I did my eight miles this morning. It was slow, but I ran all of it, never giving in to the urge to walk, especially up Sheffler. I weighed myself before and after and lost 2.5 lbs. on the run, something I've been working diligently to correct since I got home. If it's edible and I can reach it I'm eating it. That will continue for the foreseeable future.
I watched the women's final after lunch. It wasn't the match anyone hoped for, but what took place after Sloan Stephens won was must-see TV. Emotional, especially the interaction between those two young ladies. With all the garbage going on now in our country those competitors (and they are both fierce competitors) showed us what can and should be.
The first book I remember reading was a piece of fiction about cars. I'd checked other stories centering around cars out of the library at Daniel Webster Elementary (it could have been James Monroe Jr. Hi.) but this is the earliest I remember. I eventually checked out and read every story I could that involved cars and/or racing. This one followed a teen who worked on his own to build and race against guys who had money and resources and who should have left him in the dust, yet somehow he managed to beat them on the track.
(This was back in the day when lots of communities had dirt tracks where guys could hobble together a car and go racing. Now concerns over safety and liability have made that impossible.)
The reason I remember this particular fictional story is that in the last chapter, long after I'd emotionally invested myself in this kid, he was killed in an on-track accident. I was seriously upset.
I determined I would never read another story that wasn't written in the first person, so that couldn't happen again.
I don't still follow that rule, but I sure take notice and prepare myself when a story is in the third person.
The broadcast of the men's semi included shots of celebs in the stands and the combination of a top tier sporting event and a NYC location made for several of them. Including Tiger Woods. Oh my! It reminded me of the recent pics I've seen of OJ Simpson. Tiger does not look good, or fit, or anything like an athlete in his prime.
Made me think of the Oscar Wilde novel, "The Picture of Dorian Gray." Tedious book that I finished only because I was determined to make it through. (And it was a gift from my daughter who had heard me say I wanted to read it.) So don't bother with the book; go read the Wiki article. Basically, Dorian makes a deal with the Devil that a portrait of himself that he's had painted by a famous artist will show increasing age while he will remain the very handsome and suave gentleman everyone admires. Dorian puts the portrait in his attic and proceeds to live a hedonistic life of total debauchery. Sure enough, he stays young and handsome while up in the attic the painting of him grows increasingly repugnant.
After a too-long account of Dorian's evil life that included wooing and coldly dumping good women, killing those he saw as competitors, and abusing drugs, he goes up in the attic and in a fit of shame stabs the now hideous image with the knife he'd earlier used to kill a guy. His servants hear screaming, go to the attic and find a horrible looking man laying on the floor, someone they can identify as their master only by the rings on his fingers. Meanwhile, the portrait shows no damage and presents the image of a youthful, handsome Dorian Gray.
Several interesting questions posed by the story:
- Does a life of sin show evidence on the person's visage? Forget anti-aging cream, is the key to youthful good looks a righteous life?
- And does a life of evil show up in a person's appearance? We've all seen someone and said, "That's a meth-head." But do secret sins take their toll, too?
- Do those who live a Dorian Gray life get to the point where they, too, realize the emptiness of their hedonism? If so, the wise move is to keep the gospel nearby so if/when they get to that point we can tell them of God's grace.
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