As I look out the window on this lovely fall day, I wonder why it is supposed to be our second consecutive 90 degree day. It isn't a lovely fall day, it is the middle of summer, in the middle of September. But why, why I ask you, has summer ended, but summer heat lingers like leftovers in the back of the refrigerator. Summer ended. I know. I watched it end several times.
Summer first ended when our summer swim team season ended. That is always the first sign of the end of summer. The 7 week thief of the freedom of summer takes over our lives with a routine of practices, meets, social events, lunches and aggravation. We all love it. The end of summer swim is as abrupt as a brick wall. We see new and old friends on an almost daily basis, with little or no control over our lives, and then -BAM- it is over. The first week after swim season ends is like withdrawal from an addiction.
The end of summer swim did not, however, come with the end of summer swim. As I recovered from my withdrawal symptoms, I could look forward to the family summer vacation. We spent a wonderful week in Myrtle Beach, highlighted by a sunset kayak tour and lowlighted by Youngest's face plant into a pile of shells, courtesy of a 5 foot wave. We managed to squeeze in a lot of wave fighting (the waves were particularly strong that week), some mini-golf, an aquarium, a trip the Fort Sumpter and even a casual stroll on a World War II Air Craft Carrier (the USS Yorktown). And with the end of that trip, summer was over.
Except it wasn't. We had another week of summer break, lazy days, boredom and nothing until school started (well, at least the Boys did). One more week for them after returning from Myrtle Beach to get themselves prepared for the end of summer and the beginning of school. That week ended and so did summer.
Except it didn't. They started school. I started making lunches again. The Wife started dealing with homework again. Summer was definitely over.
Except it wasn't. Four days after they started school, they had Friday off and we celebrated Labor Day weekend. Labor Day is always the traditional end of summer. We took care of some things around the house, went out for ice cream and grilled dinner multiple times. On Monday, we went to the pool one last time. Mother Nature decided to declare the end of summer with a strong thunderstorm, ending our day and closing the pool for good. Summer had indeed come to an end.
Except, it kind of didn't. We still hadn't started winter swim practice, we hadn't started Cub Scouts, we hadn't gone to church. Many of the things we put on hold hadn't started and although school and soccer practices (plus all three Back to School Nights) made last week difficult, we hadn't really hit the end of summer. This week, it hit us. Swim practices, soccer practices, 5 days of school, church, homework, Ninja... Just an avalanche of activities.
This was the real end of summer. As a kid, summer is a wonderful time of nothing and boredom. As a parent, it is a break from non-stop activities. I enjoy not making lunch, not having to compare schedules with the Wife every morning and, this summer, not working out. With the real end of summer, all that comes back.
As we started to get our groove back a little (and we were thankful the end of summer came in waves and not all at once), I started to realize that we shouldn't make New Year's Resolutions. New Year's Day isn't a transition, at least not for a parent. New Year's Day is a nice holiday and a rude end to the "holiday" season. But I am doing the same things after New Year's Day that I was doing a week and a half before New Year's Day.
The end of summer is a transition. I go from (relatively) free to a full schedule, and that is nothing compared to the awful change The Wife must deal with. It is a new beginning. A new swim season (for the boys and for me), a new school year, a new soccer season, a new Ninja schedule. It is a great chance for a new outlook on things. I took 2 months off from swimming over the summer. It was great. I got home at a reasonable hour, I wasn't the slowest moving person in the family, I didn't hurt ALL. THE. TIME. But with the end of summer, I started up again. I hurt again, I am slow again, I never see my family again. But it was time.
The end of summer is time. Time to start everything again, or for the first time. As a parent of kids in school and sports, the end of summer is the beginning of everything else. So I decided to look at it as my new beginning. My chance to re-focus myself on trying to do things better. Trying to parent better, do better at my job, workout better, maybe even eat better. It just seemed like a better time to do this than while watching bowl games on TV (or not, since they no longer really have that many on New Year's Day).
So Summer, you're done. We are back to everything. Enough with the 90 degree days.
Thursday, September 12, 2019
Thursday, July 25, 2019
One Year More
In two days I will attend a high school production of Les Miserables. Every time I think about that, I hear "One day more..." in my head. Usually in the voice of Lin-Manuel Miranda from Carpool Karaoke. So, yesterday, as I watched NBC excitedly announce, in every possible news program, that Tokyo 2020 begins in just one year, I repeatedly heard "One year more..." in my head. From Lin-Manuel Miranda. Which is both really weird and really stupid. But what can I say, I am an amateur Olympic and youth sports blogger talking about a high school production of a Broadway musical. It seems fairly obvious that I am going to say something stupid. Plus, with a layoff of about a year and a half, I am bound to be out of practice.
With all the "One year more" going through my head, I have decided I need to get back into practice. The Winter Olympics is fun, with sports I don't see a lot on cold, slick surfaces, people skiing and shooting, and a reasonable amount of coverage that one can almost keep up with if one focuses, ignores all family obligations and devoutly follows Guideline1 of the Guidelines for Watching the Olympics. It is possible to keep up with the Winter Olympic and write about it. The Summer Olympics is a DISASTER. No one can keep up, regardless of how well he or she fends off the advances of their partner. I know. I have tried. I have sacrificed, for you. I have not just ignored my wife during the Summer Olympics, I have actively shunned her. That is how dedicated I am. Even with that, I can't keep up, and in the end I am nothing more than a blabbering idiot, huddled in the corner trying to figure out why Ryan Lochte can't just be honest about his drunken idiocy and the color of his hair. If I don't properly prepare, real damage could be done to someone, or something, or everyone.
In addition to the reminders of one year more, the World Swimming Championships are currently on television. To give you an idea of how nuts I am, I spent almost 8 hours at a swim meet last Saturday in 100 degree temperatures. I'm not even exaggerating. It was 100 degrees (or maybe 99). I spent 3 days watching the weather people on the news tell me not to spend too much time outside on Saturday, then I spent 8 hours at a swim meet and 3 more at an outdoor swimming banquet. Sunday morning I woke up and I...watched swimming. Really. I voluntarily watched swimming on TV the day after spending almost 8 hours at a swim meet. I may have a problem.
To give you an idea of how much I have failed you, I didn't write about it. I didn't tweet about it. I posted nothing on Facebook or Instagram or any other social media site I have never heard of. I kept it all to myself. In non-Olympic years, I have become a me person. Me-me-me-me-me. Just like Beaker on the Muppets. I watched Katie Ledecky lose and said nothing to no one.
Wait, you did WHAT!!! YOU WATCHED WHAT!!!
I watched Katie Ledecky lose and...oh, my God!...Katie Ledecky lost? I am not properly prepared for this and real damage is happening to everyone. Katie Ledecky doesn't lose. The sun rises in the East, you can't avoid taxes, and Katie Ledecky wins. The only other sure thing in the world is...well, nothing. There's Katie Ledecky and if we don't have her, we have nothing. I find myself aimlessly walking in circles babbling "Here comes Diggins!" trying to re-find my Olympic equilibrium as I try, and fail, to comprehend those three words...Katie. Ledecky. Lost.
We love sports because - oh, shut up! We don't love watching Katie Ledecky lose! We love watching Katie Ledecky crush the hopes and dreams of distance swimming girls in all the lands. We love to watch American swimmers win an incomprehensible number of medals. This is wrong. Just wrong.
However, I am finding my groove. Despite the shock. Despite the longful flashbacks to those dreamy days of Jesse Diggins. Despite the slow acceptance that Michael Phelps will not return to make the world right. Despite the small pieces of evidence that Katie Ledecky might in fact be human like the rest of us (OK, not like the rest of us, but human nonetheless). Each night I am watching the World Swimming Championships. Each night I am frightened a little more that the US Olympic dominance in the pool may be a little less than we are used to. Each night I fall a little more in love with the sleeve-tattooed, blonde God named Caeleb Dressel.
I am only now realizing that yelling "Here Comes Diggins!" into my blog, dropping the mic and disappearing for 18 months is a disservice not only to my 6 loyal readers, but to myself. I am not ready for Tokyo 2020. Who is the Hungarian wonderkid that broke Michael Phelps's world record in the 200 IM? How does the US not win, much less medal, in the Men's 100 back? What do you mean Chase Kalisz didn't win the 200 IM? How does Katie Ledecky lose? When did swimmers start protesting during medal ceremonies? What do you mean Lily King was disqualified? Why are the finals on in the morning? What is going on? Where is Jesse Diggins? WE NEED YOU! WE NEED HERE COMES DIGGINS!
But Jesse Diggins is not coming, at least not for another 30 months. We need to move on from Jesse Diggins. We need to figure out this whole Olympics in Asia, blogger in America thing. We need to recover from our Michael Phelps hangover and figure out how to become dominant again. We need to rise from the ashes, like a phoenix and find new life! WE NEED TO...
Yeah, that got a little too dramatic.
We need to get back on the bike and ride again. And so, we climb on, we remember Jesse Diggins, but we leave her behind. We find our voice and we speak again. In short, we are back, getting ready for Tokyo 2020. One year more.
But first, yeah, I have another swim meet on Saturday.
With all the "One year more" going through my head, I have decided I need to get back into practice. The Winter Olympics is fun, with sports I don't see a lot on cold, slick surfaces, people skiing and shooting, and a reasonable amount of coverage that one can almost keep up with if one focuses, ignores all family obligations and devoutly follows Guideline1 of the Guidelines for Watching the Olympics. It is possible to keep up with the Winter Olympic and write about it. The Summer Olympics is a DISASTER. No one can keep up, regardless of how well he or she fends off the advances of their partner. I know. I have tried. I have sacrificed, for you. I have not just ignored my wife during the Summer Olympics, I have actively shunned her. That is how dedicated I am. Even with that, I can't keep up, and in the end I am nothing more than a blabbering idiot, huddled in the corner trying to figure out why Ryan Lochte can't just be honest about his drunken idiocy and the color of his hair. If I don't properly prepare, real damage could be done to someone, or something, or everyone.
In addition to the reminders of one year more, the World Swimming Championships are currently on television. To give you an idea of how nuts I am, I spent almost 8 hours at a swim meet last Saturday in 100 degree temperatures. I'm not even exaggerating. It was 100 degrees (or maybe 99). I spent 3 days watching the weather people on the news tell me not to spend too much time outside on Saturday, then I spent 8 hours at a swim meet and 3 more at an outdoor swimming banquet. Sunday morning I woke up and I...watched swimming. Really. I voluntarily watched swimming on TV the day after spending almost 8 hours at a swim meet. I may have a problem.
To give you an idea of how much I have failed you, I didn't write about it. I didn't tweet about it. I posted nothing on Facebook or Instagram or any other social media site I have never heard of. I kept it all to myself. In non-Olympic years, I have become a me person. Me-me-me-me-me. Just like Beaker on the Muppets. I watched Katie Ledecky lose and said nothing to no one.
Wait, you did WHAT!!! YOU WATCHED WHAT!!!
I watched Katie Ledecky lose and...oh, my God!...Katie Ledecky lost? I am not properly prepared for this and real damage is happening to everyone. Katie Ledecky doesn't lose. The sun rises in the East, you can't avoid taxes, and Katie Ledecky wins. The only other sure thing in the world is...well, nothing. There's Katie Ledecky and if we don't have her, we have nothing. I find myself aimlessly walking in circles babbling "Here comes Diggins!" trying to re-find my Olympic equilibrium as I try, and fail, to comprehend those three words...Katie. Ledecky. Lost.
We love sports because - oh, shut up! We don't love watching Katie Ledecky lose! We love watching Katie Ledecky crush the hopes and dreams of distance swimming girls in all the lands. We love to watch American swimmers win an incomprehensible number of medals. This is wrong. Just wrong.
However, I am finding my groove. Despite the shock. Despite the longful flashbacks to those dreamy days of Jesse Diggins. Despite the slow acceptance that Michael Phelps will not return to make the world right. Despite the small pieces of evidence that Katie Ledecky might in fact be human like the rest of us (OK, not like the rest of us, but human nonetheless). Each night I am watching the World Swimming Championships. Each night I am frightened a little more that the US Olympic dominance in the pool may be a little less than we are used to. Each night I fall a little more in love with the sleeve-tattooed, blonde God named Caeleb Dressel.
I am only now realizing that yelling "Here Comes Diggins!" into my blog, dropping the mic and disappearing for 18 months is a disservice not only to my 6 loyal readers, but to myself. I am not ready for Tokyo 2020. Who is the Hungarian wonderkid that broke Michael Phelps's world record in the 200 IM? How does the US not win, much less medal, in the Men's 100 back? What do you mean Chase Kalisz didn't win the 200 IM? How does Katie Ledecky lose? When did swimmers start protesting during medal ceremonies? What do you mean Lily King was disqualified? Why are the finals on in the morning? What is going on? Where is Jesse Diggins? WE NEED YOU! WE NEED HERE COMES DIGGINS!
But Jesse Diggins is not coming, at least not for another 30 months. We need to move on from Jesse Diggins. We need to figure out this whole Olympics in Asia, blogger in America thing. We need to recover from our Michael Phelps hangover and figure out how to become dominant again. We need to rise from the ashes, like a phoenix and find new life! WE NEED TO...
Yeah, that got a little too dramatic.
We need to get back on the bike and ride again. And so, we climb on, we remember Jesse Diggins, but we leave her behind. We find our voice and we speak again. In short, we are back, getting ready for Tokyo 2020. One year more.
But first, yeah, I have another swim meet on Saturday.
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