A Man Gotta Have A Code…
Omar Little, The Wire
Steve and I have been on a Hanna Brothers Road Trip through the Southwest and amidst the miles of asphalt we’ve talked here and there about thing great and small. One conversational detour involved a man’s code. A mutual friend of ours is a crisis management guy, though we’re not 100% sure on what he does. We imagine he’s like Ray Donovan, a fixer for when things go wrong, or maybe an Olivia Pope who handles spin on scandals. We do know that one night over drinks he told Steve he’s come up with his own five rules to enable him to keep his soul relatively intact; these rules provide a moral compass when he’s confronted with a loss of true North. It’s a concept that prompted Steve and me to consider what a man’s code means in this day in age, what might be our code, and what are the lines no one should ever cross.
I recently finished Mark Adams’ book, “Turn Right At Machu Picchu.” It’s a tale of retracing some of Hiram Bingham’s steps to re-discovering and/or popularizing Machu Picchu in the early 20th Century. The book also delves into the Inca and Peruvian histories as it relates to this 1/7th New Wonders of the World. As I was recently at MP, it was fun to walk a mile (or perhaps several thousand miles) in others’ shoes. While I was fascinated with the logistics of the expeditions, and struck by the political machinations and historical spin that they produced, my favorite detail actually comes from the “Acknowledgements” section at book’s end. Andrews writes:
“The Incas had a three-pronged Golden Rule, still widely repeated in the Andes: ama sua, ama llula, ama cheklia. Translated, it means “do not steal, do not lie, do not be lazy.”
That’s a pretty good code of conduct, at least as good and maybe even better than “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” As Steve pointed out when I mentioned this to him this morning, that Judeo-Christian chestnut doesn’t encompass the notion of avoiding being lazy, of embracing that which surrounds us and making the most of our time.
It’s ironic, perhaps in an Alanis Morissette-ian way, that I would be so enamored with this code today. Because you see I didn’t go running this morning though I meant to. I instead opted not to run which feels a little lazy.
I awoke in one of the worst hotels I’ve ever stayed in. I purposefully tried to find us a non-murder hotel with decent reviews but still on the cheap side. We wound up at an Extended Stay here in Tucson that was dirty, decrepit and just generally unpleasant. Worst of all it had no towels. And I don’t mean there just weren’t any towels in the room when we opened the door. I mean I went back down to the front desk and was told that due to a rash of towel thefts there weren’t any towels to be had … save for a few hand towels and wash cloths the night manager could scrounge up for us from the back. These towels I would find in the morning to be stained, as if they had been used to change the oil in a few trucks in the parking lot.
I say all of this because upon waking from a restless sleep punctuated through the night by thoughts of moths flitting about the room (!!), my body ached and my spirit was a bit broken. I had every intention of going for a run this morning, if only to make amends for the Brownie Bomber at Omar’s Hi-Way Chef Restaurant (no relation to Omar Little, by the way). We had stopped here for dinner on our way to Tucson and while the mozzarella sticks were great, the green chile cheeseburger I had was only decent (and paled in comparison to the Santa Fe Bite’s version). But the last minute decision to order dessert figuring it would be a small homemade brownie and a dollop of ice cream netted us this tasty confectionery monstrosity.
Mistakes were made to be sure… including my Napoleon in San Dimas style decision to finish off the 2/3 of the thing. But it was very, very good. And at $5.75, perhaps the greatest bang for dessert calorie buck imaginable.
Yet not even guilt over this massive “cheat day” could overcome my lazy bones morning. Perhaps then I’m no Inca.
My quest for a code must continue. But maybe that’s a code unto itself — the realization that a code is an effort, to like within the preamble to the US Constitution, find a more perfect union between thought and reality.
***
This is mostly unrelated to the above but as we checked out of Motel Hell and made our way to a new normal morning ritual of writing and caffeine (Steve of the Starbucks soy chi and me of the 89 cent Polar Pop Diet Coke from the Circle K), I was confronted once again with a huge shortcoming of RunKevnRun.com.
Despite the Arizona heat, I was wearing my RKR jacket, mainly because I was too lazy (Inca forgive me) to strip it off after getting our stuff loaded into the car from the room. As I was buying the morning beverage, the woman working the register asked me what “Run Kevin Run” was for. As has been my secret shame of this blog, I’m not 100% sure who or what this is for. I fumbled out, “Um… it’s me. I’m Run Kevin Run.” “Right on,” she said, “I’m trying to do a couch to 10K…” Lighting up, I told her that was great and good for her. I’m always impressed with folks who rise up and undertake a challenge, whatever that challenge might be.
Aspirationally, I’m in favor of not being lazy. I just don’t always get there. But I’m inspired by others. Perhaps later this afternoon I’ll rally and get a 5K in for good measure… and as a tribute to the woman at the Circle K.
***
Update: 4:52 PM – Sadly, I collapsed a bit this afternoon and personified laziness. I don’t know if it’s the 106 degree Tucson heat or the collective sleepless nights coming home to roost. But the long story short is that I’ve not only failed to get a run in, I’ve barely walked around this place. On the plus side, I haven’t stolen or lied… so two out of three, yeah?