Accelerating My Personal Collapse

Be joyful, 

though you have considered the facts... 

Practice resurrection. 

-Wendell Barry 

In the past month, I've put about 5000 miles on my 1995 Honda Accord. In car-years that's like 5000 x 7. Like a sturdy mule, she's taken a pounding, visiting construction sites across the county. But her most recent ailment was the exhaust system. First, her good looks started to fade but then the sound and smell thickened and then finally her underbelly ballooned into a neighborhood biohazard. My Golden Child, as I call her, turbo-aged into The Kraken in just a few short years of faithful service.

In previous years when I had more fragile mental health, I would have broken down in tears and paralysis as I often did in the face of these kinds of mini life crises: cloogged drain, toilet paper drought, utility shut-off, flooded basement, cat pee on the briefcase, rolled ankle. Practice makes perfect, right? I am reminded of my uncle Ed's sage advice for me when I started my biz, You'll make an excellent entrepreneur if you can map out the worst case scenario and then be okay when it happens, because it probably will. 


The Kraken has one good eye, just like my Honda.



Release the Kraken!!

Luckily, I knew a guy and called in a favor. So, my mechanic friend, who fixes cars in somebody's girlfriend's back yard for cash, really helped me out of a jam. It only took ten days of his procrastinating and me without my car. I spent those ten days riding my bike to the office, reminded once again that Cincinnati is a cool river town, rather than a cruel traffic town. Of course it was only fun once I learned to dress for rain and make peace with the Metro bus drivers. This episode of feeling helpless actually turned into an excellent dress rehearsal for The Collapse, much like the No Impact Experiment that I had planned on participating in anyway... as soon as it was convenient. 

By Collapse, I'm not totally sure what I mean-- no one does. But I'm convinced it is inevitable and already happening. All my hours spent in the car have hammered the point home. I've spent them listening to podcasts by various economists and futurists talking about the big brew of funk that is bubbling over, like the insolubility of the American balance sheet, looming hyperinflation, collapse of the dollar, the ramifications of peak oil and other resource depletion issues (topsoil, phosphorus, uranium, copper), not to mention 200 species' extinctions per day and global weather weirding.

Reluctantly, I've converted into a collapsitarian. This really just means I believe... No... "Believe" is the wrong word-- rather, I finally acknowledge the mathematics, biology, and geology-- that all exponential functions on Mama Earth have their limits. Historical precedent agrees. It just so happens that the point on the curve that I used to acknowledge as collapse happening "way out there" is suddenly right HERE affecting my commute to work. Instead of calling it The Collapse, we might do ourselves a favor by calling it The Transition. That sounds way more fun.

In the book Limits to Growth (1972, by my hero Donella Meadows (et al)), a team of systems analysts ran a "business as usual" simulation which predicted a global collapse between the 21st and 22nd century. Simulations with rosier outcomes required drastic interventions to stem aggregate growth and system overshoot. Those drastic interventions never saw the light of day according to the Limits to Growth: The Thirty Year Update (1992). Remember Kyoto Protocol? Neither does anyone else. 

Since 1972, the "business as usual" data just keeps piling up. Damn those dotted lines!

At this point in the conversation I can feel my brother bitch-slap me, C'mon dude, I'm just trying to have a beer. And he's right! I'm sorry-- I'm not here to proselytize doom and gloom or even educate. It's here that Dimitri Orlov would remind me that anyone who has the time of day to research The Transition is the kind of person who won't do so well in a collapse, anyway. (Which means my candy ass is fried in its current shape. But I'm working on that). Instead, it's the people busy fighting to survive day-in and day-out that are going to continue to survive. These people confront their own personal collapse daily. Never has the misfortune of others felt like such a comfort-- we're in it together boys!

In the sprit of hastening The Collapse and transitioning into a post-petroleum future, I've started crafting my 2013 goals. I've been drafting my Christmas letter, which after a 3 year hiatus, is soon to be the most fucked up Christmas poem anyone's ever received. Neither has anything to do with being naughty or nice or peak coal issues. Both revolve around starting a better conversation around what Charles Eisenstein calls "living in the gift".


The Christmas Letter Uncensorsed Draft 1.0
First, I want to let my neighbors know that we exist as neighbors despite our awkward avoidance of each other over the years. Everyone gets automatic forgiveness of for bad manners, dangerous driving and their politcal yard sign allegiances.


Secondly, we've got your back 24/7/365, in a sort of New Yorky post-9/11, "true spirit of Christmas" kind of way. You want room for your teenage domestic partner and immigrant baby Jesús at the inn? We've got it, baby! In fact, my brother Matti will be moving into our garage. Please don't call the cops and please don't kill us for our tomatoes or gold. We have neither, but together we can work on both. Plus, how could they kill us if we are their go-to source for value-added guacamole or its post-petroleum/ post-Super-Bowl replacement-- Thunderdome Salsa? We may even include some Mad Max Hummus in their care package.

Post-apocalyptic. Thunderdome (with Tina Turner). It could happen to you, but in a good way, hopefully. 

Third, I'll ask for forgiveness for saying something like this Santa Claus character is a big hairy bullshit. What kind of wacked-out out cultural psyche dreams up a superhero who anonymously sneaks into our houses at night, reverse-theiving us into owning junk we don't need, leaving us no opportunity for reciprocity or to thank him or let him know what our real needs are? He's very careful not to leave any trace of connection, which is a sure sign of a society whose members have no need for each other. Ok, the fact that he eats our cookies is his saving grace. But is the Santa Claus fetish the spill-over from the collective fear we have of someone sneaking into our homes to leave us interest bearing debts for all the stuff we actually do need like motherhood, clean water, good health, and education? Should the highest acclaimed moral virtue really be to give anonymously and ask for nothing in return? That sounds more like a poisonous attitude of someone who feels the recipients of their ultra-pure gifts have nothing to offer-- no relationship, no interdependence. Without the need to need each other, we have no community.


Fourth, I'll ask the neighbors if we can use their yards for planting A) a calorie dense staple foods like potatoes, beans, and squash and B) a nutrient dense food like kale, chard, and herbs. Then, I'll gently plant the seedling of an idea that eventually we will need to rally together and guerilla-garden the ample green spaces around our neighborhood like the local golf courses and baseball outfields. How cool would it be to turn them into fruit orchards and food forrests? I got dibs on the Kentucky bananas.

Have yourself a Needy Christmas and Transitiony New Year!

I feel the need...the need for NEED.

"You can be my wingman anytime." "Bullshit, you can be mine."



Cold Weather Running Gear Hacking

Procrastination makes easy things hard and hard things harder. 

-Mason Cooley

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the laws of how to dress for cold weather running. Following my laws can be daunting if you're not prepared to scavenge, skimp, or splurge. So, today's edition is all about different strategies applied to proper (or improper) outfitting over here at the Dwyer household. 

This blog almost didn't happen. I wanted to write it on a better keyboard. I wanted wiser input from more knowledgeable friends. I wanted my running wardrobe anchored by sexier items to talk about. Of course, all of these procrastinations are silliness in the same way as are my winter running wardrobe laws (recapped below). 

My Laws for Winter Running

0th Law - Do as much daylight running as possible (~lunchtime, ~sunrise, ~sunset)
1st Law -  No trench coating
2nd Law - No cotton (It dries poorly, rubs the nipples into bloody popsicles, and makes you feel cold, and accumulates weight)
3rd Law - Using 60 °F as my balance point, add one layer to any body part for every 10 °F drop in temperature. 

My laws are fool-proof. But like all good laws, the magic sometimes happens when breaking them. If you want to run in cotton, then run in cotton. Heck - run in a cotton trench coat!  Just don't run only in a cotton trench coat. There is simply no use in procrastinating on our adventures. So my laws should be regarded more like speed limit signs - that is, they're generally good ideas, sometimes annoying, always disregard-able as long as you're prepared to handle the consequences. 

As the temperature drops, you can immediately see from my laws how if one plans on running more than a couple of days per week, then they might need a pretty size-able wardrobe, wallet, or list of excuses about why they shouldn't go outside in the winter. That just doesn't have to be the case. In fact, I've gradually evolved my strategies, finding somewhat of a balance between being a Skimper, a Scavenger, and a Splurger. These three archetypes can be likened to primary colors with which the runner can paint their own personal style. What you will NOT see below is a LIST of items you "need" to go out and buy. That would be an example of clothes defining you rather than the other way around. 

The Skimper

A winter runner who skimps either doesn't stay a winter runner for long or doesn't stay a Skimper for long. This is the larval stage of runner development. The next morphological stage is growing dosage of Splurginess or Scavengerness or both. 

But metamorphosis from skimping usually takes place one body part at a time until there are only one or two holdout body parts remaining. On any given winter day you can see evidence of those holdouts - those brave souls who will wear shorts no matter how cold it gets. Perhaps they have no nerve endings in their penis, thighs, and shins. Others skimp on gloves - they cleverly turtle their hands up into their sleeves. Others (myself included) skimp on socks - perhaps relying on blister friction to warm our toes up or are training our feet to run barefoot in the snow. 

The Scavenger

On a good day, I'd like to call myself a Scavenger, but realistically, I'm still stuck trying to evolve from being a Skimper at heart. Growing up with four younger brothers, we were all sort of good at making do with less. If I owned anything nice, it could easily go missing, or euphemistically "borrowed". We learned that hand-me-downs had a circle-of-life of their own. We also learned to shop at Goodwill, and what's cool is that Goodwill is still cool. Their return policy is non-existent, but the consequences of lousy purchases are less damaging to your budget. 

A winter runner who goes from Skimper to Scavenger may have a wardrobe with some of the following characteristics that my wardrobe has:

*It looks a lot like a soccer wardrobe repurposed. Three of my brothers played collegiate soccer and are now soccer coaches. That means expired sponsorship gear. I've recently scored some great cold weather gear from them, that they are simply not allowed to wear any more. 

*It has base layers that look a lot like women's clothes. That's right - I've reclaimed lots of technical shirts that my wife no longer wears. I use them as base layers (invisible to others) since they fit closer to my body (trapping heat). Similarly, TJ Maxx has a huge selection of cheap women's technical shirts compared to the men's section. I've found many for less than $5. 

*Higher end sports stores usually have an end of season clearance rack. You just have to have a little bit of foresight to anticipate next year's needs.  

*It has my friends and family's old gear. Sometimes barters can work too. I have a surplus of old ties and dress shirts from my teaching days. My brother Dan has surplus warm up pants. The swap serves both our needs. 

*It consists of gifts - let's face it, if you let your loved ones know you're into this or that sport, you immediately become easy to shop for. You're kind of doing them a favor by putting your wants and desires out there. 

*It has multi-sport redundancy - that is, many articles serve multiple functions and many functions are served by multiple articles. It's kind of a permaculture principle, but really it's just universally good system design. For example, I use my cycling windbreaker also as my running windbreaker and the windbreak function can be served also by my fleece shell or emergency windbreaker. My fleece cycling pants are also my fleece running pants are also my sub-zero long-johns for construction site inspections or for skiing. The long-john function can also be served by several other articles - be they running tights or actual cotton long johns.  

*Entering races usually comes with a race t-shirt and other swag that proves you were there. Rather than regard the Ironman finisher T-shirt as a $600 article of clothing, it can equally be regarded as a free perk from a clever scavenger. Entering races is a great way to build your wardrobe. This is how I came to own my first pair of arm warmers, which are surprisingly practical, (but could equally be hacked from a pair of old soccer socks). 

The Splurger

If you can think of your favorite article of clothing you ever bought for yourself, I'm pretty sure it was something that felt like a splurge at the time. Maybe you felt like you were spoiling yourself, which I think is healthy to do every so often. My favorite piece of clothing I ever bought was a fancy red Goretex rain jacket I got for the "great American road trip" in college...that just never materialized, unfortunately. But other adventures are now destined to manifest because I psychologically committed to them when I bought that red jacket. And that jacket became the prequel to the second greatest jacket ever which is the orange one below, busy kicking ass. 

There are definitely merits to having really nice gear. And by nice, I don't necessarily mean expensive. Sometimes that's the case, but it doesn't have to be (see The Scavenger). The quality of the gear may be the mental catalyst needed to embolden us to get out the door at all, to tackle the rain or cold or the mountain.  Saving up to buy quality stuff can make you appreciate it more. It feels softer, warmer, lighter, cozier, shinier, [enter superlative here]. It can make an important fashion statement. It can be a form of reward for our hard efforts. It can make us feel like we are "playing the part". It usually lasts longer (more uses, not necessarily more years). It might come with a warrantee or a good return policy. It might enhance or extend the life of other gear (I'm thinking of jackets especially). 

One of the unintended consequences with really nice gear, however, is that it drives the second and third-tier gear out of circulation. The nicest gear is the first to get picked out of the clean laundry pile. It effectively shrinks your wardrobe, increases your laundry duties, and could put upward pressure on you to covet more really nice gear. Be prepared for those consequences - want more, wash more, or buy more. 

If you are a disciplined launderer, you can get away with a smaller wardrobe, whether it consists of really nice gear or just stinky normal clothes. And if you're not a disciplined launderer, then never underestimate the greatest invention born in a college frat house.

Necessary gear I either splurge on or scavenge the heck out of include:

*Socks - This is a hot zone of my own evolution. Even though I'm traditionally a sock skimper, I'm gradually being won over. I have socks that Santa brought me that have taken the abuse of 10 years of pounding and trucking garbage cans to the curb without shoes. I still have my first ever pair of Smartwools. I've been gifted a couple of pairs of Smithwick cycling and running socks which are always the first pairs I pick out of the laundry. I even chased down a Smithwick van on my bike once to tell him how great his socks are and he ended up giving me a free pair. 

*Shell - the outer layer's water/wind/thermal resistance protects and leverages the value of the base layers. It's also the most visible. It needs to be the most durable and versatile. That's a tall order to meet without a splurge. I'm currently on the hunt for the greatest running jacket ever. I keep seeing nice jackets on sale, but I'm actually going to hold out for this one to be my best splurge/scavenge ever. When I find it, you'll know. 

*Fleece tights - necessarily fleece and necessarily tight despite the ridicule from my brothers who think I look like a "candy ass mama's boy". Those boys are just used to baggy soccer warm up pants, which are great for training, but not for racing. They just don't know and won't know until they've run a 20 miler in sleet. 

A good pair of fleece pants might cost $150.00. While that sounds like a lot to pay, if you divide the dollars per mile, you'll actually find that you'll be getting far more pleasure AND VALUE out of your splurge or scavenge. You'll never go back to skimping again. Of course, this "never go back " law is also a vanity I plan on breaking when I do an Ironman in my denim jorts and sleeveless flannel shirt.

Cool dude from the Jorts Athletic Club 

I'm interested in other people's strategies, their best scavenge triumphs, their most indulgent gear splurges, and their most regrettable skimps. Leave your comments below or send me a message. I think we'd all benefit from the exchange. If I can get my schizer together, maybe I can post a vid next week, or maybe someone else can.