Three Years of Change - The Grand Total
I hauled that motherfucking heavy jug of change to work and planted it in the middle of the conference room table for everyone at work to see. I put out a sheet of paper for my coworkers to put in their guesses.
The lowest guess was $245. The highest guess was $628.
I also posted it up here on the blog… lowest guess being $137.33, highest being $813.42.
And it was time to cash in, so to say. Figures that I’d decide to do it on the hottest day of the summer. I had barely lugged the thing out the front door of my office, and I’d already worked out a sweat.
I attracted the attention of a korean family that was passing by when I set it down to open up my car. The father let out a long whistle and said “thats a lotta change, boy”.
Finally getting it in the car, I drove the four blocks to the Commerce One Bank. I muttered silent prayers that there’d be an open parking spot near the bank. Preferably right in front of the doors.
I found a spot right around the corner of the building. Close enough. I locked my car and went in the bank to double check that they could do the counting. I wasn’t going to lug that thing in, only to find out the machine was on the fritz or something like that and lug that thing back out.
A cheery-looking black woman sat at one of the teller windows and confirmed to me that yes, I could use the coin counting machine, and no, I didn’t need to be a current account holder. No charges either. Completely free.
That works for me. I indicate to the teller that I’ll be back with a “big jar”. She cheerily waves me out.
Two minutes later, I’m grunting and heaving that jar through the entrance. The teller takes one look at me and stands up and comes around to me. She says “oh wow… you sure weren’t kidding.. i gotta see this!”
I let the jug down on by the coin machine while the teller starts stabbing away at the monitor to get the thing started up. I lift up the jug for, what i pray to be the very last time, and start pouring the coins into the machine.
Halfway through emptying out the jar, the machine stops and dutifully informs us that the coin bag is full. By this time we’ve attracted a quite a few spectators, doing what else, but speculating on how much I’m going to be taking home. The lady empties out one of the coin bags and starts up the machine again. I pour out the last of the coins into the hopper and we stand there, all eyes watching the monitor of the machine while it continues to digest the last of the coins.
And then it pops up. The total sum of three years and some of near daily pocket change.
$762.48
The teller applauds the machine, as if it had just delivered an astounding performance and looks at me and says “wow!”. I stand there holding the now almost weightless jug. Teller reaches down and pulls out a recepit and gives it to me and indicates I can cash out over there.
So… its interesting to see that almost EVERYONE who put in a guess, except for Bob came up short. Way short.
And no, Barry’s guess doesn’t count because I told him the total before he posted here. Disqualified. Try again in three years!
Three Years of Change
I’ve been tossing my pocket change into a 5-gallon water jug for the last three years. My original intent was to fill it up to the neck and then go cash it in and buy something nice.
Problem is - its getting so damn heavy I have to literally manhandle it to move it anywhere. And its not even half-full. If I was to completely fill it up I’d probably need heavy machinery to get it to the bank. And with my pending move and all that, I decided to just go and cash it in while I was still physically able to carry it. Those two years of weightlifting at the gym are definitely paying off…
Soooo…. how much money do you think is there?
Running Log
This morning was unbearably hot. Slogged out the run.
Today’s route: 3.9 mi, 37m 40s.
Running Log
Ran with a group this morning. I was told we’d do eight miles, and I knew the group would likely run a faster pace than I normally maintain when running by myself. But I figured I’d push myself a little bit. When we all met up at the circle, Brandon said “aw hell with it, lets do ten today”. A little part of me died right there. But I pushed on, running far faster and further than I ever thought I would. The last 1-2 miles, I was literally breaking down, but I forced myself to keep putting one foot ahead. Just keep running. Ignore everything else.
Then when plotting it out on gmap-pedometer, turns out we didn’t even do ten. We did eleven!
Today’s route: 11.04 miles, 1hr 35min.
Quitting the Devil’s Water (Day Eleven)
Went out to a bar for the first time since I quit. It was a friend’s birthday, so I said I’d show up. I picked up Jemmy and drove out there. When we got there, Jemmy asked me in the car, “You’re not going to drink, right?”
I shook my head and said, “Right.. not drinking.”
Sitting at the table in the bar watching everyone waving around glasses of beer/liquor - and nothing in front of me was a bit of a odd feeling, but nobody really made an issue out of it. I didn’t feel like I needed a drink either. At least until someone brought over a glass of amber ale. I LOVE amber ale. Its one of my favorite types of beer, and looking at it really brought up a feeling of bittersweet sadness. Screwdrivers, vodka-mix drinks, or Long Island Teas I can do without. They’re just a means to an end.
But a fine brew of amber ale, to go with a good midwestern steak and potatos plate. It’s just one of those things that adds a great deal to being alive. People have asked me if I’m going to quit for good, as in for the rest of my life. For the most part, I can see myself doing that, but this one thing makes me pause. I still don’t know yet.
One day at a time.
Running Log
A couple weeks ago, I attempted a 8-mile with friends and got off to a horrible start and ended up walking-running most of the last 4-miles. I said I’d come back and do it right ASAFP. Then I had that run-in Mr. Liquor that set me back two weeks.
Today, I made good and ran the same route. This time I didn’t walk. Hell yeah.
Today’s route: 7.9 miles. 1h 13m.
in other words… they got bupkis
I saw this article where Verizon claims that they are not looking to come up with a iPhone competitor because they believe that their services and phones are compelling enough.
I think that’s just one way of saying “we dont have a damn thing as cool as iphone so we’re gonna just pray it doesn’t steal our whole market”.
Running Log
Twelve days without a run. (See below post why). Woke up early this morning and got back on the program. As expected, I had a bit of a struggle near the end, but it all came out a better than I imagined it would.
Today’s route: 4.4 miles, 42 min 29 sec.
Quitting the Devil’s Water (Day Seven)
Seven days without a drop to drink, including a whole weekend. To everyone who didn’t think I’d make it this far. UP YOURS.
I did want to take a moment to write up some sort of rationale behind my quitting. The reaction I got from various friends was somewhat dismaying. It ranged from being indifferent to giving me the have-you-gone-loopy line of questioning. I heard stuff like “but you like to drink!”, “you dont have a problem!”, or “yeah yeah.. you’ll be off the wagon this coming saturday”.
If this was me quitting smoking. Would the responses have been the same? In today’s society, when someone decides to quit smoking, they get cheers, applause and a go-for-it love from friends. But if one decides to lay down the bottle, the world suddendly becomes a lonely place.
I know my friends probably thought I was just being overly dramatic - like how on that sunday morning when waking up with a monster hangover, you’d raise your fist to the skies and swear to never drink again, and then the following weekend, that promise is forgotten quickly. I’ve done my share of those.
This time around, its a bit different. Last week, I went out three nights in a row. I drank myself into a total stupor every night. The first night, which was a Thursday night, I said I’d go out, have a drink with friends, then turn in early.
Six drinks, two nightclubs and five hours later, I was stumbling down 14th street looking for a guy that I knew was clearly bad news for me, but because I can’t quite get over this guy, I went looking for him anyway. I found him - and I was too drunk to make much sense. I remember him saying “you be good” and leaving. I walked home berating myself for being so stupid, mainly by going lookin for trouble that I don’t need at the time, and making a fool of myself when I did find trouble. And I was a lousy mood all day at work. I didn’t get anything done because I was short on sleep.
Friday night was the better night of the three. I didn’t do anything I’d come to regret later, but it was still another late night out. Too many drinks and I struggled around all day. I was supposed to run my eight-miler. I didn’t because I was too tired. I was supposed to do some errands, which I never got around to doing because I was too tired.
But ironically, I wasn’t too tired to go out that night. I met up with friends at my house. I remember having several vodka shots. I remember walking over to the club. It was a special event night, so instead of the $10 cover, it was $20.
And thats it. The rest is a slippery blur of faces and more drinks. I found myself in my friend’s car in front of my house arguing with my friend about how I wanted to join him out to another party. And my friend kicked me out of the car and told me to go sleep.
In the stark light of Sunday morning, with a massive hangover pounding my head to pieces, I put things together. I’d blown perhaps a hundred bucks on booze and cover charges for events I barely remember. I’d blown off things I needed to do. I’d skipped one eight-mile run, and I most certainly wasn’t going to do one that day with this hangover strangling my brain. I’d gotten nothing done at work Friday either.
It was then that I realized that my life needs a subtraction. If I’m going to get stuff done. If I’m going to run a marathon this fall. If I’m going to photograph the Deep South in August, then I need to stop drinking and get my shit together.
One of my friends said to me - “you dont need to quit.. just have one drink per night or something like that.”
I thought about that too. But drinking is just a hole I fall into too easily. I need to walk around it completely.
Now a week later, I find it’s actually given me a sort of clarity. Now that I can’t drink, it’s forced me to more carefully examine the reason why I’m going out. So I’m not heading out on every excuse I can think of, and then prop things up with a few drinks.
Here’s to the next seven days.
Climbing since 1976
People often ask me how long I’ve been climbing. I tell them that I started climbing when I took rock climbing classes during my freshman year in college. To date, that would make it approx 14 years.
Then I received this picture from my aunt when she was going through some old family photos. I’m going to need to revise that figure waaaaaaayyyy upwards. I gotta say, my technique looks great… the undercling start!