tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91688698971507902622024-02-02T18:31:08.436-05:00Steven Kaminski's BlogMy blog and appearance on the www on a regular basis. Insight into the life and times, with a few zany observations... perhaps. Ramblings will most certainly include family, parenthood, teaching and interesting observations.Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-86831723095978196962012-03-01T20:11:00.005-05:002012-03-01T20:27:54.852-05:00Pounds gained, back to suffering<div>A new year began many months ago. After my last post regarding Ride for Jim (in late August), my cycling friends and I again participated in Ride Between The Waters on Virginia's Eastern Shore (pictures soon). I managed a mere 60 some miles due to a very unfortunate bout with a mean little blood clot in the calf -- and here I thought bicycling would improve my health. Again, another story.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Time and miles have passed since. We've had a warmer-than-average Winter and I wish I had taken to the cold, dark mornings more. I admit it. I admit it here and now, in writing. Cold is uncomfortable. Cold in the dark is quite defeating. So yes, a few pounds gained has been felt on my occasional rides on weekends or the rare ride on the weekend.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>On to the good news. It's true... just like they said. Miles in the legs aren't entirely forgotten. Even as I've failed to continue my riding up to five days a week, occasional trips these last few weeks have seen the odometer fall in its average reading, but not as much as I expected. When my cyclometer reads 20, I am happy. Not because I require speed at all costs, but it's good to realize that a not-so-young guy-with-thinning-hair can indeed improve.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>So here's to more good memories with friends, and happy health to you and yours. Let's call it a late New Year's wish.</div>Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-87066864743591989402011-08-27T13:25:00.026-04:002011-08-28T18:25:30.306-04:00Ride for Jim Report<div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>We made it, but it wasn't easy. But neither is fighting cancer.</div><div> </div><div>Robert, who often wakes early with me and rides alongside, and I decided some time ago to participate in the <a href="http://www.rideforjim.org/">Ride for Jim</a> event following a route from Richmond to Yorktown, Virginia -- it was largely because of my convincing him how flat this event was, I must admit. </div><div> </div><div>This cycling event honors Jim Popp, a physician who fell victim to cancer, and supports the work of medical students participating in oncology research at MCV -- an obvious worthwhile pursuit in which to participate.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Last year when Joel and I decided to take on the trip, we found it to be a mix of smooth, flat roads until the very end.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>I should have remembered the end which we'll come back to soon.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>What I did remember how uncomfortable it felt last year waiting for hours to change out of sweaty, salty bike gear. So this year my wife graciously offered to pick up Robert and I upon completion in Yorktown foregoing the necessity for us to wait for the limo bus and truck to haul us all back to Richmond hours later.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>This year my wife was coming to rescue us from chamois irritation... and stuck-in-traffic-with-other-irritated-chamois-wearing-riders frustration... thank you Kris!</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>So the night before I didn't sleep well. Anxious about the miles ahead woke me throughout the night -- hourly it seemed... it started at 3:20 am. Departure time from our homes was 6 am. We had decided why not ride from our front doors to the starting point located in downtown Richmond. A mere 17 miles we thought, downhill for the most part, no problem we figured.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>So I found myself at Robert's house, in the dark, listening to the early morning sounds of birds and wet leaves dropping off early morning moisture. I thought against ringing the doorbell at 6 am on a Sunday - I knew his wife wouldn't approve. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>C'mon Robert I thought twitching, I don't want to be late to kick this thing off.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>After finally appearing from his home and giving him grief about not being punctual like my German forefathers have taught me to be, we were off and pedaling toward Richmond. It was a largely downhill, uneventful trip and we arrived unscathed.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Here we are at the beginning within the MCV complex. I admit we were early and perhaps I'm in shock as we have so many more miles to go - hence the look. Robert looks like he needs more coffee don't you think?</div><div> </div><div> <img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645648422933510690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMFEv6PFUbGUnvb4aYvdyRSe9SfKHbcAXyNb-6GJwSqVAbp5YTqL8KMh0oxr59FW5AL7_p4tgNpFX8YhQqNXeHmAr8uSwCpS22g0kwvKGBBzF61HW3I5l4N46CtGj12rvPdJBue_gTBc8/s320/photo+%25289%2529.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>About forty minutes later after some picture taking, conversation about cancer and the work at Massey Cancer Center at MCV... we were off to Yorktown. And moving way too fast.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Pause for life lesson: This is when I am reminded that pride is not only wrong but also painful.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Now while being an unwritten rule it is understood among those that find themselves biking in groups that if you sit on someone's wheel and draft, you're obligated to get to the front and pull everyone else for a bit -- it's only fair.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>By this point our route had taken us to my childhood stomping grounds and so I knew the hill was coming. We were rolling along at 20 mph (much faster than my 18 or so) and as in the beginning of every group ride, the adrenaline was coursing. So naturally I felt it time to pull for some time. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Half an hour later I realized my mistake -- I was surrounded by twenty-somethings going twenty-something. They were way too young going way too fast or maybe I was way too old going way too slow. Either way I allowed pride to push me to the front of this pack and pull them up a long steady hill. This is also when Robert claimed I tried to drop him -- so untrue by the way.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>The Charles City rest stop came just in time, actually didn't come soon enough, and I kept trying to convince myself that I just needed to eat a little, drink a little, and stretch a little -- hence my concerned look (and Robert looks like he woke up).</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> <img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646018745277130466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9OTVqtwP5H76CgLDFOjZ1ypxCsPxFJA6jwiMEKJDyAn360juU1rjHHryukWSx2O_OWjq2H2j1Rt8yOQzG1xYAn-v6JCtB9Z3Xua4i8R5Hdg8kYNtoyIiOhK2IvD_jJBXnjPzwRO0qhYoC/s320/photo+%25287%2529.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div>At this point Peter, he who rode a mountain bike and kept pace with us, had already joined us and motivated us to keep up the insane pace I swore I would not continue... but then did. Pride again.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Our trip continued toward Williamsburg under a canopy of trees that thankfully provided shade and cooler temperatures.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>It was then that I pointed out to Robert the bridge we were about to cross. It looked like quite a hill to overcome about which I heard Robert complaining behind me.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Will (my colleague and friend) decided to seek us out just after crossing the Chickohominy River and there he was as we sped down the other side. It was great seeing he and his wife with a cooler in hand prepared to offer coolness -- how awesome is that! We left after a few minutes of chatting and I realized right away that each time I stopped the legs spinning, they fought my efforts of wanting to go a little further down the road.</div><div>
<br /> </div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 191px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646021263631463394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_iQsoSTIpZUwKIMlUAlpwqlce_HEXlfZxD8JWQvJySfjkOCrBlfL8Q_1fUpBxevZGHXaTj0BQYamjtbBQc0J7yoHiSADJU0Zqaft86zHkuvC0oEWoUdqkTcfqfX-WMkFiaXrdHKiVyrhe/s320/photo+%25286%2529.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div>And then we encountered hills which I failed to remember accurately so when we arrived at our final stop... I didn't care about taking pictures but instead searched for something that was less sweet than Gatorade and Honey Stinger Waffles (and I do quite love them).<div> </div><div>Remember the end part I eluded to? It is called Colonial Parkway and it is rough. Rough like pebble strewn onto concrete rough that made the last 13 miles seem like 20+ and people on the side of the road hunched over with leg cramps.</div><div> </div><div>It was at one point that Robert commented that we certainly don't look as good as they do (a certain fit looking twenty-something cycler) but then we weren't cramping either. Perhaps there's something to this older but wiser adage. We were tired, but we weren't on the side of the road eating grass while grunting to God to please make the muscles stop seizing and shaking uncontrollable -- sounds bad huh?</div><div> </div><div>We finally arrived and were happy to do so. 85.0 miles completed and glad to be done. The family (including JB my father-in-law) were there to greet us with cameras and smiles. A very nice welcome indeed.</div><div> </div><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 257px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646026648501910770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUFIo7o06HIChRKz_ALC_Pxz5MlFROZRUpF2oxq37lm3QbpMbiNkQka9eMPH1dQIfY123KjUlGtnyVLzLuj-kgW4q3uLZXOsLLVkSxCxdN1HcAD6Ppb5ATN8EwCPMQ_H28pAT6DVmpKvzZ/s320/photo+%25282%2529.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 256px; height: 320px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646026644305243314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbOfbVslFbDoiEwfhscU_L8zbaOgOiR0Tb20N7yyR986xOIugLyOnP3B40AuZVHEDAoNYpqsvDaxGf0lpoPk57BUFJE2ngMdtbbaBou2g8dPoBwZ0sV_TZJhtZqlWfSl7gvSeM8FCHQEy/s320/photo+%25281%2529.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 257px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646026637100184482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_6Wizzsq_iSCZUTSjUWThtIOBqxfoq7Wy_E4c0ByiGQOksUcVccZSLLXbBWdgL9FqsStPLlCbxydDFTSGwfoaMzNWJD4OfZSQDfGEEB1em_6IlvClLocRgiQ45cJ8RC0WmfrQzlCmYQOS/s320/photo.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div> Lessons learned? 1) Cancer is a lot scarier than 85 miles. 2) Friends once again stepped up and contributed to a great cause and I am motivated to see what the next Ride for ____ might be. 3) Seeing twenty-something blow by me on older bikes helps remind me of the turtoise and the hare -- I am so not the hare 4) pride can hurt physically and 5) don't let my wife take side-profile shots while I wear lycra -- I am now motivated to eat less Honey Waffles... darn it!</div><div> </div><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>
<br />Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-58935272589919496362011-04-23T07:24:00.004-04:002011-04-23T07:55:40.007-04:00Humbled + Dropped = MotivatedI was dropped. I was humbled.<br /><br />The hill ahead was steep. Steeper than I thought it would be. I knew this hill, but from the opposite direction. And after almost 60 miles I was ready for the ride to end. My cyclometer promised that the ride was almost over but I began to second guess this lying, annoying little electronic gadget.<br /><br />After encouraging friends to participate, several of us took off last weekend for 62 miles (100 k) of hilly Powhatan Historic Ride fun. Most of it was indeed fun. I encountered friends upon arrival at the start, we had a few early morning falls (couldn't get out of those clips), and then moved on down the road. Weather was perfect, friends were laughing, sunshine warmed our shoulders, and rest stops were nicely stocked.<br /><br /><em>Notice from self: You should have put in some time on that trainer in the garage because as the miles wore on, your legs wore out.</em><br /><br />And after 40 miles of beautiful rolling hills... the fun waned to be replaced by pain. The legs were complaining and in fact screaming for my brain to stop this barrage of climbing any ol' hill that happened to rise ahead.<br /><br />So perhaps 62 miles was a bit much for this early time of the year. Well not perhaps, it definitely was. Here I had convinced friends to ride alongside. Now I saw them climb that last hill and bike out of view.<br /><br />Lesson learned. Months ago I was that dude. Riding ahead up the hill. I probably scampered ahead to wait for my friends on the other side of the climb. It was time to experience what they've experienced and I can't say I enjoyed it. It's never nice to be dropped behind the pack. It conjures up memories of being the last guy picked to play on the team. Or the memory of repeatedly being dribbled around on the soccer field. But the experience was valuable.<br /><br />I think it's good to be humbled. Good to be pushed to do a little better next time. Good to realize that true happiness comes by excelling within the boundaries you set for yourself. Others' goals are certainly impressive to watch from afar, but perhaps true joy comes from knowing that one has excelled from the last point of reference we set for ourselves.<br /><br />So I've set some goals. 1) Additional weight = more effort necessary on my heart and body, 2) lose weight so as not to see stars when trying to keep up with others, 3) know that with effort comes reward and focus on that effort.<br /><br />First step...lose the first 10 pounds. I'll report in to mark progress.<br /><br />My buddy Will said it best in his blog. And I tried to respond as best I could. Take a look...<br /><br /><a href="http://willbagby.wordpress.com/">http://willbagby.wordpress.com/</a><br /><br />Last summer I had a friendly Powhatan Sheriff's Deputy pull over and ask if I was ok as I tried to catch my breath at the top of a hill. I expect it might actually happen again.<br /><br />Until next time... I'll be the one red-faced and breathing irratically.Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-17629643056735425292010-10-26T19:36:00.012-04:002010-10-26T22:06:34.143-04:00100 Miles on the Eastern Shore - Part 2<em>Part 2 of my 100 mile ride entitled: Wind, Chicken Farms and Vomit<br /></em><br /><div><div><div><div>Our merry group continued toward our lunchtime destination after stopping at Modest Town Church (mile 33) where the dreaded Fig Newtons invited me for a test taste... my second since the first grade which I remember as tasking god-awful. I will share that they do not taste any better than when I was 6. Yuck.<br /></div><div>We continued and it was now that the wind appeared. I knew it was forecast but I held hope that the wind gods would see us below, see us making good hard effort and save us the agony that they could very well inflict. They did no such saving... wind howled in the leaves above, across the fields and always directly on our faces. Knowing that over 50 miles lay ahead does not a happy biker make. Here's a shot of Joel (and Jocelyn) adjusting his seat once more in preparation for dropping us a little later. This is also when I began to become a bit delirious and thought the warm pavement looked soft and inviting... ahh to lay in the middle of the road and take just a short nap -- wasn't to be however.<br /></div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532523149937300930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVnw6_85_8NB12vQB3b86uvulJna_E6K4Jo8pCSzvlrClOIsY1K1Pok50Jyt_nhbpXEjGG4iVNdRA0Cov2fpWS723f8u-iHFvoEdzaf2GXDx-JRJpFmhUcyG1Yyogv6Ph_iatRhXS2UUD/s320/bikingbtw9.jpg" /><br /><div>Our speed plummeted as we began to grunt out loud seeing our speed fall from 18+ mph to barely over 12. Disheartening but looking over at the others riding behind me... I wasn't in this alone and that made all the difference. Joel took his turn at the front as well as Jocelyn and I tried to make myself as small as possible behind them in order to hide from the wind. But while it might certainly have been easier drafting, I know that their friendship made more of the difference.</div><br /><div>After lamenting that perhaps we had missed our lunch stop somehow and thinking "wouldn't that just be completely horrific and I don't know if I can go on" we saw the lunch signs. As we pulled up to the <a href="http://gardenandseainn.com/">Garden and Sea Inn </a>(mile 54) we found a merry bunch sprawled on the grass eating, smiling, laughing and commiserating on what had already been accomplished that day.</div><br /><div>Lunch, by the way, consisted of many things that Bicycling Magazine's editors caution against. There were sandwich fixins, soda, chips and even brownies. All these (again according to the experts) consumed would make demands on our bodies to spend energy on digestion versus towards the legs which of course were responsible for that very important forward motion.</div><br /><div>Ha! I laughed at the experts -- actually I didn't but there was no other lunch option so... of course I consumed. Heck, I deserved it.. I had made it half way to 100.</div><br /><div>I did however leave the brownies to others, ate the fixins because I saw others with more expensive clothes and bikes eating them so it must be ok, and decided a banana for dessert would keep the magazine editors happy. The Coca-Cola did taste exceptionally good.</div><br /><div>Before leaving stretching was called for and abruptly stopped as a pain I had yet to ever experience reared its ugly head as I tried to pull the stiffness from my legs. So much for stretching -- more of that professional advice ignored.</div><br /><div>As we rolled out over oyster shells and out toward our next rest stop 17 miles away we decided to think only of immediate goals... that next rest stop. The idea of finishing would be put on temporary hold -- we would think of it after our last rest stop. I thought this prudent and wise. Small steps as we rolled slowly forward.</div><br /><div>So it was about 10 miles later that I thought maybe those editors knew what they were advising us amateurs about. I felt ill. Like I'm gonna throw up all over myself ill. Maybe it was that sandwich, that Coke, that banana. Or maybe it was because we were at mile 67. Or perhaps the smell of chicken farms we had inhaled all day (there are A LOT of chicken farms on the Eastern Shore) -- their smell is a very close second, in my opinion, to the smell of pig farms. Nothing like pulling over and scaring your biking buddies by vomiting all over yourself... thank god I did no such thing.</div><br /><div>The route had taken us toward Saxis Island and we were surrounded on both sides of the road by marsh grasses and inlets off the Chesapeake Bay. And a crab shack too.<br /></div></div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532525367322124562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqWjfgq27UT7oOljDB4HtleQ3KN0pvtOc2ea0tdNhgnUAafvtI76RrVA-abAQC6bHPynmKWMdPp0GjKyl8RJbl3KXEzhmwEV5IEKjPCbaiAghsx55vXX8XOTNPWQV4B0u98UtAvAAWEBx/s320/bikingbtw10.jpg" />Yes, the wind was still with us and the legs were aching. At mile 72 the road ended at the Saxis Volunteer Firehouse where water and a friendly collection of we're-almost-done riders sat in the sunshine and were fed upon by marsh flies.<br /><br /><div>Here's Joel and I excited that we just might make it to the finish as we sat in front of the fire station. </div><br /><div>Great guy that Joel. Same Joel who said I was nuts for thinking up the idea of doing a century together. Same Joel that I claim has had plastic calf implants because they are so intimidating as I try to keep up with him (I shared this out loud with Jocelyn who I think might have thought me serious for a fraction of a second). Same Joel that I screamed at from behind to slow down because my legs would not cooperate and keep up with his legs pumping out an impressive speed. Good man. Oh, here's the pic.</div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532509035796435170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgb5VgZpKjvunIeUz125QtDJpROihxQBSpUDuzh2WKZDDEnHAgLYqQAjh3adY5SZcOuvRi37BmP8cMMnD-rh4Hc-iao94LS52x-CZdTP2FRCc1Jf8v3e0ju__JikXYs1VIVajD1Gzy9x4b/s320/bikingbtw8.jpg" /></div><br /><div>Brad pulled in shortly after we did. Having pulled off his windbreaker to reveal an Oregon Porter Beer Jersey led to conversation about Bend, Oregon which led to converations about my being in the state for graduate school which led to his sharing that he was a diabetic. I caught a glimpse of him testing his blood sugar as he shared that he needed to rest a while to allow his body to recover after consuming <a href="http://www.hammernutrition.com/products/hammer-gel.hg.html?navcat=fuels-energy-drinks">Hammer Gel</a>.</div><br /><div>Now here's a guy who knows that his body processes sugars differently than you and I, he knows that he will slowly tire and be unable to keep pace, and he is out here with us facing his challenges head on. And not his first century. Inspiring.</div><br /><div>We had 21 miles to our next stop. Buoyed by Brad's story we knew we were now closing in on the end. When we hit 80 miles, we cheered. When we hit 90, the cheer was louder. We were going to make it. Here's a shot of Hills Farm that Will had taken earlier in the day when he was there with Lynn. A beautiful farm with a long tree covered driveway that made us wonder whether we were being led to some horrific-well-planned Halloween slaughter (delirious again obviously). Will's pic:</div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532529156251072162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbWZHxdZUFH4PAhnz8mvDHidaKssHDyQMFwULjBaBu8UGbwRT_ffGx_xslEzwkryfTK0ffE-NeD0nmDOjYr0r-YG304Bdgaiajkbqlkkv3lfHRor0qsDIDlT_wvezhEycOQ7h1NTppx4s/s320/bikingbtw11.jpg" /></div><div><br />After some Gatorade we safely left and those last 7 miles back to Onancock were quick. We were pulled like my horse used to be pull me back to the barn whenever we left the paddock.</div><div> </div><div>The wind had apparently decided to leave us alone and we all took turns at the front pulling as hard as we dared. At one point, after some good-natured prodding, Joel took off at a rate of 26 mph while I tried to keep up.</div><div> </div><div>All three of us passed by the Onancock town limits sign with a joyous yell and arrived at the finish where we left eight and a quarter hours earlier (that so sounds painful). It was fantastic seeing Will and Lynn waiting for us with cameras clicking. All of us with wide smiles on our faces and hugs to go all around.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Success made sweeter by the fact that we were surrounded by friends. Here we are rolling in (that's me in the white helmet). </div><div> </div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532532187416380322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9MJoihRpcTC_9YMeGmdia-8ZqZl1Kyg78Q2hPjki1zXrwsz2w5t1m6kg2wsigWggO197143bEguxz-lGLbN51JF3VVT4CAtMfXzmnOA3NmfbmPItby09z3xwPclVGhVjG2JZRrF8Tb8w/s320/bikingbtw6.jpg" /> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532533771939134946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1LwPeUIzc2zTag759Q0S_BxD252BFsEhlwNu7tcYJ1IUo7kHeqlO8_aiWg-ZocinfpD44knbeQKPIW4xiboFthFaozJ-G2SxClj5DfAiIvd7w1msOHjofzfM2-fzVL2D32yzY3mEGPbi/s320/bikingbtw7.jpg" />And to end... I have my favorite shot that follows. It doesn't include bikes or jerseys or kissing. In fact it's taken the next day after two good meals and a restful night. Before returning to Richmond we decided to take a quick drive back to Onancock from the hotel so I could see the areas that I had missed because I was out on some foolhardy trip around the Eastern Shore peninsula. Thanks Joel, Will and Lynn for making the weekend not just memorable... but special.</div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532535806207136498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPs9YLgtOufJEB3k4sz395VGQammO5v2BA_pFYHVmAbvE8_uX_gvfnxadbjknAVcPag8-Rr5Bx3cTIDuGRpC-T4YkFtWlaD4iL-KS2qgTEINZx-ZoMuq4cvv1qgGHUEZ8asC48HPA4LdI/s320/bikingbtwillnsteven.jpg" /></div></div>Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-34058232972766706012010-10-24T21:20:00.012-04:002010-10-24T23:05:42.281-04:00100 Miles on the Eastern Shore - Part 1<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVseGOtFF5AKHCWPB3s2LhyphenhyphenKyNLsW44-DLEqirOWtHnJIeeclqyuHb_vEEJ-yHmJPF99Cb-dEleeBlcOcy1xFYKpQMpdTLkXGYHFoGTs5oMT7PFWTkuBEYrLuRzWIk7UeQfq1kqiBdi6k0/s1600/untitled.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531813975859695266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVseGOtFF5AKHCWPB3s2LhyphenhyphenKyNLsW44-DLEqirOWtHnJIeeclqyuHb_vEEJ-yHmJPF99Cb-dEleeBlcOcy1xFYKpQMpdTLkXGYHFoGTs5oMT7PFWTkuBEYrLuRzWIk7UeQfq1kqiBdi6k0/s320/untitled.bmp" /></a><br /><div></div><div>I finished salt-encrusted, exhausted, sweaty, a little cold, and jubilant.<br /><br />My first century completed. 100 miles... the whole experience remains surreal.<br /><br /><div><div><div>Saturday morning I stood waiting for my buddy Will and his wife Lynn in the hotel's parking lot and noticed that the hotel had an anemometer high on its roof. It spun in slow lazy circles. I liked that it spun slowly. All week I had repeatedly browsed the weather.com website hoping for no rain and no wind. It was 7 am and there would be no rain, I hoped that the wind would fail to make an appearance as well.</div><br /><div>We arrived just a few miles away and rushed through the check in process which didn't begin until 7:30 with half an hour to spare.</div><br /><div></div><div>I would now like to now admit to all... I like to be early. Early should I make a wrong turn on the way, early so I don't leave anything behind, early so I don't feel rushed. I felt rushed and here's me rushing to get on enough clothes to stay warm.<br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531791183644768674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEKkNUlZ6L5fKXos175toIim389cGRtmTZiwIRQ0ODrhsISwxZikMKCXAFWOn4403ihp_LvF_QoGAzqE_QNA4xJKiDGxdZ-6xFZg4kIjDXveWknygtfGmXkmurIOfcrDTvTptBLUuvnNbq/s320/bikingbtw.jpg" /><br /><br /><div>Will had enough time as his start time was an hour later. Doesn't he look relaxed and composed here? This was taken an hour or so later...</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531799718852413762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZwk6IlDPqmPxDyxdPW6tK1nyJ1LZ8MQsqW7b1anNiHxXwHDb-k6XX6opqBab9ZtDZLKb6tUTYh_0XsbfkiKiv5VF-zu3DnnOAguRwNY5nBmihv6Bntuqamgs-vTE5ZfCJxwWI_NqkM_A/s320/bikingwillbtw.jpg" /></div><br /><br /><div></div><div>Ok... so Will had some time to watch me rifle through my bag for all the various pieces of lycra intended to keep me from being too cold while also being removable for when it warmed up later (and easily placed in a handy little pocket on my back). Here's Joel (he who I convinced to take on this day's foolish attempt) being much more relaxed than I and putting on his gear unhurried.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531794050196389586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaqaJdYNJCDWjFLaZ3w9xXg_OaTNh_JmQDwnkNfpyvil86nrHtBq0Vumagc5l5Qd-DFcDfOmDoH8c_aBLEOTCJmJc0J74_5GPoCYolGSegu53xLdmmfejPbGaAhyphenhyphen3fkzpMpQawpcZdCto/s320/bikingbtw3.jpg" /><br /><br /><div>We were off at 8 am with little time to reflect on what we were about to attempt. Cold with warm rays of sunlight peeking through the leaves overhead. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Here's a shot of us at the start... note my very colorful windbreaker intended for warmth, added benefit - cars will notice that I look like a pumpkin (quite relevant for October don't you think?) and choose to pass by without hitting me.</div></div><div> </div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531795032368847922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnIsS4eviS9qUSFpOitNCCWCF1hy7622zB58M7rXIAyts6CS_HhFbbF1tM0xQHS4pw7wD72DpQBP-zLcpT42YwFeY5wtHA74oSSc-Y_J4sH2hyphenhyphenJIk7BGLwxL_yogyv73IOFUitjdMgU3I/s320/bikingbtw4.jpg" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It was cold yet we were happy to be on our way and knew that the roads were flat. The leaves in the those trees above remained quiet too -- no wind. We agreed that average speed was less important than completing the day's most important goal -- getting to the finish.<br /><br />Our first rest stop at 23 miles delivered us to a table of half bananas and plenty of water. I remembered the words of Pat, my godfather's wife, who reminded me to not stay too long as the legs may complain as they tightened off the bike.</div><br /><div></div><div>I chose to get off the bike.</div><br /><div></div><div>It was in mid banana chew when Joel introduced me to Jocelyn who was also riding her first century. A speech therapist from Fairfax County Schools, we invited her to tag along with us as we all attempted to reach 100 miles.<br /><br />For those of you who have committed yourselves to this type of lunacy you already know that one of the unwritten rules of bicycling is to welcome those who are riding alone as the unfamiliar road can be a lonely place -- especially when undertaking a personal best distance. Our merry band now numbered three and sometimes five with the addition of Brad and Henry (more on them later).</div><br /><div></div><div>Friendship from the vantage point of the bicycle seat is quickly made. </div><br /><div></div><div>[NOTE: I am unable to continue as my bed calls and eyes refuse to remain open. Please return to my blog for Part 2 entitled: the ride continued, I felt like I was going to vomit all over myself, and wind makes an appearance... riveting don't you think?]</div></div>Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-54767611002674578512010-10-09T19:16:00.004-04:002010-10-09T20:00:39.508-04:00An idea I'm mulling overSo here's an idea.<br /><br /><br />But first please check out <a href="http://www.pablove.org/">http://www.pablove.org/</a> and go to the Pablove Across America site.<br /><br />In short, Jeff Castelaz lost his son Pablo to cancer a year ago and has since created the Pablove Foundation to support pediatric cancer research, support families whose child is battling the disease, and help provide children resources during their stay in hospitals. <a href="http://pablove.org/about/pablos-story/">Here's more</a> about the foundation.<br /><br />He rides, I try to ride... he's lost his son, I live in fear of losing one of my children and realized this vulnerability the moment my son was born.<br /><br />Currently Jeff (I use his first name like I know him - I do not) and others are in the midst of bicycing from Seattle to L.A. raising funds for his foundation. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZLwHvfST1M">Watch his first dedication </a>(they do this daily) and you may be using his first name too as he talks about losing his son and his promise to Pablo.<br /><br /><br />Idea time.<br /><br /><br />I'm inspired to do my part. While my children are healthy I (like so many others) have lost relatives to cancer. My close friend Will's wife is a cancer survivor. My wife's boss lost his wife a few years ago. My son has a cancer survivor as a classmate. This year another child in his school was recently diagnosed. So here's what happens late at night being inspired by a man I don't know doing his part to help children I don't know. Remember the part about trying to ride my bike?<br /><br /><br />Summer 2011.<br /><br /><br />Organize a ride across Virginia from the mountains that border Kentucky to the ocean waters off of Yorktown. The American Bicycling Association has already done the math (and mapping the route) - 748.5 miles along the TransAmerican Trail.<br /><br /><br />Is it challenging? Oh yes I think it would be. Should it be challenging? Oh yes I think it should be. But it is of course no where near as challenging as what children with cancer are facing. I'm no professional fundraiser but I sure can get behind helping children who need help.<br /><br /><br />If a group (I sure hope I'm not doing this alone but that could happen) of us can raise funds to help Jeff and his organization while we pedal across the Commonwealth... perhaps it will also be an opportunity to make others aware that cancer doesn't just impact adults - it also affects children.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526198109943586514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyFbwdOpOqobRwLQT90udXDFiOaTnfg_7i5eCA1L1ttf2oDP4CueZVKow6C856pUgnZMdf1chTFEd7pDZ1MPFS2lmbZw3qSpX4HblSXTdRicVGoMxo1dun2cFKt-Surg4vkJ-0elzDzvl3/s320/IMG_0025.JPG" /><br /><br /><br />A child's love is unlike any other. Hearing them share "I love you" or "Good Morning" just because is heart warming. Knowing that children suffer... is heart breaking.<br /><br /><br />This is just an idea in its infancy. Stay tuned.Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-8804471706030716152010-10-07T19:12:00.004-04:002010-10-07T20:09:50.030-04:00Religion on a BikeTwo friends followed me out of the neighborhood recently as raindrops began to fall on our helmets. We had decided that it being Sunday and church service beginning at 9:45 later that morning, an early ride was required.<br /><br />We knew rain was in the forecast as we started off at 7 am... while Robert mentioned that indeed drops were falling on our heads. It was then that I thought to myself whether fun included being wet and cold and whether hypothermia might be an unfortunate realization... and how soon this ride might end. But then the drops ceased.<br /><br />A few miles on our regular route we usually pass the local reservoirs. This time the cool air and warmer water resulted in their being covered in mist. <br /><br />Riding by so many homes quietly perched on the waterfront but without any activity instantly made me feel like I'd somehow been given the privilige of an experience others had chosen to sleep through. As it was Sunday, there were only a few cars that passed us which gave us plenty of room - perhaps they were already in a gracious Sunday morning-going-to-church-early mood, leaving us happier as well.<br /><br />As we briefly stopped waiting, like all good cyclists should, for a light to change we were passed by a group of Canadian geese flying in formation and headed to fields unseen... just barely passing over the tops of trees.<br /><br />It was at this moment we all noted how special the morning had become.<br /><br />A few climbs later with cool air hinting at the coming Fall we sped into the rolling countryside. Cows stood fence-side eyeing us for breakfast and awaiting the warming sun to peek over the horizon. It was then that we looked to our right over a meadow where we witnessed a pink sunrise.<br /><br />A few miles later and to our left a rainbow appeared over rolling forests. Dark gray skies framed its colors better than had the sky been less menacing. I think it's fair to say we were all enthralled.<br /><br />What an amazing morning I wish everyone I've shared bicycling stories with could experience.<br /><br />We finished about 2 hours after we had begun. Our bikes did gather some road grime as it must have rained just a mere miles ahead of where we rode... but regardless of the wet roads, impending rain smell in the air, or dark clouds above... drops never fell on our heads.<br /><br />An hour later I sat in our local church's pew thinking that I had in fact already been to church... just on a bike saddle instead of in the sanctuary.<br /><br />I've been thinking back to that morning a lot lately as the stresses of my teaching profession have taken hold I think it just might have been a favorite all time ride. Beautiful views, quiet roads, God's blessings, and good friends.Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-12693165546256059372010-09-06T21:49:00.002-04:002010-09-06T22:34:01.544-04:00It's been too long.A month or more later since the last post and some news.<br /><br />I finally finished my latest goal of 70 miles a few weeks back and realize that I haven't posted the specifics.<br /><br />Biking from Richmond to Yorktown, Virginia was relatively painless... except for waking up too early (I was anxious), we arrived at the start too early (I was still too anxious) and the day prior my body was not interested in digesting food properly (I might have been anxious).<br /><br />I was quite surprised at the reality of finishing this ride with relatively little pain as much as I think my back end was... ok, getting ahead of myself.<br /><br />The first twenty miles began too quickly (I must remember to slow down) and then we stopped in the country area known as Charles City. The flat roads were a great change from the usual. We pedaled beneath trees whose overhanging limbs shaded us from the rising sun. I repeatedly looked down to my cyclocomputer to see my average mph climb to record (my record mind you) levels. I think the adrenaline had taken hold.<br /><br />After a few bottles of sugar-laden electrolyte beverage at the rest stop which had I passed by without noticing (my buddy and I u-turned a mile later when we realized) we continued toward Williamsburg -- again, not too painful but again, at too fast a pace. I so wanted to slow down but admittingly pride intervened. Surrounded by people who had biked across the nation for the 52 prior days or people with very heavy bikes complete with cages prepared to carry tents and food... I felt like I should not just keep up, but lead a few miles as well. And what happens when one finds oneself at the front of a line of bicyclers barreling down the road? Well, one feels the need to impress fellow bicyclers with a high cadence and desire to break wind (in the good way) for those behind. Happily, I am able to report that while a bit painful, I was able to do my part and arrived in Colonial Williamsburg and the College of William and Mary. Ahhh... lunch of which I did not partake. Fifty miles does not invoke a desire to stuff one's face. Instead, more Gatorade and a warm energy bar (from being crammed in the back pocket of my jersey) would have to do.<br /><br />And so our last twenty or so miles remaining were spent on the Colonial Parkway between Williamsburg and Yorktown. This road was of course hilly and very rough. Rough as in pavement in which one sprays off the top layer of adhesive during construction so our tires make a friendly hum as we travel alongside the York River. This surface however does not make a friendly hum on 120 psi tires upon which I ride on a very narrow saddle. My arms rattled and I smiled knowing that beyond the bridge I saw ahead... was the "finish line". I must also interject here that this is when the tears began.<br /><br />As we closed toward the end, I thought of all of the people that had contributed their hard-earned dollars to support my endeavor to raise money for cancer researchers. On my back in another one of those jersey pockets I carried a handwritten list of all those sponsors and those they contributed in honor of. A list of departed friends and family as well as names of people who had survived their battle with cancer. Thinking of them, the tears fell down upon the road as it sped by beneath me.<br /><br />And then we arrived. Not too tired and in fact ok. No crashes. No bonking (referring to when one has no energy due to the lack of food consumption, not the bonking for which rabbits are known), no cursing my decision, no screaming for an end to the madness. In fact some energy left in the tank -- encouragement for the 100 mile ride to be completed in October.<br /><br />Another milestone completed. Next challenge is later this month when I attempt my longest distance of 76 or so. This one I think will include a few more hills. I anticipate that my legs will hurt... but I think it's the kind of hurt that's good... I'm looking forward to it.Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-52115993046496358132010-07-23T13:18:00.005-04:002010-07-23T17:20:46.661-04:00Pound cake, fawn encounter, still bird & 108 degrees (Bike Post #2)I left too late this morning as hauled myself on the saddle at 9:30... but I only realized my error later. Shortly after beginning, sweat started to drip off my nose like a spigot. This would not be an easy happy venture into the countryside.<br /><br />Lesson learned: do not eat a healthy portion of granola (with honey and blueberries) followed by a quick sneak of a slice of pound cake and then go biking -- I felt bloated and heavy as I placed myself on the saddle. Hmmm... pound cake, now I know why it's called that... I felt like I was carrying additional weight up the hills this morning.<br /><br />(My son thinks it should be called "<em>gain a</em> pound cake".)<br /><br />Fast forward as my uncomfortable self traveled past the Salisbury Country Club and saw correctly attired ladies batting the tennis ball back and forth. The well manicured lawns and golf course reminded me of a recent conversation I had with my doctor.<br /><br />I had been trying to schedule a physical. Teachers know that there's never a good day to miss a school day. Not only do lesson plans need to be created but then there's the worry of what happens while we're away. There are good substitutes as well as horrible ones -- those are the ones that fall asleep in class or ignore those plans that took me till 7 pm the night before to create (both have happened to me). Then there is always some type of mess to clean up the next day when I play the role of detective as I sift through the previous day's history attempting to figure out what really happened... and what consequences need to dished out.<br /><br />I centered on a good day and made that appointment after learning from the receptionist that the good doctor is out every other Friday -- which, after having learned of this, I promptly asked about as he arrived in my exam room. It seemed he had elected to schedule bi-monthly "me time". A decision that he reported to me had paid dividends at home -- less stressed, healthier, happier to be with -- as his wife had told him.<br /><br />Two children (eight and five years old) have demanded time at our house. Yes I know that all children demand time from their parents. We guessed this before the first one's birth -- but had no idea what type of demands would be asked of us.<br /><br />Add second child, eliminate more time for oneself.<br /><br />So all energy is spent toward children -- as it should be, right? But then I noticed that doctor's yearly appointments are scheduled for children first, clothes shopping is always scheduled around what children need, grocery decisions are made according to children's desires -- grocers have learned this and place those sweet sugary cereals at children's line of sight. I'm all for making children the focus of our life, after all my wife and I planned for their appearance... but I think a little bit for me is ok too.<br /><br />It may seem selfish, you may be looked down upon by some, and you might even feel guilty like I have... but it's imperative that everyone takes some time for themselves. Do what makes you happy and that happiness will return to those you surround yourself with.<br /><br />Perhaps like this biking thing.<br /><br />I pedaled on. I looked to my right to a spot where I spooked a fawn two days ago. It bounced through the woods next to me for a few seconds... its white camouflage still doing its job as I failed to see it close to the road where it had settled into the grass when I came upon it. Thinking back, good thing it didn't decide to turn direction in vengence and show me what a fawn vs. bike collision would feel like. Funny image to you, but road rash vision for me plus the embarrassing story I would have to share about how a fawn took me out.<br /><br />Man it was hot as I watched drips fall beneath me each time I dipped my head.<br /><br />A few miles later I passed a sparrow lying next to the road. One with its feet straight and pointed up. Apparently it had met the wrong end of a vehicle at the wrong time. Such a precious little life ended by our desire to get to our next destination in a hurry. Odd how it lay quiet next to the road, as if it took its last breath while in mid flight.<br /><br />And then I thought of cancer and all the people affected. I thought of my grandmother again. Of Jenn's grandfather Joseph. Of Scott's McEver Sr. Of Patty Moore who I knew through my wife and who is survived by three young daughters and a husband. She battled cancer for close to a decade if memory serves correct. As the cancer returned yet again, she thought ahead to write letters to her daughters to be opened at momentus occasions. Each of their daughters has grown into a beautiful young women - grounded and making their own way in the world. I only hope that we raise Annaliese to be as strong.<br /><br />I was reminded of my son's classmate who was stricken last year with Leukemia at the tender age of 7. I am happy to report that she's recovered and back in school after many nervous months of wondering whether she would live. The initial shock of a life impacted so young, the induced coma, her tears brought on by her loss of hair. Benson delivering (unprompted) his piggy bank to a fundraiser in support of costs associated with her parents constantly being at her bedside. I thought back to how she passed along her cards of goodwill to other child patients in the hospital who didn't have the same amount of support. Inspiring.<br /><br />The heat today was overwhelming: the weather app on my phone read 98 degrees / feels like 108. But as tiring as today was (no more pound cake in the morning for me... thank you), I was inspired yet again.Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-83791196392918212552010-07-20T10:31:00.005-04:002010-07-20T12:11:19.149-04:00Overcoming Challenges on and off the BikeHello all:<br /><br />When I was 19 a work colleague must have (because I don't clearly remember now) convinced me that riding on a hard saddle over many miles is fun. It took and I bought a Miyata bicycle and put a few miles on those tires. And then college got to the front of the line and took hold -- so much for bicycling.<br /><br />Fast forward 15 years (yikes) and yes, I lot more pounds. After many a year being off the bicycle, my wife kindly presented me with a Trek this past March knowing that the bike bug had bit about a year ago. Since about last summer I have traveled the roads of my neighborhood on my mountain bike thinking that if I stayed with it a year... perhaps I would take a more serious look at a road bike. No need... my 40th present (no Corvette for me thank you) now stood in the living room waiting for me to climb on.<br /><br />So for the past few months I have begun to understand some intricacies of what is required to get on a bike trying to go just a little farther and a little faster than last time -- it's harder than one might think. I have learned to actually take pride in tenths of an average mph increase. I'm so perplexed by professionals that seem to average over 30 mph when I can only painfully push almost 17 on my own (perhaps the 50 lbs I carry over theirs is one reason). When I'm slower, the cyclocomputer constantly berates me with its little arrow that points down when my average speed is down. When I'm faster... that little computer is my friend. When I have an off day, I look at my log that goes back a year -- those completed miles motivate.<br /><br />I've now completed just over 1000 miles since March.<br /><br />Hard to believe because more than a few times I wondered not how but if I would make it back home. I do remember that when I was 19 it was never a matter of if... funny how age creeps into one's confidence. My rides have gone beyond my neighborhood with loops just a little longer each time. While distance over 20 miles once seemed insurmountable, the miles now seem to pass a little easier. 32 on my own is now possible, 50 on my own perhaps soon.<br /><br />And as everyone with a hobby knows, one easily finds lots of online material and magazines to further the appetite for more. I know more about cogs, derailers, headsets and bike seats -- although no where near enough not to rely on a bike mechanic.<br /><br />What was once largely painful, is now fun and challenging -- but honestly... still painful. I've read that perhaps like rowing, competitive biking is a matter of who is willing to suffer more... uh, suffering hurts. And I'm guessing that there's a lot of suffering to get better. I don't want to race, but I do want to be competitive among those I ride alongside. There is nothing more disheartening than seeing others ride up a hill and "being dropped" to fend for yourself to the end of the ride. I've read that signing up for a ride motivates one to ride out of the garage early in the morning.<br /><br />So I've signed up. My name has been added to the form, been sent in and I'm committed.<br /><br />70 miles from Richmond to Yorktown in late August. Then another distance about the same in September (about a month later) and then in October the goal of 100 miles (I'm guessing about 6 hours on the bike -- which sounds <em>really</em> painful).<br /><br />Why? Maybe I'm racing against not just time but also age (I hear midlife crisis being uttered by some of you). Perhaps like golf, I'm competing against myself. I find it therapeutic to get caught in the rain as I did yesterday, enjoy being on a quiet road as the early morning sun rises ahead, laugh (and grimace) alongside others as we ride toward's the day's goal of speed or time, and wonder to myself what 100 miles will feel like.<br /><br />So here's to overcoming challenges. The Ride for Jim challenge on the 22nd of August will be the next one. I've got this yellow bracelet around my wrist reminding me that others have been challenged by much more serious challenges - fighting cancer. When the hill ahead looks insurmountable or the distance yet to go seems too long to overcome... I look down at my Livestrong bracelet. <br /><br />On August 22 I will ride to Yorktown and I will think of my own grandmother that I never met as she died of breast cancer decades before I had a chance to meet her.<br /><br />I will also be thinking of you: Kristin M, Tracey W, Jeanette C, Scott M, Will B, Cindy W., Jennifer H., and Barbara Clark... and hopefully more supporters as the ride draws nearer. On the Ride for Jim website you've shared who in honor of you've contributed. Names that I've taken with me on my rides too.<br /><br />Two weeks ago on an early morning ride I stopped at the bottom of hill for a drink of water. It was shortly before 7 am on a weekday morning. I had already ridden almost an hour with another to go. I was standing there on the side of the road, sweat running off the end of my nose thinking of those that had already sent in a contribution... perhaps they're not just spending their dollars on supporting cancer research I thought... but maybe they're also supporting my efforts that morning as I work toward meeting the 70 mile goal.<br /><br />It was a motivating moment that led to my fastest time yet.<br /><br />Thanks for your support everyone. I hope to share more as I try to make each of my "sponsors" proud of my achievement. Thanks for your belief in me and more importantly, thank you for spending your well-earned dollars toward supporting cancer research.<br /><br />Until next time, I'll be thinking of you when my legs scream at me to stop... to which I'll remember your commitment to my efforts. It really does have nothing to do with the bike.<br /><br />StevenSteven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-17556122993153054372010-07-07T21:06:00.003-04:002010-07-07T21:18:50.899-04:00Summer's HereFinally the year has ended and another summer is upon us.<br /><br />What other profession does one work with colleagues day in and day out... and then everyone goes their separate way? "I'll keep in touch" "Have a great summer!" "Call me next week after a few days have passed" are heard in the hallways as teachers frenetically pack their belongings and prepare to have their rooms checked so they might leave school for the last time... for a few months.<br /><br />I understand. Non-teachers are envious and even a bit hostile as they complain that teachers have their summers off. Thinking back... I was envious too before my first summer off.<br /><br />My rebuttal? I have none. I love summers spent with my children. If you've got issues with that... well then you've just got issues. I've learned that time is invaluable. We in the US culture haven't caught on to that one as a nation. I remember my German uncle sharing with me when I was a kid that he and his wife had run out of places to vacation. I know that Germans generally START their careers with six weeks of vacation not counting national holidays. I've seen the local bakery (in a small German town) post their vacation schedule on their front door so customers could expect their favorite store closed for two weeks in August -- haven't seen that one here in the states.<br /><br />Are there consequences? I bet that bosses everywhere have a few thoughts.<br /><br />For now, if you need me, I'll be the one at the pool watching my kids' swim lessons, at the grocery store, getting the car inspected, and taking kids for the check-ups. I suppose I'm getting back all that time I spent eating lunch in 10 minutes and not being available every workday for 6 1/2 hours. My turn.Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-66080927320541841942009-06-28T18:20:00.000-04:002009-06-28T18:20:18.294-04:00Classroom AnticsI had this parent once who was quick to criticize. And I was all too quick to give reason after reason in reply to his concerns. I should have known... nothing I could say would be enough or the right answer. It made for a very stressful few months in which I worried more about what he thought than about being myself in front of the classroom... which seems to be a relatively successful approach (here is where I should link: See His State Assessment Scores).<br /><br />Trying to explain what a teacher does in his classroom is close to impossible. There are too many variables at play. I only teach basic algebra, otherwise I might be able to come close to explaining the concept mathematically -- probably requires elements of calculus too... of which the mere mention brings beads of nervous sweat to my forehead.<br /><br />When I tell, or is it unload, the day's classroom antics to my wife she sometimes shares that she doesn't know whether she would want to be a 5th grader in my classroom. I think it's a nice way of saying that she does know -- she wants no part of having to sit in my class as a student.<br /><br />Not being the one in charge for over 180 days allows for someone else to quite easily do quite a bit of armchair judging. I readily admit to doing it when I watch other teachers' behavior... again, unfair. Why is it that parents are so quick to criticize (note that I didn't say question which I am most open to) when I'm more than certain they wouldn't do the same with their dentist, optometrist, lawyer?<br /><br /><br />So here's a couple of ideas that might prove useful in the classroom. Whether they prove to remind current teachers about what they already know or help a starting teacher find footing, or give a glimpse into what teachers do... I hope you'll think they're at the very least... thought provoking.<br /><br /><ul><li>Be real. Students have been sitting in front of teachers for some time. Perhaps in kindergarten the students love you because you're their kindergarten teacher but titles don't work for very much longer. Students know when you're being legitimate. As a colleague shares with his students: "Here's how to be a great teacher... care about your students... and don't fake it because it doesn't work."</li><br /><li>Understand that the ol' adage holds true -- you have to choose what "battles to fight." The German side of me wants to be in control of every aspect. I have learned that it is much more effective, and healthy for sanity, to take a more surgical approach.</li><br /><li>I utilize the Dr. Pappas Affect. I share this story at the beginning of every year. Dr. Pappas was a Political Science professor of mine at my alma mater. He was an institution whose class was suggested by many. So I registered and remember sitting in his classroom wondering what would happen next. Whether by design (my choice) or because "that's just the way he was" his classroom was a space where unpredictability occurred. He whistled upon his entrance, consistently reassured us all that there was no attendance policy and wondered out loud why students kept at it, sang ridiculous songs that seemed to have some type of relevance to course content but quite honestly was over my head, and would consistently take a break from discussing the likes of Machiavelli with more odd behavior. His classroom was always full even though role was never called. Lesson learned: predictability breeds discontent. Be a little unusual and so many other classroom problems dissipate.</li><br /><li>Be honest. Say you don't know when you don't. If the student's question will result in an answer they many not like... ask the student again if they are prepared for brutal honesty. This requires a relationship with the student to have been formed so the sting that might be felt will be offset by their knowing you care enough to be honest with them. If I can't be honest with students who I expect to be honest with me, then I need to be in another profession. Granted, I take into consideration that they are 5th graders. My honesty is always intended, and worded, to be helpful.</li><br /><li>Celebrate success. I have a Success Board where all A papers are stapled. Initially I think my students aren't sure that they'll ever get an A. They try to get me to put up their B's which I refuse -- B's are great... but shouldn't we strive for the best possible, OR let me say it a different way -- what inside a child dictates that they aren't capable? I'm a believer in their ability to accomplish whatever they set their mind towards doing. After a few weeks, my bulletin board has papers stapled upon previous weeks' papers. If classroom conversation ventures into the "I don't think I can do it" I point to the board from across the room. A classroom full of examples in which they CAN do it.... HAVE done it.</li><br /><li>Use technology. They love seeing a picture of themselves on the morning PowerPoint presentation, love the odd reference to your own childhood (I share my 5th grade class picture and ask them to guess which one is me). Kids love technology, it's their world. I think if you can make it function towards meeting your learning objectives... they'll squirm in their seats wanting to see what you'll do next.<br /></li><li>I allow fresh starts. Some teachers will read students' files to get a better understanding of their strengths and weaknesses before the first day's school bells ever ring. Instead I publicly announce to my students on the first day that I do no such thing unless warranted. I also don't seek prior teachers' thoughts on my incoming class. Allow me to explain why -- I want students to have a fresh start within my classroom's walls. If they had fantastic years in the past... I tell them I hope that will continue, and if they've had a poor showing, it is now their opportunity to make a change. Does this work? I've had some great successes in which students have a banner year within my classroom yet can also recall students in which there was no change from previous year's antics. Regardless, I stick to the premise that everyone is due an opportunity without preconceived notions.</li><br /><li>Be open to criticism. No, I'm not referring to one's supervisor but to one's students. I have the "parking lot" bulletin board in my room divided into four parts: positives / things you liked, things you would change, notes to me, and questions. So of course they like to share notes (it's amazing what they will tell you about what occurs in the bathroom or in the cafeteria) and things they would like to change. I hear all about what I did that they didn't like. It's an opportunity to teach the importance of sharing positives -- complimenting, doing something nice just because.<br /></li><li>If a student thinks I am being unfair, I am open to hearing their complaint if done respectfully. Early on we discuss how to respectfully comment when we feel like we've been treated unfairly. It's yet another skill worthy of developing in young people.<br /></li><li>Know what button to push -- this isn't intended negatively nor does the knowledge come the first day as I mention above. Sometimes a student needs a figurative push, sometimes they need their space. Sometimes they need to answer a difficult question, sometimes an easy one. Sometimes a quiet one-on-one conversation is best, other times a public word of encouragement or refocus is more effective. As I write this, I immediately recall my classroom management class many years ago. I don't know if my professor would like my approaches, but I will respond by sharing this. They don't teach you in "teacher school" how to motivate students -- whether toward academic success or excellent behavior. It's yet another skill that teachers have to develop. Taking into account their style and personality a teacher has to figure out what works for them. I should also mention this: the button to push changes from student to student, from day to day, from subject to subject, and sometimes... from hour to hour.<br /></li><li>Use "the look" or "the tone" sparingly because these tools don't work if you've worn them out.</li><br /><li>Raise the bar. Convince students that they <em>can</em> achieve success in the classroom. At the beginning of the year I ask students whether they want a fair & tough teacher or unfair & easy. They always choose the fair option although it comes with difficulty. After a few weeks I share with my students a "secret" -- my tests are tougher than the state assessment. This tough standard might not look as good on the report card initially but the thought processes involved equate to success in so many other ways.</li><br /><li>Stress Character. If students understand that your decisions regarding what you'll accept in the classroom are based on a core set of values, they will understand (whether they want to or not) where you'll draw the line in the sand.</li><br /><li>Others that come to mind: Whisper when you want to be heard -- students will wonder why you're whispering, repeat something only once -- I have difficulty with this one, allow for no hands to be raised while speaking -- it interrupts the speaker's thought process and there will be time for questions, allow a student to be the teacher -- students' word selection and the unusual nature of them being at the front of the room might just convey what you couldn't.</li></ul><p>Lastly, the longer I teach the more I realize how much I've been affected by my first year as a teacher. Depending on whether you were supported and had excellent mentors, or not, that year sets a precedence for your success and student expectations. I was very fortunate to have a team committed to helping me survive my first year... and want to return to do it all over again. </p><p>I wish all teachers had the same experience I did but worry that many didn't... perhaps this will be good material for the next blog.</p><p>But for the moment, would someone please point out the person that thinks all we do in elementary school is crafts. Or better yet, does the general public understand that academics is far from being a teacher's sole objective? </p>Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-5758619529481786422009-04-14T21:30:00.000-04:002009-04-14T21:34:56.560-04:00What ARE we teaching?They arrive at 9 a.m. and leave six and a half hours later. Instruction, conversation, art, worksheets, questions, quizzes, homework, assignment pads, tests... what did we accomplish?<br /><br />Sometimes we teachers drive home at night thinking... "great day! Yes."<br /><br />Then there are those other days. Every new teacher is certainly told about those every experienced teacher has had. There are days when it seems no matter what was attempted, the end of the day brought frustration. All the planning and forethought... all the ingenuity we hoped they'd experienced... all effort -- to no avail. Those are the days we go "well that didn't work... now what?"<br /><br />But I, a career switcher, know from first hand experience that other professions have their ups and downs too. No matter what the workplace may look like, sometimes one's drive home is happy... sometimes depressing. I think it's fair to say that the difficult days make teachers say... "why do this?"<br /><br /><p>So I had a student teacher a few months ago. She did a great job. Finished up her undergraduate experience in my class. What an ending it was for her. Watching from my desk and sitting on my hands, as they say, trying not to interrupt... I realized all over again -- teaching is tough. We are expected to do so many things well. </p><p>We plan outside of work hours. We grade then too. Teachers are asked to become experts in areas that they teach. In elementary school that's defined as language arts, science, social studies, and mathematics. If every student doesn't understand the concept, we're asked to remediate until they do -- regardless if the student even wants to understand. We need to both understand and identify learning disabilities. We are asked to differentiate instruction depending on an individual's strengths. And of course we need to be sure that everything that occurs in class ties to district goals. And there's lots more... but there's one important lesson worth noting more than others.</p><p>You know... they don't teach you how to motivate in teacher preparation courses.</p><p>They do mention that how your students do on the state assessments is how you're evaluated... where teacher programs fail is that those assessments don't have a check off box for the child to check off: "I didn't give it my all" or "I really don't like math so I don't care about my score" or "there are so many crazy things going on at home, I really couldn't concentrate on school". More on this one again.</p><p>Yes I know. Construction is tough. Accounting is tough. Firefighting is tough. Nursing is probably tough too. I suppose everyone will argue that they've decided on a difficult profession.</p><p>But I'm molding human beings here. I'm not selling widgets so determining success can't always be quantitative. Saving lives as a doctor or rescue worker certainly is important work -- rewarding too I'm sure. But for close to a year I not only meet the expectations set forth by the state, I try to also meet those of my parents, colleagues, administrators and... my students. It can be quite the tricky balancing act.</p><p>And there is no better feeling than when students return after continuing on to the next grade and they tell you how the zany things you did in class... actually made a difference. How my origami lesson that frustrated them so really showed them importance of details and perseverance. Or how a difficult subject was made easier because of something I said or did. Those are moments for another post.</p><p>In ending, I don't think a state assessment score really equates that I've been a successful teacher. Sure, seeing those pass advanced scores in print feels good. But after five years of this... I think that's just the beginning. What about the rest of the student?</p><p>Have I successfully encouraged them to go beyond what they thought possible?</p><p>Teaching is like overseeing 24 little nations (the current number in my class). Sometimes they get along, sometimes they argue and want nothing to do with one another. Sometimes they just want to be acknowledged. And each day is different.</p><p>I hope that when students leave my class after a year. They will remember me as someone who cared enough to be honest. Who was able to challenge them and they in turn met the challenge. Most of all, I hope I taught them that success is not determined by the degree of genius within... it is in fact determined by persistence and a desire to accomplish what they desire.</p><p>I call it a life lesson. Something that I think we definitely ought to be teaching. Can we please assess that too? Now how do they put that on a multiple choice form?</p>Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-38114885456987613992009-04-08T07:36:00.006-04:002009-04-08T08:52:35.822-04:00Is Being a Food Snob A Bad Thing?I enjoy a good meal.<br /><br />I think there should be craft invested in my consumption. I think there's value in understanding cheeses which I still don't. I think culinary school are important. I think an innovative chef ought to be rewarded financially. I think about what the White House chefs must have to create for midnight presidential hunger pains. I'm impressed by our newly opened Fresh Market grocery store and the way their bakery selections have an obscene variety of goodies.<br /><br />I can even appreciate a deep fryer, however I think both doctors and gastric connoisseurs would agree that it should be used carefully. Of course I tend to think more about the food experts advice than the medical one. <br /><br />But the timer beeping at the local hamburger joint does not make my mouth water and its attendant rushing to raise the fries from the fat does instill my love for what's dripping with fat.<br /><br />Perhaps it's because of my father's genes which possess him to think of the evening meal upon waking in the morning. Apparently he stares at the ceiling thinking not of work or difficult world issues unresolved, but of what combination of meats, vegetables and starches would be perfect to end that day's events. This skill admittedly, I am far from perfecting.<br /><br />Or maybe because my mother cooks without a measuring cup. She bakes without one as well. I've seen the infamous Paula Deene give fellow cooking experts hell about not using measuring spoons and cups. My mother does not follow Paula's advice. Instead I have seen her apply seemingly random dashes, pours and combinations to create consistent yummy dishes. I am not so gifted. I do however tell her that this lack of skill is entirely her fault as childhood memories do not include much, actually any, cooking as a youngster.<br /><br />Despite my lack of hands on training, I've managed to move on with occasional success.<br /><br />I am happy to report that I have made many a chocolate chip pancake for both college roommates and my children. Both my roommates gained weight while I worked that pistachio enameled stove. And I am happy that they gained weight... forgive me but it still sounds like success.<br /><br />Speaking of college, a favorite memory is hosting a party at my apartment that did not, solely, center on debauchery... but on creating a jambalaya so spicy that the first few seconds of consumption pleased my guests until the fire within the dish surfaced a full 5 seconds later. I still smile remembering their rush to extinguish the flames in their mouths. I am still proud of that multiple pepper combination I created like an experiment in a separate bowl. I will add that I underestimated how quickly that keg of beer was consumed. I also remember that everyone in the townhouse seemed happy. First "dinner party" - success.<br /><br />I've known people unfamiliar with foods not labeled on an overhead menu. Those golden arches pass my by without a moment's hesitation. I don't appreciate the fast in food.<br /><br />I do appreciate the effort spent on each item on my plate however I am not referring to the way a hamburger is expertly wrapped in milliseconds by a teenager in the food prep and wrap station. while I wait in line like a cow in the milking barn. I dislike those lines. Now I understand the necessity of waiting and the virtue of patience. I question the worth of patience in this situation.<br /><br />I prefer instead to wait in line at the butcher's shop in a sleepy little German town. From my occasional trips to the home of my ancestor's I appreciate the banter between the housewife and the butcher. Now is the conversation the wife's attempt at getting a better cut of beef and the butcher's opportunity to flirt I know not... but I appreciate it enough to eavesdrop from the corner. In my desire to take in the atmosphere I often forget to make the vital decision about cold cuts or cuts of pork... I try to return to looking at the selection under glass. Hmmm... maybe a smoked sausage link that I can nibble on while I continue to the next merchant.<br /><br />All this brings me to wondering whether appreciating a good, dare I say small portioned, meal outweighs one in which endless amounts are available at the local buffet. I completely understand that <em>good</em> is defined subjectively thereby the issue.<br /><br />For some it is defined by the most available for the least purchase price. For others it isn't so much the smallest portion for the highest price but appreciating each bite consumed. Is this the food snob I have become?<br /><br />I know the latter sounds healthier and I might even pull out the healthy card in my defense.<br /><br />But there's this meal I'm thinking of now. A mere two hours after I've risen from bed while I sit here typing with a steaming cup of coffee beside me.<br /><br />I've introduced to my household a dish referred lovingly as Moco Loco -- another college memory. Macaroni served alongside sticky rice which is covered by a beef patty hidden under a fried egg submerged under brown gravy. Oh, and perhaps a large slice of New York cheesecake.<br /><br />Now wouldn't you also like a "healthy" portion?Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-42695129649286591592008-11-01T10:19:00.006-04:002008-11-02T12:31:03.516-05:00Let Sleeping Giants Lie They Warn"Sleeping in" is easily done as a child. Sleeping in is tolerated by most as we entered our pre-teen years. As a young adult entering the responsibilities of the working world, you can enjoy sleeping off the previous night's rowdiness with no guilt and comforted by the thought that you deserve the time under the sheets. You partied hard, as we used to say, and recovery time is essential. Waking up shortly before noon is ok, the norm even among our peers.<br /><br />And then parenthood arrives.<br /><br />Everyone is overjoyed by your new arrival -- as they should be. My wife put in some serious time, effort and illness into the production. I as the father spent serious time slaving away before the stove making the infamous Saucy Meatball recipe in hopes of fulfilling my wife's cravings. Yes, I liked them too... but maybe not every week, every Thursday in fact, and sometimes twice a week. BUT... no complaining is allowed, in all sincerity, because I did little of the human producing. My crucial responsibility in the production of this little person long since passed.<br /><br />And when my son and later daughter arrived, there was much to celebrate. They were cute. They fit into the crook of my arm and I immediately realized the degree of dependence they had on me. They even smelled good. And the poop was amazing... at first. My first days of parenthood were entirely fueled by adrenaline. And then it hit me.<br /><br />I may never get enough sleep... <em>ever</em> again.<br /><br />With the passing of time I understand that this thinking was a bit illogical. But not those first few months... the fear was real. I was worried.<br /><br />Every two hours there would be rumblings in our home. There was feeding, rocking, diaper changing, walking, refrigerator opening, creaks from the wooden floors and stairway, raising up from the warm bed and returning to it with cold feet and tired eyes. The newness of parenthood had not yet passed.<br /><br />We had been reminded constantly of sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS) during pre-birth classes, and night-time was not the relaxing time it once was. We were very aware that the "sleepy time" hours were not without danger. We even bought the sensor that reassuring ticked at regular intervals confirming that his heart was beating -- another new sound.<br /><br />Two more hours... just two more hours of sleep... please God. The promises of doing all good, forever... were made, and not silently in prayer, but out loud... for all to hear.<br /><br />It was a scary time. One day I walked into my good friend's office and a look of worry crossed his face. "Are you ok? You look like hell." He was right. I, however, was so tired that I failed to see the sickly image looking back at me from the mirror in the morning. Pale and haggard. I cared little about image, little about food and even less about what used to bring joy to my pre-parenthood life. I cared only about my bed and the time I would be allowed to be with it... in it.<br /><br />I had in fact been beaten by this tiny human. He had arrived a mere weeks prior. And he knew only four things -- hunger, wet diapers, being tired, and an odd sensation that scared him -- burps. Should one of these occur he made it known to all, at any time. My son had complete control over two adults. He now owned our time and determined our sanity. We had no power. Would this go on till he turned 18?<br /><br />In our wisdom we placed his crib in the next room to our bedroom. Before you think us uncaring, the bassinet did stay in our room for what we decided upon to be adequate time -- four weeks. In celebration we then placed his little body in the nursery so that sleep might return in larger concurrent increments for us all. What novices we were.<br /><br />We did all you would expect from new parents. His nursery had furry fish, stars and even a large purple moon hanging from the ceiling. There were protective, soft, adorable borders on the interior of his crib. There were enough burp cloths and blankets to keep our washing machine busy. The walls were painted colors found only in nurseries -- vivid blue and yellow. There was a changing table for all the essentials needed at any hour -- day or night.<br /><br />We were unsuccessful.<br /><br />I heard him move at night. I heard this sound through the wall. I heard this sound in the midst of slumber. There would not be sleep. And then it happened. I remember like it was last night.<br /><br />He learned to roll over. This reassured us because now maybe if there was a breathing problem, he could move himself to correct the problem. Too much heavy sleepwear because of anxious parents? Blanket covering his face during the night? He could fix it himself now. Ahhh... we could relax. Another novice move.<br /><br />The piercing alarm shattered the still night... the alarm that warned that his heart had stopped... which of course it hadn't. In the process of rolling over, the sensor beneath the mattress no longer detected a heartbeat. This fact did <em>not</em> register as an option.<br /><br />I clearly remember launching myself from sleep and across the bed. Over my groggy wife. Like Bo Duke crossing the hood of The General in the television series Dukes of Hazzard. But without the fun and adventure.<br /><br />Seven years later coupled with a daughter of three years, that fear of no sleep has somewhat subsided. Well to be honest, the fear still resides deep within me but I now know that there may indeed be a time when I will awake comforted. Not from the cry of the alarm clock, but I will greet the world rested and anxious to start the day -- writing this sounds like a joke told to the uninformed.<br /><br />And so I share with friends and others... I can't wait till they want to sleep in. I will be the parent that we all remember. The one that clapped their hands as they woke us up on weekend mornings to rake the leaves. Or like my father who was determined to "warm up" the chainsaw at an early 7 a.m. and then ask me to help... no, <em>tell</em> me to get up and help him stack firewood. I think I finally understand.<br /><br />Revenge is sweet.<br /><br />I will bide my time and wait another seven years for my teenage children to desire sleep. I will wait patiently. And when that time comes... I am told by those that have already endured teenage children... let them sleep. I'm guessing that they may be right as I will surely be sleeping too.<br /><br />Except now I can't sleep in even when my children decide to do so. Please God... just two more hours...Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-88851854253810184042008-10-25T17:19:00.008-04:002008-10-25T18:53:26.442-04:00Teaching Today<div align="left">So while I'm still new at the blog world and finding others' interests that are similar to my own... it's reassuring to already read other teachers' posts about the misconception of today's teaching profession. Especially when they attempt to "tell it like it is."</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I often tell others that unless one is married to, dating a... or a parent of... a teacher, people just don't understand the challenges of the profession. In fact after teaching over six years it has been my experience that most don't understand the difficulties facing the classroom teacher in a public school setting.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I think most recall their own experience in the classroom. Those experiences we all remember from watching the teacher over the heads of those sitting in front of us. Watching the teacher's reactions. Critiquing the teacher. Wishing we were the teacher. Thinking, of course, that we could do better than the teacher.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">And so perhaps as observers of the profession... many think that the profession has every benefit ever known to a prospective employee. You get to teach what excites you, you get summers off, students want to do well. Allow me, for a small moment, to dispel some of these urban myths.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">No we do not get to decide what to teach. Perhaps many remember a favorite teacher teaching us more about their favorite pastime of hunting than Earth Science. We remember the antics of the odd faculty member known throughout the halls of high school. Yes, there were teachers we loved and hated with equal passion - no doubt that students still do. But what do <em>you</em> remember about elementary school?</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I remember the love note I sent across the room labeled "do you like me, check here for yes and here for no". I remember that the playground was so far away from the school and often the dismissal bell would scare us into thinking that the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">buses</span> would leave us behind. I remember the squirrels racing across the branches outside the classroom windows. I remember art class and tie-dying white t-shirts. And yes, referencing academics, I do remember being nervous when the report cards were handed out. What a different time that was... how much more students are required to know now.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I tell the parents during Back to School night: students have to now know an amazing amount of information and then relate it all on one day... on one test... regardless if they are having a good or bad day. Imagine being given a writing prompt and then having all day to write... regardless of whether you have a headache, have writer's block, or can't relate to the prompt. Students today have enormous challenges set before them at school.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Teachers now don't focus their entire instruction on a loved subject. In Virginia, the Commonwealth decides what will be taught during what year. They outline by date or by quarter. They outline using specific numbers and letters so that teachers can reference these when <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">necessary</span>. Fact... teachers don't get to decide what to teach. We may or may not love the specifics of instructional objectives to be met... however we DO love it when students understand what they first experienced as difficult. Every students knows it when the teacher enjoys being the classroom with the teacher... we remember don't we?</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">And the students that annoyed us as students don't make it easy for the teacher either. Of course I will also add that my favorite memories of years past are the students that were difficult to teach initially, and then by year's end... had transformed into young men and women wanting to succeed and prove to others that no challenge was too difficult. They persevered... a lesson that I try to consistently reinforce.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Yes, we have to do more than teach. In fact if we only had to teach the subjects well... teaching really would be easy. It's all the other factors. Never mind that state standards and the assessments that occur at year's end ignore the fact that a student may not want to do well, teachers have to overcome not just a disability or an academic challenge a student might have... they have to succeed regardless of a students negative and sometimes debilitating experience outside the school. (MUCH more on this later).</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Summers do give us an opportunity to remove ourselves from the classroom for a few weeks. Those that don't teach summer school, are taking summer classes themselves - professional development is constant. Or perhaps others are working their other job. Teacher pay scales are public knowledge... take a look. We didn't become teachers for the paycheck but we still have to pay the bills. It will be interesting to see what occurs when school calendars are year-round... allowing for a few weeks between quarters. I agree, the summers are certainly captivating... yet if the time spent planning outside of school during the academic year were counted... I, like most teachers, are due some more "comp" time. As an example, my wife and family will attest to the fact that during my entire first year teaching... I spent each and every Sunday planning for the coming week. And while a teacher's first year in the classroom is, well... horrific due to the fact that one is both learning the curriculum, figuring out how to teach the curriculum, and also keeping up with all the other demands of the classroom. I know that good teachers keep learning themselves... and using the summers to make the next school year better than the last... making the next year even more <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">impactful</span>.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">So enough of the rambling. My colleagues and I talk for hours about our profession's challenges and share stories when we prove successful in our interactions with our students. I heard it told to me once that the profession is an honorable one... I agree. I just wish more of society would agree and understand what a teacher's day entails. I assure you, the front of the room is not quite the easy endeavor we might have thought it was when we were in grade school.</div>Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-16038907981886115942008-10-25T10:18:00.006-04:002008-10-25T10:55:59.029-04:00Parenthood - Status as of October 2008After being a parent for a time that seems hard to imagine... has it been over six years already, what did we do before children. I vaguely remember long moments on the sofa, watching whatever came on to the television... we were in fact led by those that schedule what will show up on the tube. I suppose that was before programmable television yet also during the amazing time of video cassette recorders. Now my time is spent between doing the essentials required by home and the desires of my children.<br /><br />"I want... I need... Daddy can I PLEASE...."<br /><br />Yes, we wanted them. We dreamed about them. We hoped that we would one day have them.<br /><br />We wondered about children. What type of parents we would be. Would I make the right decision about how tough of a parent to be. What would "I love you" sound like from their mouths. And then they arrived. Luckily one at a time because if I were John and my wife was Kate... and we had a tv show about having eight children... I don't know. Would I be as sane as they seem to be on their weekly show. I suppose there has to be editing. Wonder what they take out?<br /><br />Yelling, screaming, arguing, refereeing on who did what and coming up with a solution. Yes... sounds like my home too. But I've been blessed with two. Eight seems like an opportunity to quickly lose hair and begin the wrinkling process earlier than necessary. So far, ok on those fronts in my household. I'll try to remember to check on those issues as each year passes... if I can remember to stop long enough to check again. Currently I'm telling my daughter, for instance, to not climb on me my while I type, while I also tell my son to put socks on his feet to keep the cold floor from influencing his immune system.<br /><br />Ahh... I remember the moments of learning about how to put the diaper on correctly while swirling feet circle much too close to my face. Thank goodness that pins are only used as a choice nowadays to attach panels of cloth around a moving little person... I prefer the reattachable stickies. I still prefer them... even though the diaper era in this house has passed...<br /><br />THANK you GOD, HE above, the SPIRITS that have moved us to demand to our children that the potty is not to be feared but accepted for the good that it does. Perhaps if my son and daughter had been pricked by diaper pins, I would have become more patient. Or perhaps I would have become more neurotic than I am currently.<br /><br />At this point, children still seem like a blessing. Of course they are! Saying otherwise would seem un-natural. But should you run into a parent, who has been a parent longer than a month, and he / she tells you that parenthood comes without frustration or concerns... is missing the fact that being a parent makes one immediately vulnerable. <br /><br />No longer can one be isolated from the zaniness of the world we live within, for now one has to be concerned with how to raise a little person in today's world. A world spinning toward chaos as some attempt to pull away toward simplicity while the rest fear jumping off any venture that moves them forward.<br /><br />Having children, I suppose is having committed to being part of the future. Our legacy lives within them and the lives they will lead. What our children will pursue professonally seems far removed from today's activities... perhaps as much as having a child did not so long ago.<br /><br />There is no going back for a redo with raising children. I make mistakes that I hope my children will better understand as they grow older. I think though that overall, my wife and I are doing a good job. The basics are covered: i.e.: roof, food, clothes, safety. The lessons of character regarding being sincere and honest have taken hold in them... another success. I have been told if my children have the characteristics of what makes a good person impeded within their psyche at a young age... the rest will turn out ok. I will trust that as a good direction to proceed.<br /><br />I'm sure that as time continues... the challenges will change. Yes, we figured out how to do the diaper change in minimal time, even with the lights off at an ungodly hour in the morning. Of course now that we've figured out that overwhelming challenge as it seemed in the "how to change your child" class, that era has passed and we've moved on to Cub Scouts, dolls, millions (yes, number is verified) of pieces that move away from designated play area to the rest of our home. This migration scares me because regardless of my repeated attempts... the migration will not be stopped.<br /><br />Check back soon for more ramblings on parenthood and the joys found within. Joys such as the unprompted hugs, the "I love you's" and the open arm embraces when they're picked up at the end of the workday. And while raising children certainly isn't cheap, they're right when they say those moments are priceless.Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168869897150790262.post-66414609288129389532008-10-25T10:09:00.000-04:002008-10-25T10:11:32.724-04:00First TimeAnd so the story begins. After finally getting a facebook site to connect with friends, perhaps it's time to join so many others and create a voice on the web. Perhaps this will even turn into bigger things... like people actually logging in and seeing what I have to say. Hard to imagine. Perhaps I will begin with a few comments from the past to friends.Steven B. Kaminskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05186740144743728584noreply@blogger.com0