The Secret to Superhuman Strength (book)

"The Secret to Superhuman Strength" (2021)
Art & text: Alison Bechdel

Pengo's 2023 Summer Book Club

Reading Alison Bechdel’s third graphic novel, The Secret to Superhuman Strength, I was (of course) reminded of my own attempt to describe my obsession with exercise, the solo performance And Then You Die (How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years).

That was very much my midlife crisis play, parts of it are a bit cringey. But I was trying to search my soul for reasons and understanding, to explain to a lay audience why running is important, even necessary, for my continued existence.

Bechdel’s experience has had a more varied relationship with activities of physical exertion, and describes them with her fascinating attention to detail, in written word and her unique, specific and elegant illustrative style. Not only how to run, bike, ski, hike, to perform karate and yoga, but also the accumulative effect these exercises have on the body, the self, the bank account, as well as interpersonal relationships and family.

"And Then You Die" (2009)
Art: Cat Kenney

By the end of calendar 2022, I was trying to accept the shape I was in, a 190 pound man. I had assembled a fine wardrobe of clothes that looked good fit me comfortably, that did not constrict or pinch; layered looks, a fuller beard. Accepting, but also concealing. Acceptance is good, if you mean it, but I wasn’t happy. 

It wasn’t all vanity, I didn’t feel good. I was uncomfortable, hile driving, sitting. Also, my breathing was not easy, walking up stairs left me winded. Sleeping I could feel my heartbeat throughout my body, sometimes hard, sometimes trembling. It wasn’t good.

And so I made the decision, starting last March First, to dry out, and to eat with more intention. Less sugar, fewer snacks, no alcohol (for that month, anyhow). More recently I made a commitment – with the encouragement of our eldest – to limit my alcohol intake to one drink a day, if that. I have kept this pledge for several week and it has made a difference.

And I resumed running, which I had nearly given up on. Since then I have taken no fewer than twenty runs each month, March, April, May, June, July, and on track for August. I thought I’d never enjoy running again, and I love it more than ever.

"The Secret to Superhuman Strength" (2021)
Art& text: Alison Bechdel

Bechdel’s own relationship with alcohol is something she shares in the book. Wine is her beverage of choice (full glasses and empty bottles rendered in loving detail) as well as her intimate relationships, and how exercise affects, or even fosters those. This was also a major part of my running play, with the pursuit of monogamy, like my recent alcohol control, arrived at as another commitment necessary for my continued happiness and existence.

The book is braided with narratives of the writers Bechdel was affected by at varying stages of her life’s journey – Kerouac, Coleridge, Fuller – and their relationship to nature and the outdoors – which are necessary partners of hiking, running, skiing, climbing, et al. – and the expression and understanding of the self.

This also comes up in my play, as I ruminate while running, over stories by Forster, Cheever, London.

"And Then You Die" (2009)
Art: Cat Kenney

But running or any exercise is one of the few opportunities we allow ourselves to think. Our bodies are occupied, with movement, so our minds are free to wander, consider, and ideally to make connections we may not allow ourselves to make when we are at rest.

Admittedly, this book, my play, these are documents of privilege. Many cannot afford to or are physically unable to spend time and money (all the money) on these physical pursuits. So I appreciate the kinship I share with this author in the ways her personal journey reflects my own* and I am grateful for the opportunities I have had to pursue them. Running has brought me great joy, and has provided a potential path to enlightenment.

The ex-wife once asked if I run the same path every day, because for the most part, I do. A mile to the park, a mile through the park, a mile home. Her question made me ask myself why I do. I doubted. Surely, I should change it up, for reasons both physical and mental. Don’t I get bored? Am I not progressing?

I have decided that, either metaphorically or literally, taking the same path each day may be a key to my enlightenment, or at least acceptance. In meditation, as in life, beginning again, from the start, is not a failure of achievement nor imagination. It just is. Every day we begin again.

It is not unintentional that the cover of The Secret to Superhuman Strength, as well as the chapter chapter pages, are evocative of ink and wash artwork. Bechdel’s relationship with Buddhism is a central theme of the book. As I set out each morning, I hope to enjoy the run itself, to be running, the action itself, not its end.

Last weekend we delivered our youngest to university, and now our house is once more a home for two. My sister-in-law congratulated me, as though it were me that had accomplished something, by successfully concluding some kind of undertaking.

But now that this stage of my life is past, I’d like to think I was more engaged with the journey than working toward the finish line.

My running blog, Daddy Runs Fast, is a chronicle of every run I have taken since 2006.  

*One thing that’s not entirely accurate about And Then You Die is what the protagonist – me – does for a vocation. I made myself a cartoonist. The remarkable Cat Kenney created all of the artwork used for the show.

Process LXVII

"Some craven scruple of thinking too precisely on the event."
- HAM IV.iv

My concentration is greater in the morning than the evening (whether or not I have been drinking) but time is short. That could be part of it. This week we had a 200 page text and I was constantly distracting myself.

"Why not skim?" she asks. Because I’m not good at it. Because I like to read, not process, information. And because my eyes, I guess.

But also! This particular text is a guide to creative nonfiction. And I realized I spent a lot of time ruminating over a potential subject for my paper and had to go back over the same paragraph several times.

Recently I dug up an archive video of the Cleveland Public Theatre workshop production of my solo performance And Then You Die (How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years). It's not the best video, but the sound is all right, and it was good enough to get us into the New York Fringe in 2009.

I forgot how funny it was. This scene is about when I was twelve and had a crush on a character from the animated film Animalympics. I also forgot how much of this play is about my sexual interests. I have come to the realization that writing and performing this play was my midlife crisis.

The New York City Marathon (2006)

The first New York City Marathon was held in September 1970. As last year’s marathon was cancelled due to COVID, they missed out on the opportunity to celebrate the event’s quinquagenarian anniversary. That is happening today. The 50th running of the NYC Marathon.

Fifteen years ago I ran my first marathon, and it was this one. There was something magical about training for New York first. Who knew if I would ever run a second?

Since 2006 I have kept a running blog, recording every run I take, long or short. I have also included some operations and other sidelining events. But I still run. In fact, it was this blog which provided much of the material used in my solo performance And Then You Die (How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years).

Here is the contemporary account of my experience running the New York City Marathon. 

The Night Before

That night I had dinner with two old college friends, Andrew and Missy. Andrew bought me a pasta dinner at this great Italian place across the street from where he works. Andrew designs props for the American Airlines Theater, after dinner he gave us a brief tour of the set of Heartbreak House.

I stopped off at a market for extra food; a banana, pretzels, the odd energy bar, and a way too big bottle of water. Back to Coop's place, I laid out my gear, packed my bag and got in bed around 9.30.

Race Day: Sunday, November 5, 2006

I didn't sleep much at all, I woke up every twenty minutes. At 3.50, ten minutes before my alarm goes off, I got out of bed, cleaned up and suited up. I hate to consume anything when I first wake up, but I forced myself to drink a pint of water and eat a banana. I kissed my wife good-bye, said I'll see her on First Avenue, and headed for the subway.

I chewed a bagel on the way to the subway station. As I waited for the 6, other guys showed up in running gear and their "official" bags. We were each given a clear plastic bag, the only bag, we were told, we could take to the starting area. No bags inside of bags either, it's obviously a security thing. We're all like, hey, and hi, and have a great run. But not very loudly.

By 5 am there was a line of us walking up 42nd street towards the library, and there were at least twenty busses waiting for us. After all that fretting about my bus pass, they never even checked. They just wanted to see that we have numbers, there's no way they could have seen the small lettering on them that said if we had a pass or if this was the right pick up area. Whatever.

I had a great conversation with a guy from Toronto (sorry, I forgot your name) who ran the Cleveland Marathon last May. He kept saying really sweet things about our city and I kept biting my tongue from running the place down because we all do that.

Zelda & Toni

Fort Wadsworth, Staten Island

I was there before dawn, maybe the second bus there. Looked like a refugee camp. There were even experienced runners who had brought sleeping bags so they could just crash until start time. The only thing I missed was a scarf, otherwise I was relatively warm. I spent four hours pacing, having two small cups of coffee, eating another bagel, and another banana, trying to read the Sunday Times with gloves on, going to the restroom as strenuously as possible. When I tried sitting to read my body temperature dropped rapidly and so I got up again and just kept moving.

I even got in line for a massage. I didn't really need one, but it was something to do. She worked my back, I got tense in my shoulders a lot and my lower back hurt from all the pacing. By now the sun was up and I sat and worked on my red shirt. I wrote PENGO in block letters on the front. On the back I wrote:

CALVIN B.
ZELDA D.
ORSON A.
TONI K....

with a heart and a star. They got me to this place, I wanted to take them with me.

The people from different countries amazed me. Close to the start I met a young man named Matt from London. This was his first marathon, too - and he came from London. For his first marathon. So did I. Cool.

In my corral (the 20000 - 20999 corral) I found the 4:00 pace guy. I was going to follow the 4:15 pace team, but I'd already met this Londoner so I stayed there. Regardless, maybe I could pull off something like four hours, and maybe this was a big mistake, but whatever, I'd just let some people pass me first.

We began to move, and I took off the black sweats I'd gotten at Unique Thrift. I would be wearing my Asics all-weather black cap, glasses with a strap (not sunglasses), Lands Ends black long-sleeve tee, red Under Armour shirt, black Under Armour shorts, black running shocks and my Asics gels. I had gloves I planned on ditching. One last pee and we headed for the start. I was also wearing my iPod, had two GUs pinned to my shorts, and a tube of Carmex tucked into my waistband.

All my gear choices turned out to be perfect.

Verrazano-Narrows Bridge

I reached the start line roughly six minutes after the gun went off. My headphones were off, I was saving that for later. Just the thrill of, well, finally being there. I was nervous for a fraction of a second back on the bus, then, after hours of waiting, I was just happy to be moving. The sky was cloudless, the weather was mild, it was going to be a beautiful day for running.

Already there were men relieving themselves, over the edge of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. I just didn't think that's right. Over the next four plus hours, I would see guys just letting it go over bridges, through chain link fences, anywhere really. I also saw amused photographers taking pictures of small groups of guys, pissing into parking lots.

Good-bye Staten Island.

Brooklyn

Brooklyn was amazing. And very, very long. After a two-mile bridge, we would be in the Borough of Kings until the race was half-over. Shortly after we arrived, we were greeted by large, large crowds of cheering locals. When I saw a guy holding a sign reading FINISHING IS YOUR ONLY FUCKING OPTION I knew it was going to be a good day.

There were Irish runners wearing big green hats, a guy dressed as a rhino. a surprising number of Norwegians, Dutch runners with matching orange jerseys sporting questionable cartoons of Africans, a guy dressed like the Statue of Liberty, and, so they told me, Bobby Flay.

For most of Brooklyn I enjoyed the ambient sound, the bands playing every couple of miles. I drank at maybe every other station, sometimes water, sometimes Gatorade. I forced myself to drink even when I didn't want to, though I found as I was drinking that I really did.

Whenever I took long runs during my training, I would feel terribly drained after a while. I attributed this to a lack of something in my system. At five miles, I took my first GU, right before a water station to wash it down.

10K split: 0:57:33

By seven miles, I began to wonder if we were in Queens yet, and had to remind myself that that wouldn't come until mile 13. I tried keeping the bouncing balloons held by the 4:00 pace captain in sight, but needed to take a leak (at an actual port-o-john) and spent a few miles trying to catch up. I was going much faster than I should have. By the time we reached Queens, I lost them for the rest of the run.

I began getting that drained feeling before the Half-Marathon, and worried I hadn't packed enough to eat. They warn you not to pick up anything not at an official table, which is a shame, because there were kids with small water bottles, old ladies with orange slices, guys with bananas. I took a Twizzler at one point, because I thought that was good luck, until I remembered I never chew Twizzlers thoroughly enough. I had my second GU, this one with caffeine in it. I knew there would be a PowerBar Gel station at mile 18, and hoped I would last until then.

I had read on some message board that you shouldn't put your name on your shirt, that it gets annoying after a while. Everyone else said to do it. Well, I didn't write my name, I wrote my nickname. And I gotta tell you, I never got sick of perfect strangers yelling "Pengo!" at me. That was a big boost, and whenever I needed it, I moved from the center of the street to one of the curbs.

Queensboro Bridge

A steep incline, luckily I read in one of the magazines that there is a stunning view of Manhattan if you look to your left. I did, and it was. It was breathtaking. It was one of several moments during the run I almost, but didn't, burst into tears. God, I love that city.

Choice track: Such Great Heights - The Postal Service

Earlier in the run I was concerned I was dressed just a little too heavily. Maybe I didn't need this thermal undershirt, at least not in the bright sunlight and 50º weather of Brooklyn. But the two miles on the lower level of the Queensboro Bridge made me grateful I had it on, that was brisk.

Choice track: Winners - 7 Seconds of Love

As we headed down the bridge descending into Manhattan, I said the only thing out loud I had said to that point. I said, "That's a lot of people."

Half-marathon split: 2:00:17 

First Avenue

Outstanding. First Avenue, deep with people, for miles. Bright and sunny again, headed uptown. My family was supposed to be waiting for me at 81st Street, but I started looking for them much earlier, on the west side of the street, looking for the SpongeBob Squarepants sign I had gotten for them from the expo. I missed the "official" banana station looking for my wife, but - I kid you not - I almost slipped on a banana peel.

Choice track: Future Sightings - I Am the World Trade Center

They were right where they said they'd be, Coop was holding the sign, which read "Go Go Pengo!" or I never would have seen them. I leaned over to kiss my wife and the children, and headed off again. And then I got really, really tired. It was only mile 17.

I had used the iPod intermittently, but relied on it more heavily to keep my spirits up. I snagged a PowerBar Gel, and then a second one for later.

Choice track: A Little Less Conversation - Elvis Presley vs. Junkie XL

I had no idea whether it was a boon or a curse to be familiar with the geography and relative distances of Manhattan in that situation. I knew I was racing into the hundreds, and that after a brief swing through the Bronx, it would still be a long way back to Central Park.

The Bronx 

On the Willis Avenue Bridge we were greeted by a Scots drum and pipes band. Not as many people were there to see us at the Bronx, maybe they felt slighted being such a short part of the route. I was feeling distress in my abdomen, couldn't tell if it was just all of the synthetic protein and carbs or all the fluid I had been taking in, or just gas. I stopped at another port-o-john, which was a big risk. I tried keeping my legs moving as I pee'ed (that was a very good idea) and then got back on the road.

I applied lip balm every few miles, I never lost the lip balm. I still had the gloves I'd tucked in my waistband.

And then we were back in Manhattan.

Fifth Avenue

I mostly listened to the iPod through Harlem and on toward the Park. The family was going to cross over and meet me there - at first my wife had said she would see me on the avenue, and then she changed that so I wasn't sure where I would see her. So I began looking well up the street. It was a good thing, too, another distraction.

Remember; I had never even run 20 miles before. The one time I tried it I fell slightly short, going from Cleveland Heights to Lakewood. Once I hit twenty, in the Bronx, I thought, well, from here on out I have no idea what I am capable of. I tried to drive any notion of what it was going to feel like stopping, of finishing, of having the medal, of seeing my kids again, out of my head.

Choice track: Put Your Records On - Corinne Bailey Rae

We crossed into Central Park. After another half mile or so, I found my family again. I wasn't stopping this time, I was just happy to see them. The last two miles were ridiculous. I can't say they were impossible, I didn't slow down any more than I already had (LOTS of people passed me on Fifth Avenue) I just kept going, not too slowly, either, it just didn't seem like it was ever going to end.

Final track: It's My Life (Vocal Mix) - Liquid People vs. Talk Talk

My iPod was on shuffle, and this track was next. I listened to it a lot during my training, one of those songs from my teenage years that was played so much it lost meaning at the time, but creepingly gained meaning in the time since. And the artist who was Talk Talk now goes under the name Liquid People and "remixed" this track, which means he mostly put a thudding beat under it that makes it incredible to work out to. It was exactly what I needed aat point in time, reminding me of all the work I'd put into this. I just shut everyone out except for the deafening cheering that came through.

Out the south end of the park, and then back in, I headed to the finish line. There was no feeling of overwhelming exhilaration, Just relief.

Finish time: 4:15:28
Overall place: 16,838 (out of 38,368)
Average pace: 9:45

Originally appeared in Daddy Runs Fast.

UPDATE: The string in the waistband to the shorts I wore during the 2006 NYC Marathon snapped while running in Central Park last month.

And Then You Die (revisited)

James Rankin as Pengo

Monday night, a small gathering joined me at my house for an informal reading of And The You Die (How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years). This is the monodrama I wrote ten years ago, took the New York Fringe, and revised for a run of performances at Cleveland Public Theatre in 2011, performed a single evening with I Hate This (a play without the baby).

Pairing the two shows together only pointed up the flaws in this newer piece. Though they share themes and feature a similar character (me) IHT is straightforward and weighty while ATYD flails all over the place, trying to decide what it wants to be. Or so it seems to me.

It was Chennelle’s suggestion that, having proposed a revision, I may want to hear the script read out loud first, and by someone else. We asked James Rankin to read the script, he has already performed in several plays I have written, including Double Heart, both of my Agatha Christie adaptations, and The Great Globe Itself.

The crowd was intimate, by design, as I limited the gathering to folks who were unfamiliar with the play, mainly folks I had only met in the past eight or nine years.

It was refreshing to listen to the play, to experience it in real-time like an audience member. The structure takes the audience all over the place, from the past to the “present,” from formative moments to the job of training for a marathon itself.

The middle section is powerful with poetic imagery, and it made members of this audience wonder why it took so long to get to that point. Of course, the early scenes give the middle scenes their strength, building the story and the character so it/he can take flight.

I also made a running list of all of the Cleveland references, and how many were helpful and which were not. It’s definitely a play which takes place in Cleveland, and nowhere else. But it does get bogged down in minutiae of interest only to a local. That’s fun and all, but takes up valuable verbal real estate.

Not an illustrator. Actually a runner.

Finally, it is a period piece, the story of a Gen X father preparing for a marathon in 2006. References to the now disgraced Lance Armstrong and now ubiquitous Alexander Hamilton ring differently than they did even eight years ago.

My audience was asked to reflect back to me what they felt the play is about, what message it attempts to convey, and some of the answers surprised me.

The effects of long-distance running on the human body, the functions of the body, its capacity and fragility.

I have created an alternate professional life for the main character, that of a visual artist and illustrator. How relevant this is was the subject of some conversation, and also how more clearly to draw these aspirations to the personal and athletic goals, errors, and achievements.

One of the New York reviews from years ago remarked on how characters arrive, never to be heard from again, which is a thing that happens during a person’s life. But the place of “father” in all of this, the original inspiration for becoming a runner was an important question for me, and I received some valuable feedback on that.

My goal is to rewrite the play entirely, leaving most of the skeleton intact and changing all the words. My writing has evolved in the last ten years, or I like to think it has, and this is a story I want to return to, to get right. Listening to it read has only strengthened that commitment, the fact that I am training for the 2019 Chicago Marathon will provide a lot of time to ruminate on the revision.

I'm taking the TEAM CHALLENGE for the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation,to raise $2,000 and run the 2019 Chicago Marathon! Will you kick in something today? Visit my TEAM CHALLENGE page and learn more about my reasons for supporting this cause. Many thanks!

Play a Day: And Then You Die

Portrait by Amy Arbus (2010)

Ten years ago, my monodrama And Then You Die (How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years) workshopped at Cleveland Public Theatre before receiving its world premiere at the Robert Moss Theatre in New York City as part of the New York Fringe Festival.

Training for my first marathon in 2006 was a life-changing experience, the culmination of a quarter century of trying and failing to be a consistent runner. As with my previous solo performance, I Hate This (a play without the baby) I relied heavily on the journaling I did tell the story of the preparing for the race itself, adding stories from my adolescence and early adulthood which described my struggles with health and exercise.

Response was positive in New York, getting laughs where expected and eliciting a strong response at the conclusion. I paid special attention to the critics, however, who were generous but also offered some helpful reflection.

“David Hansen’s autobiographical one-man show, about his lifelong obsession with long-distance running, is a simple and tragic yet reaffirming tale, told earnestly and with minimal poetics ... how refreshing to be touched by something real.” - Michael Freidson, Time Out New York

“We meet a lot of people that have crossed or influenced Hansen's life, but you will have a hard time understanding why they are important ...His father who used to run when he was just a child, his first inspiration, was he around to see him run the Marathon? … We needed more of these pivotal influences.” - Antoni Minino, Fab Marquee

"Segments about how he trained for the race, especially his final preparatory run, from his own home on one side of greater Cleveland, to his parents house across town, are similarly fascinating … What I wanted was to understand why running is so fundamentally important ... But this show never really gets us to that place.” - Martin Denton, nytheatre.com

Also, this comment left on my blog from audience member (now my friend) Cris Dopher:

“I was impressed with your clarity, organization of thought, and bold maneuvers on stage … If there was anything I was confused about, it was the family timeline and your relationship with your daughter ... you concentrate on your boy(s) so much throughout the show, and then at the end - it's all about your little girl. I wasn't sure why the switch.”

And Then You Die
(How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years)

Good question.

When I had the chance to remount the show at CPT in 2011, paired with I Hate This as a single evening, I was took the opportunity to cut the show down to an hour (previously it ran about 75 minutes) which was a welcome change for everyone involved, but this piece suffered in comparison to the very weighty first act.

Writing for the Plain Dealer, Christine Howey said I Hate This “borders on brilliant,” but that ”the second play just can't measure up to the first. However transformative the process of completing a 26-mile run might be, it pales to insignificance after the cataclysmic event so tellingly presented earlier.”

So, I’ve left this piece alone for a while. But it’s one I have lately been coming back to. I want to respond the criticism, to rewrite the entire thing. Because there is a story there, one I enjoy telling, about running, about why we run, and about maturity, and having a goal and trying to reach it. About becoming a whole person, one who is happy with themselves. Or at the very least, has a capacity for happiness.

This is my goal for the rest of the spring, to rewrite And Then You Die, aiming for a performance some time in early fall. The decision to tackle this now isn’t arbitrary, either. This fall I will be running the Chicago Marathon, raising funds for the Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation.

Please check out my Team Challenge campaign page, read why raising funds for this organization is important to me, and make a contribution. Any amount with be greatly appreciated.

Entry Point (2017)

Rehearsal for "Set Fire and Start Again"

New play development is a thing. It is as though almost every theater in town has its own playwrights ensemble or presents some new plays festival. Convergence-Continuum has the NEOMFA Playwright Festival, Ensemble Theatre the Columbi New Plays Festival, Dobama Theatre has a playwrights program called Playwrights’ GYM, and the Play House the Playwrights’ Unit, that last of which I am a member.

Reaching back twenty years, I was an actor for Cleveland Public Theatre’s new play festivals. That event included a prize for best play, the Chilcote Award, which would go on to receive a full production the following season. I was in the world premiere production of Lucy Wang’s Junk Bonds in 1995, and performed in both the festival (1997) and premiere (1998) production of Sarah Morton’s Love In Pieces.

In more recent years, when they produced an annual festival of works-in-progress called Big Box, I was afforded the opportunity to develop my own plays, including solo pieces I Hate This (2003) and And Then You Die (2009) among others. Each had life outside Big Box, but the assistance provided by CPT made them happen.

Of course, there are a wide variety of ways to develop a new script. You can invite friends to your house and read it. You can stage your own public reading, or submit it to a celebration of new works like the Playwrights Local Annual Cleveland Playwrights Festival or attach yourself or gain membership to one of our local theaters’ playwright collectives. You can even declare your script completed and submit it for production, here or anywhere, really. The internet has made it much easier to find companies across the country that actively seek new work.

This year, CPT is trying something new, by producing a trio of events designed to progress dramatic works at various stages of completing. The first stage of these, Entry Point, takes place this weekend. Over the course of two and a half hours, audience members can move between over a half-dozen locations on the CPT campus to witness - and comment upon - new works at various stages of development.

In addition, they are featuring panel discussions on Saturday afternoon. A number of my favorite artists and CPT stalwarts are presenting as part of this project, you can even sit in on a brand new work from Eric Coble. Also, there's free beer.

My friend and colleague Carrie Williams is working on a script titled Set Fire and Start Again, since the beginning of the year she has been directing our company of five to create a script-in-hand, twenty-minute performance of what she calls “fragments” of a larger piece that she’s working toward. I have had a wonderful time working with this crew, a lot of positive energy devoted to developing Carrie’s work, giving her what she needs, we hope, to drive this piece forward.

This is the project I was referring to when describing those of us who go into the cold to create. For some reason my sharpest memories of participating in the creation of someone else's work, generally as an actor, with highlit and marked up new pages in my hand, take place in deepest winter. During the rehearsal process I was standing in the wings, and turned to face the black wall of the Levin Theatre. Painted black, and repainted many times over, how many layers of paint dating back how many years. I touched its surface, which has born witness to so much new work.

When I was a youth, when I was in college, even, I was not interested in new work. My ignorance of the classics placed a premium upon them, they had staying power and pedigree, they had been endorsed by time and I assumed therefore those were “real” plays. And I considered myself a writer!

Since that time I have come to an entirely different conclusion. New writing is the lifeblood of civilization, and that working as a collaborator (even as an actor! yes!) in the pursuit of original plays is vital to the progress of culture. The open, creative exchange of ideas in a public venue. You like movies? You like TV? It all begins with the basic, local act of crafting the words to be spoken from one person to another, on a stage, before an audience. That is the basis of understanding.

Entry Point will be presented at Cleveland Public Theatre, January 20-22, 2017.

How Did I Get Here? (book)

Same as it ever was.

The past several years my time on vacation has been somewhat compromised by writing or business related to writing. Last year I was researching the years just after the Great War and writing The Secret Adversary. The year before that I was constructing The Great Globe Itself, and in 2013 spent an inordinate amount of time online promoting Double Heart for the NY Fringe.

Granted, there are fewer places I would rather be writing than sitting on the porch of Barnstable, doing my thinking while peering through the triple birch tree and into the cove beyond. But tethered as I was to my books, notepads and (ugh) the internet, I strained my own credulity in denying or deferring offers to walk in the woods, swim in the sea or take the motor out to trawl for mackerel.

Each of these writing responsibilities were for my job, commissions for the outreach tour, so even as they fed my creative desires they were constrained by deadlines and the need to follow strict parameters. Don’t get me wrong, strict parameters are to me rich compost, but it goes without saying that when I am writing A, I am not writing B, and the opportunities to stretch and explore are hampered.

Not so this summer, having just come off an additional outreach mini-tour -- Twelfth Night (As Told By Malvolio) -- and all the business surrounding the RNC, the plan was to read what I chose to read and to participate in whatever it is anyone else suggested I do. And I have! We have gone on kayak tours, watched fireworks from a lobster boat in the harbor, taken several brief fishing trips, gone on seal spotting expeditions and hiked up the side of a mountain.

And I have been reading How Did I Get Here? (Making Peace With The Road Not Taken) a memoir by novelist Jesse Browner. Inspired by his own feelings of middle-age remorse, the author decided to write this book upon turning the age of fifty in an effort to explain and justify his own feelings of inadequacy.

Put more specifically, as an author in the middle of his life, Browner is filled with deep regret for not being the person he believes he had the potential to be, a feeling which is familiar to untold creative peoples, including this one. The decisions we have made have added up to the people we have become, and if we are not entirely satisfied with who we are we must have made a mistake somewhere, perhaps many mistakes, decisions which, had they gone differently, would have led to our becoming the best of ourselves.

Last Tuesday was my forty-eighth birthday. I have two years to correct every single mistake I have ever made. Just kidding, that is not the point of this book. It is also not merely to come to terms with settling. It also doesn’t simply encourage happiness for its own sake.

Employing a number of examples of brilliant artists who were utterly miserable (most famously writer Franz Kafka and musician Elliott Smith) the author paints a picture of the life as a whole, illustrating not only how genius or talent or work does not necessarily add up to happiness, but that it is the unavoidable fact of not knowing keeps a human from being able to appreciate what is more than what might have been.

When I examine the facts of my own life (I do that a lot, you know) I can become bogged down by missed opportunities, opportunities which were passed upon because I am lazy or fearful or because I thought I was making the right decision but later regretted, decisions made in my own self interest (which are selfish) or in someone else’s interest (which are never duly appreciated) or for one of several other reasons.

I can also become obsessed and resentful for my upbringing, and for never having been adequately instructed or trained, merely told to stop making noise and get on with it, my act of seeking being treated as pestering until I no longer wished to bother anyone for guidance and assistance.

I think we're all bozos on this bus.

Taken together, the most satisfying conclusion I can make is that though I am not as great as I could be, I am most certainly greater than I should be.

“We want what we already have but fail to recognize it as the thing we want.” - Browner, p. 212

The book’s subtitle is a reference to that road not taken from Frost’s poem, a metaphor which he argues is not, as many believe, a paean to regret. If only I had ... whatever.

However, I long ago I realized (decided?) that my life was neatly cleaved between that which occurred prior to March 19, 2001 and everything had has happened after. The death of our first expected child was something happened to me, not an action I chose. However, it was a cause which had a profound effect, a life-altering effect.

The fifteen years since have been an ongoing, chaotic tumble as to what happens next, but there is no question that this road is utterly other than the one I was headed towards, and what I have chosen to do with it has led me to be much more accepting of life in general.

However, prior to that moment I would have said some other point was the dividing line in my life’s history. Marrying my wife, divorcing my ex-wife, starting Guerrilla, leaving L.A., changing my major, taking Accutane, and on and on and on.

This is my beautiful wife.

But it won’t be tomorrow, and it won’t be the day after that. The man says, “You’re fifty-two [or forty-eight] years-old. Do you think anything could help you change at this point?” (p. 164) but that’s not the point of his book. It is rather to see and accept all that is around you as the world that you made, and to continue to choose to make it work in the way that you do.

When I was approaching the age of forty, I had what I thought was my mid-life crisis, which manifest itself somewhat successfully in my solo performance And Then You Die (How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years). However, it is a work I have often thought of coming back to, and with my recent happiness in revisiting I Hate This perhaps I will soon create the time to do so.

The play is only superficially about running, though there is an awful lot of that. It is as Browner states so directly in his book, my piece is also about choosing to "kill off your obsolete, petrified self-image, and fully embrace the happiness that is your due." (p. 260)

I Hate This: Fifteen Years On

Don't you think I'm looking older?

As the new year began, I was struck by all the unique milestones, personal and public, that lay in our way in 2016. My daughter was to become a teenager. Shakespeare’s First Folio would be visiting Cleveland (and all those Republicans.) We would elect a new president.

I was also aware that our first child, stillborn in 2001, would turn fifteen. On the tenth anniversary of the events described in my solo performance, I Hate This, that play and a companion piece were produced at Cleveland Public Theatre. It was rewarding to expand upon the play in that way, and have the opportunity to widen the scope of what stories I could tell in a single evening.

For this birthday, however, I wanted to reconnect with I Hate This on its own. But how best to proceed? I considered intimate, private performances, maybe even hosted in my own house, or someone else’s house. Maybe a string of them, a series of appearances for an audience of ten at a time. Perhaps one day I will still attempt that.

I was actually about the abandon the idea. We were putting together The Secret Adversary tour, and soon I would need to begin rehearsals for a forty-minute abridgment of Twelfth Night we will be presenting as part of the First Folio proceedings. It just wasn’t the right time, you know? You can always tell yourself it isn’t the right time.

Then two things happened. First, my father died, and life itself took on a startling new dimension for me. Preparing a memorial service, physical contact with a deceased and beloved family member, making decisions you never imagined you would be called upon to make ... so much that had been buried into the past returned to the surface.

And shortly following that, I was accepted into the Last Frontier Theatre Conference, which I greatly wished to attend, but scarcely had the money to pay for. It made perfect sense to accomplish two goals at once, raise funds in exchange for which I would offer an entirely relevant premium -- my work. I would remount this play, with purposeful intent.

We have put together a production team, with Josh Brown adapting the multimedia he created for the CPT production (2011) and we will be including Dennis Yurich’s original score from 2003, which is now appropriately period.

Most significantly, I have asked Chennelle Bryant-Harris to re-stage the work. She has worked three seasons as an actor-teacher in the residency program, and we collaborated as co-directors for the Love In Pieces project two years ago. She is a talented, young director who will bring a fresh perspective to the work. Significantly, I suggest, for at least one important reason - unlike my previous collaborators, she wasn’t there. She did not know me then. Her experience is based entirely by what I set on the page, and so my words have to do much more work.

During the past two years I have watched with fascination as two other men have taken on the role, John Dayton and Brian Cook. Their interpretations gave me an opportunity to think of the text in new ways, have liberated me from thinking there was one way to perform this show. It’s my show, to be sure, but I was locked into a delivery, a certain cadence and choreography, which was established almost from the first reading in August, 2002.

When I polled friends on Facebook as to whether anyone would care to see either this play or And Then You Die (How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years) again, Brian P. commented, “I'd be more interested to see how time and the vicissitudes of life has affected your approach to (I Hate This).”

So would I, Brian. So would I.

Click here to visit my GoFundMe page and make a donation and reserve your seat to see "I Hate This" on May 7!

Indie Theater Now

Now I am a member of Indie Theater Now! I have enjoyed saying that, as in: On the Dark Side of Twilight now available on Indie Theater Now! Now! Now! Now!

Indie Theater Now is the product of Martin Denton, whose work I first came to appreciate through his original online theater endeavor, nytheatre.com. During its 17-year stretch, nytheatre.com reviewed almost 8,000 plays including almost every single play produced at the New York International Fringe Festival. For example:

Angst:84 reviewed by Michael Criscuolo
I Hate This reviewed by Deb Hoodiman

Double Heart reviewed by Heather Lee Rogers.

And Then You Die reviewed by the man himself.

I have also enjoyed the (former) nytheatrecast podcast, which kept me abreast of the alternative theater scene in New York City. This is extremely important if you want to take yourself seriously as an under-known playwright anywhere in the world.

Now, Denton decided shortly after the close of this year's FringeNYC to cease nytheatre.com, and you can read more about why and what next in this informative HuffPo interview. Long story short, he is concentrating on his other original online resources, including Indie Theater Now -- of which I am (now) a member.

Indie Theater Now is, among other things, a database of new plays. You can access an online version of a complete text for only $1.29. A dollar twenty-nine. Seriously, for less than a cup of coffee. This is a great deal for not only producers and directors, but other playwrights, or anyone who likes to read original work.

Two of my plays are now available there, And Then You Die (How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years) and On the Dark Side of Twilight. You can read reviews and other information about the production (see pictures, access online radio interviews, etc.) for free, and then begin your ITN library by purchasing a copy for your computer or reader.

You should purchase one or both of these scripts. Now.

Notes on Fringe (Day Six)

Dobama’s Night Kitchen presented my wife’s play, Angst:84 at FringeNYC in 2001. Now that was an undertaking, the cast consisted of 14 actors, maybe half of them teenagers. With Director, ACR, stage manager and sound board operator our company came to eighteen.

I was the sound board op. I had nothing to do for ten days but run the show and other than that I ate sushi, and saw about sixteen other fringe shows.

One of our company members turned sixteen while here. That’s Leah. Her experiences that week solidified an interest in making NYC her home.

The last full day of Fringe (for us) the company saw some show, I can’t remember what it was, but then everyone wanted to get back or go party, but Leah wanted to see another show, and I offered to escort her.

Studio (2001)

We saw some “trailer trash” drama (they handed out PBR at the door) but that still wasn’t enough theatre, so we journeyed back to the Present Company Theatre -- where Angst:84 was also performing -- to see the Israeli docu-performance Studio.

A sculptor modeled clay for an hour while his model sat. Slides showed his studio in Tel Aviv, and recorded narration featured artist and model ruminating about the artist-model relationship.

One of the major themes of the work was on the importance of repetition. The familiarity of the subject to the artist in each subsequent work … well, it’s like theater, recreating the same performance over and over, and building, refining, developing deeper and deeper understand of the character, the subject, the work.

Leah (2003)

As we found our way back to the subway (that’s a story for a different time) my companion mused that she would like to someday have that kind of relationship with an artist.

“Well,” I said, somewhat paternally, “perhaps someday you will."

Leah and I also have a relationship in writing. She was the youngest member of The Gulf ensemble, and she was brilliant, she wrote some of the most poignant and humorous and intelligent pieces of the show, at fifteen.

But we did get together for events, and she learned that I fancy myself an artist. Somewhat. After a fashion. I mean, I draw. Every now and then. I mean, I used to.

A few years later she asked me once, and then twice, if I would like her to sit for me. After what I felt was an appropriate interval, I finally said yes.

However, I am not currently what anyone would think of as a serious visual artist. In fact, since Leah and I entered into an artist-model relationship, her effect on my work has manifest itself more in my writing than in illustration sketching.

 Emily as Xanthe in "On The Dark Side of Twilight" (2010)

She was the inspiration for the character of Xanthe in On the Dark Side of Twilight, and she figures memorably in And Then You Die (How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years). In addition, she has been very supportive of my writing, sampling scenes from The Times as I created that however many years ago.

Meanwhile, Leah did move to New York, and she has made a good life for herself here. Like a lot of people in her tribe (and from Cleveland Heights) she lives a bo-ho lifestyle in Bed-Stuy, working as massotherapist and a doula, and also as a live model, a career in which she mas become muse to several highly talented and reputable artists, including (but not limited to) Daniel Maidman and Patricia Watwood.

Daniel Maidman, Blue Leah #2 (2011)

My own drawing practice revved up again for a few years (midlife crisis?) but then went stagnant, pretty much around the time I began writing plays in earnest.

Returning to New York for Fringe I made sure to connect with Leah, and she invited me to join her at Spring Street Studio, where she has been modeling for around five years, for an open life drawing session this evening.

Whoa. Spring Street? I know its a professional studio, and I know they invite amateurs for these sessions, but Daniel M. drops in there from time to time, guys like Fred Hatt … I mean, that’s crazy talk, right? A four-hour drawing session. I had to say yes.

Meanwhile, she had other business in Manhattan, and there was time for us to catch a FringeNYC show together. And only one fit our timeframe. And, what do you know, twelve years later (yes, her twenty-eighth birthday was yesterday, please don’t say it) we’re going to see a show about life modeling.

Human Fruit Bowl (2013)

Andrea Kuchwelska’s Human Fruit Bowl was, I believed, a memoir of working as a live model. The fact that I believed the performer in front of me was telling her own story is a credit to both actress and playwright, but they are different people, something I was surprised and even delighted to learn after the show when I met the latter.

At the beginning of the show I was a little oppressed by the idea that I was sitting next to a professional model, who would be modeling a just a couple hours (how meta) but soon abandoned that self-conscious line of thought as I was drawn in by familiar themes, issues I respond to, mainly: Why do people have to make up shit to explain the world around them?

To wit: Bonnard created five hundred of paintings of his wife in the bath, and later his mistress killed herself in the bath. Only she didn’t. And it wasn’t five hundred paintings. Shakespeare never made that joke about William the Conquerer, Washington didn’t chop down a cherry tree, and Obama didn’t send Bo on a separate jet on the taxpayers’ dime.

“People don’t know things,” says our naked protagonist, “they jusy think they know things.”

Pertaining to art, why must we crete sordid tales of artists’ lives to make the work exciting, isn’t it exciting on its own? Aren’t the true, meaningful relationships between artist and subject present in the work, without making up stories, can’t you just see it, right there?

Leah (2008)

These things should be true about writing, as well. In spite of the positive things she had to say, I was not impressed by the critic from Time Out New York who suggested Double Heart suffers “scars of months spent touring schools and nursing homes.” We didn’t tour schools and nursing homes for months, we performed at five schools and absolutely no nursing homes during four weeks of performance, so whatever point you are trying to make (because you then do not elaborate) you begin by being inaccurate, which is, to be generous, unhelpful.

Meanwhile, we proceeded to Spring Street. I have never participated in a session before. I have taken classes, but not life drawing classes, just self-motivated discovery. I found the experience liberating. No one judging my work -- especially not me. One-minute poses, then two-minute, five, ten, twenty and then forty. I didn’t think I could do it. Then I realized I could.

Repetition. Familiarity. Consistency. Time. Trust. Confidence. Friendship. Nothing worth having can be easily won.

Leah has occupied a very important place in my life, encouraging me and encouraging my work, and I love her for that.

The New York International Fringe Festival

 
Excellent news! Double Heart (The Courtship of Beatrice and Benedick) has been accepted into the 2013 New York International Fringe Festival. Just received news over the weekend, and have been waiting for the right time to tell everyone.

Finding out whether or not we would be reviving the show this summer, or if we would simply be junking the set and packing away the costumes is something that has been occupying my mind for most of the spring. Like, a lot of my mind. However, getting in was easy, getting there will be challenging. We will need funding. Funding from you. But asking for it comes later, first a lot of planning and plotting and organizing, and also, too: being excited.

This will be my fourth foray into the NY Fringe. The first was easy, if the timing was odd, we brought my wife's play Angst:84 to Lower Manhattan in August 2001. I was running sound -- on a minidisc player. Weren't those the days.

 In 2004 our space was a basement apartment in the West Village (40 seats.)

Oh my God! That's Caroline V. McGraw!!!

Twice since I have produced solo productions there, I Hate This in 2004 and And Then You Die in 2009. Each time, though I was delighted with the experience, I was less-than-satisfied with attendance, attracting maybe a dozen people for each show. It wasn't for lack of good word-of-mouth, or stellar reviews, maybe it was just the entirely-too-personal-stillbirth stuff.

Good thing there's none of that in this show.

I am exhilarated to bring a play, with music and brightly-colored costumes, and a set and a company of awesome fellow actors for a change. I think that will make a big difference. Last time my wife was unable to even make the trip, in spite of my incredible support team, it felt like quite a 'solo' show.

 In 2009 we were in a professional dance theater, across from the Public.

Most of all, I am so delighted that Double Heart has a life which continues. Some great shows I am more than happy to pack up and say farewell to, because they said what they needed to say, people saw it, everyone was happy, it's time for the next thing. But we have a good thing going with this show, and it deserves a longer life, and a wider audience. A New York audience! And it will have one.

O hey, I bought a domain name: doubleheart.info. Cost = $3.00. Awesome.

 In 2013, I will bring a costume.

The New York City Marathon

Today, Harris Falk runs the New York City Marathon.
(This photo is from 2009.)


UPDATE: 5:10:46 Way to go, Harris!


Founded in 1970, the New York City Marathon was originally four laps around Central Park. While attractive (by 1970 standards) I cannot imagine anything more challenging and tedious than running around Central Park four times. It's not merely the repetition, it's also a very hilly course.


Marathon Man (1976)
"Hurrr -- why don't you just trying ACTING!?"
In 1976 the race map was drawn to touch all five boroughs. Expecting New York City denizens to be outraged at over 300 blocked intersections, no one was prepared for the crowds, excitement and positive energy created by the event. Participation in the NYC Marathon exploded.




Beginning on Staten Island, runners traverse the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge into Brooklyn where they remain for 13 miles before taking in a few miles of Queens, and crossing the 59th Street Bridge into Manhattan. North up First Avenue into the Bronx (one mile) and then back into Manhattan before concluding in Central Park. The cheering is truly outrageous.


Cruising under Verrazano-Narrows Bridge in 2009 ...


... running over Verrazano-Narrows Bridge in 2006.


Hey! You! Douchebag in the hat!

Soucres:
My 2006 NYC Marathon Experience (Daddy Runs Fast)
The Bowery Boys Podcast: NYC Marathon History

The City

The Cleveland-based comic strip artist Derf announced yesterday that, "Cleveland Scene dumped my strip." This says little about his talent or popularity (which are great) or his penchant for controversy (which are legend.) It does speak volumes about the state of print journalism.

I remember those grand, heady days of the late 1990s, when both the Free Times (assimilated by Scene a few years ago) and Cleveland Scene were as thick as phone books with ads and content. Of course, they were both kicking the crap out of each other, hemorrhaging cash in the battle to dominate the free weekly market. But it was fun for the readers (especially when they chose to dump on each other) and made Cleveland feel like a place where things were actually happening.

If you haven't picked up a Scene in sometime, and of course most people haven't (no swipe at Scene in particular, I mean really, it's made out of paper) you will sigh at how thin it is, and you don't even need to open it to know most of its weight is dedicated to the advertisement of sex work.

Not, as they say, as if there is anything wrong with that.

So cutting the last cartoon from the paper (as Derf reports, there used to be six) should surprise no one.

Except, of course, that we are talking about The City.

"The City" by Derf

I have been reading Derf's work (real name: John Backderf ... if that is his real name) pretty much since the strip began in the pages of the Cleveland Edition back in the year 1990. One of my favorite strips arrived shortly after I moved to Cleveland Heights, and describes the long-nightmare of a West Sider losing his way during a drive to visit someone on the East Side.

The protagonist is horrified by the sight of minorities, confounded by the arcane traffic patterns, and his desiccated corpse is discovered months later, still inside his parked car (which is now festooned with Cleveland Heights parking tickets) with a note reading, "I wish I could have one more slice of Player's pizza."

The original hangs in a frame at Players on Madison.

The City continues to be published in many national magazines, and one of the things I have always enjoyed is the fact that "The City" isn't some generic city, it has always been Cleveland, and he never changed that to accommodate different markets. He would create special, full-page illustrations for the covers of the Edition, Free Times and Scene dealing with local issues, but the familiarity of the strip itself gave me a warm feeling, knowing my town was being shared with the world.

How "my town" will cope when the strip about itself is no longer available on its streets is a question. First, the loss of American Splendor, and now this.

In one of the solo works I will be presenting in April (and any subject is really about me, isn't it?) the character of Pengo is a flailing cartoonist. His professional journey follows its own path, one which is a shadow of mine. Pengo has some success as an underground cartoonist, even becoming art director for the Free Times in the mid-1990s, which features his syndicated strip called Angst.

"Angst" by Cat Kenney

You know what say about imitation. Sucks that they cut you, Derf. But I think I know who will be publishing longer.

UPDATE 8/29/2011: " Attention Clevelandites! My comic strip THE CITY will debut in the Cleveland Plain Dealer on Monday, Sept. 12." - Derf