Running with my coach

He did it f*(&n again.  He didn't get up in the morning to go for a jog.  Did I mention it was "again"?  I was really irritated last time because I woke up, and he didn't for our run.  And then - I couldn't go back to sleep.

Ok - I can't get too mad at him because I left my phone in the car too.  Thus, I didn't hear my alarm.  My phone is becoming the new sports utility tool, quickly surpassing the functionality of the Swiss army knife.  What would I do without?

And because I didn't have my phone, I slept in too.  See:this time I can't be too mad at him.

I knew this would happen again too.  At some point, you realize that people are a product of habit.  And you learn to expect that they will disappoint you. 

I asked a friend - what should I do if he flakes out again on the morning run. 

He said, "You go to his house and get him.  He lives in the same city, right?"

"Right.  But, it's for his benefit.  Not mine."

"Well - that's why the best personal trainers get paid the big bucks.  They come to you."

I thought to myself, I'm not the best personal trainer, nor do I want to be.

But I wanted my run.  I have to lose 5 pounds of fat.  I drove my Z3 down north, north through the nice streets and the barillos.  I parked it near his house.  I knocked on the door.  His parents saw me.  They greeted me. 

I told them, "I came for your son.  He has to come for his run."

His father said, "I see.  I'll go wake him up."

My coach came out wearing basketball shorts.  I told him, "Get ready.  We're going for a run."

"Ok," he said.  "Let me take a shower first."

We went for our usual cross country run of a few miles, mostly uphill, outside of the city.  I didn't really feel like running either.  But it was something that I had to do.  And that was what I was explaining to my coach.  "Motivation is way overrated.  It doesn't help you when you need to do something but you have to do it.  You just do it."

I was proud of him though because he said something after our run.  He said, "You know, it was getting hard for me psychologically."

"What do you mean?"

"When it gets hard I kept looking at the ground.  And my head tells me I'm going to die."

And that's when I had some compassion.  It's been a number of years since I felt that way.  So, I knew he was really pushing himself harder than even I was.  I said, "You know.  Don't tell yourself you'll finish.  Just tell yourself, go one more step.  And keep telling yourself - it's just another step."

He said, "I did."

I said, "And it works."  That's when I realized the Korean proverb, even a journey of a 1000 li starts with a step.

Afterwards, we went to the Farmer's Market, and we sampled the fresh and bright fruits.  They were so brilliant in color, they reminded me of large gems.  There were ruby strawberries, amber oranges, garnet blood oranges, and sapphire blueberries.  Everything tasted so sweet, especially after our run.

We were an odd couple, and two guys usually don't go together to the farmer's market to buy fresh fruits.  But - there's a huge problem in this country - fresh fruits and vegetables have been relegated to the elite because of their price.  Most guys eat terrible fries and greasy burgers - which both are subsidized in some form by the US government - aka our tax money.   So, that's why two guys don't usually go to the farmer's market.

After, we went and drove to Rosemead - the new Chinatown of the Los Angeles area.  We ate Uigher food, food from the very far West of China - where the old Turks lived.  We had lamb skewers that were spicy.  Lamb soup with hand made pasta and hand cut noodles.  We talked about this and that and that and this and the day just passed.

I told him, "This is good.  This is the first time you ran three times in a week." 

I guess, I am a well paid personal trainer, even though he's formally my boxing coach.  I get paid back with rich experiences.  Nothing quite beats a day of running up hills, eating fresh fruits at the farmer's market, and ending it with Turkish-Chinese food. 

Now, I'm ending the night blogging, drinking tea, and reading an awesome book on journalism.  It's made think: Where should I go next to get some more perspective?  After all, that's what living life is about: getting more perspective.

On Change

I wanted to remind my readers if they had any New Years Resolutions this year.  Since one season has passed, perhaps, if you had any resolutions, it's a good time to visit them now.  Remember, back in Jan. I made some resolutions.  Here's what they were.

Here's the grades I give myself.

1) I'd like to be better at emotional mastery.  B+  (Better than expected.  Lifelong practice.)

2) I'd like to become a better cook. C+ (Could use a lot more improvement.)

3) I'd to become a better writer.  B+ (Haven't done enough practice, but after this month I might get better.)

4) I'd like to be a better fighter.  A+ (Made lots of improvements.)

5) I'd like to b a kinder person.  A- (Definitely noticed a change in my heart towards the poor.)

6) I'd like to go at least 2  and at most 3 destinations that expand my knowledge of this world.  F (I went to Santa Barbara, and I haven't made any plans to go elsewhere.) 

7) And linked back to 6, I'd like to go on another treasure hunt!  This time, I'm looking for ultimate stories and recipes  N/A (I don't need this to be done right now.)

In general, I feel like I'm a different person than I was when I landed in my purgatorial world.  So, that's good.  I definitely have had a shift in who I am, the skills I've been learning, and the person I've been becoming.  

I'm also proud to say that I've been doing a lot more pleasure reading, a pastime that I shamefully made no time for during law school.

Anyone who likes reading and is interested in the topic of change have to read the following books and letter:

1.  The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg.  I like this book because Duhigg really provides a map of how people change.  He provides compelling and powerful illustrations of people who were thought hopeless that learned to become a new person.  For instance, how the child of heroine addicts learns to struggle through a series of hopeless jobs to make it as a Starbucks manager.  I think the cherries and sprinkles on this book is the tons and tons of research Duhigg compiled and how he managed to present it for the lay person.

2.  The Brain that Changes Itself by Norm Doidge.  This book is impressive because it takes its readers through the neural view of how the brain actually changes.  Did you know that experts on any subject draw on long term memory while non-experts do not?  It explains how sadomasochism is a neurally learned behavior and also how it can be unwired in the brain.  Again, like Duhigg's book, Doidge does a tremendous amount of research to explain and show that change is possible.

3.  The Solo Partner by Phil Deluca.  This book is not very well known and has had few readers.  Here's why: the main thesis states that one person can fix a dying marriage.  Yes, one person alone.  Not two.  Just one.  He does make a caveat that the book is not for marriages where the husband is physically abusive.  But other than that, Deluca draws on his history of practical experience and what he's seen is necessary to save a marriage.  Why would a single person be interested in a book about one person saving a marriage?  Believe it or not, the insights in this book has been helpful in me restoring my relationship with my father, mother, and brother.  Here's one key factor one needs to use this strategy: perserverance.

4.  How to Help People Change by Jay Adams.  This is perhaps the most practical book I've ever seen on counseling people to change.  The paradigm of this book is controversial at the very least.  Adams doesn't believe that people are born with mental disease.  Instead, he believes (as the first two books touch on) that mental disease is often a product of abuse by others and thoughts, patterns, and behaviors of the one thought to have such a disease.  Doidge's book would support this premise as he does show that people's thoughts, behaviors and actions actually can rewire the brain to become ill.  In any instance, if thoughts, behaviors, and patterns are responsible for illness, this book advocates that for people to change - their root values, thoughts, and behaviors first need to change and over time, so does their lives.

5.  2 Corinthians.  One of my favorite verses in the epistle states that " . . . he is a new creation.  The old has gone the new has come."  I originally wanted to put the Bible as a book here, but I admit, there are 66 books and that's not specific enough.  So, I chose the second epistle the Apostle wrote to the church in Corinth.  The overarching theme of the letter is that for people to change - that the old must go, but a new value, a new pattern must displace and root itself in a person.  

I grew up with a mother who was influenced by Korean Shamanism and Buddhism.  I came into a Christian faith in high school.  Therefore, I probably grew up understanding the fusion of these worldviews.  One of the primary differences between the Eastern religions and the "Western" Christian religion is that the prior emphasizes emptying of self.  The Christian one stresses the emptying of self, but then adds that there needs to be an addition or a filling to take the place of what has been emptied.  In essence, the self must be displaced instead of emptied. 

And with that interesting thought, I hope my reading list and thoughts on change also provoke you to think about the topic.

PS: I'll try to post more regularly.  

A Road Trip for Boxers

I took my coach and my boxing kid on a road trip to Santa Barbara for the kid's birthday.  My kid's never seen the ocean, even though he's lived in Los Angeles County.  We went for two days, one night.  We got to stay at the luxurious Hilton, compliments from them from all of my travels.  We had an ocean front view, and because I was a gold member, they upgraded our stay.  Below is the view of where we stayed. 

 The point of this blog post to my reader is that all of us need to get away sometimes and expand our horizons.  For the two boxers, from the inner city, it was a time for them to get perspective.  For me, Santa Barbara is not exotic.  But for them - it was another world.  So much so, that after we returned, my kid said I gotta get out of Baldwin Park.  When was the last time you challenged yourself and went somewhere so exotic?

For me though, I suppose it was a new experience.  For loyal readers of my blog, you'll know that I like trail blazing.  I cut my own path independently.  It was a responsibility to plan a trip for others and make sure that the people on my team enjoyed it.

On day one, we went to the Danish town of Solvang and ate a hearty breakfast of fresh Danish pancakes, wine tasting in Los Olivos, gyming and spa-ing at the four star hotel, and ate dinner at an Italian restaurant on State Street (to celebrate the kid's birthday).

On day two, I made the guys wake up and do a 3 mile beach run.  It was my favorite part of the trip.  The sea mist rolled in.  The rhythmic running forced my mind slipped into a zen state.  I loved hearing the ocean roar while running.  I even saw a Mermaid's Purse, which is a shark egg.  It has to be lucky because it's rare to see.  When I ran back to find it though, I found out the Pacific Ocean grabbed it back.  We then went on a hike.  Picture above.

We ended the trip eating fish and chips on the pier.  Below is me having a picture with a retired couple, whose dream is to have a mobile cafe.  I respect those who follow their dreams; so, I had to take a picture with them.  I had a cigar when I saw them.  I realized later, I probably should have handed it to one of the boxers while the picture was taken.  But I had to take this pic.  Until next time.

Spring Comes In My Purgatory Day

In my purgatory, somewhere in a place between Heaven and Hell, in the San Gabriel Valley, spring comes and with it, a renewed sense of hope.  The light drives out the darkness.  The silver sunshine thaws out the snow capped San Gabriel Mountains, and I'm reminded that life overcomes death.

When I was thrown into this world, my hometown, the place where I grew up, the place where I belonged, the space I found to be a hell hole, a destitute place of isolation and hopelessness, I never expected that in God's darkest spaces: hope persists.  I haven't written much in my blog not because much hasn't been happening, actually quite the opposite, much has been happening.  Thus, I haven't found the time to sit down and write.  Furthermore, I'm not sure what I can safely share with my readers here without violating the confidences of my friends.  I've picked some stories to give you a glimpse of what I've been seeing and living through.

It started with the kid - my kid - the one I met in boxing.  A sixteen year old - ex-delinquent.  He asked me - not in these words - but through the message that kids know how to express - if I could help him out of the abysmal life he lived.  For reasons I cannot state here, I had but a few seconds to make a decision.  In life, these are the times that make and break us.  These are the times that we will look upon with regret or relief.  I made the instant decision, "Alright.  I'll help you, but there has to be rules . . . "

And it started.  Bruce Wayne got Tim Drake.  Jean Valjean got Cosette.  I get the boxing kid.  There were many things I needed to sort out with his life.  There were many times I wanted to throw in the towel with him.  But, his constant progress; it showed.  He was getting better: more disciplined, more focused, and more trustworthy.  Now, these changes didn't happen overnight.  It took a lot of time on my part and his.  I also had many headaches and at times, a few shots of whiskey.  Kids - they really know how to push you over the edge and then some.

But the changes - they were obvious and noticeable.  The coaches were impressed.  His family wondered what was happening.  They met me and couldn't believe he found someone of my standing.  It was then - I found that other people in that gym started trying to get into my space.  They came to me with their own issues and problems.  I thought - Hold up!  I am not Mother Theresa!  But it didn't matter - my protests.  My life story was becoming like that of the accountant's time in Shawshank Redemption or Jon Snow's time at the Wall in the Game of Throne.  The boxers came and went and told me their buried stories.  I listened and shared with them my thoughts on solving the problems presented.

All in all, it's lead to such bizarre comments regarding the lives of others.  Such as, "I can't believe you got so and so to finish a book."  "I can't believe you got him to run that much."  "I can't believe you got him to wake up so early."  And so on and so forth.

All in all, it's lead to such strange events.  I was even invited to the HBO Boxing fights - where I was given the prime seats - in which you could see the sweat fly off the boxers when you got hit.  It's lead to me meeting more and more family members and more and more thank yous.  How I got myself into all of this?  I'm not really sure.  The only advertisement I had was the kid and his life.

In the Ring

I wasn't ready.  I really wasn't.  I didn't feel ready and looking back on it all, I wasn't.

The kid, the one I mentor, threw me in there.  He just said, "Go."  My regular boxing coach Luis wasn't there to supervise. 

The kid put some vasoline on my head gear and on my face.  He said, "You know why I'm putting this on there?"

"So - the punches glide off?"

"That's right."

I was overmatched.  My opponent's been at it for 6 months.  Me 2.  He weighed 180.  Me 135.  He had a longer reach, meaning longer arms.  I didn't know how to duck, weave, and slide yet.  All of those are techniques that help you avoid the punches.  I had a feeling, and still do, that I'm not built to take a beating like the other boxers are. 

We went into the ring.  I was geared up - gloves, headgear, and groin guard.

We were supposed to jab at first, lightly.  I was up in round one.  Jab.  Boom.  I looked like a fencer extending out his sword.  Straight, aligned body.  But short reach.  I'm short.  It was hard to get into him.

Whenever he came in with his jabs, I'd block with the right, step in, and knock his head with a jab.  The punches - they weren't fun.  My head would spring back like punching a jack-in-the-box head on a spring.  Boom.

Then, I heard the kid in my corner scream, "Go at it."

When I heard that, I blocked each jab.  Then stepped in: jab, jab, jab.  Boom, boom, boom.  He stepped back.  I hunted him down and the bell rang.  Ding.

The kid held the water bottle to my mouth.  The soothing water quenched my thirst. 

But I was tired now.  My opponent looked angrier.  He didn't like the flurry of jabs.  And he was getting more aggressive.  He tried to take off my head, one punch landed.  Boom.  My head sprang back.  Ugh.  That hurt.  I went in.  Again and again.  He backed up.

But I was getting tired now.  I was doing all the work.  Always going in.  Always pursuing.  Always hunting.  Always blocking and ducking.  I also had an intense workout before the whole match.  My conditioning, I felt sucked.

Then, I just kept blocking and being defensive.  I just wanted the bell to ring. I thought, oh no, now you're a sitting duck.  The jabs kept coming and they hurt.  The bell rang and I threw in the towel.

It's not in my usual spirit to give up, but I knew I wasn't ready.  Going back in, was only going to teach me one lesson: How to take a beating - Mexican style.  I've seen that style at the gym, and I'm not into the endurance, taking-a-beating style of boxing.  I don't think that's what Ali meant when he said, "Float like a butterfly. Sting like a bee."

Finally - everyone agreed.  I'm glad, even now, I ended it earlier.  The kid shouldn't have thrown me in there, but I was glad I learned where my weaknesses were.  I had never come up with an opponent that had so much reach.

The next week at the gym, that's all I focused on - like a hyper-focused maniac.  How to get into someone's space that has long arms.  Over and over, again and again, I practiced the same drills.  Duck.  Slide.  Punch upwards.  Block.  Step in.  Counter with the backhand.  Over and over.  And I will, over and over.

Yesterday, my mother asked, "Where you going?"

I said, "You know.  Boxing."

"Aye - stupid boy.  I'm not going be there when you get your head knocked off.  Stupid boy."

'Cos Everybody Needs Some Love

Weezer, nerd rock band famous for their Blue Album song "Buddy Holly," has some cool lyrics in their song "Photographs" from the Green Album.  My favorite lines goes as follows:

"'Cos everybody needs some love / shooting from the stars above . . .  'Cos everybody wants some hope / something they could barely know.  . . .  'Cos everybody needs a dream / something they could barely see."

Along that theme, I remember one story.  An apocryphal story stated that when baby Jesus was born, a poor drummer boy journeyed to see him, along with the famous magis of course.   The drummer boy, too poor to match the gifts of the magis' gold, frankincense and myrrh, gave to his lord the only thing he had: a song from his heart.  One that was echoed through his snare drum.

This is the story of watching two people see that need for love, hope, and dreams by coming together.

I met Joshua, the 16 year old boxing kid, after finishing my boxing training, which left me sweaty, exhausted, and high on energy.  He tried to get my attention by asking me annoying questions: "Hey, do you shave your legs?"  He would ask.  "What about your arms?"

I replied, "I'm Asian.  I don't have much hair."

"Haha, Bruce Lee he would say."

Is this kid for reals, I thought.  He was a punk. I could tell.  Plug, huge spike earrings that went through.  Hyperactive to the bone.  I could tell he ditched school, and I had to keep asking him if he was going.

But as time passed, I warmed up to him.  I watched his behavior once at Starbucks with the other boxers and asked him, "You're hyperactive aren't you?"

He said, "Yeah."

I said, "Oh yeah, so am I."

"Really?"

He gave me a high five.  And I thought, I never thought someone half my age would connect to me like I was the same age as them.  I thought life was over when I turned 30.

He complained once that the teachers at his ghetto school sent him to the principal's for stealing lunch.  I felt bad and wondered why didn't the bloody teacher just buy him the $1 lunch.

Then there was the time I was working on an assignment at the local Starbucks, late, late into the evening.  Someone tapped me, while I was focused on my work.  I looked up and saw Joshua.  I was shocked.  And he said, "I saw your car.  I wanted to say hi."  He had a smile that lit his face joyous.  I'm sure I returned the sentiment.

In any event, I had the perfect idea.  I had just bought a rock crab, heavy and yummy and all and asked my mother to make me crab soup.  It's my favorite soup of course - for it has a rich, oily, and sweet unique depth of taste to it.

I asked Joshua, "You ever eat crab?

He said, "No."

"You want to."

"Sure." 

I thought to myself about my mother - burnt and broken inside.  The divorce left her shattered.  Then there was the younger son - her favorite - who left her for marriage.  Although it's what men do, it's what she was denying would ever happen.  The events she reaped in life only calcified her heart more and more, leaving it with layers of deposited bitterness.

I thought of Joshua.  He told me that his mother was stuck somewhere in Mexico, and you could tell the kid wanted her back.

Before coming over, I asked Joshua, "Do you have any money?"

He said, "No."

"Here's five dollars.  When you go to Asian people's home, you hafta bring them something.  Go get my mom a flower."

"What kind of flower?"

"Anything.  It's from you.  Not me.  So pick well."

He skateboarded somewhere around town.  I was working on my assignments.  He came back with a white rose.  

I took him to my house.  I said, "Mom, hey my friend has something to give you."  I knew she would fall in love with him instantly.  Her young boy gone.  My younger brother used to have the same plugs in his ears as this kid.  He had the same quirks and ticks as me at his age (and maybe now) because of the hyperactivity.

He walked into my home.  He held it behind his back, like he was going to give it to a girl on a first date.  She came back into the house from the backyard and met him in the dining room.  He popped out the white rose from behind his back.  It took her less than a second to register what happened.  Her face lit up with kindness and joy and for an instance, her face looked like a young girl's again.

She said, "Oh - but you didn't have to."

He smiled back, realizing the power of giving a gift of sincerity.  She hugged him.  He hugged her back.

I took a step back and was a member of the audience, watching the show.  I knew this would happen.  It's true: ""Cos everybody wants some love, shooting from the stars above.  'Cos everybody wants some hope, something they can barely know.  'Cos everybody wants a dream, something they can barely see."

Dear Dad....

 

In my purgatory days, staying in the San Gabriel Valley, I had an idea.  And that idea turned into a self-discussion.  And that self-discussion turned into self-reflection.  And that self-reflection turned into more reflection, which converged into a decision.

The idea came to me, when I just thought about who I was.  Actually, it happened because we had plumbing problems at our house.  Me mother and I went through 10 plumbers, until the leak was actually fixed.  I would have said five were just crooks.  Two misdiagnosed the problem, which led to them not having a job.  Two had personality issues with my moms.  And the last one fixed it.  In that ordeal, I witnessed plumbing contractors take advantage of what they thought was naive little old lady.  Little did they know, she had me for a son.  And little did they like, when I stepped in.  All in all, I was able to get a refund back from one of the plumbers and help make sure poor old Ma wasn't taken advantage of.  

I did look at her at one point and said, "You know, you wouldn't be in this mess if you just listened to what I told you to do in the first place.  Why didn't you just listen?"

And she laughed and said, " 'Cos I'm your mom."

I replied, "But - look at the mess you've gotten yourself into, now.  You can't just keep getting into them."

She said, "Yes, I can.  'Cos you're my son.  You get me out of them."

I sighed.  Thought about how I ended up in this codependent relationship, not by choice but by birth.  I rolled my eyes and said, "I suppose."

And it occurred to me, then, hey the relationship you had with your mother has come a long, long way from the constant wars in the house.  A long way.  And, if you're honest with yourself, she hasn't changed.  You've changed.  But as a result, she's changed in how she responds to you.  

That got me thinking.  You have a mission.  You need to win over Dad.  But how?  I have such a strained and cold relationship with him.  I thought and thought.

In the end, what grieves me the most is that my dad doesn't know I can write or what's happening in my life.  My mom doesn't know I can write, but she at least knows what's going on in my life.  She can tell you my favorite foods - has to be crab broth with rice cakes.  MMM...  She call tell you I love my mustang and bmw.  I guess Dad knows that too because everyone knows that.  But she also knows I was becoming a better boxer, against her wishes, and all the friends that come and visit.  My dad couldn't tell you or me or anyone any of this.

I wrote my father a letter once.  I did.  I swear it.  I was living in Seoul, the Republic of Korea at the time.  I wrote the whole letter by hand in Korean.  Nothing too sophisticated as my Korean isn't great, but I guess it blew the whole family out of the water that they could see I actually knew how to write Korean.  It also tells you how little they knew about my life at that time of it.  My father said he almost started to cry when he read it.

So, I got to thinking, I should write letters to my dad.  I have a Korean friend I made in New Zealand.  He said he'd help me translate them in Korean.  I'm going to give him one a week and let him know he doesn't have to even write back as my Korean isn't probably good enough for me to understand.  I just want him to know what's going on.  If he's comfortable with my friends reading the letter, I'll post them on here.

So - that's my new project.