Splash Pad, Road Trip, Embrace Optimism, 7/28/2023
Jul 28, 2023
Small-Town News: Car Hits House, House OK
The best park of this FB post is the "action" photo of a firefighter standing in the street.
Things To Do, 8/3/23, 10am
Grand Opening of the Splash Pad at Meekins Field Park.
Kudos to the Town of Kill Devil Hills for making great improvements to this neglected area. It should be noted that the tennis courts at this park have been resurfaced and one has been fitted for pickleball. It's almost like they knew what I was thinking.
Notes from my road trip to Vermont last weekend:
- We rented a Chevy Traverse for the trip and I was very happy with the comfort and space. Plenty of room to spread out.
- Glens Falls, NY has a great outlet shopping center. Good selection and prices. Listening to the French-Canadians converse was an added bonus.
- Vermonters are very progressive with recycling. There are bins almost everywhere you go.
- As we cut through Killington we could see where the flooding had been. They are still cleaning up.
- Lake Dunmore is a nice, quiet place with a friendly community. There's a place called Paddler's Pub where you can tie up your boat and get good food and a drink (or two). Beware of the Paddler's Punch. It will knock you out.
Must Read
Arnold Schwarzenegger has a daily email he sends out to promote a healthier lifestyle. It's full of great information and you can sign up for it here.
Below is a post from last week. It's a strong message and one we should all embrace.
From Arnold: This village is about more than fitness. It’s a real community of people lifting each other up, and I’m always blown away when I see how you support each other. Today, I want to give my normal platform to Adam. I was lucky enough to meet his dad and know he is so proud of him.
—
I looked at my dad. Then down at my phone. 10:32 pm. July 21. 2023.
My dad was gone.
On Friday night, I watched my father — my Superman — take his final breath. It was a moment of peace for a man at war for three years.
My dad was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer (glioblastoma) in 2020. Some doctors told him he had six months to live, at best. They gave him all the grim stats, told him how his body would shut down, and plotted a future hell on earth.
At 65 years old, my dad was given a death sentence. But a funny thing happened.
My dad heard all the negativity, and he chose not to listen. Instead of waiting for death, my dad leaned into optimism and got busy living.
He had brain surgery and did chemo and radiation. After treatments, he would lift weights or walk for miles. He adjusted his diet, and my mom became his personal chef, making everything from scratch. My dad was a man on a mission. And the prize he chased wasn’t just time. It was quality of life and making the most of every day.
Instead of preparing for the end, he traveled the world, climbed mountains and skied down them, swam in oceans, and even did acro-yoga (if you knew my dad, you’d know THAT man doesn’t do acro-yoga). None of these options were ever discussed in the cancer pamphlets.
For three years, death tapped my dad on the shoulder. But my dad gave the grim reaper the middle finger, trained harder, walked farther, and ate healthier.
He did the impossible by believing it was possible.
When cancer took away his ability to use his left arm, he trained his right arm to do more. Watching a 68-year-old man teach his non-dominant arm to use chopsticks is an art of pure determination.
When cancer took away vision in one eye and limited his field of vision in his other eye, he re-taught himself how to read.
And when cancer left him unable to walk or bathe himself, even though he hated his limitations, he asked for help because that was the bravest and strongest thing he could do.
I watched my dad suffer, and I never heard him complain. Not once.
When my grandfather — his father — died a few months ago at 95, I thought it might break him. And when his four brothers had to watch him struggle to walk and talk and told him it was unfair, my dad remained steadfast:
He insisted the cancer was not unfair. Saying so would mean that his entire life was unfair, and he loved his life. He just hated the disease and thought it was terrible. And his job wasn’t to curse his life but to make the most of it.
And for him, that meant a simple choice: either feel bad for yourself or do something to make your life the best you possibly can.
My dad got lucky. Sometimes people do everything right, and the disease still takes life far too fast. But with the time he had and the time he created, my dad didn’t think cancer would take him.
Even when he only had a week left, he would lie in his hospital bed and ask me how we would get him to football games in the fall. We both had season tickets to our beloved Colorado Buffaloes. They have been terrible for the past 15 years, but we still showed up to every game and stayed till the end. My dad was excited about the fall. Deion Sanders was bringing Prime Time to Boulder. He wanted to be there on September 9th to see the first victory on the path to the greatest turnaround in college football history.
Some people thought he was crazy for talking about attending football games while in hospice. To me, it was just part of his vision.
Arnold always talks about vision, and my dad also believed in it. And his vision didn’t include death. He envisioned himself in that stadium. And while he won’t make it, that vision helped him go farther than any doctor said he would.
None of you knew my dad. But he loved life so much that he was unwilling to see his sickness as anything other than another obstacle he would overcome.
In my last conversation, my dad told me something I’ll never forget.
He talked about finishing what I started -- as a husband, as a father, as a friend, and in my work. We started Arnold’s Pump Club when his health started to rapidly decline. We didn’t discuss much about my work, but he told me he read every email and that I was doing something important.
In facing death, my dad believed the world needed more positivity. If there was anything he learned, it’s that optimism is the way.
He then asked me how many people we reach each day. I told him 500,000.
He then asked how many I wanted to reach. I told him 5 million.
And then he dropped the mic.
He said, “Adam, why put a limit on what you can do? Where would I be if I did that when I was diagnosed?”
Man. My dad didn’t always have many words, but the ones he had were damn good.
In the end, my dad made his vision a reality. He stayed optimistic, bet on himself, and appreciated each day as if his life depended on it.
After I watched my dad take his last breath, I told him I was proud of him. I kissed him on the forehead, and I said, one last time, it was good to see him.
I walked out of hospice that night, sat in my car, and thanked my dad for sentencing me to life. And I hope my dad’s story can do the same for all of you. -Adam
Back To School
As I slowly prepare to send my youngest off to college I've been thinking about what he might need for his cell room. When I went to college many of the male students had killer sound systems in their rooms. Today, Bluetooth speakers have gotten so good that my old stereo is obsolete. If your kid is heading off to college, just hanging out with friends, or working out alone, you should get them a nice, portable Bluetooth speaker. My favorite is the JBL Xtreme 3. Not too big and not too heavy, but pumps out great sound. If you use this link to purchase it, or anything else, I may receive a small commission. Thanks!
Finally, please check out my new Shopify store and show your appreciation and support. I'll be adding more t-shirt designs that I think you'll like.
Note: This process is new to me so let me know if you have any issues and I'll be happy to rectify them for you.
Have a Great Weekend,
John Van Lunen
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