By all rights I should not have turned out the way that I have. On this Mother's Day, while I maintained my social distancing from my family and daughter Sarah went on a walk with my wife, I went on an adventure with Pearl and mused on the meaning of the day. I mused on the two women who raised me - Brought into this world by one mother and raised by another - both gave me all the love they could. But it was the third woman who made the biggest difference in my life and today as I rode I thought of how Amy Connor essentially saved me from what I could have been and how her love has given me the family I once only dreamed of.
When Amy and I first met I was adrift in a sea of indecision, allowing myself to be buffeted to and fro by wherever the winds blew me. However, after I met Amy I knew this was the person I wanted to spend my life with, grow old with, and raise a family with. From the moment she walked in the room during our cast meeting for Joey Patton's production of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers at the Carousel Dinner Theater in Akron, OH, I knew she was the one for me. I somehow knew that she was the woman I would spend the rest of my life with. I know, it sounds like a scene from a movie and in this case it was truly a moment of life mimicking art (or perhaps it was the other way around?). It was because we wanted to have a family together that I made the decision to leave the business of performing. When, three weeks before we were married, we found ourselves separated by an entire ocean (she was performing Nunsense in Akron, OH and I was performing West Side Story in Berlin, Germany) we realized that perhaps the life of constantly being on the road was not the most conducive to raising a family. We sort of had to be in the same place at the same time to even have a family. More prophetic words were never spoken.
As it turns out, it took us quite a while to actually have our little family. I "retired" from performing first, electing to take a job at Goldman Sachs Group, Inc. to make enough money to support us and to pay my way through graduate school so I could teach. Amy kept performing for a while until she too "retired" and also took a job at Goldman. Meanwhile, we began our quest to try and create the family we both so much wanted to bring into the world. And we tried. And we tried. And we tried. It wasn't until I began teaching at Syosset High School (and therefore gained better health care than what we both enjoyed with Actors Equity Association) that we found out we had "infertility of an unknown origin". To say we were devastated was an understatement. Here we were, two (relatively) young dancers with extremely healthy bodies and yet we couldn't do the one thing that was of such importance to us - begin a family. What was so easy for so many around us became a wound to our hearts. Everywhere we looked it seemed people were easily getting pregnant. But not us. Amy and I even went to the priest of the church I was attending at the time (St. Malachy's - The Actor's Chapel, where I was also a member of the choir), and we asked Father Kelly if the reason we couldn't have children was the fact that Amy was married at the time we became involved and God was punishing us for our hubris. To this day I'll never, forget the words he said, "Well," he said in his thick Irish accent, "that would make God a real shit, wouldn't it!" Father Kelly went on to explain to us that God simply didn't work that way, he wouldn't punish us for something we were trying to create out of love. And he was right. God didn't work that way and although to this day we'll never know why we couldn't have a family without the miracle of modern science, we were finally able to have our children and create the family we always wanted.
And what children they are. People often tell me what wonderful, amazing, caring, and empathetic children I have. And while I know that to be undeniably true I have to say that none of it would be possible without my incredible wife Amy Fortgang Connor. Mainly because she has imbued them with all those qualities and more that she herself possesses. I know that to her it sometimes feels as if she's raising four children instead of three, but as a family we have been able to do some amazing good for the world only because of her. Anything that our children have been able to do is because she has encouraged them, supported them, and created a home where we all feel safe to be the people we are. And she does it without losing her sense of fun, whimsy and childlike wonder that shows our children it's still okay to have fun as you grow up! So yes, today is Mother's Day and we're all, in our own way with social distancing, celebrating the Mothers Who Bore Us, The Mothers Who Raised Us, and the Mothers Who Took Us As Their Own. Today we give them praise and thanks for making us what and who we are. Of course, few of us are able to give them the same kind of tribute as James McNeill Whistler;
This iconic painting has long been held to be a tribute to the artist's mother, has been spoken of in song, has been the subject of a U.S. Postage stamp and even featured in a Mr. Bean skit. Ironic then to learn that she wasn't even supposed to be the subject of that particular session but was instead a stand-in for someone who didn't show up. As a matter of fact "Whistler's Mother" isn't even the real title of the painting. But it doesn't matter, history has made Anna Whistler one of the most famous mothers of all time.
And yes, all of these were thoughts I had as I bombed through the trails of Makamah Nature Preserve. Okay, maybe I didn't exactly know that "Whistler's Mother" wasn't the real name of the painting but I thought about the painting when I was riding. You see, the association went sort of like this. I was riding, I stopped to take a picture of The Black Pearl in her new iteration as an Adventure Bike, and I thought, "wow, that's really artistic, who would've thought on Mother's Day I'd be so artistic. Wow, Mother's Day. Art. "Whistler's Mother", that's a pretty funny painting. Mother's Day." Okay, so that's a little insight into how my brain works.
So yeah. I went to ride the trails of Makamah Nature Preserve but they were a bit more crowded than I expected. Lots of people walking because the weather was warm and the sun was out and what better way to show your mother you love her than taking her on a forced march. Which, incidentally is what my daughter Sarah did with Amy to get her out of the house. It was all part of an elaborate plot to distract her while William and James baked her a cake. So, since it was a beautiful day and I didn't feel like being cooped up in my 8x10 room (and I couldn't help with the cake), I decided to take my newly reconfigured Adventure Bike (The Black Pearl in yet another iteration) and explore the Makamah Nature Preserve.
Now my Adventure Bike (Pearl) is the steel framed steed I pulled out of the garbage 12 years ago and built up to be my Cross Country Touring bike. She is a Frankenbike of sorts and has been through many different permutations - tires, wheels, racks, bags, fenders, lights - all have been switched out and flipped around as she's served as a commuter, group ride winter bike, EMS bike, long distance Trekker, grocery-getter, and everything in-between (okay, except for a racer). Today, this is how she was outfitted. Stripped down (except for the pump) and lean. Same wheels, crank and saddle that carried me from San Diego to Wheatley Heights. However she's now sporting 700x38 tires and a different shifting system than the one that carried me 3,700+ miles. And riding her through the trails today was so much fun but also a near death experience!
Now while I wish I were independently solvent enough to be able to afford a "REAL" Adventure Bike with disc brakes and all, Pearl and I get along quite well. Of course when I started out on the course I intended to only do the Doug Wood 5K Cross-Country route. That part started out all right but I forgot about some of the crazy downhill trail drops. Not too bad when running but a challenge on a bike, especially one without suspension. So hitting the first drop and trying to thread myself among the roots and ruts I look up and see a tree hurtling at me VERY fast! Thank God I still have fast reflexes! I was able to save it with only putting down a foot and continuing on my way. Ran up the next hill with Pearl over my shoulder (Cyclocross anyone?) and bombed down the next slope only to almost bite it when my front wheel hit a huge rut. Did I mention I was trying to see how fast I could do the course at a moderate tempo? And then I hit the flat section (which is where the above picture was taken) before heading out for the end. I deliberately took the outside loop to see what it was like (and got a little lost) before finally ending back on the service track. A little winded, a little scratched but no crashes and no broken bones!
The rest of the ride was just having fun and enjoying being on two wheels not shooting for fitness levels or speed, just riding. I hit the beach, went on a climb, rode to an outlook that looked out over the harbor and headed home to help finish celebrating the woman who has made all of this possible - my amazing wife Amy. Poke bowls and home made cake for dinner while watching Atlantis. All in all, a great day. We're healthy, we're happy, and we're blessed!
That's all for now - I'll see you on the road (or maybe on an adventure trail) near you!!!!
Well if you've made it to today's blog post via my facebook link you'll see that a LOT of different things mashed up in today's musings, including my banana! But more on that later!
Today started out with a very ambitious ride. In just over three weeks I will turn 57 and I'm attempting to go back to a little ritual I started the birthday after our Cross Country ride - my birthday ride. I started that year with the goal to ride one mile for each year I've been alive. I kept it up for four years but then dropped out because I started having knee and back issues which curtailed my riding. I'd start training with the goal to ride on my birthday but then one or the other would act up and I'd be out of the running. This year, knock on wood/fingers crossed, I'll be able to restart my little ritual.
So I began the day with the goal of riding 35 miles. Since it's also National Bike Month, I had extra incentive to get out of the house and get back so I could work! I coffeed up, got Betty ready to go, put a banana in my pocket (more on that later) and headed out the door! Feeling the need for some inspiration I put on one of my favorite albums, Green Day's 21st Century Breakdown. And the title song in particular got me to thinking;
As I listened to the lyrics (and start pedaling to the rhythm - 114 bpm, perfect for CPR) it got towards the end and something clicked when I heard: Oh, dream, America, dream I can't even sleep From the light's early dawn Oh, scream, America, scream Believe what you see From heroes and cons
And all of what has been going on lately came rushing to my mind. Heroes and cons. It's so hard to tell any more who is who when it comes to those terms. I mean, I know who the heroes today are.
As much as we might want to emulate the Avengers (gotta love Cap, right?), sports stars (Go 'Boys!), entertainers (Hugh Jackman, anyone?) the REAL heroes today are on the front lines every day fighting Covid-19 and trying to keep those infected alive. I have friends across the country, in the hospitals of New York City and here on Long Island who are dealing with loss every day as they fight to stave off the beast. My heart goes out to them and I wish I were more like them. For you see, I know I'm no hero. People thank me for my service when I'm out in my EMS uniform picking up groceries on the way home from a shift or even buy my partner and I dinner. But I'm not a hero. I'm no superman;
I'm just a regular guy trying to help out my community. But there ARE heroes and they're the ones we SHOULD be listening to. Instead we're being guided by cons, people who have sold us a bill of goods people are paying the price for it. Chaffing at the same precautions and proclaiming that "a few deaths are worth restarting the economy" these charlatans have convinced a large chunk of the American populace that we should be relaxing restrictions and getting back out there. These cons have inspired marches on state capitals by armed protesters, forcing legislatures to sit in session wearing bullet proof vests out of fear for their safety. A true 21st Century Breakdown.
And part of that acting out is seeing posts on my Facebook feed from people complaining about the restrictions. They've bought the bogus baloney from Emperor "No Clothes" and want to break free of the social distancing. And they're complaining about the fact that since bars are closed in most states they can't celebrate Cinqo de Mayo. "C,mon!," they bitch and moan, "isn't it enough we had to lose St. Patrick's day! Now we can't celebrate Cinquo de Mayo - and it's on Taco Tuesday!!!! How are we going celebrate the Corona!" Because you know, nothing says America like celebrating a holiday important to the very people we're building a wall to keep out because they don't belong in our country! And never mind that none of them have EVER heard of the Battle of Puebla! Yes, my family will be making Tex-Mex food (including copious amounts of James' guacamole) and yes, we will talk of the Battle of Puebla - and these thoughts while cycling led me to think about the various appropriations we have made in our country for national holidays, Cinquo de Mayo and St. Patrick's Day being two prime examples. America, in all of it's cultural sensitivity, has taken two holidays that celebrate events of national pride for two immigrant populations who weren't (or aren't) welcome to the general American populace. It wasn't that very long ago that signs could be seen saying "Irish Need Not Apply" for jobs. Of course, they became the mainstays of police and fire departments far and wide. But today we're facing the similar sentiment with those of Mexican heritage.
Which led me to think of my own family and how we ARE the story of America, the melting pot of cultures. Looking at my immediate family we have myself (or Irish heritage) married to a woman of (Russian Jewish extraction). Both of us a fairly "pure" in our lineage so our three children are primarily Russian/Irish in makeup. But then you throw in on my side the DNA I received from the "Mama Who Bore Me" (and yes, I promise you I had this thought and the Spring Awakening connection to it while climbing a big hill) and now you have about an 1/8th Cherokee Indian thrown into the mix from her side. Also, in my dad's background (according to a DNA test he took) we have a bit of Dutch mixed in. Not much, but perhaps enough to explain my love of cycling!
And then we extend out to the Mother who raised me being from Pusan, Korea and the fact that makes my two sisters are Irish/Korean. And my Uncle Israel Cortez from Bakersfield, CA (and has every right to REALLY celebrate Cinquo de Mayo) who married her sister so their children are Mexican-American/Korean. And my sister Angela who married someone from Sweden so their children are Korean-American/Swedish. And my sister Winnie whose children (my niece and nephew) are African-American/Cherokee-Irish. And there you have it folks, my little family of the United Nations. The melting pot of American in one extended family!!!!!
Which led me to my next thought as I "time trialed" against the wind on my way to the next big hill - America is like the Borg! (If you don't understand the Borg, don't know who the Borg are, or if it's been a while since you've thought about the Borg - click on the link) We assimilate the good from other cultures and make it our own. Fortunately, unlike the Borg we don't usually destroy the entire race. Unfortunately, like the Borg we tend to take the best parts and mutate them for our own needs. Hence taking two holidays of identity and turning them into excuses to get drunk and vomit. Nothing to do with celebrating an important victory or the life of a Saint. Those were the thoughts I had when I smashed my banana (if you know what I mean!)
Let me be clear, I love bananas. It's no wonder my second favorite animated character is Kevin, only beaten out by Stitch. So much so that both have featured as my Facebook profile pic at various times;
And we ALL know minions love bananas;
So it just goes to reason that I would like them too. But here's where our tale of today's ride goes sad. After cresting a particularly punchy and nasty little climb eleven miles into my ride I found they were doing road work on the LIE service road. You know, the type of work where they grade the road down to the previous layer leaving it all bumpy and rough. Even though it was only a mile and a half, I wasn't in the mood for bouncing along on my road bike so I made a decision to go a longer way around. I crossed the bridge spanning the LIE and found the same condition on the other side. "Not a problem," I thought to myself, "I'll just cross this and be on my way." And as the quote by Woody Allen goes, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans". Because as I rolled off the smooth road onto the rough surface my front wheel turned and I went over the handlebars - right in front of four cars waiting at the red light! Thank God for my stage combat skills because I literally tucked and rolled - I didn't even scratch my helmet and my bike only sustained minor scrapes. But my banana, my poor banana! Or as the Wiggles put it so eloquently (WARNING: IT LOOPS FOR 10 MINUTES!);
Problem was, I didn't realize I had mashed my banana until I managed (eleven miles later) to roll into Syosset High School where I was going to take a small break before heading the 13 miles home. I got to school (you know, part of that whole "Ride Your Bike to Work Month"), reached into my jersey pocket and extracted a glove full of goo!!!! Not the most appetizing.
At this point I decided to just pedal home. I had a slight wind to my back and I had an online meeting with one of my classes in an hour and a half so it was time to wend my way homeward.
The rest of the ride was, fortunately, uneventful except for the fact my cycle computer battery decided to die. It's okay, I logged 35 miles today, climbed a bunch of hills, fought the wind and didn't crack my head open - it was a great ride!!!!!!
So in conclusion, I'll leave this blog as I began it - with a mashed up Borgified combining of the Irish and Mexican holidays we have appropriated and show you what happens when Irish bagpipers assimilate appropriate the music of another culture. Or shall we just call it fusion?
That's it for now - I'll see you on the road!
RRL - Shopping Cart, Car Mat, 1 Liter Bottle of Vodka (1/3 full), 16 gloves, 3 Surgical masks, 1 N95 mask, 1 pair of protective booties for treating Covid patients.
FFR - One raccoon, one possum, two birds
Today's blog actually encompasses the thoughts I had from two separate rides (Tuesday and today) and I had some deep thoughts rolling around in my brain while riding so bear with me. However, since my thoughts from both days seemed to revolve around the same theme I thought I'd just combine what I had started before with today's contemplative musings. Warning, it's one of my longest yet but it was two LOOOONNNGGGGG rides so I had a lot of time to think! To be fair, a lot of these musings also came out of a conversation I had with my son James immediately after today's ride so the pump had been primed.
Both rides began with the same issue I have been struggling with since I moved into my little 8'x10' Quarantine Cubby - getting up and getting motivated to do anything! It's so tempting to just lie in my little nest of blankets and pillows and since I virtually stay in my room unless going out on an EMS call for the NFD or going to work/class at CVAC, the only other thing that gets me out of my room is going on a bike ride. And when the light streams in early in the morning it's so hard to not roll over and just say, "no, no, no - not today" - especially if it's raining. But as it wasn't raining on Tuesday or today I just told myself to suck it up and go. Somehow, I found the motivation to leave the nest and ride.
Motivation is such a hard topic to write about because it seems to be one of those over worn and overly commented upon concepts that has become a cliched phrase. Just think of those cat posters adorning the walls of social workers everywhere;
Or if you're grumpy about your motivation;
And this is NOT to be confused with the other kind of Cats poster;
Because that WAS the MOST joyful event of the Holiday Season!!!!!! Unfortunately, I just couldn't motivate myself to go!
And yes, it's ironic that I'm being salty about it as during my days in Ballet Dallas (more on that later) I still held the goal of maybe one day being in a production of Cats clutched tightly in my metaphorical palm (or paw as it were). As creepy and ill conceived as the movie was (Ian McKellen drinking a saucer of milk?), the musical itself was a dream for someone who considered themselves a dancer. A show where you essentially dance for two solid hours? Sign me up!!!!!! A big part of that was I had worked very hard to become a ballet dancer. Thom Clower and the others at Ballet Dancer took me in and allowed me the opportunity to dance and turn myself into the type of dancer who could aspire to that. I had just spent four years at SMU and I knew I wasn't the epitome of a ballet dancer because one of my teacher made it very clear I never would be. That was enough for me to try to be.
You see, ever since I was young the best way to get me to do something is to tell me that I can't.
It's been probably the one single constant motivation tool I've had in my life. When my dad was first stationed in Ansbach, Germany I was small (4'10"), slight but strong, and smarter than most everyone around me freshman who wanted nothing more than to find a place to fit in. My German teacher (who I adored and secretly wished I could be like - Peter Mucelli) recruited me the first week of class by saying, "hey you look like you might like wrestling, you should try out for the team." Now I wish it were some sort of cool success story where I took to it like a fish out of water, or I stepped out of the safety of my nest to soar like an eagle (ya know, keeping the nest analogy alive). Nope, I was called a fish but in the wrestling world that's not necessarily a good thing. And the only flying I did was back and forth across the mat as we did running drills. And I would usually end up an exhausted heap. As a 98-pound-weakling of an aspiring wrestler I also endured more than my fair share of hazing. Including being bound hand and foot in nothing more than a jock strap and thrown out into the hall - just as the cheerleaders were practicing. And that's when I discovered what motivates me. No, not being tied up in front of cheerleaders. It was during that incident that one of my "teammates" told me, "you oughta just give up - you're never gonna be a wrestler. You'll only be a mat back!"
Now to be fair, this was one of the senior captains and an All-Germany wrestler so I could've just taken him at his word and just dropped out. I was a mat back - I hadn't one a match, even though I was JV, and got pinned most of the time. I would just get worn out and lose because I had no energy to keep up. But I want to thank him because he gave me exactly what I needed - motivation. I was going to prove him wrong! So the next morning I began a ritual that lasted for most of the next two and a half years no matter what the weather. Rain, sleet, cold, snow I would get up about five in the morning and go run for 3-5 miles. I'd then go into my basement and lift weights that one of the other guys in the apartments kept down there and let me use. I'd run to the gym some days and lift. I was going to do whatever it took so I would no longer be a fish. And it worked. By the end of that season I was wrestling Varsity matches and I managed to letter! But I kept at it through the Spring, Summer, fall and into the next season. You see, I was determined that I wasn't going to be a mat back any more.
Waiting to go into action!!!! No longer a fish!!!!
And then life got in the way, or rather the deployment of the U.S. Army. My dad was transferred back to The States to Killeen, TX. There was no high school wrestling in Texas at the time and so my hopes of being able to wrestle for a fourth year were gone. I did act as sort of a "mascot" for the Ft. Hood wrestling team and I would ride my bike to the gym where they trained and work out with them. They even allowed me to wrestle an "exhibition" match during one of their tournaments (JV again) but since I wasn't active military it couldn't count. But I won and so it proved to myself that I did it. After all these years I wasn't a "mat back" or a "fish" any more.
Flash forward seven years and I'm in my junior year at SMU as a Dance Performance major. I was older than the average student having gone to four years of school (two years of junior college and two years at the National Shakespeare Conservatory) before taking on dance. I had hated ballet at the Conservatory but when I moved back to Texas I had wanted to get back in shape. I remembered that though I hated it, ballet class had gotten me in shape quickly and helped me get flexible. So I signed up for dance classes. First it was jazz but then the teacher (who happened to be an SMU Dance graduate) started encouraging me to take ballet. It turned out that although I didn't have the body for it, I had a bit of talent for it. I even choreographed a sort of modern ballet piece for competition and won in my age class. It was then that Miss Susan encouraged me to audition for SMU. At the time I knew I wanted to go back to college but I was working full time as a manager for a Wendy's in Round Rock, TX and trying to save money so I could go to UT Austin and major in English. The idea was that I would teach English and maybe get a job and also run the theatre club. Because, that's what English teachers did, right. But Miss Susan told me that since I was a guy who could do ballet I could probably get a scholarship to attend school. I was sold.
She ran me through some more jazz and introduced me to the basics of Martha Graham style modern and got me ready for what would be the dance audition in Dallas. I also worked on the combination I had created for competition because that was going to be the solo piece I used for that component of the audition. Granted, I had never even seen modern dance before so the day before the audition Susan drove me up to Dallas and we stayed with a friend of hers named Patricia Dickinson who was also an SMU alumnus and ran a modern company named Dancers Unlimited in Dallas. We watched her group perform and I was intrigued. It looked like so much fun. We stayed at her house that night and the next day I auditioned. Long story short, I made it into the program. I received my acceptance letter a week after the audition and they told me I would be receiving a merit scholarship. I guess not bad for a guy who started dancing late and was certainly not as experienced as some of the other guys I had auditioned with.
And boy was that an understatement. After the first week of class I realized just how behind I was. I wasn't a natural turner, I wasn't terribly flexible, and my bow leggedness made my lines just a bit off. But it wasn't until a few of my teachers stopped really paying any attention to me in class and correcting me that I realized they didn't think I was worth their time. And that pissed me off. I made up my mind then and their to prove them wrong. Fortunately, I also had other teachers there like Karen, Trish, Erica, and Bob who saw something in me that was worth nurturing. They took me under their collective wings and helped mentor me into becoming a better dancer. But I still had the chip on my shoulder. I started getting to class fifteen to twenty minutes early just to pre-stretch. I would take class religiously during my winter and spring breaks. I ate, drank and slept dance and really focused on trying to prove them wrong. Hmmmm, sound familiar. But it was my junior year that really lit the fire in my belly.
Dancing in one of the Meadows Brown Bag Concerts with Amy Heggins
You see, at the end of every semester we had "Critiques" or "Crit" in which we would sit alone in the main dance studio with all of our teachers sitting before us. One by one they would tell us how they think we had done that semester and what we had done well and - most importantly - what we needed to work on to continue to grow (or stay) in the program. Most of them always told me things I knew I needed to work on and I would take their critique graciously and vow to work even harder. So much so that in my sophomore year I auditioned and was chosen to be a part of the Meadows Repertory Dance Ensemble (Merde, the traditional way dancers say "good luck" before a performance)! That they thought I was good enough to be part of the special group of dancers (who often went out on tour - we had the chance to go to Oklahoma one year) put me on top of the world! But I still had to work even harder as it meant extra company class and extra rehearsals. Things continued well through my first two years but it changed at the beginning of my third year. The man who had been our "Men's Class" teacher (and who had taken me under his wing and really worked with me to improve my technique) wasn't retained the third year and they hired someone else who saw things a little differently. Out of respect for his memory I won't name him here but suffice it to say, I wasn't his ideal at all of a ballet dancer.
After the first week of classes I knew he didn't care for me from the disdain that seemed to come from him every time he spoke to me. I didn't fit the classic ballet mold. I was short, I was still a bit stocky (from all of the wrestling) and I wasn't a brilliant turner like others. But I could jump. Begrudgingly he put me in a Repertory piece (a pas de deux) that required me to do sixteen single tour en'lairs in a row followed by a double tour en'lair during my variation. It also had a ton of other jumps and leaps scattered throughout. I think I was probably in the air more than I was on the ground, or at least pretty close. I worked on it incessantly because, quite frankly, I didn't want to fail and face his look of disdain. I worked so hard on it that when it came time for the performances I would walk offstage and immediately begin limping because of the shin splints it gave me. I would ice them down, change costumes and get back on stage for the next number (it was a Repertory company after all). That first semester when it came time for Crit he sat with my other teachers and when it came his turn he simply said, "That's all very nice what they've said but have you ever considered acting?" and left it at that. The next two teachers tried to make light of it and said it was my natural expressiveness that made me such a good dancer, my ability to imbue each role with emotion, the way I brought a reason for my movements to the character, etc. But it was his words that stung me to the quick. I had literally put my body through hell for him but in his mind I should think about acting because my talent as a dancer wasn't there. And I decided then and there to prove him wrong. I WOULD dance in ballet company if it was the last thing I did!
Time passed and it was nearing time to graduate. He cast me in a few more of his pieces but never as the lead. I was always the comic relief, the demi-character as it's called in the ballet world. My goal was to go on the road and audition for ballet companies that spring and come back so I could tell him I would be dancing for XYZ Company in the fall. Unfortunately, that was also the year of the big Greyhound Bus Strike and so my audition tour wasn't going to happen. And then my girlfriend Benji came to the rescue. She volunteered to give up her Spring Break and drive me around from Texas to South Carolina and back to audition for companies. I think I still probably owe her some gas money for that. It was one of the kindest gestures anyone has ever done for me. She knew how much getting into a company meant to me and so she would take me there. Unfortunately, it turned out my teacher was right. After auditioning for something like six to eight companies none of them offered me anything except for an unpaid apprenticeship with the Charleston Ballet. I came back with my hopes diminished but not shattered. I had started doing some freelance work that spring with Dancers Unlimited so I knew I had at least one company I could join, even if it wasn't a ballet company I would be a dancer.
And then a very wonderful young man named Thom Clower saw something in me and offered me an apprenticeship with a new company he was forming named Ballet Dallas. It was grown out of the ashes of the previous Dallas Ballet which I had been given the opportunity to dance a few numbers with while at SMU when they needed men to fill out their numbers and reached out to our department. Thom made it clear that I wasn't going to be paid (like Charleston and Austin Ballet Theatre the summer before) but I would get to take all the company classes, get to learn roles, and if I worked hard maybe have the chance to perform in some of the pieces. Well hard work wasn't something I was afraid of and I vowed that I would work so hard he allow me to dance with the company. Again, I knew I had gotten better but I still wasn't the epitome of the classic male dancer. There were many in the company that year who were and I studied them as hard as I could to learn how to be like them. That winter I had one of the best experiences of my life as I was chosen, along with a beautiful dancer named Rhonda Murray, to film a karaoke video for Garth Brooks' "The Dance". The company that filmed it would make these videos to be shown on the screen behind karaoke singers as if they were in a music video. It was a long day of shooting in a cold, unheated warehouse but I loved working with Rhonda and since they paid us I felt as if I was a REAL dancer.
I was also dancing with Dancers Unlimited on a part time basis and working with their choreographers dancing in their concerts as well. I didn't really get paid much but I had a full time job working at a dance supply chain and so I was living the life of a dancer. Taking class, working, and rehearsing. And then towards the end of the Spring Thom approached me and another of the dancers and said that he was bringing in a guest choreographer to set a piece on us. He said he thought the piece would be perfect for us and our abilities. We were both excited as it would be a pas de deux created especially for us and we would be able to perform it at some of the company's concerts. And who should walk in the door? The very man who through his words, looks of disdain and dismissive actions told me I'd never dance in a ballet company. Now I won't say I gloated but he did look at me in a different light. Of course in the time since he'd seen me I'd also lost twelve pounds (I was at 2% body fat), was much more flexible and had worked with the four ballet masters at Ballet Dallas to improve my technique as much as I could. At the end he told us how pleased he was with us and what a wonderful job we had done. And that is about as good as I could possibly hope for from him.
Once again showing that I had the legs for jumping!
That season with Ballet Dallas would be my only one as I decided that maybe because of my height, and the fact my technique wasn't good enough to be a soloist, I would move to New York and try to become a modern dancer. Buuuuuuttttttt, once again the same story. Every major company I auditioned for wouldn't hire me but I did manage to find a lot of pick up work as a dancer and found myself at one point dancing for three smaller modern companies all at the same time. And then I saw an ad looking for "Classically trained dancers for an innovative production of Jesus Christ, Superstar" At this point in my life I had no idea what was entailed in a musical and had only been in the ensemble in one other musical in my life - a junior college version of......Jesus Christ, Superstar. I auditioned for them as a non-Equity member and they cast me as the Lead Tormentor. It was a ton of fun, the people were amazing and they paid me more in one week than I was making in all three companies combined. I found my calling. I started auditioning for musicals (even though I couldn't yet really sing) and ended up cast as the second male lead in a production of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Why? Because they needed well trained male dancers. It was in this production that I met the woman who would become my real life bride because she was cast opposite me, a fact I knew in my soul the instant she walked in the room. But that's a story for another blog. Moral of this particular part of the story? Without that teacher telling me I'd never be a ballet dancer I would never have met my wife and have the life I have now with a beautiful wife, three wonderful children and a house on Main Street.
We've been dancing together ever since!
What does all of this have to do with leaving my nest? Well, if you haven't guessed by now I'm more of an extrinsically motivated person. Tell me I can't do something and I will find a way to do it, some how. Finding that motivation from within is much harder. I've made it 21 years as the advisor to the Association of Creative Thespians (the Syosset High School Drama Club) in part because my first few months there one of the officers half jokingly said, "don't get too comfortable because you probably won't be here long." (Thanks Mr. Rubino) He wasn't being mean, it's just that in his four years there he'd had three different drama club advisors. I guess I have the last laugh there.
Even my Master's Degree in School Building/Administration was sort of extrinsically motivated. People told me I was crazy and I'd never be able to finish with my work load as the director of three high school shows. With the reality of needing to write hundreds of observations and papers, serve two internships, create a project, the challenge was truly daunting but when you tell me I can't or won't be able to it just makes me dig my heels in more. It was a similar story with the Connor's Army XC ride. I had the idea to do it out of gratitude for my sisters' and mother's remission from cancer but also because I had been working at Sunrise Day Camp and had seen what a difference that camp made for the children who were able to attend there. But when people looked at me incredulously and some even said, "you can't do that - how will you make it, what will you do with your family? What will you do about work?" Well, I have an amazing family who supported me and we made it a family affair and we raised close to $30,000 for the camp when all was said and done. Not too bad for someone who couldn't get his school to support him!
Look, Ma! We did it!!!!!
And my latest challenge was also one that I was told I was crazy to try but I had the support of my family otherwise I wouldn't have made it through. That was the challenge to try and become an EMT-CC in the midst of trying to be a full-time teacher and direct three shows! People looked at me like I was insane and the instructors even warned us that unless we had a POWERFUL motivation to get through the course we would never make it. I did have what for me was a strong extrinsic motivation in some instances that have happened to us in our life. For instance the time we were far away from anywhere and William got stung by a bee for the first time and we weren't sure how he'd react. Or the time we were on Fire Island and he dove for a frisbee and hit the grill with his head. Miles from any EMS care! Or the times when people announced "Is there a doctor in the house?" Also, the fact that the State DOH (in it's infinite wisdom) had declared this would be the last CC class ever as they were phasing out the program. I HAD to pass it or I'd never get the chance again. That was extremely extrinsic. Of course the further I got towards the end the more stressed I became thinking about what would happen if I failed out. I just kept thinking how much I would let my family down after all they went through to enable me to do this.
So Tuesday morning and this morning. The problem I have now is that it's warm and snuggly in my bed. My goal when I started my self-isolation was to get up every morning at 6:00 and then either get on the road or work out from 7:00 - 8:30 am then teach my first period class. That hasn't happened yet in the three weeks I've been here. Even today I waited until after my 8:30 class before going out for a ride but at least I got up early! There's progress!!!!! So my goal now is to try to find the motivation to get myself back into shape and it's got to come from inside this time. So I listen to the words of Sum 41 as I ride and try to find something that will click.
So, does anyone want to tell me I can't??? Please?
Well, be what may, I WILL see you on the road!
FFR - NOTHING!!!!
RRL - Eighteen rubber gloves, a crutch, a propane tank
Be forewarned, today's musings from my perambulations are all over the map but did culminate in a spanking brought about by my hubris!
Today's ramble through the byways of Long Island brought me from Northport to West Hills and back via Commack, Dix Hills, Huntington Station, and Green Lawn. A big 30 mile loop that had some climbs, some flats and a lot of sun!
I've spoken before of how I like to listen to music on my old school iPod with an ear bud in my right ear so I can still hear traffic (and my phone if it rings) but I like to load my "Cycling" playlist with music that motivates me, oftentimes giving me blasts from the past as I remember particular times in my life when a particular song was popular. But I have this rule that I don't start playing until I get at least three miles in which is usually when I get out of Northport and onto whatever route I'm following for that day.
What I've started doing the last year instead is going over CPR compression rates in my head. You see, not too long ago the American Heart Association recommended that instead of the 100 beats per minute for compressions that was the norm for a long time, we should be compressing at 100-120 beats per minute instead. Now while many people think it funny to compress to Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust" in their head, you know considering the irony and all, other's like to use instead (and one that was suggested to us the first time I got my CPR card) "Stayin' Alive" by the BeeGees. A fun tune but it always brought back too many flashbacks of not getting to dance at high school dances (no one would dance when I asked) and also the scene from The Office which is precipitated by Dwight trying to teach them all about "Emergency Preparedness". Unfortunately, the excitement causes one of them to have a heart attack and so they all must take a mandatory CPR course;
Unfortunately, at 104 beats per minute, it really is on the slow side but it doesn't stop people from using it as a go to song to keep the rhythm. I was once part of a call in which we needed to continue with manual CPR (they had taken off the Lucas device) in the Trauma room. The attendant wasn't compressing at fast enough rate and one of the nurses actually started singing "Staying Alive" to get him to keep the rhythm. Unfortunately, this particular individual was apparently rhythmically challenged and even with her tuneful melody couldn't keep the beat so the medic and I stepped in. We were damned if we were going to lose that patient because someone couldn't keep the beat. Of course, if 104 beats per minute is your jam, you could always use "The Imperial March" from Star Wars - it too is 104 bpm and immensely more fun to hum in the back of the ambulance!
I actually have a really good sense of rhythm and I attribute it to my dance background and my time playing rhythm guitar at the LITMA Celtic Jam sessions on Sunday mornings. And I've put it to good use on far too many calls. One of the best compliments I ever received was while doing ER rotations for my CC class when, while assisting during a code, one of the nurses said to me, "nice compressions". I guess my rhythm was good. One of my goals for the not too distant future (once I help my boys get through their EMT class) is to become a CPR instructor.
Which is why I know the AHA guidelines for CPR are now 100-120 beats per minute, which means 110-115 is the sweet spot, not 104 beats per minute. Now there are a LOT of great songs that land in that range. AC/DC's "Highway to Hell";
Or if you want to stick with Queen and you're feeling a little "Under Pressure";
And although I listen to some Queen (it brings back good memories of the 70's and 80's) when I ride. I tend to listen to a lot more Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Breaking Benjamin, Foo Fighters and Green Day. Indeed, one of my favorite songs in that sweet spot range to pedal to is Green Day's "21st Century Breakdown";
Sometimes though when I ride things happen to my olde iPod and it gets stuck. Probably it's because I hit a wrong button when it's hidden in my back pocket. Today was one of those days and here's one of the songs that I listened to today before my iPod ran out of power, when I was feeling a little of Def Leppard's "Hysteria";
In the late 80's and early 90's I listened to a lot this band and bring back lots of great memories, particularly of my days in Ballet Dallas. And as I heard this song playing today I thought of my time with the company. I was fortunate enough to dance with them for two seasons before I moved to New York to pursue my dream of being a modern dancer. You see, at 5' 6 1/2" I was a little short to really be a ballet dancer as most of the girls were almost as tall as I was. There was one, who I recently was blessed to get back in touch with who inspired me. She was always told she was too short to be a ballerina but she had toured Europe and was one of the principals of Ballet Dallas so I thought maybe if she could do it, I could to. I just had to find my niche. So I thought maybe I could move to New York and try modern dance. Little did I know it would actually lead me to musical theatre - and the rest is history. So thank you Vicky, I wouldn't have the life I have now except for your example!
And a little after all of this musing over how Ballet Dallas had such a seminal influence on my life my iPod died but I was at the top of a great place to stop for a mid ride snack of banana and granola bar.
(Yep, just trying to commune with nature!)
But I digress. Where was I? Oh, yes - Is 110-115 bpm a little fast for pedalling? Yes, yes it is and I don't always keep up with that rhythm and use it more for the motivation than anything else. But when I don't have music, as happened midway through my ride, I go over CPR in my head and use that range and try to pedal to it and after every 30 pedal revolutions I take two deep breaths. Then I start all over again!
Well all was going well and I was feeling pretty good. My average mph wasn't anything to write home (or in this blog) about but I was feeling pretty energetic. I didn't have music but I was keeping a good tempo when I looked over my shoulder and I saw another cyclist about an 1/8th of a mile behind me. "Well!," I thought to myself, "I need to work harder going up this hill then so he doesn't catch me."
And this is where hubris (and this unknown cyclist) not only back hand slapped me, but spanked me......HARD!!!! Just as I crested the hill (thinking, to myself he was farther behind now) he passed me and (this is the part that really got me), easily and with no effort said, "Great day, huh?" And then he slowly moved further away as if I were standing still!!!!! I mean, yes I'm not in great shape now but I thought I was getting better. But now I know I've been kidding myself. Uggggggghhhhhhh! I just wanted to drop over on the side of the road and have someone perform compressions on me so that maybe, just maybe I might have the energy to go faster. Yeah, yeah, I know it doesn't work that way but still.
So, today's meandering reminded me of a few things. I'm grateful for so much in my life and for all of the experiences that have brought me to the place I am now. Ballet Dallas led to New York. New York led to musical theatre. Musical Theatre led me to meet my wife Amy and but for her love and support I wouldn't be a teacher and have had a small part in the careers of so many young theatre professionals. And because of my wife I have three amazing children. And because of those children I decided to become an EMT and try to help my community and learn CPR. And all because I was too short to be a ballet dancer!
Oh, and apparently there's another song that's perfect in that sweet spot for compressions when doing CPR. It's one you've heard often and probably know all the lyrics by heart;
Well, that's all the musings from today's ride. I won't be getting out tomorrow since I'm working a shift at CVAC but I'll be getting out again on Monday. Till then, keep on pushing.....doot, doo, doot da doo!!!!
I'll see you on the road!
FFR - Nothing! I'm glad to see that none of our furry friends were flattened!
RRL - Nothing unusual, just lots and lots of discarded gloves and surgical masks! Clean up after yourselves, people!!!!!
