seemed like a weird ask, but with a clear mind, it wasn’t hard to feel where my skin met my clothes. Could I push that awareness beyond my body, she asked. With some concentration, I could indeed. Rosane said that I could expand that consciousness even further with some practice. I’m finding this exercise helpful: It’s a mental reset for when I realize I’m acting mindlessly.

Weathering Heights

If a Karen were exploring Rachel’s Knoll with Rosane and me, she’d ask to speak to the manager of weather. (“Do you know who I am?”) The trip started overcast with overcast skies and ended with sunshine, but only after taking a wild detour into a downpour and hail.

The pictures tell the story.

2:22 p.m.

Arriving at Rachel's Knoll — Gray skies and no drizzle as we arrive at Rachel’s Knoll.

3:20 p.m.

Taking refuge under a juniper tree. — Not long after I shouted my name into the vortex (as described above), the vortex responded with drizzle. Before long, it had intensified into a driving rain, forcing Rosane and I to take refuge under a juniper tree — just in time to avoid a short burst of hail. This is where we do our sense-identification exercise and tuck into the chocolate bars and hot tea.

Dave and Rosane enjoy tea and chocolate — Despite the rain, we’re having a great time!

3:35 p.m.

The rain had let up a bit, so we continued exploring Rachel’s Knoll. It it at this point that I realize that it’s not actually a knoll. Knolls don’t have rock ledges and steep cliffs.

About 30 seconds later …

After foolishly posing on wet, slippery rocks for a photo, I turn around and notice a timid ray of light breaking through the clouds. I risk life and limb for another photo, which turned out great.

3:40 p.m.

The sun is out, but there’s a gossamer quality to the light. It is golden yet thin and trepidatious. You will notice in this photo that my pants are soaked. Not pictured: my sopping-wet underpants.

3:47 p.m.

Blue skies at Rachel's Knoll at last — I see skies of blue,
Clouds of white.
This energy vortex
Is quite a sight!
And I think to myself,
What a wonderful world

Raindrops on juniper tree needles. Hey, not every caption can be witty or insightful (or both). If you don’t like it, start your own blog.

3:54 p.m.

A pretty damn good photo of Dave in Sedona. — Lookin’ good, Dave!

4:02 p.m.

A bridge in the clouds — At first glance, I thought this was a rainbow. It wasn’t. What gave it away was the lack of color. Still, it’s a pretty cool cloud formation. There’s something architectural about that curve.

4:15 p.m.

Rosane gave me her book, “Get Vortexed,” so I could take a little piece of Sedona back home to Florida. I can’t explain why I posed this way. (Other pieces of Sedona I took back to Florida: vortex rocks, a souvenir T-shirt, and about five extra pounds.)

4:19 p.m.

Leaving Rachel's Knoll — One last look before we drive down the hill and leave the vortex behind.

My Vortex Verdict

I came to this vortex a skeptic, and I left a skeptic. But I did experience something close to, but not quite, transcendence atop Rachel’s Knoll. I’d describe it as a combination of awe, stillness, introspection, and openness.

I certainly wasn’t one with the universe. But I was one with myself.

As Douglas Adams once said, “Isn’t it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

Take it from a skeptic: A place doesn’t need to be mystical to be magical.

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Running

DNF (Did Not Finish) and DNF (Did Not Fail)

Post author By Dave
Post date November 25, 2023

At the starting line of the Amsterdam Good Morning City run

Not completing the Amsterdam Good Morning City Run — a short guided run the day before the Amsterdam Marathon — was one of the best things I’ve done this year.

I didn’t make it to the end, but it was a victory.

Let me explain: When I realized I would be in Amsterdam the weekend of that city’s marathon, I considered signing up for the shortest option, an 8K. I hadn’t run in a while, so any race would have been ambitious. I knew I’d need to walk most of it.

The 8K was sold out, but the Good Morning Run was available. There were two options: 6.5K and 3.5K. I decided to play it safe and go with the shorter route. I didn’t think it would be a challenge.

I was wrong.

Turning Around

Since it was a guided run, the roads weren’t closed off and we were broken into small groups. One guide led the way, and another brought up the rear. The pace was slow, and I could catch my breath momentarily when we paused to let cars and bicycles pass at pedestrian crossings. Despite this, I fell from the middle of the pack to the back.

Around one kilometer in, I knew I was spent. I told the guide in the back I needed to drop out and walk back. He said he needed to accompany me (which, I assume, is for insurance reasons). He and the other guide arranged to have one of the other runners be the caboose, and then we turned around.

I barely finished a third of the run, but I felt fine about it. In fact, better than fine. And that’s because of something that happened to me here in Tampa a few weeks prior.

The Wisdom of Meb

As I said, I hadn’t run in a while. However, a few weeks before the Amsterdam trip, I started walking on Bayshore in the mornings. One day, I saw Meb Keflezighi¹ and waved to him. He seemed to recognize me, slowed down, and asked how I was doing. I said something about trying to get back into running but lacked confidence and was just walking.

He looked at me and said, “You’re here. That’s the hard part.”

Those words meant a lot at the time, but became even more profound in Amsterdam. Being there and running was the hard part, and I had done it.

The starting line was more important than the finish line.

I’ll Take the W

I thanked the guide for walking me back to Museumplein, got a bottle of water, and found a spot in the shade. I felt like a million bucks (about €913,000 at the time) and wanted to hold onto the feeling.

After that, I took a tram to the Olympic Stadium to pick up my preordered T-shirt. Most everyone there were anticipating the marathon, which would be held the next day. I knew I had already won. I rewarded myself by buying an additional T-shirt.

Pointing at my name on the list of Amsterdam race participants. — I found my name on the list of Amsterdam race participants.

The next day, I walked to Vondelpark to cheer on the marathoners. I felt inspired, not intimidated, by them.

Across the road, another spectator was holding up a sign that struck a chord with me:

Man holding "You Are Great" sign along the Amsterdam Marathon route. — A good sign.

It’s not just the message on the sign that resonated with me, but the fact that we were nowhere near the finish line. It was another reminder to celebrate where I am, not where I think I should be. The effort is just as important — perhaps more important — than the achievement.

Knowing this is more valuable than all the medals in the world.

_____
¹ I wrote this about Meb on LinkedIn earlier this year:

In the world of running, Meb Keflezighi is a rock star like no other. But what impresses me most is not his record, but the way he treats others.

Meb (so famous he only needs one name) is the only person who has won the New York Marathon, the Boston Marathon, and an Olympic medal. (Actually, he has won two Olympic medals, but who’s keeping count.) He now lives in Tampa, and I’ve run into him a few times. Every interaction has made a mark on me.

🏃‍♂️ When I wave to him on Bayshore (my usual running route), he’ll acknowledge me, smile, and wave back. He has no idea who I am. He’s just friendly that way.

🏃‍♂️ When I met him for the first time and told him a good friend (who lives in Colorado) was a huge fan, he sat down and wrote a short note praising her accomplishments (a marathon on all seven continents) and encouraging her to keep going.

🏃‍♂️ When he hosted his first 5K on Saturday, he thought nothing of taking photos with everyone who asked. He never once looked annoyed or indifferent, even as the line grew.

Even short encounters like these can have a big impact. When we’re surrounded by egos and pretentiousness, someone who is approachable really stands out.

When I tell people I want to follow in Meb’s footsteps, it doesn’t mean I want to win marathons. It means I want to be warm and make others feel special.

Although winning an Olympic medal would be cool. 🏅

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