Buspuffer

(N) : A person who attempts to fill up extra space, pretend to be asleep, drool or take any action to discourage seatmates on public transit; similar to the way a pufferfish will enlarge itself with air to discourage predators.

There's Another Kind of Hero By Bill Lyon, Philadelphia Inquirer, 1979.

A cold wind blew the golden leaves across the hard ground. They made a rasping sound, like a death rattle. It was a sound that matched his breathing. Harsh and grating and painful.

The sweat was frozen in crystal crusts at the end of his hair that flopped each time he took another stride and his feet fell heavily, jarringly, on the ground.

He wore sneakers that were tattered and shredded from the shrapnel of a thousand small pebbles over which he had run. His sweatpants were
gray. It was a color that matched his complexion.

His arms drooped with exhaustion, like the flowers bending to give way to winter, and his was a lost, hopeless cause. For the winner was already across the finish line, far ahead, out of sight. And the
other runners had long ago left him behind.

His legs screamed at him to stop. His lungs pleaded for rest. Even his socks seemed to fly at half-mast around his ankles, soiled flags of surrender.

In the autumn of our dreams, we are all quarterbacks. We are cunning and graceful and when we step into the huddle everyone bends forward eagerly and the crowd rises expectantly because it knows we will
deliver the bomb just as the clock blinks down to zero.

Ah, but that is in the autumn of our dreams, not the winter of our reality.

You want to know about reality? Then go watch the other autumn sport. It is called cross-country. Watch it and you will know what they mean when they speak of the loneliness of the long distance runner.

Cross-country runners don’t get scholarships. Or no-cut contracts. Or offers to endorse deodorant or panty hose or coffee or cars.

Cross-country runners get shin splints and blisters on their feet and runny noses and watery eyes. One thing more. They get a special kind of self-satisfaction that few of us are ever privileged to experience.

Oh, it is not from winning. It is merely from finishing, from ever going out there in the first place and running through puddles and briar patches and up hills and down hills and telling lies to your legs, and running on even when the others pass you, one-by-one, and geez, don’t they ever get tired, don’t they have a chest that’s on fire, don’t they ever get the dry heaves, and who cares anyway because there’s no crowd, no cheerleaders, just hard ground and ugly ol’ trees with no leaves and some guy driving by in a car, honking his horn and grinning like an idiot, and oh God why don’t I just slow down and walk for a little ways? That, friends, is reality.

Oh, us silly damn sports writers, we get all caught up in downs-and-outs and slam-dunks and power-play goals and a frost-bitten World Series ... So we tend to dismiss things like cross-country as “minor” sports, and besides, who the hell knows how to read a stopwatch past the 4-minute mark anyway?

So in our jock fantasies, the hero is the guy who scores the winning touchdown. But that is not reality. Reality is the kid you’ll see when you’re driving through a park or past a golf course, the kid with the stocking cap and the sweat-stained sneakers, loping along way behind the field, his eyes rolling wildly, this hypnotic trance of pain and puzzlement contorting his face.

Maybe he will not be able to put into words exactly why he runs. Maybe he will mention something about “gutting it out” or pushing through the pain barrier or running on because he has this curiosity that drives him to discover just how much he is capable of… or not capable of. That can be the harshest kind of reality and anyone who is willing to confront it, then he is, in the truest, purest sense, an athlete.

Sidewalks Saved Me

So I used to be really fat

Like seriously...fat. Not healthy (newly fat) not dumpy (fat but still shopping at the Gap) or husky (fat but you're talking to your Mom). 

At one point in college I was 240lbs. For those playing the home game that is 4 Golden Retrievers, 2 Horse jockeys or half a rhinoceros (or a quarter depending on the rhino).

Picture for illustration (tragically the hair was on purpose) :

Being unhealthy super sucks. I'm not talking about being big or having a large build I'm talking about eating 3 sandwiches for lunch, consuming Mountain Dew instead of water and counting walking up the escalator as "earning your dinner" (which was also 3 sandwiches but with a sundae because hey, treat yourself). 

So the summer after my junior year I decided to do something about it. I started to run. ok...jog...ok run a little and then walk most of the way. Then more running...followed by walking. Basically I would run as far as I could go and then walk back. I carried this little strategy throughout senior year, after graduation and into unemployment (It was 2007...recession...Gov degree...you know...)

Sidewalks saved me. Running and walking not only helped me get my weight under control but it kept me sane during those AWFUL months after graduation where you're sending out resumes for jobs you'll never get. I couldn't control that 200 people also applied for that temp admin job, I could control that every day I got outside and exercised. 

So when I learned that there was a charity that's looking to improve the way Bostonians used sidewalks I jumped at the chance to run the Boston marathon for them. WalkBoston seeks to improve Boston for walking and running. They help fix sidewalks, organize walks and runs and encourage people to take the first step towards a healthier lifestyle: the step that gets them out of the house.

I'm running the Boston Marathon for WalkBoston and am raising money to help make Boston, and the entire state of Massachusetts a better place to walk and a better place to run. I'd really appreciate it if you could donate to my campaign: https://www.crowdrise.com/WalkBoston2015/fundraiser/ryanharnedy1

Rules of Fight Club: Ranked

1. You DO NOT talk about Fight Club (2nd Rule)

2. If this is your first night at Fight Club you have to fight (8th Rule)

3. You do not talk about Fight Club (1st Rule)

4. Fights will go on as long as they have to (7th Rule)

5. If someone yells "stop" or goes limp, taps out, the fight is over (3rd Rule)

6. Only two guys to a fight (4th Rule)

7. One fight at a time (5th Rule)

8. No shirt, no shoes (6th rule)

Why I'm Running The Boston Marathon

My favorite thing about running is that it's the most egalitarian sport in the world. You can start at any age, it requires minimal equipment (just some shoes and clothes), and you don't need a team, but it opens you up to a community of athletes, friends and neighbors you never were aware of before.

When I was 15 and a freshman in high school, I'd just moved to Westborough Massachusetts, which neighbors the marathon start town of Hopkinton. I didn't know anyone, and how I was going to fit in to yet another new town was totally beyond me. My Dad, both worried about me and absolutely tired of my TV domination, suggested that I follow in his footsteps and go out for Track.

It did not start well. I was terrible. I was slow and pudgy and tired extremely easily. But I didn't quit. I kept at it, I kept doing the work and I kept showing up.

Then something happened. I got good...well, less bad. I found my race and I found friends and found that I had learned to love the sport of running. Running made me feel a part of my team, my school, and my town.

Running isn't about winning races or collecting medals or even earning marathon jackets. It's about believing there's a stronger you out there and going out and finding him. That's why I've chosen to run the Boston Marathon for WalkBoston.

WalkBoston is a charity that is designed to make the city of Boston more pedestrian friendly. I'm proud to be part of a team dedicated to making the city of Boston safe for everyone to run, walk, explore and travel around one of the greatest cities in America. In a world where we're constantly told that people are obese and isolated, I have the chance to help make a difference. It could be the kid who just wants to walk a little further today or that person who decides today is the day they change his life, lace up his running shoes and jog that excruciating, horrifying, exhilarating first half-mile (three-quarters if he's lucky).

I remember last year, after everything that happened, I just wanted to run. After all of that, being able to run was a way to tell the world I wasn't afraid, that I was free, that as long as I had some good tunes and a pair of shoes I was in charge of my own destiny. I'm excited to run the Boston Marathon for WalkBoston so I can help make the city safer for everyone in Boston to do the same.

I hope you'll consider donating to my fundraiser (if you do you get a personalized thank you note from me!): http://www.crowdrise.com/walkboston2014bostonmarathon/fundraiser/ryanharnedy1. Thanks for donating!

Why I Do Movember

I have no memory of my Dad without a mustache.

He started growing it sometime after high school and, while he has added and removed the occasional beard, goatee and sideburns his upper lip has remained comfortably, albeit creepily, covered. Fashions change, ties became skinny, then fat, then skinny again but my Dad has steadfastly refused to remove the push broom that has given our family photos that special panache cousins and friends have come to expect.

Looking back, so much of what defines me as a person and a man comes from my father. He taught me how to throw a baseball (poorly), how to ride a bike (acceptably) and the best way to make a cocktail (inside of a pineapple). Dad taught me the joys of running and of sitting on the couch watching movies, he taught me that people are to be respected and life is not to be taken too seriously. Dad taught me that what defines you as a man isn't how strong or smart or rich you are, but treating people right even if it does you no good.

I sometimes wonder what life would be like without my Dad. So much of what I think of as "common sense" are really things I picked watching my Dad. It scares me to think what I would be like if I didn't have his (and my Mom's) examples to follow. One of the reasons I do Movember is because everyone deserves to grow up with a healthy, energetic Dad and testicular cancer, which will kill 370 men this year and prostate cancer, which affects someone new every 2.2 MINUTES are an affront to a world where every kid deserves to learn how to throw a baseball, tie a knot and dismiss the Eagles as "Corporate Rock" from their Dad.

I'm taking a stand. I'm growing a mustache, albeit a substantially less impressive one than my Dad's in support of Men's health. I'd really appreciate it if you could donate to my campaign here. 

Happy Election Day!!