The Puppy That Ruined Me

August, 2003. So much can change in five years. I’ve heard it said that every seven years all the millions of cells in your body have been completely replaced; in effect, you are a new you, completely different from the one you were seven years ago. I can’t vouch for the science or whether it’s just an oft-repeated myth, but let’s go with my position of five years. I would think that not much would change in the average individual’s life, externally and internally, in that period of time. Certainly, in my life up to 2003 there wasn’t any drastic change. But in the five years since … wow.

I blame it all on a white lab puppy.

Allow me to indulge in some memories, here; I promise it won’t be skewed too much. Five years ago I was in my mid-30s, married just two years. Having no children but planning on some in the near future, my wife and I found an awesome apartment for a few hundred bucks a month under market value. We were making good money, having perhaps a third of the expenses we currently now have. There was lots of dining out, lots of partying with friends, lots of sleeping in weekends, lots of antiquing and going to movies and long weekend vacations and this and that and this and that.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not bitter about this part of my life coming to an end. Even back then I knew that it wouldn’t last forever; indeed, my wife and I were actively planning to purchase a house in an expensive area of the country and have one or two or three kids. So, we did save a bunch of money. We just enjoyed those early years of our marriage, like your buddy with four kids always warned you to do before you got hitched.

I don’t blame the dog for the events in the paragraph above. I blame it for what follows.

One thing I was particularly proud of during the early years of the new millennium was the shape I was in, physically. With few constraints on my time, I spent an hour or two a day working on my physique. Now, as I’ve said before on this blog, I wasn’t a bodybuilder or a fitness model by any stretch of the imagination. But I was at my ideal weight, lean, good muscles for my size, and a good aerobic capacity. I worked out six days a week and enjoyed every minute of it. It not only made me healthier physically but mentally as well. I was genuinely happy during this time doing those activities.

Aside from the weightlifting and stretching and occasional yoga, I decided to get back into running. I ran as a youngster and competed in a half-dozen 5K races. I wanted to do that again. My buddy also worked out with me on occasion also decided to resume running and we entered two races that fall. So, I ran a couple nights a week, ran with him on the weekends, and started prepping for my first race in twenty years, six weeks away.

Here’s where that damn dog comes in.

It was an absolutely gorgeous late-August day, a Saturday morning with no humidity and no clouds in the deep blue skies. My friend drove up from his place and we hit the streets running. I think we were trying for four or five miles at this point, a nice easy pace, just trying to get used to distances longer than 5K (which is three-point-one miles to the uninitiated). A fine run for a fine day. We started right outside my apartment, jogged up a long, slowly-inclining hill, zig-zagged through the back streets of my town. Chatting, lightly sweating but comfortable with a slight breeze and cool temperature, we were looking forward to the race next month and debated what times to shoot for.

Then, we turned a corner, and it happened.

I caught movement peripherally, off to my left. A woman came flailing out from a bush, it seemed to me in that split-second, rounding the side of her house and heading out towards us, out in the street.

She was chasing a crazy white lab puppy off its leash.

My friend was a couple paces ahead of me, but the dog didn’t focus on him. Oh, no, it left Steve alone. Instead, it bee-lined towards me. A direct collision course, speeding up, and it actually leapt into the air at me.

Instinctively, I also jumped up, hoping to clear the playful pup. No such luck. We collided in mid-air, and, fearing I would crush it or break its leg or back or tail or whatever, I twisted somehow, and landed weird on my right leg. Now it was my turn to flail, but I kept my balance and avoided sprawling on the rocky pavement. The dog was unharmed; in fact, it yapped and came back at me but I picked up the pace and passed the house quickly.

The woman got hold of the white lab and apologized to me as I fled. Steve turned his head around to see what the commotion was. I laughed, shook me head, told him I’d tell him about it later, and we finished the practice run maybe ten minutes later.

And wouldn’t you know, barely inside my apartment, I noticed a strange pain in my right leg. It wasn’t localized, but I felt a general ache around my knee and below. Maybe I pulled a muscle, I thought, or strained a tendon, or a ligament. We had some healthy chow, watched some tube, and waited for the girls to get back home. The pain faded and I forgot about it.

The next day, Sunday, I drove down to Steve’s house for our morning run. Humid and overcast, I started sweating immediately into the practice and then – BOOM! – pain flared in my right leg. Knee and below knee, just like after the run yesterday. I lagged behind my friend, first a couple of paces, then a couple of yards, then a quarter mile as he rounded a corner. I stopped, turned back in anguish, and limped to his house.

I laid off running for the next couple of weeks; the next time I ran was the 5K race that September, and I actually broke my time goal by thirty seconds. But I had to hobble back to the car, assisted by my wife. I could barely walk the next day at work, and scheduled an appointment with a specialist later in the week.

Turns out that puppy caused me to fracture my tibia. I had to stay off it for a couple of days, and the doctor refused to allow me to run for three months while it healed naturally. This had the unpleasant effect of spilling into other areas of my life, too. I stopped working out. I started eating more junk food. I gained a couple of pounds. The fire in my belly cooled, extinguished by cold German beer.

Six months later we bought a house. Four months after that my daughter was born. Two years later I had a hernia operation (oh the ravages of time!). Five months after that it was discovered I had atrial fibrillation when I got winded every time I walked up a flight of stairs.

Yes, a whole lotta changes can fall upon you in five years’ time. I often wonder how far I would have gone that fall, and later that spring – 10Ks? Half-marathons? Marathon? Would I experience every day double or triple the amount of energy I now have to utilize due to such phenomenal physical shape? I glance down and ruefully pat my belly, out of breath as I type at my keyboard, and growl at the white lab puppy that caused my running goals to derail like a runaway freight train.

The Hiroshima Bomb

Today is the 63rd anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. More than 70,000 men, women and children died in the immediate attack, which came ten days after an Allied ultimatum to Japan for an unconditional surrender. Also killed in the attack were 20 captured US airmen and some 2,000 Japanese-Americans stranded there since the start of the war.

Now, I’m not a peacenik who wrings his hand over the dropping of the bomb. I believe it had to be done. What else could Truman do? There were other options. First, he could invade the Japanese islands. The military had come up with several plans for invasion, such as Operation Downfall and Operation Coronet, and the “one million American casualties” figure started to be floated about. Or, he could stay the course. Continue the traditional war with traditional methods. It is said that simply by maintaining the B-52 firebomb raids Japan could eventually be brought under submission. In fact, it’s estimated that more Japanese were killed during such firebombings than were killed by the two atomic bombs. The downside, though, would be a prolonged war with far too many American casualties. A third option would be to sit back and see what Russia could and would do. However, after the Potsdam conference the previous month, the Allied leaders were unsure of Soviet Russia’s motives, and determined she couldn’t be trusted. So, conventional wisdom goes, Truman had no choice but to drop the bomb.

What doesn’t sit well with me is the fact that a civilian population was targeted. Yes, Hiroshima was a military manufacturing city, and yes, many of those citizens were actively participating in the furtherance of the war. And yes, both sides were guilty of civilian bombings. So in a weird amoral world of pure relativism, yes, we could be justified in dropping two atomic bombs on Japanese cities.

The question that keeps returning to me is: why wasn’t the Hiroshima bomb used instead as a demonstration? I can think of two ways this could be done. First, as a “weak” demonstration: detonate one over or near Tokyo bay, close enough for the shock and awe but far enough where the loss of non-combatant life would not be excessive. Or, a “stronger” demonstration: drop one on a Japanese battleship or an aircraft carrier, as close to their mainland as possible. I would have no problem with either option. So, why drop it on a city filled with civilians?

The justification given by the military is simple. Over $2 billion dollars had been spent on developing the bomb, and there was tremendous pressure to follow through to completion, as devastating to the enemy as possible. More importantly, in a practical sense, we only had two operational atomic bombs. The technology involved was still far from certain, and the possibility of a “dud” during a demonstration could not be risked.

However, groups of scientists, Einstein included, petitioned Truman not to use the bomb. The loftiest argument given was that America would lose its moral authority with the world, all the goodwill that we had amassed over the past four years as a reluctant liberator. More innocence would be lost, so to speak, than those thousands of civilians who were in no way connected with the war effort of the Japanese empire.

Perhaps I need to further research this complicated and intriguing aspect of American history; I admit I am no expert. But I think I’m influenced by those scientist positions and fall somewhere between the weak and strong demonstrations I explained above. I do believe America slipped morally on August 6, 1945. When a second bomb was dropped over a second Japanese city three days later, we slid down even further.

One of the best things you can do if you are interested in this event is to read Hiroshima by John Hersey. It’s a slim book, only about 120 pages, and it’s quite moving and surreal. Hersey, an American journalist, journeyed to the Japanese city in the aftermath of the bombing and told the story of six Japanese men and women. We follow their lives from the hour or so before the atomic bomb dropped to their experience of the explosion and how these men and women survived in the minutes, hours, and days after. A couple suffered and eventually overcame extraordinary pain; a few actually prospered. Some died young of cancer brought on by the radiation. I was completely engrossed as I read, pages turning, half in horror, half in wonder, a small, hidden part of me wondering what I would do in similar circumstances and whether I would have what it takes to keep myself and my loved ones alive in the event of a nuclear explosion.

How I Meditate

First, I find a comfortable but firm and supportive chair. Those new ergonomic office chairs feel best for me, which is why I like to meditate first thing in the morning when I get in to work. I make sure I’m in a private room with no audible or visual distractions. The empty conference room at 7:45 am is perfect for me. So, I sit down and for a minute I get all the itches and twitches out of my body and I’m ready to start.

I sit with my back flush against the chair so that my spine and head are perpendicular to the floor. This is actually a very comfortable position, though sometimes I find myself leaning forward too much if I get drowsy. My hips are slightly higher than my legs, which I stretch out slightly past perpendicular to the ground. If it’s possible, I take off my shoes. My hands rest in my lap, palms up, my right fingers gently atop my left fingers, my left thumb resting lightly on my right. I know I’m in a deep meditative state when I can no longer feel my hands touching.

Thus relaxed and rested and comfortable, I close my eyes. Breathing through my nose, normally, quietly, not rushed, I start counting down, slowly from 99 to 0. Each count is about two seconds or so. I envision myself on one of those freight elevators, slowly descending down a shaft, and as I count off the numbers I watch the numbered floors go past. As I descend, I find it gets progressively darker and quieter, and I discover myself more and more relaxed the deeper I go. I can hear my heartbeat, I think, and it’s slowing down, and a sense of well-being permeates me.

After a couple of minutes, I’m at the ground level, fully rested. I’d guess that I’m only about half-way towards a true meditative state. Also, though my mind is quieted and I feel relaxed, there’s still tension in my body. So I spend another few minutes scanning my body sequentially to release any traces of negative energy. I start at my toes, and I mentally think, slowly, in no hurry whatsoever: my toes are completely relaxed … my toes are free from tension. Then I do my soles, then ankles, then the whole foot. I move upwards to my calves, then knees, then quads and hamstrings, et cetera, all the way up to the top of my head. I hit every major muscle group and joint. After a large part of my body’s done, such as my legs, torso, or arms, I say: my legs are completely relaxed … my legs are free from all tension. Once I’ve completed this part of the exercise, about seven or eight minutes into my session, I am in a fully relaxed state, and I’d venture to say my brain waves are predominantly alpha.

I still have five or six minutes left in my routine, but I’m unhurried, and I want to enjoy this state as far as I can take it. With classical meditation, one would now turn to one’s thoughts, or rather, try to focus all thought on a single sound (mantra) or even try to eliminate thinking altogether. I’ve never had much success with this (I’m a hopper!) so I decided to put this time to an alternate use. I think about how I would like to be, the type of man I want to be, what I want to be doing, what I want to have in my life. Just a series of pictures, visualizations, scenes of what I want to become reality for me. If my mind starts wandering, which it will eventually do, sooner rather than later, I turn to repeating some affirmations linking to the visualizations. It’s not a methodical, thinking system; my left brain is not engaged during this meditation; I just want to utilize the alpha state I’m in to program myself to think better thoughts once I’m out. And even if this fails, at least I can enjoy the five or six minutes or pure relaxation perusing a better life than the one I’m currently experiencing.

Soon I’ll get some urging that too much time is going by (which is never really the truth). I’ll take a couple of slow, deep breaths, preparing myself to come out of the meditative state. Counting backwards from 5 to 1, I speed my breath up, speed my counting up, and once I reach 1 I open my eyes and do a couple of deep stretches. My mood is one hundred percent better than it was fifteen minutes ago, I’m refreshed, relaxed, and there’s a smile on my face. I’m ready to do battle with the world.

I’ve come to the conclusion that meditation functions on the same major principle as exercise: you have to do it consistently to derive true, lasting benefits. When I do it for more than three or four days in a row, I notice the calm and peace last longer into the day and spills over into other activities. Perhaps if I was to do it twice daily, twenty minutes each session, as is most commonly recommended, I could remain serene most of the day through all the unnecessary crises that pull me in and circle me like sharks in the water. And who knows – perhaps I could reap other benefits, too, such as greater clarity of thought, better physical health, an inclination to eat better, a more positive outlook towards life.

Worth a try, right?