Sep 28 2025 2025-09-28 2025-09-28 by Ross

This Week in Training – Slow but Steady…

Posted in Exercise, Running, Swimming, Training, Triathlon

Swim 🏊

  • Workouts: 2
  • Total Distance: 3,500 yards
  • Total Time: 1 hour 12 minutes
  • Notes: Nothing fancy, just steady swimming. It felt good to be consistent and rack up the yards.

Bike 🚴

  • Workouts: 0
  • Total Distance: 0
  • Notes: None this week. I need to start adding cycling back in soon — I can’t put it off much longer with IMWI on the horizon.

Run 🏃

  • Workouts: 3
  • Total Distance: 9.80 miles
  • Total Time: 1 hour 39 minutes
  • Notes: Runs were longer than last week, but I wasn’t sore and the paces felt smooth. That’s progress.

Strength/Other 💪

  • Workouts: 0
  • Notes: None this week. I know I need to start including strength again.

Reflections ✍️

This was a nice build week. I’m making progress, but I’m deliberately building at a slower pace this time. With a year until IMWI, there’s no rush. The focus right now is on a solid, injury-free base. The rhythm feels good, but I need to expand it with cycling and some strength work.

Goals for Next Week 🎯

  • Add cycling back into the mix (even short sessions).
  • Get at least one strength workout in.
  • Keep building slowly on the run while staying injury-free.

 


Sep 28 2025 2025-09-28 2025-09-28 by Ross

Everyday is a gift…

Posted in Misc

Yesterday morning, I attended a breakfast that I wasn’t all that excited about. You know the kind—obligatory small talk, bland coffee, the whole routine. But near the end, I wound up next to a 55-year-old Greek guy, and that changed the day.

He told me his story. He had gone through a brutal stretch in life, the kind that pushed him to the edge—literally. He stood on train tracks, ready to give up. At the last moment, he changed his mind. And since then, he has lived differently. Now he’s full of life, taking opportunities, finding joy in the small moments, determined not to waste what he almost threw away.

I’ve never been on those tracks. But I’ll admit—I tend to be a glum person. Talking with him lifted me.

This morning, life balanced things out with a gut punch. My wife brought terrible news. A close colleague of hers—someone I’ve also known for years—lost a child, unexpectedly and tragically. College-aged. Bright future. And gone.

There aren’t words for that kind of grief. I can imagine the pain, but I know I can’t actually touch it. The way I’ve come to think about these deaths is as “death from mental illness.” It doesn’t soften the blow, but it frames it. Just as cancer can take a child, mental illness can too.

I feel awful for their family. I also think that I was meant to learn something from these two encounters, which happened back-to-back.

It isn’t about me—this is their pain, their story—but there’s a message here.  Oddly, this was reinforced by a spam text message that said, “May you have a happy new day.”

Every day is a gift. Someday, death will come for me, or for someone I love. Maybe today. Maybe in thirty years. But until that day, I owe it to myself—and to the people around me—to treat every new day as joy.

This morning I swam with my wife. We went to a local coffee shop. Now I’ll read and do some work. Ordinary things, but I’m trying to be present in every second. To build stronger relationships. To be the kind of person who helps others feel better about life. To look for contentment instead of wallowing in what’s missing or wrong.

It’s great to be alive!

 


Sep 21 2025 2025-09-21 2025-09-21 by Ross

My Riot Fest Playlist ’25

Posted in Music

I made a playlist of all the bands I saw at Riot Fest Days 1 and 2.  I double checked with setlist.fm to make sure I had only songs that both they played and I heard (sometimes I missed the beginning or end of a band).  In that regard, it still isn’t 100% accurate, but it gets the job done.

Spotify link.

 


Sep 21 2025 2025-09-21 2025-09-21 by Ross

Riot Fest Day 2 – Finding the Balance

Posted in Music

Day 2 started with Girl in a Coma, a three-piece from San Antonio who set the tone perfectly. They had two guys dancing in front, roping in about fifteen teenagers, and suddenly it was a mini pit of joy. I don’t get in the pits anymore, but it was fun to see a group of kids having the time of their lives. Festivals need that. The band was a nice find early in the day.

Agent Orange

Agent Orange was next, one of the bands I’d circled ahead of time. They didn’t disappoint — though yeah, Mike Palm sounds older (don’t we all?). Toward the end, my wife suggested grabbing food, and I told her, “No, they’ll close with Miserlou and Bloodstains.” Almost on cue, those were the last two songs. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more like a fan. Nailed it.

Surprise Gems: Cribs, Superchunk, Pachiko

Food in hand, we wandered to another stage and stumbled onto The Cribs — an unexpected bonus. Nice set while I waited for Superchunk, who turned out to be one of the highlights of the day. They ripped through their set and ended with “Slack Motherfucker,” my favorite. No complaints. Technically, this isn’t a surprise because I knew and liked the band before.

We stayed put afterward and were rewarded with Pachiko. Different vibe — shoegaze, trippy, layered — and it worked as a cool-down from Superchunk’s frenzy. My wife loved them (and to be fair, she hated almost everything else since punk isn’t her thing; she’s more of an industrial fan).

James vs. The Bouncing Souls

Next up: James. I only planned to watch for ten minutes before heading to The Bouncing Souls, but James reeled me in. They started a little slow, but by the second song, they were cooking. Tim Booth — looking like Ben Kingsley turned monk — sang one song from the crowd and absolutely commanded attention. After a handful of songs, I stuck to my plan and caught The Bouncing Souls.

They were exactly what I expected — fun, energetic, crowded. The bassist wore a “Bassists Against Racism” shirt. So brave (sarcasm). Nobody at Riot Fest is for racism, and when 99% of the crowd is white, it feels like pure virtue signaling. I left after three songs and hustled back to James because I thought I was missing a better set, which turned out to be the right call. They finished with a strong run, closing on “Laid” with a stage full of dancers from the crowd. That’s a moment.

Evening Stretch: Front Bottoms, Knuckle Puck, Dropkick Murphys

The Front Bottoms were… fine. I like the band, but the live show was just okay. I left early to grab a better spot for Dropkick Murphys and lucked into the last 20 minutes of Knuckle Puck. High-energy, great songs, killer frontman — one of those “wish I had seen the whole set” discoveries.

Dropkick Murphys closed my night. They basically played their greatest hits — non-stop, high-energy, exactly what the crowd wanted. They threw in a few new tracks (all good), but everything else was familiar and loud. Ken Casey dropped political comments, but that’s baked into who they are. You don’t go to Dropkick Murphys expecting apolitical pub songs. You take it with the package, and the music was fantastic.

The Wrap-Up

I’m skipping Day 3. I’m tired, the lineup doesn’t hook me, and I could use the time to prep for the work week. After four Riot Fests in the last five years, I’m not sure I’ll keep coming back. Half the bands are nostalgia acts with one or two original members, and age takes its toll. Still, the 50-50 split between nostalgia and discovery has its moments.

For me, Riot Fest is less about the headliners and more about stumbling onto bands I didn’t know or didn’t expect to like. This year that meant Shonen Knife, Loviet, Girl in a Coma, Barbarians of California, and Knuckle Puck. Throw in stalwarts like The Hold Steady, James, Superchunk, and Dropkick Murphys, and maybe 50-50 is worth it after all.

 


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Sep 20 2025 2025-09-20 2025-09-20 by Ross

Riot Fest Day 1 – Notes from the Field…

Posted in Music

I kicked off Riot Fest the way a lot of Chicagoans probably did — on the Pink Line, crammed in with band t-shirt–wearing festival-goers. Unfortunately, my ride included one Annoying CTA Lady: an old punk who spent the whole trip monologuing about politics. Apparently, she’s less interested in what songs Jack White, Stiff Little Fingers, or Green Day might play, and more into hoping they deliver anti-Trump sermons. The irony of preaching “tolerance” while spewing hatred was lost on her. Luckily, the rest of the car was filled with people happily comparing setlists and band tees — the way it should be.

Shonen Knife & the Warm-Up Acts

First stop was Shonen Knife, my festival opener. Three Japanese women, smiling, having fun, and blasting pop-rock. It was the perfect antidote to CTA Lady. From there, I wandered into Loviet’s set, half-expecting filler. Instead, she crushed it — strong vocals, great energy, the kind of surprise that makes a festival worthwhile. Bookmark that name; she’s going places.

 

Then came Mac Sabbath. Imagine a metal band in full McDonald’s cosplay. It’s a one-joke act, and I stayed for exactly one joke (one song) before moving on. The real find was The Barbarians of California — good old hardcore punk with a frontman who looked like David from Mythic Quest. Raw, fast, loud, and fun.

Brats & Punk “Consistency”

Food break: Publican’s cheddar brat, because sometimes you need fuel more than another band. Here’s an aside: it took me 90 minutes at Riot Fest to see a single Black attendee, and another 90 to see a second. Punk, for all its “we’re so rebellious” branding, has become largely a gathering of white folks shouting about systems — but only the ones they don’t control. The old spirit of hating all government has shifted into selective outrage. I’ve stayed consistent: I don’t like any of it.

Back to the music. I ate lunch while The Tossers played their Pogues-inspired Irish tunes. Then came Shudder to Think, my first miss of the day. Not my taste — vocals flat, maybe the mix, maybe the style, either way, I bailed. Camper Van Beethoven, on the other hand, delivered exactly what I expected: older, sure, but still tight. And The Hold Steady? Craig Finn sounded fantastic, expressive, and enjoying himself. Highlight of the day.

Evening Highlights & Weird Al Close

By the time my wife arrived, I was ready to wander. We landed at Senses Fail, where I caught the first true political rant from the stage (again, incoherent). Music was decent but not for me, though I’ll give them credit — closing with “Twist and Shout” complete with marching band, Ferris Bueller cosplay, and a baton toss? That worked.

Then came the band I’d most looked forward to: Alkaline Trio. I’ll be honest — meh. The live set didn’t capture what makes their studio albums pop. Short vocals, just not clicking. Contrast that with Jenny Lewis (Rilo Kiley): her voice matched her records perfectly, strong and clear. That’s the difference live music makes — when the vocals don’t land, I’m out.

We closed the night with Weird Al. He always delivers, and he did again. Only problem? The endless sea of cell phones blocking the view. Folks, take a photo, maybe 10 seconds of video, and then enjoy the show. Nobody behind you paid to watch your screen.

Wrap-Up

Day 1 delivered the full Riot Fest experience: surprises (Loviet, Barbarians of California), nostalgia (Hold Steady, Camper Van Beethoven), letdowns (Alkaline Trio, Shudder to Think), and a classic Weird Al finish. Annoying CTA Lady aside, it was a solid kickoff. Back again today for more.


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Sep 16 2025 2025-09-16 2025-09-16 by Ross

Q: How did Ross die? A: Hypervigilance

Posted in Family

You know that old saying, “No news is good news”? Yeah, well, whoever came up with that never had 20-something kids out in the world. For me, no news is the exact opposite. No news means something is definitely wrong.

Every silence? Proof they’re slipping deeper into mental illness. Every delay in answering? Clearly drugs. Every time they don’t confirm they’re fine in the last three minutes? They’ve just made a catastrophic life decision.

Living in DEFCON 1

I’m basically living in a Cold War bunker inside my own head. Except instead of watching Russia, I’m tracking my kids. Every minute of the day is a red alert.

Normal parent thought: “They’re probably busy.”
My thought: “They’re probably face down in a ditch, and I should start preparing a statement for the press conference.”

It doesn’t matter if they texted me two hours ago. In my mind, that’s plenty of time for their lives to have completely unraveled.

Coping Skills That Don’t Stand a Chance

  • Meditation? I close my eyes and immediately picture the ambulance.
  • Mindfulness? Yeah, I’m mindful that silence equals disaster. Thanks.
  • Exercise? Great, now my heart rate is high for two reasons and I’ve had thirty minutes to imagine even worse scenarios.

Basically, all the coping tricks experts suggest just give me extra time to imagine new horrors.

The Cruel Joke

Here’s the punchline: I’m the one falling apart. They’re out living their blissful 20-something lives—going to brunch, posting Instagram stories, probably rolling their eyes at my worried texts—while I’m the one who’s going to die first.

Not from old age, not from illness, but from being the unpaid, full-time security guard of their lives.

So What Now?

I don’t have an answer yet. I wish I did. I know I can’t keep going like this forever, but I also know turning it off isn’t as simple as everyone says. For now, all I can do is admit it: I’m exhausted, I’m scared, and I’m trying to laugh at it a little, because otherwise I’ll just cry..and I have done a lot of that.  As I type this, I’m doing all I can to finish my work day without having a major panic attack.  I’m a freaking mess.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to believe “no news is good news.” But today? No news feels like the loudest, scariest news in the world.


Sep 16 2025 2025-09-16 2025-09-16 by Ross

Lock It Like You Mean It…

Posted in Work

You know what I don’t understand? We have two bathrooms at work. Each one requires a key to open. Fine. That’s normal. But inside each bathroom is not one, but two locks:

  • A slidey lock (classic, reliable, like your grandma’s screen door).
  • A turny lock that, when engaged, lights up the outside like Times Square and proudly announces: “IN USE.”

It is the Cadillac of locks. The HIPAA of bathroom privacy. A lock that literally communicates your presence to the world.

And yet… nobody uses it.

Instead, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve unlocked the bathroom door, key halfway in, only to hear the desperate, panicked cry of a co-worker from within: “I’m in here!”

Oh, you’re in there? Funny, I couldn’t tell. You know how I could have known? If you had turned the freaking lock designed for this exact situation.

I swear, if I got a dollar for every “I’m in here!” scream, I’d be a millionaire by now.  Wanna bet they don’t use their turn signals on the road either?

It’s not hard. One motion, one flick of the wrist. Twist. Done. Problem solved. It’s easy as pie.

But no, apparently that’s too much to ask. Instead, we live in a society where bathroom roulette is a daily game. Will the door be locked? Will Karen be inside mid-squat? Will you both leave traumatized? Place your bets.


Sep 15 2025 2025-09-15 2025-09-15 by Ross

And you may ask yourself, my God what have I done!

Posted in Triathlon

So, in a moment of questionable judgment—or maybe sheer desperation—I went ahead and signed up for Ironman Wisconsin.

I’m… fat, out of shape, and can barely run 2 miles without getting injured.

Here’s the thing, though—I need this. I’ve been feeling like life’s been running me instead of the other way around. Stress, self-doubt, struggling with empty nest and adult-child worries, watching the years fly by, while I keep telling myself “tomorrow” is when I’ll get it together. Signing up for another Ironman might be the worst idea I’ve ever had—or maybe it’s precisely what I need to shake myself awake.

I’m not doing this because I think I can win my age group (although it will be the 60-64 now) or even set a PR. I’m doing it because I need to remind myself that I can do hard things. That I can put one foot in front of the other—even if it’s slow, even if it’s messy, even if I question every life choice somewhere around mile 85 of the bike or every single mile of the run.

Will I regret this? Almost definitely at some point. But right now, I feel a flicker of something I haven’t felt in a while: hope. Hope that in training, I’ll not only get stronger physically but claw back some confidence. Hope that maybe, just maybe, I’ll cross that finish line and remember that I actually do know what the heck I’m doing in this life.

So yeah—Ironman Wisconsin. Pray for me. Or better yet, join me.


Sep 15 2025 2025-09-15 2025-09-15 by Ross

Last Week in “Training”…

Posted in Training, Triathlon

I’m putting “training” in quotes because what I did last week barely qualifies as exercise, let alone preparation for a triathlon.  Whatever, I’ve got to start somewhere, even if that somewhere is square one… again.

Here’s the highlight reel: three short runs (and by short, I mean “longer than walking to the fridge but shorter than anything impressive”) and two short swims (quick dips). Nothing special, nothing brag-worthy, but I did it.

Consistency hasn’t exactly been my strong suit lately. Between random life interruptions, “reasons,” and my Olympic-level procrastination skills, I haven’t strung together much more than a couple of guilt workouts in weeks. But the good news is, this time there are no surgeries, tattoos, or trips on the calendar—so I’ve officially run out of excuses.

The plan is simple: survive a month of doing this semi-regularly, then let the bike back into the rotation. I keep telling myself I’ll bike to work, but so far that’s all it is; telling myself.  Haven’t actually done it.

So yeah—five workouts in one week. Nobody’s writing me a sponsorship deal yet, but it’s a start. And if the definition of “training” is “moving your body while thinking about martinis and pizza,” then I’m absolutely crushing it.


Sep 15 2025 2025-09-15 2025-09-15 by Ross

Rolling the Rock (a Teacher’s Perspective)…

Posted in Uncategorized

Some days teaching feels like pushing a giant boulder up a hill. I plan lessons that I think are clever, current, and directly tied to my students’ lives. Debates on the limits of federal power, discussions about ICE in Chicago, sanctuary cities—the stuff that headlines are made of. The stuff that impacts their families, their neighbors, their futures.

And yet… blank stares. Shrugs. Apathy. Except, of course, for my AP kids who seem to show up with at least some spark of curiosity. Most days, though, it feels like the motivation I bring to class and the motivation my students bring are living on two totally different planets.

It’s exhausting. Teaching into the void wears you down in ways I didn’t fully appreciate when I first started. I show up with energy and preparation, and it’s met with silence. That silence gets heavy. It makes it hard to come to work, to roll the rock up the mountain every day, when the “payoff” might not show itself for years.

And maybe that’s the point I have to keep reminding myself of: the results don’t usually show up in the moment. They show up years later in the form of an email, a social media message, or a quick conversation at the grocery store. A student letting me know they graduated college. Another who’s now in law school. Someone who became a police officer, or a real estate agent, or joined the military.

Those are the reminders that the rock isn’t pointless. That it’s not rolling back down on me every day, even if it feels like it. It’s inching forward, even when I can’t see it.

Still, it’s tough to keep perspective in the moment. Burnout lurks in the background. Some days it’s hard to stay focused on the long game. But I’m trying. I’m trying to hang onto the truth that my role isn’t just about immediate reactions in the classroom—it’s about planting seeds that may not sprout until long after my students leave my room.

And maybe, just maybe, reminding myself of that will make tomorrow a little easier to face.  Although I am ready to retire.