What are you doing on April 15?
Probably paying your taxes, right?
Well, I’ll be running in the Boston Marathon!
Isn’t that crazy!? I seriously can’t believe it. (Oh. And I have an Instagram account for my fitness endeavors now, if you can’t tell.)
Category: New Orleans Page 1 of 3
Emotional.
Surreal.
I can only use those two words to describe what it was like to see U2 in concert at the Mercedes-Benz Superdome last night in New Orleans.
I bought my ticket on a whim earlier in the day after I saw how cheap they were on StubHub ($21 plus fees). I also didn’t know just how much of their set I would be able to watch since I had another obligation earlier in the night (kickball).
We had the kickball playoffs and if you read my last post, you would have seen we were kickball champions, so we had a reputation to uphold. Our season didn’t go as well as we hoped, which left us as the No. 9 seed. That meant we would have to play four games in two weeks to win the championship once again.
That didn’t happen. We got knocked out in the play-in round.
As much as it pained me to lose (I am way too competitive for my own good), I knew I had the U2 concert to look forward to and hustled home to shower and hurry over to the Superdome, which is in walking distance to my apartment.
Fast forward two hours and I left the Superdome with a huge smile on my face even though I had been put through an emotional wringer.
My mom and dad are huge U2 fans and played their albums throughout the house as my sister and I were growing up. I don’t have much recollection of “Joshua Tree” with it coming out when I was two-years old, but “Achtung Baby” and “Rattle and Hum” stick out in my mind quite a bit.
Yet, during the concert – better yet, the 30th anniversary celebration of “Joshua Tree,” – I found myself captivated by the album I only heard in passing. I sung along with the first three songs they played off the album – “Where The Streets Have No Name,” “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” and “With or Without You” – and melted away into the smooth refrains of the others.
And when Bono spoke about strong women near the end of the set, I clapped, cheered and teared up when he mentioned mothers. My mom is the strongest woman in my life and I don’t know where I’d be without her. If you find this blog mom, I want you to know that every day if I don’t tell you.
Last week I did something I had never done before.
Win a championship in a team sport.
“Faces Loaded,” the kickball team I was part of for the 2017 PlayNOLA spring season, came from behind to beat “Booze on First” 8-7 in the championship.
Pretty sure this was the eighth (?) kickball season I took part in through PlayNOLA so you better believe I was hankering to get my hands on that trophy – and taste the wonderful champagne that came with it.
Something just clicked for us throughout the season. I can’t explain it.
We weren’t the most athletic group of people out there, but we cared about each other and came together when it mattered.
When the opportunity presented itself, I jumped at it.
My girlfriend offered me a chance to run the Crescent City Classic since she had two charity bibs – one from her father’s doing and one from her own – and I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to run a competitive 10K for the first time in a while.
The Crescent City Classic is held the Saturday before Easter each year and it winds through the streets and neighborhoods of New Orleans. One of the largest 10Ks in the United States starts on Poydras Street and ends at City Park.
I told myself in the days leading up to the race that I wouldn’t take off from the start and get swept up in the emotion. I’d take it easy, settle in and pick it up as I saw fit.
Well, that idea lasted all of two minutes until I stepped on the starting line.
Adrenaline took over and I took off like I was back in college running at the University of Delaware as soon as I heard the crack of the starting pistol.
I quickly realized I didn’t have the ability of my college-aged self and regretted my decision when I got to the 1-mile mark. My goal was to “go out” or run the 1st mile in about 7 minutes. When I looked at the clock, I came through in 6:06.
As much as the next 5.2 miles hurt, I couldn’t stop smiling. It’s not that I’m a glutton for punishment, because I’m not. I just really enjoy competitive running and it had been forever since I put myself in that atmosphere. Things just felt “right.”
My 5K split was 20:16, which averaged out to a 6:32 pace.
By the finish I had slowed down to a 6:47 pace and crossed the finish line in 42:02.
I wanted to break 45 minutes and did that. I wanted to prove to myself that I could.
Who knows when the next race will be, but I’m glad I had that opportunity.
For an hour and a half, nothing else mattered.
I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
I was lost in the music and I couldn’t have been happier.
Ever since I listened to The Weeknd the first time back in 2012, I wanted to see him perform live. There was just something about his voice that called out to me. Maybe it was how he sounded like Michael Jackson on “Dirty Diana” or the gritty nature of “Wicked Games,” but I couldn’t stop listening to Trilogy when it first came out.
Last week I finally had the opportunity as his “Starboy: Legend of The Fall 2017 World Tour” stopped in New Orleans at the Smoothie King Center. I bought tickets 6 hours before the show was to start and put on my party pants.
My friend saw him perform last year at Hangout Fest in Gulf Shores, Alabama, and came away disappointed but I wasn’t going to let that color my expectations. After all, he wasn’t as big of a fan of his as I am and seeing him at a festival after a long day of drinking is probably a lot different than seeing him in an arena show.
Not even three songs went by before I proclaimed “This is the greatest concert I’ve ever been to in my life.” I truly meant it. There was no exaggeration in my voice.
The Weeknd took all of us on a roller coaster of emotions and we hinged on his every word. From “Starboy” to ” Reminder” to “Often” to the closing refrains of “The Hills,” everything was perfect.
This won’t be the last time I see The Weeknd perform. He has a fan for life.
Before last Saturday I had never thrown up from a workout.
If you’ve read this blog at all since it’s creation, you know I love to stay active, go to the gym and that I was a former Division I cross country and track & field athlete. In other words, there have been no shortage of opportunities for me to blow chunks.
I just never did. My body had never found its breaking point.
That all changed this past weekend when I flipped the tire once again at 504 Fitness.
It had been a while since I last attempted that challenge. You know, the one where you have five minutes to flip a 400-pound tractor tire as many times as possible.
I woke up last Saturday feeling good and decided to give it another go. One check of the weather revealed that the temperature had finally cracked and it much cooler than it was the last time I went out there (60 degrees versus 92 and humid), so it was all systems go and I set my eyes on 90 flips, which would break the gym record.
I started strong and even had a small cheering section out there (two people).
I hit 20 flips per minute for the first two minutes and put myself at 65 with three minutes to go. I dug deep with each one and even impressed myself with that pace.
Then I hit the wall — and I hit it hard.
Each flip brought me closer to the record, but the tire got heavier and heavier.
By the time the last flip rattled off the cement ground, I broke my own personal record of 80 flips. I managed 82.
Jon asked to take a customary picture to show my exhaustion afterward and I obliged, sprawling out on the tire. I could have fallen asleep on it right there.
I walked around the gym a bit, then went outside. Breakfast wanted to say “Hey.”
The Louisiana State Penitentiary is a great place to be.
Let me clarify that: It’s a fantastic spot on a sunny Sunday in October.
I don’t think I’d want to stay there. The Angola Prison isn’t the Ritz Carlton.
Every year the largest maximum-security prison in the United States puts on a rodeo that features inmates as competitors. Inmates also sell arts and crafts and other wares they build inside the barbed-wire-topped walls (a lot of furniture).
I heard about the Angola Rodeo from rodeo industry folks I met in Texas while covering the Wimberley VFW Rodeo all of those years. Many of those Protection Athletes (or clowns as they’re more commonly known) have it on a Bucket List to work “The Wildest Show in the South,” because of its history and legacy.
Rodeos have a soft spot in my heart after living in the Lone Star State. I got some great clips and memories from my trips to Wimberley and if I have a chance to go to a local rodeo from now on, I’m definitely jumping at the opportunity to do so.
Well, I found out the Angola Rodeo runs every Sunday in October and with no plans to speak of on opening weekend, I bought two tickets and asked my buddy James to tag along. He readily agreed and at around 10 a.m. on Sunday, we left New Orleans.
The Louisiana State Penitentiary is about 2 1/2 hours from New Orleans, located in the middle of nowhere. It’s surrounded by swampland, the Mississippi River and sits near the border of Louisiana and Mississippi. The drive is gorgeous once you get out of Baton Rouge. You pass plantation after plantation (well, former plantations now) and see roads lined with old trees covered in Spanish Moss.
As we passed through the gates, something I said to a guy at the gym earlier in the morning dawned on me: “I woke up excited to check out a rodeo. The inmates who are going to be at the rodeo are just happy to get a very small taste of freedom.”
The biggest nuance I loved about the Angola Rodeo was that they didn’t often send inmates out one by one during competition. They’d send eight men on eight bulls or teams of three trying to wrestle a steer. Then there was Inmate Pinball, where eight men stood inside hula hoops and a bull charged out of the gate. The last man inside his hula hoop would be declared the winner. The same thing goes for Convict Poker, but that’s where four men sit around a folding table and the last man sitting wins.
We left 20 minutes early to beat the traffic, stopped in Baton Rogue to get dinner and watch the last two quarters of the Saints game. (As an aside, I went to another Saints game last Monday. Unfortunately they lost to the Atlanta Falcons.)
Overall it was a very pleasant Sunday and recommend the rodeo to all.
To say the weather wasn’t ideal for tire flipping last Saturday would be an understatement of the century.
Then again, it’s September in New Orleans. What else should I expect?
The temperature sat in the low 90s, but with the Heat Index, it felt like 102.
As soon as I got into the courtyard outside 504 Fitness, Jon laughed and said, “You sure know how to pick what days you want to do this. Better you than me today.”
Inside the gym I told him I wanted at least 75 flips. That would be two more than my previous best of 73 and average out to 15 flips per minute. Plus, knowing the No. 1 guy on the board was no longer at the gym and The Board is only for current folks, I’d slide into the No. 1 spot and desired to better my mark before that happened.
Once I got in the heat, I questioned if 60 were even possible. It was brutal.
One by one, though, I turned the 400-pound tire end over end. I felt stronger than I ever had doing it, but didn’t want to push myself too hard, too soon, and pass out.
Jon yelled “60” right around the 3:30 mark, so I knew something was going right for me as sweat poured down my face.
Thirty seconds later, “70” echoed through the courtyard and I pushed harder. Jon urged me to keep moving. Constant movement is key.
One thing I’ve found over the years of being an athlete is that there is no better competition than what fuels you from inside. You are your No. 1 rival.
By the time the tire thundered on the ground from the last flip, I smashed by personal best of 73 with 80 flips. That’s 16 per minute, five more than I wanted.
I’m proud of my progression, but I know I can do more. I’ll have to wait until next month to attack it, because once a month is more than enough of that.
Of all the things I’ve called to tell my mom — and believe me, there have been a lot over the years — what I told her two weeks ago definitely set a new standard.
“My shoulders are impossible to fit in a dress.”
She responded as I expected. Then I told her why I had been dress shopping.
Every August in New Orleans, there is an event called the “Red Dress Run.” It’s a charitable fun run put on by the New Orleans Hash House Harriers, which deems itself “A Drinking Club With A Running Problem.” Last year, according to the New Orleans Hash House Harriers website, the Red Dress Run raised $169,000 for 73 local charities, which is no small feat and a great way to give back to the community.
Outside of Halloween, I don’t think I’d ever wear a dress. I put that disclaimer out there because I did dress up as a cheerleader a few years ago when I was in Texas.
At the same time, I never before lived in The Big Easy where an old axiom goes, “We don’t hide the crazy. We parade it down the street.” You quickly understand that.
When in Rome, right? So off I went to Goodwill and found two dresses that could actually fit me and ended up buying both because I’m as indecisive as the day is long.
Overall, I had a blast and the French Quarter was filled with revelers. New Orleans knows how to throw a party and Red Dress Run is no different than anything else.
This past weekend also marked a milestone of sorts in my life. On August 10, 2015, I officially arrived in Louisiana and exactly one week later, I started my current job as communications assistant with the USTFCCCA (Say our acronym 10 times fast).
Pictured: Scotch and Tape before leaving Georgia.
With Red Dress Run in the books, I’ve officially experienced the gamut of things this city has to offer, whether it be a Saints game, carnival season or a music festival.
They say once you’re in New Orleans for a year, you’ll know if you want to stay for a while. With such a wealth of activities, I can understand why people never leave.
Something outside recently caught my eye at work.
Back in February it was all of the Mardi Gras floats rolling by.
https://twitter.com/tylermayforth/status/693155988921135105
This time, though, it wasn’t something on the street. Rather, on the water.
From our vantage point on the 17th floor, we can see for miles and one of those views is Lake Pontchartrain (I can’t spell it for the life of me. Thanks, spellcheck).
On this day, a storm formed in the distance and a waterspout — a tornado on the water, if you will — popped up. Don’t worry: There aren’t any sharks in the lake, so Sharknado: New Orleans couldn’t have happened (Uh oh. Did I give them an idea?).
Unless you’re directly in the way of one, they’re harmless but incredible to see. It was the first time I ever witnessed one and I’m sure it won’t be the last one either.
A few weeks later, I was walking home from work and I glanced to my right and saw a wall of rain coming down the street. It was a literal wall of rain and closed quick.
“We’re about to get dumped on,” I told a guy walking in the opposite direction.
Luckily, I had an umbrella — because it storms every afternoon in the summer in The Big Easy (They don’t call it monsoon season for nothing) — and up it went. As soon as it snapped into place, the rain came down in buckets and lasted for 15 minutes.
Before last month, I had never seen a waterspout or been attacked by a wall of rain (but I have seen them cascade over the city). Both happened within weeks of each other. The weather in New Orleans is crazy. There’s no other way to say it.