Highly committed runners have much higher levels of narcissism than less committed ones. That's what I learned from Jason Karp who wrote The Inner Runner. He is right that running can sometimes be an experience of egoism.
Am I narcissistic? Well, I don't know. It's hard to say but there's a good chance that I am.
If there is one thing I know about my addiction with runner's narcissism more than a VO2 max number, it is that I joined Strava soon after my friend's recommendation and run with this digital app eagerly. Why am I drawn to this new toy? Most runners would agree with me that running lifts our spirits. Even more so, when we can upload a run on social media, being recognized by dopamine rush of receiving "likes."
Hold your horses - there is a lot more. Instead of "like" (as what you find in Facebook), Strava's currency of approval is called "kudo" - a surefire way to give us feelings of grandiosity. Not only does running give pleasure in the moment but also reward after an upload, which down the road will itself lead to enviable kudos.
Miles after miles, kudos after kudos, we all narcissists should love it. At least to me.
Saturday, September 22, 2018
Sunday, September 2, 2018
Bryson
I can't imagine an author who writes better memoir than Bill Bryson.
I learnt so many and laughed so much when I read his story of being a newspaper boy at the age of eleven. That's tough, think about it, to deliver the afternoon papers six days a week, and then get up on Sundays before dawn and deliver the Sunday papers too. The reason, Bill Bryson writes, is to allow the regular morning paperboys enjoy a day off each week.
All this was fine - or at least fine enough - so long as Bill Bryson didn't mix up the route. Anyway, that isn't the worst. Paperboys were supposed to collect the subscription money. That, by itself, wasn't too risky when they were delivering papers to rich people. The real danger came from thousands of dogs in 1950s, inhabiting every property - big dogs, grumpy dogs, stupid dogs, tiny nippy irritating little dogs, dogs that wanted to smell you, dogs that barked at everything that moved. And then there was Dewey, a black Labrador which eventually bit him hard. That was a big bite that never earned Bill Bryson an apology. To that end, he decided to stick a secret booger in that family's paper every day.
Whatever topic Bryson writes, he recounts his story in such a funny and detailed manner that is going to give you behind-the-scenes fact of a crazy kid. And he has a perfect memory, say, to recollect how his father spent at least thirty minutes to prepare the legendary snacks at night. That means Ritz crackers, a large jar of mustard, wheat germ, radishes, ten Hydrox cookies, an enormous bowl of chocolate ice cream, several slices of luncheon meat, freshly washed lettuce, Cheez Whiz, peanut butter, peanut brittle, a hard-boiled egg or two, a small bowl of nuts, watermelon in season, possibly a banana. The list is comprehensive. It really is.
Why Bryson can remember so many details is a bit of puzzle. I now know that I'd better jot down everything in case I'm going to follow the footsteps of Bill Bryson. And so here it goes - for the ingredients my daughter and her buddy used for homemade slime today - baking soda, school glue, cornstarch, contact lens solution, watercolour paint.
I learnt so many and laughed so much when I read his story of being a newspaper boy at the age of eleven. That's tough, think about it, to deliver the afternoon papers six days a week, and then get up on Sundays before dawn and deliver the Sunday papers too. The reason, Bill Bryson writes, is to allow the regular morning paperboys enjoy a day off each week.
All this was fine - or at least fine enough - so long as Bill Bryson didn't mix up the route. Anyway, that isn't the worst. Paperboys were supposed to collect the subscription money. That, by itself, wasn't too risky when they were delivering papers to rich people. The real danger came from thousands of dogs in 1950s, inhabiting every property - big dogs, grumpy dogs, stupid dogs, tiny nippy irritating little dogs, dogs that wanted to smell you, dogs that barked at everything that moved. And then there was Dewey, a black Labrador which eventually bit him hard. That was a big bite that never earned Bill Bryson an apology. To that end, he decided to stick a secret booger in that family's paper every day.
Whatever topic Bryson writes, he recounts his story in such a funny and detailed manner that is going to give you behind-the-scenes fact of a crazy kid. And he has a perfect memory, say, to recollect how his father spent at least thirty minutes to prepare the legendary snacks at night. That means Ritz crackers, a large jar of mustard, wheat germ, radishes, ten Hydrox cookies, an enormous bowl of chocolate ice cream, several slices of luncheon meat, freshly washed lettuce, Cheez Whiz, peanut butter, peanut brittle, a hard-boiled egg or two, a small bowl of nuts, watermelon in season, possibly a banana. The list is comprehensive. It really is.
Why Bryson can remember so many details is a bit of puzzle. I now know that I'd better jot down everything in case I'm going to follow the footsteps of Bill Bryson. And so here it goes - for the ingredients my daughter and her buddy used for homemade slime today - baking soda, school glue, cornstarch, contact lens solution, watercolour paint.
Saturday, September 1, 2018
Thief
Every once in a while, I borrowed books with not-so-childish topics and read together with my daughter. Bereavement, refugees, divorce, whatever.
I know: that makes me sound like such a defensive pessimist. Or Charlie Brown. But hear me out.
The truth is, there are good lessons to learn from those tender story books written for children. My pick tonight is a story of daddy struggling with depression: The Colour Thief. One day, a thief stole all colours away. One by one, the colours were gone: the sky turned grey, the clouds frowned, the sun was sulking, or so it seemed. And on that sobering note, if the dad went out, the lamp posts would laugh at him or the streets would call him names.
Page by page, we saw the colours disappearing into dark shadows. An abyss. We got chance to talk about how depression can change us, and how we can change the depression. Fortunately, we're learning the life lessons from a picture book, and not from our real life.
Page by page, we saw the colours disappearing into dark shadows. An abyss. We got chance to talk about how depression can change us, and how we can change the depression. Fortunately, we're learning the life lessons from a picture book, and not from our real life.
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