Persecution In Iran

For most Americans, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is best remembered for a moment of YouTube fame - when asked about homosexuals in Iran his replay was, "We don't have that phenomenon in my country." The audience laughed, and we laughed along. That little soundbite, coupled with his continued denial of the Holocaust just made him look foolish, or slightly crazy. If you take this little tidbit into account however (wherein he claims that Imam Mahdi - the Shiite prophet who is supposed to return after 1000 years in the desert to bring peace to the world - is directing his government's actions), it becomes obvious that he is bat shit insane, and frankly quite dangerous.

Rather than reporting regularly on his incredibly oppressive and increasingly loony regime, the media is more interested in the President's plan to attack Iran to thwart their nuclear program (and take all that oil). Unfortunately, there are other groups in Iran that Ahmadinejad would like to pretend don't exist, and they don't have the luxury of waiting for our thirsty gas tanks to bring US troops to their aid.

This situation was brought to my attention by our roving reporter and Inquisitor Emeritus, Rachel. Even though I follow Bahá'í news more closely than the average American by a long shot, I was unaware of the dire situation they face in Iran currently. Sure, I knew there was oppression in Iran - from the very beginning of the Bahá'í Faith, Iranians have been more than happy to shoot, hang, burn, and torture Bahá'ís in large numbers - but I wasn't aware of the latest developments. If you're completely up on the situation, don't let me bore you; if not, read on.

In May of this year, Iranian authorities arrested 6 Bahá'í leaders, and have held them incommunicado since then. They join another Bahá'í leader who was taken in March, who has also been denied contact with family or counsel. A spokesman for the Iranian government, Gholam-Hossein Elham, acknowledged at a press conference that the the six were in custody. He cited "security issues" as the reason for the arrests, but most observers agree that they, just like the thousands of Bahá'ís who have been arrested and killed in Iran since the Islamic Revolution, are the victims of religious persecution.

As all regular readers know, I am not a fan of most of the organized religions on this planet, but the Bahá'ís are just about the most gentle, innocuous group of believers I've ever encountered. They hold an ethical worldview that makes theirs one of the most decent and logical versions of monotheism you'll ever find. Even if you are a liberal atheist intellectual, I think you'd find the Bahá'ís pretty palatable - I do. Trust me folks, these are our people.

Just like with any case of sytematic oppression throughout history, silence is the ally of the oppressor. Educate yourselves, and make your disapproval known. For more information, click here, here, and here.

666

From its earliest days as a combination chop-shop and Buddhist escort service, the Ministry of Linus has always strived to bring you the finest in iconoclastic heretical blasphemy, served up in a waffle cone of self-deprecating hypocrisy. For those who are keeping score, today is the 666th attempt to do just that, and we are in luck - today's post coincides with the 4th of July, a national holiday absolutely full to the brim with hypocrisy! That this post bears the number of the beast is fitting - the beast would be proud of the mockery of clear thinking this day entails.

Yes children, today is the day we celebrate our freedom and independence from our oppressive overlord and now BFF, Great Britain. Naturally, we do this by searing dead flesh and then firing small rockets into the night sky. Clearly, I could make an entire post from simply ridiculing each of these activities, but really, it's just too easy. Certainly, the irony of celebrating our freedom by eating the flesh of our slaves (animals) and commemorating our national independence by launching fireworks made largely in Mexico or overseas is quite apparent to all Flockers worthy of that title. No, this post will be about the true hypocrisy of today, and the muddled thinking of nationalists the world over - the idea that there is such a thing as independence.

We have declared for 232 years now that we are an independent state. Well, actually, a bunch of little independent states that are united, but that distinction has long been obscured by patriotic fervor. Ok - so how independent are we?

Do we grow all of our own food?
Do we mine/drill all of our own fuel?
Do we make all of our own goods?
Do we do all of our own labor?

Do we, in fact, stand on our own in any way?

Of course not. We are deeply intertwined with other peoples and other nations all over the world, and always have been. In fact, no nation, no state, no organization, no faction, no party, no clan, no family and no man is truly independent. We rely on others from the day we are born until the day we die - and actually, we rely on others even outside the narrow window known as life. Long before we're born we're counting on another for nutrition and safety, and we hope that after we die someone takes care of our corpse in some way.

The simple act of living entails connection and interaction with others. Even when we try to stand on our own, we consume resources in ways that affect others. Consider the gun nut who builds his own compound in Idaho - even his walled enclosure was made with cinder blocks manufactured by others, and his septic tank enriches the land that will some day be another man's garden. No man is an island, as the saying goes, but even if he was, he'd be polluting the water around him some how.

No, we are all in this together, and today is no exception. By all means, enjoy the pretty lights in the sky tonight, and be thankful for the liberties that we enjoy, but don't kid yourself - America, and everyone in it, is about as independent as one leg of a tripod. Perhaps some day, we'll celebrate a holiday that commemorates the day we all recognized our unity as members of this globe - we can call it "We Pulled Our Heads out of Our Asses Day".

Ok, you're right - "Unity Day" will fit better on the sale flyers...

One Hour Runner

My new running program is listed below. The key to this plan is the long run each week. I'll stick to my Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday schedule, and the long run will take place on Saturday.

Weeks 1 - 3: Run 30 minutes, x3, Weekly total: 90 minutes
Week 4: Run 30, 29, and 35 minutes. Weekly total: 94 minutes
Week 5: Run 30, 32, and 38 minutes. Weekly total: 100 minutes
Week 6: Run 30, 33, and 41 minutes. Weekly total: 104 minutes
Week 7: Run 30, 34, and 45 minutes. Weekly total: 109 minutes
Week 8: Run 30, 36, and 49 minutes. Weekly total: 115 minutes
Week 9: Run 30, 38, and 54 minutes. Weekly total: 122 minutes
Week 10: Run 30, 40, and 60 minutes. Weekly total: 130 minutes

Assuming that all goes well, and I don't have to repeat any weeks (I did repeat a week or two on Couch to 5K) this plan would have me running for an hour by September 12th. That means I could be ready in time for the Hope with Every Step 10K in Littleton, CO, on September 28th. It's not too far to drive to, and it's for a good cause.

This means that my Monday and Wednesday runs will take up more time after about week 5. I'll need to carefully budget that time, and make sure that it's not pushed aside to make room for other silly crap like sleeping or bathing. A man's got to have his priorities straight.

I imagine that I'll have to get acustomed to running indoors toward the end of the program as well, as it will probably snow at least once or twice before race day. As much as I hate the dreadmill, I hate the soggy clothes and pneumonia that always accompany sweating when it is cold outside even more. I have learned from several snow shoeing and cross country skiing experiences that I am not good at cold weather endurance sports.

You see, I'm the sweaty guy - the guy who loses 3-4 pounds of water weight in a two hour workout, and continues to sweat for 30 minutes after the exercise ends. All the well-meaning friends who have said "just wear Goretex and you'll be fine" have no idea how much I sweat. Goretex is great if you're a normal human, but my mutant power is sweating (not super handy in the danger room, but also unlikely to draw the attention of the Sentinels. It's a trade off...). In order to not get a chill and then spend several weeks with a hacking cough, I'm just going to have to run at the gym.

And I hate running at the gym. It's itchy and it smells like freshmen, but I am a man on a mission!

The 7th Sign

A lot of odd things have been happening of late. Stuff that no one would have believed a year or two ago. I'm concerned that the apocalypse (shown at left) might be upon us. As your internet spiritual advisor, I suggest you consider the following:

A black man is currently a viable candidate for the presidency of this country, and a woman was his closest competitor for their party's nomination. Across the aisle, a Mormon was a viable candidate...

Also, did you know that Honda is selling a true zero-emission hydrogen fuel cell car this summer to the Southern California market?

Still not scared? Do you realized that the Play Station 3 actually has a desirable title now? (Metal Gear Solid 4)

Ok, how about something closer to home; I began to run, VOLUNTARILY - I was not being chased by a large carnivore, nor was I in pursuit of girls in bikinis. That in itself should be enough to have faithful Flockers reaching for their rosaries in fear, but it gets worse. I actually enjoyed it. The fabric of reality as we know it is fraying.

If all this doesn't concern you yet, try to get your mind around this...

I just got an email from my stats instructor. My grade on the final was an 80.25 out of 80 (there were extra credit questions). Combined with my final homework and lab grades, that means I got an A in the class.

I hate to be the harbinger of doom, but I think it's clear - the end is nigh. It's time to sell your property, donate the proceeds to the Black Vatican and make peace with your dear and fluffy lord. You heard it here first.

My Virtual 5K (I didn't vomit...)

At 11:20 AM on Saturday, I set out to run the Wee Little Virtual 5K. I started out at a good pace, but pretty quickly things went south.

Stupidly, I had played badminton the night before. I was hoping for just a light sweat, nothing too intense, but my competitive nature makes it hard for me to just play for fun. I pushed a bit too hard, and eventually I lunged for drop shot at the net and felt my left knee twinge. Not too bad, just a moment of pain, but I didn't take the hint - I finished the game. And about 5 more after that.

The next morning, it felt a bit tight but I was ready to get moving, so I decided that I didn't need any ibuprofen. I was ok for the first mile or so, but shortly after that I started getting a little jolt of pain behind my kneecap with every stride. I figured it would lessen if I slacked the pace a bit, so I eased up and it did feel a little better.

Thinking I was in the clear, I began to check my watch against landmarks on the course and try to guess my finish time. At that point, a 35:00 was still possible, and I was hopeful.

It was about the halfway point that the wind started to pick up. It was actually quite pleasant in terms of temperature, but the cooling breeze also carried with it death, in the form of pollen.

My allergies only last about a month each summer, but they are acute and brutal. On several occasions, friends and loved ones who have witnessed me having a full blown allergy attack have offered to take me to the emergency room. My eyes turn red, tear up, and eventually one of them usually swells shut. I get hives on my tongue and the roof of my mouth, and my throat starts to swell up, making it hard to breathe. My sinuses start to pound, and in one instance, I got a nose bleed from both nostrils simultaneously... Oh yeah, it's a good time, let me tell ya.

Of course, that's only if I go outside without any meds on board. On Saturday, I had taken a Zyrtec at about 8:45 AM, so I only had a minor attack. By the two mile mark I was sneezing, sniffling, my eyes were burning, and my throat felt like someone stubbed out a cigar in it. I realized that my dreams of a sub 35:00 were fast evaporating, so I decided to gut it out and just try to finish. I struggled on home, clocking in at 36:10.

It wasn't exactly the glorious run I had planned. Oddly enough, that run was last weekend, before whatever I'm allergic to bloomed. I am hoping for a rainy night before my next race, the Firecracker 5K on the 4th of July. (Rain helps cut the pollen in the air.)

I'd like to thank Wee Little Me for sponsoring this great event - I'm not sure I would have finished Couch to 5K without this goal to shoot for.

I'd also like to thank Amy from the Runner's Lounge Community for sending all the participants bracelets that say, "I Am A Runner." I was still feeling kind of bummed about my time today when I sat down to write this race report, but the mail arrived while I was working on it, and there in amongst the bills and credit card offers was my bracelet, like a completion medal. I'm wearing it now, and it's ridiculous how much I'm enjoying it - you'd think I won Boston or something...

The real reason I feel this way is that a running program gives you a concrete feeling of accomplishment - something sorely lacking in our world today.

Whatever it was that made you hate running in your past, let it go - I let go of dozens of bad coaches and mean drill sergeants and skinny assholes who laughed at my pudgy ass to get myself back into running shoes, and I'm glad I did. Check the beginner programs out there; I did Couch to 5K, but there are dozens on the web. Give yourself a chance to accomplish something.

Symmetry

It started out as a crooked tee-shirt.

It was new one too, one that I had never worn. I pulled it over my head, then looked in the mirror. The printing on it was slightly crooked; the left side of the design was a tiny bit lower than the rght. Bummed, I hung it back up and pulled out a different shirt. Once I got it on, I realized that it, too, was slightly crooked. Once I tried on a few more shirts, and found them all canted ever so slightly to the left, it occurred to me that it might be my body, not the shirts.

After standing very still in front of the mirror for a while, I could see a definite difference between my right shoulder and my left shoulder. I'm right handed, so naturally my right side is a bit stronger, but the amount of difference was really surprising to me. I have also noticed differences in my hands, my biceps, and most notably, my forearms. I blame it on racquet sports. Mostly badminton. The lack of a racquet in my off hand is slowly turning me into a human fiddler crab. Soon my left arm will wither and become vestigial, like those bones in the tail of a whale that used to be it's legs.

My right and left forearms are so different that if photographed individually, you might not be able to tell that they belong to the same person. There is this muscle on the outside of my right forearm - let's call it the "badminton backhand muscle" - that appears to be absent on my left arm.

Initially, I was actually left-handed. Back in the late '60s, however, it was in vogue to gently "help" children who began to develop left-handed tendencies by taking the crayon from them and putting it in their right hand. Or gently putting the spoon in their right hand when pudding was served. Or smacking their left hand with a ruler and telling them they can't have any pudding until they "eat correctly". Or (my personal favorite) putting their art smock on them so that the left arm was not in the sleeve, effectively making them one-armed, and then telling them they can't go out to recess until they finish their painting. My all black finger paint compositions were not well received.

Of course, now we know that forcing a child to switch hands can cause all kinds of problems, ranging from stuttering to acidic sarcasm and bitterness. Luckily I was not so affected...

At any rate, that's all spilled tempera at this point. I'm just thinking out loud here, but the way I see it, I have two choices; 1) add more exercises to my training regimen for the left side of my upper body, or 2) embrace my lop-sided freakishness, and try to be like Reggie in "Lady in the Water." Perhaps I could even work my right mitt into something akin to Hellboy's "Right Hand of Doom"...

Ok - that settles it; freak it is. I'm buying a brown trenchcoat and a large caliber handgun.

I Can Haz Kick?

So I officially graduated from the Couch to 5K program today. I ran my third run of week 9 around noon today, and I did 2.76 miles in 30 minutes - a 10:53 pace. I think I should be eligible for graduation gifts of some sort... I've asked the protocol nuns here at the Black Vatican to check on the proper procedure. Do Nike and New Balance have gift registries?

The really surprising thing about today's run wasn't the pace (which was a little bit faster than Monday) but the last 60 seconds. See, when the announcer guy on my iPod says "You have about a minute to go," I am usually struggling to just hang on until he says I can stop. Today however, I actually had enough energy to pick up the pace and run flat out for the last 60 seconds. I finally have reached the point where I have a "kick."

I used to watch runners on TV, usually during the Olympics, suddenly turn on the juice and just fly for the last 200 meters or so. I always thought it would be awesome to have that kind of kick; to pass other runners and snatch victory from their grasping fingers (I have competiton issues, ok?).

In all the years of forced running that I had to do for various sports, however, I was a comfortable back of the pack runner, with no desire to pass the speedier guys up front. I just wanted to finish quickly enough that the coach wouldn't make me do extra push-ups or something. I can honestly say that it NEVER seemed like a good idea to actually push at the end... unless I had some compelling reason to want to vomit when it was over.

Today, for some reason, it seemed like the thing to do. I know there are purists out there who will tell me that if I had enough energy for a kick, I could have been running harder for the whole distance, but screw them - it was awesome to put on that burst of speed and push to the finish. I finished strong, and it felt better than running ever has before. Not throwing up probably contributed to that feeling.

To keep things in prespective, I have to say that I'm still really damn slow. It's not like Adidas is calling for an endorsement deal (and it wouldn't do them any good anyway, I'm loyal to New Balance) but I do feel like a proper athlete again. After logging over 60 miles of running to get to this point, there has been a subtle change in terminology. No longer do I say, "I do some running." Now I say, "I'm a runner." It's a small change, but a significant one to me.

The Virtual 5k is this coming weekend, then I'll be joining Indian Princess and others in the upcoming Firecracker 5K on the 4th of July. I'm sure that the excitement of competition will push me to run a bit harder, but I really hope I have something left for a final kick. I'd like to finish strongly, looking like someone who runs regularly.

And I hope I don't vomit.