Maraetai Half

I came; I ran; I ran out of gas. After a couple of weeks of good signs from my training, I raced and got a reality check. Reality: I'm not that fast... yet. I had my race plan based on what I thought I could achieve and followed it but after 5km with pace slipping I knew I may have gone too fast. In fact, Then there was the "Hill" in Duders Regional Park. I took it slowly up and quickly down but at the bottom felt there wasn't any energy left. The final 8km were slow even though flat. People regularly passed me but eventually with a kilometre to go I picked it up but barely enough to keep it under 1:39.

It was the inaugural event at Maraetai, which is a great leveller. Very few people would have had experience with the course. The maps all implied that the start would be relatively flat for 10km before entering Duders Regional Park where you run to the highest point and then down again for a flat 8km to finish. However, the first few kilometres, and thus the last few kilometres, passed through another regional park, Omana Regional Park. Although Omana didn't have anything major, it did have some nuisance hills and I think one of my racing sins was to hit these hard early on. Those nuisance hills were cruel tricks as we approached the finish and had to again press hard to maintain speed.

The race also boasted views, which were excellent. The coast is dotted with beaches and when you get up high it's quite outstanding to look over them as well as out to the city. Though the track in Duders was a mixture of metal and gravel, the path wasn't at any stage dangerous. The tracks were easy to follow and even in the closing of the race, there wasn't a huge convergence of different race types so there wasn't much in the way of people dodging.

Although I have some disappointment from the race, it's important to know exactly where one's fitness is and racing is the best way to know. The Waterfront Half is in four weeks and so I have a final bite at the cherry.

Disgust

I've mused about the possible terrorism in New Zealand before. In the thick of attacks in England, France, the United States, Belgium and even Australia, many sought refuge in New Zealand. "It just takes one attack," I thought aloud. And in the moments after the attack, I look back on those words with sadness. We were never immune and today our moment of darkness arrived.

Of course I've read and followed news items of such acts abroad. When it happens at home, in a place where I was less than three months ago, a place within one hour drive of where my father will move to, it puts the outrage of it in perspective. I cannot fathom what kind of perversion can make minds wilfully take the lives of innocents, taking them out one at a time, despite the raw human sound of terror, pain and suffering. Thirty people were slaughtered in one place. Ten at another. Forty lives extinguished with deliberate intent. David Gray took thirteen in our previous worst shooting and that was horrid enough in scale for our small country.

I'm not one to quote the typical shock words of officials after these things. Even in grief it's often boilerplate hopes and prayers. But Jacinda Ardern's words I find rather apt:

"They may even be refugees here. They have chosen to make New Zealand their home, and it is their home. They are us. The person who has perpetuated this violence against us is not. They have no place in New Zealand." 

There is so much global angst against immigrants. I hope this stance in the minor and in the major scale of things is what I hope can last.

Don't catch you slippin' up!

The modern world churns, creativity spurts and the culture pops. Memes, dreams and stars blaze and burst. Well, it did before, when I was young. And it does ever more, not that I am ever looking. 

I remember back when back during my Guangzhou days a new teacher from Minnesota came and at his welcome dinner was referencing some Korean song taking the world by storm, and even got up to whoops and cheers and danced that dance. Gangnam Style, at that time, was a sensation. Perhaps before I went to China I vaguely kept up with at least some of the latest froth. At that time in China though, I realised I didn't follow much at all. I had to go home and check out the video for myself and found myself several months too late. Since coming back to New Zealand, with my freedom of Internet again unchained I'm not much more in the know. I still don't know my "smh" from the Sydney Morning Herald. When my little brother talks of memes, or even our younger teachers, I make nothing more than mental notes on very disposable paper.

Now most of it is not worth the mental post-it note I scribble it on. They never stick anyway. Most things come and go. But like every age there are some things that are pretty worth seeing or, in the case I'm about to mention, experiencing. What I'm talking about is This is America. It's a song by Childish Gambino, a singer I only vaguely had heard of, and the song has been around for almost a year. Yet I didn't register then and 10 months and 500 million views from one specific upload alone on YouTube. And it's work of art that I'm disappointed to have missed. It might as well be the Beatles Tomorrow Never Knows, for its time has passed me by.

If you haven't seen This is America, experience it now, preferably with someone else you can talk to about it. And most preferably before you read any further. 

In fact accompanying the YouTube searches for this video, you'll find tonnes of videos of people being filmed watching the music video. The video is such an experience that observing people watching the video is enough to attract millions of views per upload. And with good reason. It's both a visual feast and a smack in the face (or two). I just watched my wife watch it and her responses matched the faces of most when they see the opening. Delight, curiosity and the shock.

The sensualist side of me finds the video compelling just in the visual sense. The choreography alone is enough but the theatricity of the dancing, from the expressiveness of the face, from the cheekiness of his movement when he enters from a sidedoor and scoots past a choir, to his eyeballing of the camera for the duration. This is the foreground though. In the foreground it's mostly pomp and energy and occasional atrocity.

But the song is lathered in symbolism in the details and the background. In fact the more you watch the more you sense that the song is a deliberate inversion. The background is the blurred focus and the foreground is just a distraction. Based on the videos of the people watching the video, most viewers are immediately pulled into unpicking the sense of what they're seeing. Everyone has their own conclusions and the singer doesn't provide any annotation to the song. The details are worth a bit of reading. His unique dressing is a pair of Confederate style pants. So, though the protagonist is acted by a black rapper, his This is America refrain identifies him as an embodiment of the larger American history and modern day with its historical racist baggage. His actions identify him the same. He can do slaughter with impunity, walking past police cars, because that is America. Police haven't been held responsible for the deaths of complete innocents. (And if you are unaware of a new trend in "stand your ground" laws, pretty much anyone can kill another if they feel threatened, not if they are actually threatened.)  

Lyrically it also leaves you to your own conclusions. There are some themes that are more apparent than others. Don't catch you slippin' up sounds like it talks about the margins of error. For a black man's experience of life in America, it's famously risky to do anything in the presence of the police no matter how benign. And humorous cases of the police being called on black people just being people.  

The closing scene of him running is a bit of an mystery. My only conclusion, if the protagonist is consistent with the earlier parts, is that that America is losing. It's fighting for its survival. In fact it could be lynched. The lyrics though go against that reading. 

You just a black man in this world
You just a barcode, ayy
You just a black man in this world
Drivin' expensive foreigns, ayy
You just a big dawg, yeah
I kenneled him in the backyard
No proper life to a dog
For a big dog

I'm compelled by this song and wish more songs and their videos approached the level of art. But of course they might have been but they might have all passed me by.... smh.

Groove 2 - counting the numbers

One week out from my next event and another nice confidence boosting landmark: I ran 100km in a week for the first time in 2019. The trend of a gradual build-up from my surgical recovery is quite picturesque so I thought I'd add it as a picture. It's dented only by that one week when I had evening fevers. It'll be dented again next week as I'll have a mini-taper so that my legs are fresh for the Maraetai Half on Sunday, before again ramping it back over 100km for a few weeks prior to my next event. Last year I had four 100km weeks and this year I'm expecting to do many more. Most of them preceded my half marathon personal best (1:31).

100km means something else to me that is almost more important: resilience. It usually requires six days of running in a week as I did from Tuesday to Sunday. To be able to do that means that all the ligaments, tendons and muscles have been toughened and pretty numb to the whole enterprise. This morning's run, 14.5km after the 32km yesterday was gentle but a lot of hills my muscles, core and joints were still pushed. But I was fine the rest of the day. We went to Rainbow's End and no-one would have been any wiser.

The total mileage shown for the year in the picture is a little incorrect; it's actually 600km. (For some reason it takes a while to update.) This rate will easily have me achieving my goal of 3000km for the year.

Of that 600km, just a little over 10% was done on two runs the last two Saturdays. They were my first 30km runs I'd done. 30km runs, for most training plans, are the key long run work-outs. My 10km personal best (40:50) was achieved the week following my first 32km run last year.

In that 100km this week, I also ascended 1500m, which isn't bad going. It was very much inflated from a run this morning which included 400m near by father's home. Last year I managed 46,000m of ascent in total, almost 1km ascent per week. I like the idea of aiming to break 52,000m of ascent if only for the pleasant thought that I run a kilometre upwards every week.

So, Maraetai awaits. The course is interesting. It's a very flat coastal run except for a hill inside the regional park. I'm expecting to be able to break 1:35 comfortably, probably in the 1:33-1:35 range. Just like my last half, Coatesville, I'm prepared to run on feel and potentially push closer to my PB. I'm really keen to break the 1:30 wall. In this half marathon series there is just one more opportunity to do so if not here, the Waterfront Half, which is certainly the most likely considering it's as flat as possible. At Coatesville on a hilly course, I somehow managed 4:38min/km without much specific training.To break 1:35, the speed is easy to calculate and I shouldn't find it too taxing now: 4:30mins/km. For 1:33, I need to average 4:24mins/kilometre; which is imaginable, though at this point still a little daunting for 21.1km. To break 1:30, one needs to average 4:16min/km. This kind of speed I've managed but only for shorter distances. It feels "all-out" "breakneck" speed. But possibly with the stimulus of other runners and a course that suits, who knows.

I'm so glad to be on track. Regardless of the result, I'm really enjoying my running.

Groove

At ease. At will. In control. In the driver's seat. There is a certain feeling when you are feeling in full flow and master of your destiny, relatively speaking. Some aspects of the life might have this more often than not; for other aspects it could be temporary. Work for me at times feels like that. Cooking once did, too. It's always nice when one side of life has gone a little awry that something else is humming.

Work in this case has been a lot of work, to the point that it wakes me up. It is, on some days, so much work that it keeps me from noticing I haven't eaten, or from remembering that I already have. There is a lot to do. At least running is there to keep me sane.

And it wasn't long ago that I was paranoidly doubting my recovery from surgery and now I feel once more, relatively speaking, on track and at ease. Every week I have runs which match in part the best of last year. This morning my mind stirred at 4:22am. I tried to return to sleep but thoughts got to me first and so I'm upped it, geared up and outed the door. Yesterday morning I'd had an intensive run so I initially had planned to go easy, but by the time I'd finished the second kilometre I turned onto the motorway cycleway and I just felt good. I increased my pace to just under what I'd run my last marathon at. It was a stiff pace but I felt like I could maintain it, and then I turned onto the undulation of Mt Albert Road.

Mt Albert Road and Remuera Road both represent the toughest regular roads to run in Auckland. They just don't let you take it easy. The downhills don't feel down while the hills inclines hit you one after the other. But this morning they didn't bother me. In fact I sustained the same speed despite the hills. Then when they ease I sped up further to run the next three kilometres faster than I had run the Coatesville Half marathon two weeks ago. Then I sped up further to run two kilometres faster than any of the mile intervals I had run yesterday morning.

And then I slowed down to a cool down jog to take me home.

All the pace was instrumental - without going fast I would have been late home. I'd miscalculated how long the route was to be and realised three quarters of the way through that I'd have to pick up the pace anyway. But the fact is that I could. At will. At comparative ease.

Two and a half more weeks remain before the Maraetai Half Marathon. Six and a half till the Waterfront Half Marathon and nine and a half till the Rotorua Marathon (my earliest marathon in a year ever). Things are in the groove and I'm feeling rather confident that my training is triggering all the right changes and a few little habits are really helping progress things.

Now about work...

Rage in the name of

We as a society have a long way to go to the utopia of "not seeing colour" and recognising the collective experience of minorities and weaker groups. For what it's worth, sometimes the discourse though often well-meaning doesn't seem to serve us well.

There have been a few high international profile cases. The first one is almost unintentionally comical in its aftermath but worth reflection on. In the US state of Virginia, the newly elected governor, Ralph Northam, had a scandal erupt. There was a photo from one of his school yearbook which had him either dressed up for a Halloween costume party in either a Ku Klux Klan hood or blackface. (Humorously at one point of his defence, he could not be sure which one he was, which, though understandable as it was over 30 years ago, made things worse; in the final wash, it would appear that he went to a party in blackface but not that one; but his answer also revealed that it probably wasn't the only time he'd done so.) There was uproar and near universal pressure for him to step down from the governorship. He has refused. Without going into the comedy of what he said and did later, I think the case bears some thought.

I don't believe someone should have to step down from their job on the basis of an uncontextualised photo, utterance, belief or action. Even the most despicable things can be viewed differently in any of the diverse contexts we find ourselves within. And time is one of the big contextual factors. The KKK hood and blackface are in our current time clearly in bad taste, and even at the time probably not the best. But university is a time when you might try to do edgy things. Blackface is an interesting case because it takes some knowledge and cultural maturity to see how it could be seen by those who are sensitive to it. If there were no people at the party who would be offended by it, nor was done with the knowledge of its offensiveness, nor the intent to be offend, is it really in bad taste? (Almost sounds like that unaccompanied falling tree in the forest.) Of course, ignorance or claims that doing blackface is "just a bit of fun" surely show someone whose beliefs are not as magnanimous to the full range of people he would be leading which, as a governor, is perhaps the biggest consideration. 

If you asked me whether I'd ever dressed in a way that could offend someone, I'd say I probably had. Not because there is a particular case I can remember, but that I'm not aware of all symbols and themes that could have associations. I've almost certainly said things that with a different audience would have come off in bad taste. And even with the audience I had, I have probably incidentally said things in bad taste that others copped without telling me. I'm pretty sure I haven't painted my face black but in NZ, we don't have some of the baggage of other countries - some people might paint our face black to support the All Blacks with no intent of offence. We have our own words, symbols and attitudes. In NZ we use the terms "crackers" and "wop-wops", without the racist meanings those words have in the US. A traveller here might get the wrong idea from seeing or hearing either.

To interpret correctly you would need to know the context something was in, or intended to be seen in; and if you have any doubt about how you're presenting something you might need to think widely how something could be seen from people who are in a context very different from your own.

This is quite clear in an example just this week where one of our regular cafes, Eiffel on Eden, also walked right into a wall of outrage. Like many cafes these days, they have a little sign outside with something witty, usually coffee-related, outside. On Thursday, they decided to put: "On Valentine's Day open the car door for her. After Valentine's Day open the car boot for her." I'm not sure whether they created this themselves or they picked it up somewhere else. I think if I'd run past this sign that day prior to hearing about any of the hubbub, I would say that it was a peculiar statement. I'd assume, probably in line with the person who penned it, that Valentines is all romantic chivalry, and after the day it transforms into a more banal, everyday chivalry, perhaps with a hit that she's just been on a shopping spree but perhaps just the groceries. If I someone were to ask me whether it could be seen as offensive, I'd say it definitely has a scent of sexism about depending what you think of chivalry, or pitching it from a man's perspective, or associating women with shopping. 

Overall, I would give the sign two stars out of five and not give it much more thought. But I'm a man and I didn't think much more about the juxtaposition of wife and car boot which. If you check the article, became a cause of outrage for its association with domestic violence and putting a murdered spouse in the boot. To be honest, I think the outrage is still a bit unfair but, like anything, a little bit of discussion would have ironed this out. For those aggrieved: it is Valentines Day. There is no hint of intention to associate violence so when it's read you'd normally think of romance, consumerism, gifts and chivalry. Wives and car boots both exist in ordinary life, too. As do toasters and bathtubs, cats and microwaves, Lime scooters and uncovered manholes, cucumbers and condoms, and teachers and whiskey bottles. The cafe in my mind didn't do anything wrong in putting out such a sign except for trying to say pithy and failing. Compare that with the horrid "joke" that I bumped into back-checking this story: "Wanna know who loves you more? Put your spouse and your dog in the trunk of a car and drive around for an hour. When you open the trunk, who's happy to see you?" That would be surely in bad taste to most audiences, unless you really know the person well. I asked my wife to interpret the sign without allowing her to know about the kerfuffle about it and she was confused exactly what it wanted to say, then abruptly said, "What are you going to kill her and put her in the boot?" with a laugh. Maybe it depends on who reads it and whether a case of a body in a boot had come up. 

That all being said, when there is an unintended response, it's always good to be humble, receptive and to listen. The cafe didn't do that the first time round. Probably not the second time round either. A lot of the "blackface" accused do not often seem to approach the offence in the right way either. There is no effort to understand, only to defend or explain their own intentions. 

The last example that is on my mind is that of Liam Neeson. In the promotion of a movie with a vengeful theme, he decided to reveal a very dark 40 year old secret to the public. After a close friend was raped by a black man, in anger he'd apparently gone through a very primal phase of wanting to kill a black man in retribution. The commentary has been a mix of criticism and some compassionate interpretation, and whether he was surprised by the response he has dug a deeper hole. To be honest, I'm not going to stick a knife into someone who is upfront and volunteers a dark secret. No one would condone the thinking that he had then, but it is understandable. Part of coming to terms with a dark secret is to put it out into the sunshine. Most people let their darkness fester. The question seems to be whether it was racist or just primal rage back then and whether he is racist now. When his friend told him about the rape, he apparently asked "what colour" the assailant was, which some have taken to mean that he approached things from a racist point of view, regardless whether it was primal rage or not. I guess I'd just think that it was 40 years ago in a particular moment of his life. We all evolve and should be given the chance to evolve our ideas. 

As for racism itself, almost every still "sees colour" to an extent, even if a bit blurrily. I remember a comment I made mid-last year which may have bothered my senior teacher. He was teaching a small class with some Indians. The room lacked good air conditioning at that time and when I covered a bit of the class the scent of unwashed men was rather overwhelming. It was a likely factor that they were living in an overcrowded situation to save money for courses such as the one that we were providing, without easy access to showers and regular clothes washing. I made what I thought was an objective comment on it, and also the need for them, in an interview situation to learn timeliness and not forget hygiene. He looked at me with an odd look. He might have thought I was being racist. Perhaps it was a bit racist. But the student stunk and if he came to me looking for a job, I wouldn't take him on. Chinese students also elicit many generalisations, too. But when we accidentally speak in generalisations, even when we acknowledge a more nuanced truth, it can come across as racist and offensive. 

Life is difficult and a little understanding and humility can go a long way to avoid offending and misinterpreting offensive behaviour and language.  

Mark

I was rather selfish when I had scheduled my surgery. My main consideration was my running, not my work (for which I should have chosen almost any other time), nor family (as it became the time my parents-in-law were here). It was timed so it'd be shortly after the Omaha Half but leave enough time to be ready for the Coatesville Half, which was held this morning. Omaha was a disaster (the Half that is, not the landing during WWII which was a victory ;-). I fell pre-race and struggled to a rather disappointing 1:37:25.

Times are very relative. I cruised into the finish this morning at 1:37:53 which I'd take as a victory. I had plotted a minimum target of 1:45 last weekend, when I did my first long run since surgery. I was filled with more confidence from some mid-week runs to the point I thought I was capable of something in the range of 1:40-1:45. On the morning, after an initial hill I felt good enough for better and managed to keep up the effort to the end.

The Coatesville Half course is notorious. It is the hilliest course of the series with one significant incline at 3km, another at 10km, another at 14km and another at 16km. Last year with less preparation I pulled the pin at about 15km and started to walk. This year I observed the 15km marker and knew I was still strong. Last year it took me till the 5 May to record as good a performance so it has set me up quite well.

There was a humbling factor. During my convalescence my rival Jonno has switched to a structured training plan and is pretty strong now. He beat me for the first time. I'll say it's due to my recovery but it is quite possible that I won't be beating him again. With minimal training he was a handful. The good news is that considering the change in the perception of my progress just within a week, I might also be able to get on par with him. We're both competitive people so if I can keep my improvements coming I'll at least keep him honest.

The next event is the Maraetai Half in 5 weeks, which I'll say I'd like to get a 1:30-1:35 time and aim for a sub-1:30 in the final half marathon of the series, the Waterfront Half, in mid-April. Pre-surgery I was also thinking of an early marathon, the Kirikiriroa Marathon in Hamilton, which is just four weeks away, but considering the state of my training, it might be a waste of time. 

Getting back on track

January and running have never really gone together for me. January 2015 was in Guangzhou and after a period of running along the Pearl River in the December cool, January got hot too quickly and I only ran once; January 2016 we'd just got back from China and I had tendonitis ever since a gym incident and it took me till May to get running again; January 2017 got off to a good start but perhaps too ambitious: by the 21st I went around a corner and gave myself a calf tear that put me out of running action for two months; January 2018 was impacted by an aggravated knee; and January 2019 I was coming back from both a fall and surgery in December. The fengshui is all wrong in January, it seems and is always a month of recovery. 

That being said, even with a gentle increase in mileage since the surgery, this January has been the most successful January of the lot - with more running than the previous four years combined, 178km in all. Even though that isn't much compared to an average month last year, I'm still more than satisfied that I've gotten off to a start. 

February will be a month of really getting back into it. In just eight days, I'll be running in the Coatesville Half, which will be more of a training run for me than an actual race. I've only run this course once which was last year, but in March briefly after returning from China. I had barely trained and recorded my worse half marathon time 1:54. Fortunately even though I'm undercooked I'll definitely be able to do better than that this time, and much earlier in the year. This morning in preparation I ran the same distance over a similarly difficult hilly course and got 1:48 so I'm feeling like I'm strong enough to get 1:45. While that is nothing glorious compared to past events (in fact it'd be my third slowest time), I'm pretty happy with the revival of my running.

The subtext to all this is that my recovery from surgery is mostly complete. Less than two weeks ago I finally got to see the surgeon as a standard post-surgical check. To be honest I was still filled with doubts, which I expressed. I respect her opinion but it felt that the check was a bit too routine and perfunctory. She was basically saying all the things I was experiencing were within the range of expectation, that things were fine, which of course could be right but after six weeks of recovery and still to be having discomfort and impact on some of my activities. Now of course I find her judgement to have been correct.

The biggest impact on my running right now is that during the recovery period I had the habit of not using my core to move, and relied on locking my spine and using my arms for a lot of everyday actions like getting up out of chairs, beds, etc. And in early January it was clear that I'd developed "a tummy". Of course part of that was probably the festive period's effect on one's weight. But it was also that a lot of the core muscle atrophied too. Core and glute muscles are important for being able to generate speed and I think that is the main trouble I'm experiencing. Once I'm confident enough I'll focus on those areas and I believe I'll be quickly up to pace and ready for a successful year.

Whangarei

It was not the first place I would have thought of, but when it was decided that we'd go to Whangarei for the Auckland Anniversary long weekend I was quite happy. It was one place that I'd only passed through without stopping at anything more than a petrol station. Quite often I find myself with a Aucklander's condescension of some of the smaller "cities" of New Zealand. Besides the outstanding feature of Whangarei Heads (and the piece of rock that is Mt Manaia), in my head I had thought it to be something of a backwater.

On arrival though at the Town Basin, it showed itself to have scrubbed up pretty well. There was a decent family friendly open space along a waterway that parked boats. Boats were a feature - even the flash looking Te Matau o Pohe bridge can open in the middle to allow yachts through. Whangarei Harbour is close to both recreational fisheries as well as marine reserves. Now, I'm not the seafaring type but I like the feeling of almost being in this natural canal-like environment. We didn't do that much on the only full day we were there: a visit to Whangarei Falls, which isn't bad, and a dip at Ruakaka Beach (average waves, but at least not a safety hazard), but it still felt a good place to be.

People were nice. Even the out-of-towners. Our hotel was mostly taken by a wedding party on the first day but the guests instinctively and proactively accommodated when we went over to the pool. They were a mixture of locals and guests. Since they'd spread out, they quickly offered space up. One guest started talking to my wife with relish. She had been born in the north but had been living in Sydney for decades before returning for this wedding, apparently. And another moment, at Ruakaka Beach, our car was briefly spinning its wheels in sand, when the guy from the neighboring car popped out immediately and offered to push the front of the car. That's all it needed. There were quite a few other small moments which made me remember the small town niceness I'm familiar with from my youth.

The only backwateriness I got was on a run, where there was a loose dog that decided to run after me on both my run away from the hotel and then on my return. Fortunately, he was just a curious dog, even though he looked of a breed that if raised in a less loving environment might have done more than nip at my heels. But loose dogs are quite a detraction for me, even if it is one person who may have accidentally not chained up their canine.

The distance to Whangarei was not too bad either - once a bypass is finished at Warkworth it and the rest of the north would be so much more accessible. This being a long weekend, we learned more about the "alternative route". Both the to and from journeys were made through part of SH16, which though longer is often as fast or faster than SH1 when there is a lot of traffic. It's a bonus that it also avoids toll charges that you'd get on the main SH1 road.

Would I go back? Well, I've wanted to walk in Whangarei Heads and that desire still remains. The beaches are worthy of exploration, too, and having been travelling in a bigger group with its own needs and wants, I missed out on some interesting places. So, if given the chance, I'd be back.

Six weeks

Yesterday marked the end of my six-week recovery period from hernia surgery. It's felt a long time since that very interesting experience in hospital and the time since has been loaded with doubt, impatience, imprudence, angst and regrets. The first week I knew I was doing too much even while I was doing too much and then the second and third week I was wondering whether I'd harmed myself by doing too much, while still doing a lot at work and play and travelling with my parents-in-law.

"Six weeks" is a puzzling length of time for someone who hasn't had surgery. Even the two weeks' complete rest period after surgery had been rather odd to me. Perhaps it's because I've had "wounds" before that never took too long and not really understand what surgery meant. Open inguinal hernia surgery, to be clear, has many steps from cutting through skin and muscle, to inserting mesh, to sewing the mesh in, then sewing the muscle together and then the skin together. Precision Stab Wounds + Plus.

At the two week mark I went to a GP in an agitated state. I was a jittery mess both physically and mentally. I couldn't wait for some guidance or insight, or just the assurance that things were on track. (I still don't know if what I got was good advice. I believe I had a mild infection at that time that wasn't noticed or treated at that point that caused a lot of discomfort.) She gave me a couple of gauze bandages and the assurance that surgical recovery is often a case of two steps forward and one step back. That wisdom which applies to so much was some relief.

Six weeks should signify the opposite of quick recovery - progress is slow and sometimes imperceptible. And that's where the doubt creeps in. Between week 4 and week 5 there was still discomfort that arose during both weeks. Even with a gentle run in the fifth week the "healing ridge" from the surgery pounding and swollen. It hadn't done that and felt "wrong". In the fifth week how could it still feel so swollen.

I now have a belly. It's not your usual belly - it's a result of my core muscles all going flabby as I used my limbs rather than my core for getting out of bed, chairs and automobiles. Even though most of the discomfort has gone I still instinctively prevent any use of core by locking by spine and hips and using my arms to level myself around. Running, which uses the core when done right, has been odd without the core that I had. I have to reprogram my habits and do regular exercises to build it back up. 

Now that the six weeks are up I still feel I have some time to go. I still feel twinges at odd times for odd movements. The healing ridge, while not protruding out from my body, is still evident to touch. I still don't want anything pressing on the area. On the plus side, I'm running although still mostly at an easy pace. I'm 18 days away from a series race that I'll likely just cruise rather than race. One little sign I'm close to recovery is my resting heart rate. This goes up when you're sick, drinking, tired and down when you're body is well, without much inflammation. These two days it's sunk back to 52 which is pretty much in the normal range for me.

Tomorrow I'll be meeting my assailant, the surgeon who cut me, for a consultation. She seemed nice enough before she wounded me. I'm looking forward to it.

Running-related curious addendum: I've mentioned here previously my dicky heart rate while running. It went low going uphill and rose downhill which is rather counter-intuitive. It had patches of random lower heart rate (115bpm) and rates higher than 180bpm with no factor of speed, effort, ascent or descent. Post-surgery, I noticed my running blood pressure is much higher than my previous running, but with fewer troughs but more peaks. Interestingly, my recent runs have been more similar to how it's meant to be: the more effort I put in, the higher my heart rate would be. A pattern that normal people have. It might be temporary normality but something that I'll watch and reflect on.

Corny?

It's hard to know whether the world is getting more cynical or skeptical. The democratism of views through online media certainly amplify all views, but on the flip-side, the targets for cynicism are also amplified. Facebook is after all replete in "feel-good" messages, as well as the views that make fun of them. It'd be interesting to count the number of positive memes versus negative memes - if you count cats, it might be a dead-heat. 

We were at a company training yesterday where a session was delivered about how to stay above the line. It's just another way to look at how we can look at our responses to incidents and improve them. The facilitator had some aphorisms written on paper placed on a side table which she had laid out but not actually used in her talk. At the end she just said they were there for reference. Some looked at it and took them as a keepsake but I don't think most really looked. They were all the standard "truths" you'd see on a nature background shared on Facebook, etc. They were these kinds of lines: "Accept what is, let go with what was, have faith in what will be" "Opportunity is missed because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work" and the like. Those ones may have pricked the facilitators ears but I thought they were all pretty ordinary. However, three caught my eye.

"Start each day with a grateful heart" seem pretty much the same sort of stuff as the others but perhaps it was something that I'd been thinking about quite recently. So much dissatisfaction arises in a banal way that takes a whole lot for granted. There is so much to be grateful for, and the more you realise how contingent your happiness and success is on everyday factors both within and without, people and circumstance. If you forget all the positive things that have helped you you can only experience the world negatively, as well as being something of a dick to those whose actions have allowed you to be above what you could have been. I remember in my China days that a manager Jake also told me that he had a prompt on his phone to help him think about the things and people that he is grateful for. 

The flipside quote was: "Being told you are appreciated is the simplest and most uplifting things you can hear." If every time you rationally thought about what you are grateful for you'd either in action or words express your appreciation to people. Perhaps this is timely because I haven't generally been one to verbalise genuine appreciation. I have though tried to make sure it is part of my language during chats with staff.

The final one is "What you allow is what will continue" which is a huge test for managers. It makes for a judgement call on what you tell team members about some habits that are not conducive to a happy office or successful, effective work. Difficult conversations are difficult and they aren't to be shrunk away from.

Some people say you become more cynical with age but I'm not so sure any more. Some millennials seem to be gullible disbelievers. Though older sometimes are weary of reflection and change as well as wary of philosophical bunkum, some also realise the wisdom that comes with age and the importance of values. 

It's #YouToo

2018 overall was a good year in staffing in my school, with the exception of a failed probation turned grievance case. (Which saying aloud sounds like a rather large exception to make.) We gained mostly effective, positive teachers including some who had worked previously with our school and then returned. (It always feels like a vote of confidence when staff return to the fold.) 2017 in comparison was the challenging year for staffing where I was stretched dealing with two teachers involving themselves inappropriately with students and another two performing so poorly that they had to be managed out of the company. But in the final wind-down to the year that familiar theme of teachers going too close to the line of ethically again came to the fore, and it made me think about #MeToo.

Thinking back to my time in Guangzhou, the message had to be said to every male teacher who arrived. (Of course, these issues aren't strictly male but the incidence is so much higher; during my time I was aware that some female teachers had also crossed the line.) It was a simple message: "Company rules state that you should have professional relationships with students. For your own good, play it safe and if you have concerns, come to me." Of course, it isn't company rules. It's basic ethics for being a teacher. But China was more of a challenge because many male foreigners had their implicit or subconscious purpose in coming to China as looking for romance. And the additional problem that the only English-speaking people they see day-in-day-out, professionally and socially were students and staff. Then top that pie with a cherry of inordinate admiration that borders on stalking that might also occur. (I might have mentioned it elsewhere but one long-time expat teacher confided that: "In my country, I'm nothing special. But here I'm a god!") When I gave the talk there the older, wiser male teachers nodded and ahh'ed appropriately regardless of what was going on in their own mental calculations. While the younger ones who hadn't anticipated that there were going to be extreme administrative restrictions on their selection of the romantic smorgasbord of the "student body" often had "tells" that showed they were likely going to try anyway.

Teaching in New Zealand of course is a different kettle of fish but the same rules apply. The case from a couple of years ago had a teacher so besotted that he still couldn't figure out went wrong. He'd helped a student out in a few practical situations and then proceeded to contact her again and again. When she made it clear that she only wanted a professional teacher-student relationship he kept contacting her begging to know what went wrong. Once the student complained and the case was in the open, he even asked me what had gone wrong - not even really realising it wasn't the unrequitedness that was the real problem. If it were a typical relationship between equals, there a whole range of possible reasons it didn't work out as he might have wished. In the mix might be that he had an assumption that he was helping her out at times and there had to be some reciprocation. During the investigation, he even besmirched her in a veiled way saying that she'd worked as a hostess in her country and had emotional scars from it. He was humiliated by the case and knowing that upper management had to know about student complaints left on his own accord.

The recent case fortunately wasn't so icky, but still the same mess to tidy up. It was just a clumsy "pass" made by social messaging, and then a clumsy apology. When the student wished to make it a formal complaint and I was then involved, he recognised he was in the wrong but always gave it away when he explained the cause of it being that she was immature or naive. Even after correcting him on this, his following apology letter talked about being sorry that she was offended or made to be uncomfortable. It really bothered me that he couldn't see that the problem wasn't in her response but his actions. 

While we are human, we err; while we are human, we are bound to have inappropriate attraction and fascination with others. This in normal non-role bound life is hard. When it arises in professional situations it does require strength, honesty and prudence. The heart of #metoo appeared to me to be the exploitation of power for sexual advantage. Though teaching doesn't necessarily have the same "power wielding" side to it, relationships with students are obviously in a similar league. Teachers are assessors; they should give time and support to students in an equal way. It's also dangerous for a school to have teachers who challenge the line between appropriate and inappropriate contact. My 2019 resolution is to have a year where these occurrences no longer arise. 

 

Vice

Vices come in all shapes, sizes and flavours. Mine are alcohol, excessive smartphone use, vacillation, impatience to progress and change things and people, equivocation, intransigence, general messiness and lack of composure when manoeuvering a car out of carparks (all three scratches on the car are due to that). That's definitely not an exhaustive list. And probably my list of self-perceived vices will differ from those seen by others. Others might limit the definition of "vice" to more extreme, evil kinds of behaviour but a lot of the damaging outcomes can come from small weaknesses of character and behaviour.

Speaking of over-absorption in smart devices, the outcomes could range from phubbing loved ones to crashing your car into another vehicle and killing the occupants. (I don't know if anyone has crashed a plane due to it, but the warnings about turning them off even while taxiing imply that it could increase the chances of it.) Messiness, probably one of my more egregious workplace vices, probably won't hurt anyone but in a world where perception is everything it probably costs money due to agents and even students not believing in my professionalism. It could result in a necessary document for a visa not being processed and the student's situation being irrevocably changed.

Alcohol, which I've mentioned in this blog before, has well-known consequences. In the Herald there was a shock article that many people thought that they could have a drink or two and still be able to drive. I admit that if I know that I'm having a meal out that will last over an hour, I have regularly one standard glass of alcohol with the theory that it "isn't much" and that food and time will metabolise the alcohol. But in 2019, I'm committing not to do that any more. I'm a bad enough driver as it is without imbibing a handicap.

So far in my life my vices haven't caused too much harm to myself (as far as I know) or to others. In alternative realities they easily could. As mentioned last year, I know how drug use destroyed the hopes of a student. I told all students today the moral message of this - when you are abroad, there will be temptations but you must be responsible. I passed on this line to another teacher to present to that student body and he smirked. I then added: "I know it sounds like a community service advertisement, but what happened is reality and not a scare tactic. The student's decision messed up his life." Anecdotally I'd heard that that particular teacher wasn't averse to recreational drugs and even with the real life story didn't seem convinced about the need to share the moral with students. His vice, even if he doesn't regard it as that, clearly hasn't led him to peril and perhaps didn't want to even acknowledge the risk itself.

In recent life, I've seen what gambling has done to the life of another and his family. Frankly this case has dominated my mind lately as gambling addiction along with the secrecy, abuse of credit and trust turn a weakness into a black hole that rips at the fabric of all the relationships and people in the vicinity. Since another one of my vices is an obsession with getting information and analysis, I've had the guilty pleasure of analysing some aspects to the point that I can tremble in outrage. On the day before the addiction came to a head (for the second time in five years), the addict made 23 bets, gambling over $10,000, winning a few along the way but generally losing. Tellingly, even after when his wife realised there was money missing from an envelope she had at home and confronted him in a text message, he still made another two bets. The total debt from the whole affair is enough to buy small house. I spoke to another colleague about this case and he mentioned how he also had a penchant for sports betting and was shocked that it could lead someone's life to come asunder. Presumably his betting never went beyond set limits.

It starts to build into a narrative of susceptibility and circumstance, or perhaps that's too simple. Like all things I hope that self-awareness, meta-cognition and knowledge are enough of a solution. In the end, there are very few true accidents and most are due to the little self-inflicted factors, whether it be one crucial flaw or the confluence of many among many people. I mentioned that the gambling disaster was the second time it had happened to this person. The first time when it came to a head, there was much pain and suffering, with only 10% of the monetary debt associated with it. Family helped save the day but there is now the awareness that that might have caused this bigger second coming of the gambling addiction. The support and indulgence of others may itself be a vice in this case. (That and clearly his lack of responsibility, pride and self-control.)

Fresh eyes

It's nice to take guests around your own country or your own natural habitat (like a home or office) from time to time because it reappraises and freshens everything. My country has had that kind of a glimpse from eyes which are not only from a different country but from a vastly different set of life experiences.

My parents-in-law have been impoverished for most of their lives. Both grew up after the Chinese Communist revolution but in the families of former landlords, a group that was discriminated against until the late 70s, especially during the Cultural Revolution. In the 80s, when they were about my age, they lived in a mudbrick house growing crops and raising chickens and geese. Eventually they borrowed money to open a paint shop in their backwater city and they and their children experienced a more urban life for the first time. Business wasn't good though and eventually they retired back to the village. Fortunately with the land requisitioned by the city for a freeway, they were compensated and built a better home for their 60s. My father-in-law was in his mid-60s by the time he left Guangdong province for the first time. Now they're both in their 70s and have made their first international trip to see the world, and be surrounded by another culture for the first time. 

So what appeals to these very different eyes? The things that have got the most focus are: Trees, beards, barefoot children, summerwear on cool, windy days, roof tiling, wood used in roles that it would obviously rot in a few years, the reality of someone eating cold cereal in the morning, the windyness of the roads, the lack of people employed to clean the streets, Chinese people who were not Chinese, drinking alcohol after meals, queuing, toilet paper in public toilets and many other things.

Some of these things come as no surprise: barefoot children is something even modern Chinese students are offput by, often assuming them to be poor. But the trees and the interest in wood-made bollards and fencing was out of the blue. Even the trees around our house were astonishing for them let alone the massive trees in Cornwall Park and even more massive in Whakarewarewa Forest Park. And then it occurred to me that despite the village being rural it didn't have much beyond tall thin bamboo in most places. Perhaps it was a historical factor: in an over-populated country which had such periods of poverty and at time starvation, and the tragedy of the commons, all the woody trees would be chopped for building materials and firewood. There are parks with trees but massive trees are few in Guangzhou and Qingyuan. It led to my father-in-law always assuming that some of the non-native trees must have been over 500 years old, when that is an impossibility. He was also queried the wisdom of every wooden part of structures that are exposed to water. The explanation of "treated wood" took some time to be understood. Metal roofing was also mentioned a lot in the early days. 

Beards were a surprise, too, although they shouldn't have been. Beards aren't common at all in China, especially for the Han Chinese. In fact I can only think of one Chinese citizen who has proudly and successfully grown a beard. This is not necessarily a matter of ability, although some might struggle more than others. Prior to the overthrow of the Qing Dynasty, there was a cultural proscription on shaving and there were beards aplenty. Whether it was the connotation that beards belonged only to that era or just a different appraisal of what is handsome or normal, even the most populous country, I'd wager that NZ would have more chin skin surface area covered than the who Han Chinese population. My father-in-law has never had facial hair, apparently. I've shown him the photos of me when I decided to "let it be". 

The "Chinese people who were not Chinese" thing was a struggle. If you'd grown up in an essentially monocultural area, where ethnicity is welded onto nationality (even though it certainly shouldn't be the case), an ethnically Han Chinese person must be Chinese. There were lots of comments that required clarification and then there was the example of a Kiwi-Asian university friend we bumped into in Christchurch. She is thoroughly Kiwi (the accent particularly taking the cake) but even with all the previous discussions, they still had to be talked through the logistics of being ethnically Chinese and not being Chinese. (Of course, there are some Kiwis who have trouble understanding the difference between nationality and ethnicity.)

I could go through more but I have to emphasise that it's a great pleasure to have them seeing what life is in another place. My mother-in-law in particular, now unleashed with a camera, has taken to travel here very well. They ask good questions and make great observations. I hope they've gained enough stories to share when they're back in the village, especially at the dinner tables over Chinese new year. 

The year and beyond

It's been a whirlwind this 2018. This is just a recap for myself and also a base for planning the new year ahead.

This time last year I had just come back from taking Christy to Coromandel and then went to my dad's for new year with a slightly irksome knee. After a drunken spur-of-the-moment decision to bound on my half-sibling's trampoline, I  my knee for a couple of months. Health of the machinery of my body was immediately set as a theme, but it seemed like a contagious theme affecting my students and staff, especially in the second half of the year.

I'd barely gotten moving painlessly again than work got moving. In fact that was the whole school got moving as the school was immediately at a new location, disconnected from the network for over a month, students pouring in and new staff on board. And I had five weeks to get things stable enough so that I could go on a four week holiday in China. It almost got there. I credit my senior teachers with enough character to really hold it together. I brought my computer to China and it was used far more than I'd have liked to. Then the NZQA descended and I was asked if I could come back early to help defend. I didn't. I'd have missed my father-in-law's birthday and lantern festival, which were big reasons for being over there.

The body however was still coming together. In the rush before China, I'd gotten the process to diagnose my knee underway and done in the nick of time. The knee had issues since August but the New Year trampolining was the final straw for it. Running in early January I could barely run 3km before I was in too much pain. Fortunately ACC gave me a visit to the specialist and my first MRI. The news had been good: a strain but some exercises and a gradual build up was all I needed. The day after the diagnosis I was in China and a few days later, I ran in our village for the first time. But then my arches flared. And then, while eating lunch, I turned to talk to my nephew and sprained my side. The last two weeks in China I had a dicky knee, a strained side and painful arches. I felt like an invalid.

Returning to New Zealand, the school felt on an even keel but not without drama. I failed a teacher's probation and had a grievance case against me. It was thrown out but definitely added a bit of flavour to proceedings. The great thing was that the new senior teacher brought with him a lot of his associated teachers who were a charming lot; they were very quickly the favourites of the students. Compared to the staffing travails of the previous year, things were great. My other senior teacher was really struggling with either chronic or self-inflicted illness. Another teacher had real kidney issues and was constantly ill. Then a student came down with meningitis. Another with appendicitis. And then another had a bad acid trip and was tipped into psychosis.

Fortunately my health was up and unfortunately the same time it was down. After the niggles at the end of China, everything came right. My side-strained eased with rest; my knee pain faded with the right regime; and my arches as I've learned since really do get better the more they're beaten into the pavement. After a tough Coatesville Half marathon where I was compelled to walk, I had a great Rotorua Half marathon where I really felt like I broke back into rhythm. My 1 hour 40 minutes for that race on a tough, hilly course made me believe I could achieve my goals. What were my running goals? As mentioned on 30 December 2018:

"My goals for 2018:

- Consistent uninjured running

- 2500km/year (i.e. over 200km most months)

- 5km - 20:00

- 10km - 41:30

- Half marathon - 1:32:00

- Full marathon - 3:20:00"

Most of these were achieved. My full marathon goal shifted to 3:30 and was achieved in October. I ran 2800km and easily met the mileage goal. The half marathon goal was met in August but that personal best was never bettered later in the year. 10km goal was achieve mid-year and I didn't try again at that distance. The 5km I know I could meet because on a difficult course I recorded 20:20. Probably the nicest thing about the year is generally achieving the first goal, consistent uninjured running. 2017 was hickledy-pickledy with stops and starts. Apart from breaks 

But literally as I ran that goal-affirming 1:40 was when the reality of another health crisis came to a head. I'd noticed in the preceding runs a niggle in my lower abdomen. I rested but still it was there. And then I ran Rotorua and it became full-blown pain. I thought I'd done something nasty to myself when I just need ed to look in the mirror to see that it was something rather different. I had a bulge out of my body. Later it was diagnosed as a hernia. After the initial explosion of pain, I found running did in fact not cause or aggravate it and merrily ran onwards and achieved the goals I set out. Until December when I finally had my surgery to fix it. Recovery from surgery is a new thing for me and I have learned a lot - I have a character flaw, probably not exclusive to me, that makes it difficult to refrain from waiting for recovery and always pushing the bounds. It can work for some injuries. I'm increasingly confident that it isn't the case for post-surgical rehabilitation. It's been a busy end of the year and I've wanted to have my cake and eat it. New year will be close the third week of recovery and still the area of the wound is sensitive. I've resumed easy running but still cannot confidently run for 5 kilometres without some discomfort. I pushed myself to do a park run in Christchurch while on holiday and accidentally pushed myself in the last kilometre. By the end I was worried I'd put my recovery back a few strides. Three weeks though is only half-way through the length of time it's meant to take for full recovery.

So I was as fit as I ever was while flawed. My immune system allowed me another year of sustained health, which considering the busyness of work was a great thing. I threw myself into solving the constant issues that a growing school had to overcome. People usually deferred to me and increasingly management allowed me to draw lines and trusted my judgement, often at cost. It came as a relief that when things counted my decisions at the highest level of the company were agreed to. One consistent message has been that our school is the one that higher management doesn't need to worry about, and when problems come up they have the confidence that it'd be handled. A few days after my surgery my boss made it clear she wanted me at the Christmas party and it was clear why when I was awarded the Supreme CARE award. Although I'd have rather not have been there and felt physically ill, it was a pleasant surprise. In my appraisal I'd told my manager that I'd be interested in continuing into an Academic Manager in the future which she also thought might be a future path for me. Overall the professional end of the year ended very well. 

For 2019, it's easiest to talk about my running goals. Once my recovery from surgery is complete, I plan to continue in a similar vein, learning from the experiences throughout this year and achieving:

- Consistent uninjured running

- 3000km/year 

- 5km - 19:00

- 10km - 40:00

- Half marathon - 1:29:00

- Full marathon - 3:20:00

- At least one trail race

Probably the biggest missing piece since coming back has been the financial side of things. Because we haven't explicitly sought to save money we have generally just saved when we could. We haven't yet arranged our affairs or habits in a way that will result in us potentially having our first house. 2019 should be a good year for saving but it'll take some planning to make it happen.

Professionally it's going to be another challenging year to make sure everything happens at school. The goal of Academic Manager is not an immediate goal and I'm in no rush. The success this year has, apart from luck, been due to bringing together all the micro-skills I learned managing in China, with the comfort of having worked with a team for two years and confidence to know people had my back. I've still made many missteps and there have been more things to learn from and apply in 2019. 

Those are the goals I'm happy to be public about. Although some people are skeptical about new years resolutions I like Christmas break being a moment to reflect and project. I look forward to the new phase. Happy new year to all! 

Bounce Back

It’s been two weeks since my operation - a long and busy, almost unrelenting two weeks. Boxing Day has presented me with a brief respite before we head to Christchurch. Fortunately after a period of doubt and despondency about my recovery, things appear, as they often do, to not be as bad as I thought it could be. 

It started on the day after the surgery where I did do a fair bit of work from home and some sleep, with the help of three different painkillers. Then two days after the operation driving well before I needed to for an urgently needed warrant of fitness, then Friday foolishly driving to the dentist, fixing a leaking valve in the kitchen then driving again to the company annual party on the same day. Then four days after, picking my in-laws up from the airport and driving them around on their first two days in. Then working the Monday and Tuesday but feeling so bad that I opted to recover all of Wednesday. Fortunately Tuesday was the day that I was recommended to finally get back behind the wheel... 

Needless to say, I hadn’t been following doctor’s orders very closely. Could I have it all? A smooth recovery, my work done, a memorable experience for my in-laws and a merry Christmas? The answer by Christmas Eve was a “no” said with a grimace. That day I was more uncomfortable than any other day in my recovery. I’d just driven everyone back from Rotorua and felt swollen, immobile and sore. I almost baulked at going out again that afternoon to get necessities. I had developed a strong belief that the wound or the mesh that had been put in was not healing in the right way. We were considering calling off the trip to Christchurch but I still lived in hope that Santa would wrap me some relief and leave it under one of the two Christmas trees we’d be going to the next day.

Christmas did come. A storm with it. I still seemed pretty tight and sore again but once home after the festivities I thought I was good enough to go for a walk and even do some jogging. It felt good and I  slept well. The next day, today, I went on my first run since, a 2.3km, 13 minute jog and felt mobile and fresh for most of the day. Now, with my mind shifted out of negativity I suddenly feel my recovery is fine. The clouds had lifted just as they were doing so literally outside.

The pain

It's been a curious week, from the "John" the psychotic student, to my own operation, to a busy "recovery" with medical leave at home, to feeling unwell at the company Christmas party on Friday night yet receiving the "Supreme Award", to picking up my in-laws and spending all of yesterday as they marvelled about trees. It's Sunday before the last few days of work and I've already slipped into holiday/rest mode because very little else has been my usual work schedule.

On the recovery, I'm still sore and swollen, TMI: still rather constipated and needing metamucil to relieve my belly, but I'm sleeping well and cutting back on the painkillers. Today is the day when the bandage should come off the wound, but I'll leave that till later in the day. I was hoping that things would be less painful by now but I was probably too optimistic. I slept well in anticipation of the surgery perhaps because I didn't really have time to think about it deeply.

As mentioned before I enjoy the company of my in-laws. My father-in-law has always enjoyed communicating. He has always tried to make conversation; his father A-Gung, is the same. And he would make a good language teacher if there was ever a Qingyuan dialect Cantonese class. He grades his language down and is patient when he listens. He has found a way to understand me despite my bad tones, or overly creative way of expressing what should be simple things.

He is curious, too. He was looking all over our bookcase and spotted all the Chinese literature I had. One book caught his eye, a book on Chairman Mao which is incidentally banned in China. He has been reading it slowly but surely since he arrived. "Is this accurate?" he asked me this morning. Asking that of me who believes there aren't really accurate books, only perspectives and interpretations is not that fair. I told home it is probably not completely accurate but the books about Mao in China aren't either.

Reading it and talking about the topics opened a can of worms and led to my mother-in-law relating some stories from the past that Christy hadn't heard before. They had lived through the revolution and the Cultural Revolution so it isn't a surprise that there are some dark tales - one just assumes that most of them have already been told. Christy didn't know that her parents had seen people beaten to death in front of them. I guess it doesn't come up at the dinner table or when watering the crops. As she sometimes is bothered why her parents aren't "brave" to try new things, it is one of those realisations that hits you hard. Doing different things that made you stand out could once be a reason to be suspected and perhaps even killed.

One other uncle they talked about this morning was the village drunk when I was there. I saw him whenever I went to one village. He was married to an intellectually disabled woman, which always seemed just a bit too "arranged". They had some smart children though. I'd never known him sober. Apparently he was the rebel smart-alec, the kind who might say dangerous things for a laugh. When things got serious during the Cultural Revolution he had more than his fair share of "struggle sessions". It's impossible to know the details but it's a sad post-script to his life that someone that  might be written off as a "village drunk" had more pain and suffering that most people could probably handle before drinking himself into that state.

What a treat!

There have been many themes this year, and one theme that has definitely made it different is encounters with the healthcare system, especially in the last couple of weeks. It all started with a visit to a sport science specialist to undergo my first MRI. In China, I strained my side and had a poultice of sorts applied. (I think that's a first as well.) Back I developed a hernia and had an ultrasound of my groin. And then finally the attention went off me: we had a student in hospital with meningitis, a teacher in for his kidneys, another student in for appendicitis all at the same time. (I could go between three floors to see different people!) And then we had another student who had a "bad acid trip" and was spun into psychosis - that was a long day, departing the hospital at 3am with a guard at the room.

But the real show was my first non-dental surgical procedure, the hernia repair. I always remember my sister occasionally using the word "hernia" when I was young, in a phrase of exasperation she picked up from somewhere. Until I saw it on my own person, its appearance or causes were a point of ignorance. I remember the first sensation of it while running - I thought it was my hip flexor. But then I ran the Rotorua Half Marathon and it was excruciating. I was perplexed because it was painful yet my pace was fine, perhaps hinting that it wasn't part of running machinery. After finishing I looked in the mirror while changing and lo-and-behold there was a hernia, a bulge beneath my flesh. After a trip to a GP and confirmation with that ultrasound I was put on the waiting list. Incredibly the GP gave me the green-light to continue running. And the symptoms weren't major and it faded into the background but it remained there through three more half marathons and two full ones. When the surgeon did his preliminary examination in September I'd just finished the first full one of the year where it had caused no trouble at all. Fitness means the recovery could potentially be faster, and the muscles in that area are stronger. The doctor said the surgery would probably be in November, and with my running schedule in mind I asked for mid-December. And although with arrangements for my parents-in-law's visit to NZ making that not quite as ideal as it was looking, it fell as well as it could really.

I left one hospital for our psychotic student two days before entering another for the surgery. Not surprisingly it was a very different experience. My evening teacher, who has one of the most caring, responsible hearts for his students in our school (we're blessed with a few!), took the student there on Friday night at 9pm by taxi and sat with the student at the hospital awaiting the psych team who would be coming "soon". My teacher is special too in that he can get stressed or aggravated when things aren't as they should be and when I realised the medical cavalry hadn't arrived after an hour. I got myself back together after an already long day and headed to the hospital. The student "John" (not his real name) had been acting very differently in the two weeks prior to it coming ahead. Twice we tried to get him to a doctor and twice he disappeared just as we were getting organised. The day before his admission I'd given him three choices in the order of my preference: (1) He goes to the doctor to find out what's going on; (2) he withdraws and goes back to Colombia; or (3) I treat him like a normal student and we write up his final Student Study Agreement, which if broken would result in his withdrawal and the cancellation of his visa. I gave him 24 hours to think about it. The next day John found me and said he'd like to be treated like a normal student. This was good to hear even if he still didn't seem quite right yet. He was confused that I went through with serving him his "agreement" but then went off to class. The next night he finally levelled with his teacher. He took 15 LSD tabs at a party two weeks ago and he never "came down". His emotions were not under control and he was hearing things and hallucinating. He'd had suicidal thoughts. The teacher ended the class early and they went to the hospital.

My teacher was focussed tightly on the student's needs. The main doctor, R, came in and out but never really communicated with us about the plan and timeline. John was restless and kept calling himself stupid, muttering in and out of English and Spanish. At one point he reached for some power cords intimating that he'd strangle himself. On one walkabout he tried to make a break for the door which the teacher physically prevented himself. "Have you asked for him to be watched?" we were asked. Was it our place to ask? I replied, quickly following it up with an affirmation that we really needed him watched. We kept asking the nurses for guidance about when the psych team was coming. It eventually came out that because it had to be done in Spanish, it'd likely be tomorrow! So at 3am we left and I drove the teacher home. We reassembled at 2pm the next day to speak to a psych doctor and nurse and then left at 5:30pm with the plan set. Overall A&E wasn't a great experience.

Then it was Monday and I received a call - do I want my hernia surgery on Tuesday? With a moment's hesitation I accepted. And after a hussle to prepare everyone for my absence, I was off to the physio for my contusion, sleep and then my date with a scalpel arrived. And what a difference. Everyone, and you must meet a dozen people in the process, was very kind and clear. Every time my blood pressure was taken it set off the alarm for low pulse. They asked the same questions and checked everything. Even in the operating room they were asking about my job, learning language and then... I woke up three hours later. Then the nurses took me to a room where I watched a little TV, assured the world of my smooth surgery and generally took my time. By 5pm my mother had arrived. And I already had the discharge in my hand and a bag full of pills.

Convalescence is sweet. It's like the perfect kind of holiday for a person like myself. I have lots of discreet time to attend to a large range of tasks and interests with no-one else really to disturb me. One day down, two more to go and I'll say that hernia repair was a good choice just for the benefit of time to myself!

Go big or go home

I've had a blessed "run" this year. I've jacked up my running to a point that the body that I thought was fragile and easily injured can take several consecutive weeks of 100km are not breaking me. My biggest problems of the year were my pesky arches, which often disappeared as soon as I try to run. My biggest foe was really the ground itself, which I met on four times. (And don't tell anyone, but almost a fifth.) The first was in the fog, in the dark; the second time was while crossing the road, opening a "gel"; another time tripping on advertising base while scanning for a public toilet. And on the cusp of the grand finale of the year, one more connection with the Earth.

It was in amongst a set a series of mildly unfortunate events on the day of the Omaha Half, where I was hoping to break 1:30. I miscalculated the time I'd need to get to the event and even when leaving prudently early, I got there with just a half hour till race time, most of which was spent queuing for the loo. Because I was queuing for the loo, I couldn't do my usual warm-up. Jogging from the loo, I jumped up onto a dewy boardwalk and had my feet shoot out from under me and experienced a butt-first collision with the ground. Apparently I wasn't the only one that had come a cropper pre-race on what was actually the final straight. The shock of the fall and the realisation stunned me briefly enough that others got over to me before I even attempted to get up. It hurt. But then I got up and moved around and felt it wasn't the end of the world. I dropped my bag off and joined the group warm-up and then headed to the start chute.

The race began and I felt pretty good for the first couple of kilometres. Then came the two kilometres of beach, one of the tougher sapping parts, and still felt good. And then things slowly went downhill figuratively (which is ironic because it's the flattest track around, barely an incline of any kind). I was slowing down and the different terrains in particular got me, first a gravel section and then spongy grassy sections. Each one ground me down. On the track that I ran fastest last year (1:35 at the 21.1km mark), matching that time was not going to be possible let alone my ambitious target. I was waiting perpetually for a slower running buddy to pass me at any moment. I just wanted it to end. And it did with me finishing 1:37:25. Not a disastrous time but a nothing time. But that's when the extent of the carnage came in.

I stood around the drink stand waiting for my buddy who'd found it a taxing course when I realised one of my arches was making it difficult to walk. After a rest I hobbled over to the bag drop which took ages to find my bag, then I hobbled painfully to the car. It was difficult to press the pedals without pain. Getting out of the car was becoming difficult as I realised the fall was more serious than I thought. My buttocks weren't just bruised; my hips were tight and I found it hard to get around. By the time I got home I was going full "old man" (no offence to the older men who are dynamic and fast moving). My arches flared, my hips and butt ached. The next day another layer came to the fore: my left quad became sore in sympathy and the arm that also took the impact from the fall was also weak. All in all, it has made up for all that good luck with one stroke of bad. I can only hope another night's sleep can make me feel fresh again. 

Pawn storm

Earlier this week the 2018 World Chess Championships concluded. It was in fact the first championships that I have followed from first to last game, which might come as a surprise. It's really just a reflection on how technology has enhanced our everyday lives. When I was young, chess matches came in books, maybe magazines. I remember watching a few matches from one championship on our family's Sky TV, which was a rather curious choice for ESPN back then.

There was another reason though: For most of my most productive chess period 1994-1997, the chess championship was disputed. The two strongest players of the time, Gary Kasparov and Nigel Short, appalled by the corruption of the international chess body, FIDE, started their own championship. FIDE in response held their own and with sponsorship never being huge in chess there wasn't many matches. Fortunately by 2006 there was one match to unify and it has been pretty clear who the champion was ever since. By this time though I barely touched the pieces, except the odd challenge by friends. In China I also had a few chess events even playing a simultaneous exhibition against some of the English students (a simultaneous exhibition, or "simul" is when you play against many people at the same time. Since most had literally learned to play the same day, it was pretty easy except for a few who had more than a few clues.

During the period where the title had been disputed they experimented with different formats for the championship. To someone unfamiliar with tournament or match play, it might intrigue you to know that there are many different formats to chess. The world championships used to always be played "classically", which is with each player having 100 minutes to play the first 40 moves and then 30 minutes for the rest of the game. But other formats from "rapid" (each player would have 25 minutes plus 10 seconds extra per move for the whole game) to "blitz" which has 5 minutes for each player with a small increment per move. If you go to a chess club when players aren't involved in playing you'll hear the clatter of pieces and the smashing of clocks in casual blitz matches. Online, blitz is a staple because it can be sustained. But for the purists nothing beats classical games because it's a true measure of a player's abilities, and that's what is mainly used in tournament play. So when the chess championships started including different formats to decide the champion, people were aghast.

Although technology has now connected the chess world comprehensively it's also one thing that gets close to tearing it apart. In the year that I stopped playing chess, an epochal moment happened. Gary Kasparov, arguably one of the strongest players ever, lost a match to Deep Blue, an IBM-designed chess computer. 21 years later there is no debate about who would win in a match of man and microchip. And now they are tool for preparation - so much so that in the recent match sometimes more than 20 consecutive moves were "home preparation" by the players, without any requirement to use their skills of calculation. And just like the effect of performance-enhancing drugs in running, there will always be suspicions about whether online computers are producing some of the moves in real tournament play when players or their confederates use devices covertly. Back in my youth, I had a computer programme "Gary Kasparov Chess" which was hard to beat but would play moves that are obviously "not human". This is still the case to an extent - sometimes the moves are too steeped in cold, computer logic to even appear like a natural human move. But by the same token, they can uncover new motives, overlooked resources and "impossible moves" that over the board are impossible to see.

The 2018 World Championships was between Magnus Carlsen of Norway and Fabiano Caruana, an  Italian-American. The format was very modern - 12 games of classical chess, after which, if the scores are tied, it'd go into four rapid games, after which, if it is still tied, would go into blitz, after which, if the scores are still tied, would go to an Armageddon format (which is so new I've never played it!). The classical portion was 12 straight draws - Caruana in particular showing a depth of preparation that kept the incumbent Carlsen on the ropes. Carlsen showed though that once Caruana's home preparation finished, he was resourceful enough to find solutions. Astoundingly in the 12th match, Carlsen, finally with a stronger position with more time on the clock, with the ability to end the match with one win, offered a draw to Caruana. The chess world sighed. Gary Kasparov tweeted that it was proof of Carlsen's lack of nerves and predicted that he would collapse to defeat in the rapid phase. There was cringing all around, too, on the internet: We'd have a World Championships (again) decided not in the classical format but one with fanciful time controls. Had the classical format died? And had they been finally killed by the computer.

With the rapids all scheduled for a single day I was up early enough to catch the commentary of both the first two matches around the time of breakfast, and the third concluded while I settled in at the office. Despite Kasparov's curse, Carlsen was the clear favourite and has long been considered the best rapid player in the world. And so it came to be, once the rapid games began he won three straight games retaining his title. Caruana seemed exposed in this format and even in level positions made inaccuracies that led to defeat.

I don't agree that the "rapids" pollute the sanctity of the title. For me the world chess championships is to find the strongest player overall and all round. If twelve classical games cannot prove a winner, the two are clearly fairly level in that format, so it's time to find another format. The classical remains the prestige form, while still allowing for dynamic, time-pressured play if that doesn't prove a winner. As it is, the different formats are the medicine for the computer-prepared play. Even before the time of computers, matches just in classical format could take months to complete. The first time Kasparov played for the world championships, it lasted 48 games! Magnus Carlsen has been champion for the last 5 years and in time could rival Kasparov as an era-defining champion and GOAT. Time will tell.

In the same way that running was a sport of my youth, chess was my hobby and I nurture the possibility of resuming play at a club in 2019. Running though will always be steep competition for my time. My year of running is winding up in the next 10 days, with the biggest event being tomorrow with the Omaha Half Marathon, which will prove whether I can run 21.1km in under 90 minutes - my goal for the whole year. I've been getting progressively more nervous today but I know that I'm fitter than I've ever been and the most likely to do so. If the weather can grant us some grace, it's going to be an awesome day!