This is really about the small stuff.

I used to be a serious runner. Five marathons. Best time was the Detroit Free Press International Marathon in 1979; 3:06:01. One year I averaged over 40 miles a week. Washboard abs. 155 pounds. I started running Labor Day Weekend in 1977 at age 33. At the time I was freelancing as a photographer and teaching some classes at Wayne State University. But then after reading What Color is Your Parachute? In August 1980 I got a full-time job as a writer/producer in the news department at Channel 7, the ABC affiliate in Detroit. Really messed up my running. My starting job was as the morning producer, 4 AM to noon. Yikes!

When I left in January 1986 as the result of one of the first big corporate mergers, I started getting back into serious running. Age 42. I rebooted with about three miles a day six days a week. After a couple weeks I went to four one day, three the next. The following week I bumped it up to five and three. And I kept bumping. When I got to 30 miles a week I broke down. Something hurt here or there. Did some rehab work on my own and did a reboot. Threes…threes and fours…repeat…reinjury…rehab…reboot. After two or three reboots it was time for my annual physical.

I asked about these breakdowns. “How old are you?”

“43.”

“I have two words for you. Cross Training. You need a break. You might make it up to 30 miles a week with every other day.”

I kept at it with a casual nod to regular training but pretty much stopped in the mid-2000s. Since retiring in 2013 the only regular training I’ve done has been in classes. I’ve tried motivating myself but had little success. Swimming, weights etc et al… if I’m in charge; not happening.

When Susan and I retired in 2013 we agreed that our treasure would be devoted to our well-being. If anything was left over, we’d spend it on whatever we wanted. So I’m doing individual fitness training sessions three days a week. Lots of Pilates, big time stretching and very light weights. No Pain, No Gain does not apply. I tried that in weightlifting class my freshman year at Albion. BOINK!!!! Hernia.

The results to date:
I weigh 185 lbs., five pounds more than when I completed Army Basic Training in Sep. 1966 at Ft. Leonard Wood Missouri. Of course the weight is distributed a little differently.

I have a resting heart rate of 48 bpm. One of the great residual effects of all that running. The weight is the result of a wise diet for which I give Susan all the credit. On my own I would be in trouble.

There have been issues. I had eyelid lifting surgery in 2002 because they were so droopy, they were a visual impediment. Carpal tunnel surgery fall of 2021 because I could only hold my trombone for 5-minutes before my hand would go numb. Now I can practice for an hour at a time… no problem. In Winter of 2022 I had another hernia surgery. Cause unknown. Outpatient left me with three, quarter inch scars. The 1963 scar is four inches long and I didn’t wake up from the anesthetic for two days. I have several dental implants. And prostate cancer that the specialist says to leave alone.

What’s the wait?

I registered HarryAtricks.com in January of 2020 and have been getting ready to launch ever since. Never seemed like the right time. What about content? Page design? La, la, la,la, la.

A couple days ago I began looking at the historical precedent for this waiting and recalled times I waited for perfection. And other times when I said “Screw it,” and just took the shot.

Flashback to the summer of 1968 (If you lived through the summer of ’68 you know that flashbacks were not uncommon). I was stationed ten minutes from Waikiki with 242nd Army Band. In disguise, I went to a party with civilians. My mustache and hair were as long as possible for me to still be able to pass the morning inspection. Wearing a Nehru shirt (I know what you’re thinking but it was really cool. I think I still have it), white bell-bottoms, smoking a pipe. When all at once… wait for it… I saw this girl.

I grabbed our host and asked for an intro.

“Don’t tell her I’m in the army.”

“What should I say?”

“That I’m a writer.”

College English minor. Writing courses. Nothing published. Only submission was a very bad love poem sent to the New Yorker in 1962. A very kind rejection letter.

“Who do you write for?” she asked.

“I’m going to be talking to Young Hawaii Magazine about some ideas I have.”

“Wow. That’s so cool!”

The next afternoon I was in the editor’s office pitching a piece that would compare the covers of Jimi Hendricks’ Axis Bold as Love and Toscanini’s Complete Beethoven Symphonies. No really, that’s the truth.
“Do it.”

I did. Published. I freelanced for YHM until it shut down 15 months later.

Interviews… John Kaye from Steppenwolf. Articles. Short stories. Music reviews. Think pieces. Whatever I suggested…”go ahead”…I did and got paid. 25 bucks a pop. An extra $50 a month on top of Spec 4 army pay of around $230. This was a very big deal. First thing I did was hit the post PX for another Nehru shirt.

Got out of the army and eventually ended up back in my hometown, Wyandotte, Michigan. My mom suggested that while I searched for a job as a professional musician, I should check out the News-Herald (I’d already worked there delivering papers when I was ten so I had a track record with them). What the heck. Because of Hawaii I had a portfolio of published work. Hired on the spot. I stayed for 4 ½ years until I went to the Cranbrook Academy of Art for my MFA in photography. But that’s another story.

Waiting is over. Welcome to the launch of HarryAtricks.