Fresh tracks

On Thursday last week, I went to a hockey game to shoot some photos as I often do, and when I came back from shooting the second period of the game, my computer was gone. It was not a joke played on me by my friends, the other photographers, which was the first thought that passed through my head. Instead, someone had stolen my laptop. Pretty ballsy move, especially considering how much evidence these devices leave behind these days. I told the police and I made an insurance claim. This event was a hassle, indeed. But something great happened when I found that laptop missing. I felt absolutely no emotion, other than a twinge of frustration and annoyance. There was no anger, and there was no sadness. There was no remorse, and but a hint of regret. I will not miss the computer and I will not miss whatever it ends up costing me in financial terms. I lost a handful of pictures of our family, taken during October, and the first period action from the game, from which I only managed to turn in six pictures. I posted an ad on craigslist, offering a hefty reward for the return of my device. I was mostly interested in the few pictures and the organization I had done; nothing more. I doubt that the ad gets answered, the criminal no doubt wants to cover his tracks, not create fresh ones.

On Sunday I woke up early and made fresh coffee, put on my running shoes and shorts and a long sleeve running shirt, and I left to walk downtown. I carried my ID in my pocket. At 7:26 am, approximately 11 minutes after the intended time, I crossed the starting line to run a marathon running race with 16,000 other people. Spectators stood alongside the empty streets and held hilarious signs and commended our bravery and bravado and strength and courage. They rang cowbell, and yelled encouragement. I did not listen to music, instead I ran to the rhythm of the thoughts passing through my mind. I ran at a deliberate pace, and I ran for nearly four hours. I joked with spectators and fellow runners. I struck a balance between joy and pain, between fatigue and rejuvenation, between enthusiasm and despair, that may have been unmatched by any of the 17,000 fellow participants.  I had the perfect score on the matrix, the one with pain on one axis and pleasure on the other.My biggest problem during the race was boredom; I had to remind myself that "now is not the time to feel sorry for yourself. you're legs are fine. you'll be done soon. just run."

Neither having something valuable and important stolen from you is not important. Neither is being able to run for 26 miles. Neither of these things matters at all. What matters is your state of mind at all times. I told a friend yesterday, how I "could train and be an elite athlete if I wanted to, but I want to be good at all these different things." I then listed off several things I want to be really good at without bothering to master any of them: running, cycling, photography, motorcycle, etc. I realized not long after that what I had said was mostly true, but I also realized something else was more important than all of those things, and that was being a good husband and father and person. I was given the opportunity to do that, along with the temptation afforded by these insignificant talents and distractions (e.g. the money, the girls, the motorcycle). When the computer is stolen and I still feel calm, I feel like nothing has happened, I think that means I'm making the right kind of progress.