A New Kind of #NoFilter

April 22, 2015.Reading time 4 minutes.

I learn things about modern culture from the internet. Most of the time, I learn them just after they are passé to the younger generation. My kids laugh at me when I have a stunning revelation that has run its course and been discarded by them and all of their friends. I feel like I’m miles behind my teenagers but slightly ahead of my peers, so I’m okay with that.

I just figured out what those crazy kids meant by #NoFilter. It is kind of a way of saying, “I took this picture and you can’t improve upon it by manipulating it with the digital filters on your phone.” In some respects, they are realizing the beauty of nature over technology. If they pursued that thread, they might drop the whole thing because that would mean unplugging for a while to realize that God made some pretty spectacular stuff you don’t need electronics to enjoy. Teenagers aren’t ready for that.

I don’t know much about filters or photography. I do follow a photography blog I greatly enjoy, Images by T. Dashfield. Often the subjects are close up flowers and insects that are mind-blowing. The pictures sometimes list camera specifications, f-stops, iso settings, and other things that mean something to those much smarter than me. I just like the pictures.

For today, I wanted to share my own #NoFilter:

Isn’t that lovely? We were invited to stay at a place in the mountains where that was the scene off of the back porch. When I see something like that, I can’t help ponder the majesty of nature and its creator. I think of history – how did railroad companies cut tracks through these hills so long ago? How is it possible that the union army marched over those peaks with cannons and supplies?

I also think of tragedy. Specifically my own personal tragedy that I discovered in the wee hours of the morning when I woke up ready to face the day. I found that #Nofilter can mean other things.

NOOOOOOOOOO!

My cry could be heard piercing the darkness as it rang through those lovely mountains.

To the best of my knowledge (and Google Maps), the one place where I could find coffee filters is marked with a red arrow.

The #NoFilter scene I admired previously brought me only pain and heartache now. Adaption necessary, I had options…

Paper towels proved too flimsy.

I wasn’t rude enough to use linens in the cabin loaned to us nor brave enough to damage anything belonging to my lovely wife.

T-shirts? I only brought enough to get me through the time away.

Socks proved too thick.

However, while I am a light packer who once shoved everything for a two day business trip into a laptop bag, I did happen bring extra of one item that in desperation, I ripped up to use as an emergency coffee filter. It was one of my favorite pairs, but it was clean and available – perfect for such an emergency.

I am not proud of how I came to enjoy coffee that morning and you probably won’t see this brand of filters on the shelves of supermarkets anytime soon. But you never know, maybe I’m ahead of my kids on a trend for once.

The Marathon I Won

March 18, 2015.Reading time 5 minutes.

I’ll be running my eighth marathon on Sunday. This one is for charity, not time – I’m no speedster anyway. No, my training got derailed for obvious reasons and my waistline has expanded with all the cookies that have been delivered of late – not a good combination for running success.

I stood on the scale in horror yesterday as the digital readout spoke lies to me. I want to go back to the days of the rolling number wheel that looked so cheap and inaccurate you could truly rationalize it being off by 5-7 pounds. Modern scales reflect the downside of the affordability of precision electronics.

The situation brought to mind the first time I ran the Georgia Marathon in 2007.

I won it!

You heard that right, I broke the tape for the marathon.

In late 2005, I reached a plateau. It wasn’t a good plateau, it was a large one. I’ve always been a big lug, but the responsibilities of a father with four young children had led to an unhealthy weight. When the children (who caused the problem) see pictures of that time period, they call me “Fat Daddy”. Yes, my size 40 pants got tight and I made the decision that I wasn’t going to buy size 42’s. So I joined a gym, dieted, and found that I really enjoyed running.

After losing some weight, I saw an announcement of the inaugural Georgia Marathon and decided to set my sights on running the half-marathon. I got my training plan, ran four days a week, and bought all of the necessary paraphernalia including some snazzy running belts (fanny packs) that my children adore. By the time March 2007 rolled around, I was ready. My goal: 2 hours.

I lined up in coral G and watched in excitement as the flares went up and the gun sounded the beginning of the race. It took a little while to get into my stride, but I soon found my pace and settled in. Noting the split at mile 6, I made sure to turn left with the other half-marathoners, laughing at the few lonely souls going straight for twenty more miles. Through ten miles, I ran well until hitting a rather stout hill on mile 11. Once that was behind me, some mental calculations told me that I had a shot at my goal time.

I gave it my all. I pushed, grunted, and strained toward the finish. Finally, I saw it – the finish line. Just when it came into view, a roar came over the crowd. I looked around and didn’t see other runners around me.

This is really nice, I thought. They’re cheering for me!

I heard the announcer say something garbled – I guessed it was my name.

How’d they know my name? Must be the bib number.

I saw two people in official garb run a tape across the road.

Wow, that’s cool. A tape for me. Do they know it’s my first time?

Being the subject of such adoration was slightly embarrassing. Still, I lifted my arms to the crowd’s delight.

This is amazing! I wonder if they do this for everyone!

The same two officials who had run the tape across were now flailing wildly and seemed to be waving me off. Just after I broke the tape, I turned to see a group of very thin, insanely fit men barreling towards me. Yes, at the exact time I finished my 13.1 miles, the professions finished their 26.2. I got a haughty look from the guy who rightfully should have broken the tape. Jealous, I suppose.

Although I might have been in the wrong place, I can forever say that I got to the finish line first!