Cheer for Your Team

I'm definitely a BYU fan. But not because I'm anti-U of U or anti-USU. In fact, the only time I really care whether the Utes or Aggies win or lose is when they play the Cougars. I've had any number of discussions with Fans and fans. Fans are people who follow their team all year, win or lose, through seasons good and bad. I've sat next to any number of Fans over the years and have always had a hand shake and good word for them at the end of the game. These people and I get along just fine because they're cheering for their team. fans are those who aren't so much cheering for their team as they are cheering against someone else. I've also sat by any number of these as well. Last year, at the Utah game I sat by some ute fans. As a precaution, I took ten minutes the day before the game to learn their fight song. Seriously - it only took ten minutes. It came in handy toward the end of the game when Utah scored to go ahead and a few of those fans began to revel in the Cougars impending loss (rather than in 'their' team's impending win). As the band fired up the song, I joined them with a rousing rendition of "Utah Man." The only problem was that I was singing the song alone while they clapped along mindlessly. 235 to go.

It Finally Happened

I've heard the stories for years, but as yet had been unaffected. And then, last night at the Orem Rec center I was there when it actually happened. A kid shat in the pool while I was there. Apparently it wasn't a one and done kind of accident either, but one in which the offending party made his/her way all around the shallow end of the pool leaving gifts for everyone. Fortunately, I was on my way to the pool when it was discovered and not in the water. Unfortunately, it screwed up my best laid plans. In other news, fall perfection is upon us. Last week DR and I road Tibble Fork. The rigid fork on my Serotta made my already tentative descending even more tentative. Despite the perfect weather and trail conditions, I never felt a groove on the descent. Hopefully, this weekend will be better. I've spent a lot of time pedalling, but the combination of mountain biking, road climbing and indoor training has kept my mileage somewhat low. I've now got 300 left to go.

A Doctor, An Archictect, and an Attorney Got Together

And saved my bacon. Kamika and Angela were indispensible as well, but title was already getting a little long. The luau sputtered on despite the hitches Cindy has described above. With Cindy at the hospital with Cindy, Jon and Mark, the very acme of reliability, showed up 20 minutes sooner than I'd asked. And went straight to work. Miss Cherie held a traumatized Nono while Mark, Jon, Delena and the entire Dastrup clan started trekking stuff up to the park and initiated setup. I arrived and began barking at these, my best friend. Fortunately, they humored me. Ben continued to parcook the chicken and sausages at the house while Kuhia and I fired the grills. Soon, in a flurry Kuhia, Kamika, and I began frenzied finishing of the chicken, sausages and sirloin. In short order we have the chafing dishes full and were ready to start, a mere 30 minutes or so late. I introduced the food to the 30-40 people then gathered and it was on. We continued the frenzid meat production. After a few minutes, I looked back to see a line growing for the food. Soon, the line extended 30-40 yards and was growing. The three of us would periodically monitor the food quantities and throw more of that selection on the grill as needed. Finally, nearly two hours later, things started to slow. I hope everyone had a good time and had as much of whatever they preferred as they would have liked. Next year, I'm locking the basement and starting setup two hours before the event.

Obstacles

Saturday was an epic day. I had neatly planned to start riding at 7:00 before it got hot and return home at 10:00 to ride with Cindy until 12:00. I got to bed early and was ready to ride at 6:50. Except, Dan wasn't. He'd decided to come and brought Tom along. This is the same Tom that made the first trip on the Trail of Tears, which almost ended in disaster but for a timely encounter with a fellow named Beau Hunter. By the time we got rolling, it was nearly eight. No big deal, we'd ride until 10:30, then I'd pick up Cindy at 11:00 and we'd ride until 1:00. I felt steady as we made our way up AF Canyon. Not fast, not slow, just steady. I was able to hold my heart rate low and my legs weren't aching. As we neared the Tibble Fork turn off, I stood up to stretch my legs a little when my right crank went floppy. It felt like my pedal was broken, but it wasn't moving. A first look seemed like my BB shell had delaminated. I coasted home to find the source of the problem. It turns out I'd sheared the outer lip of the BB cup off, which allowed the bearings to move freely with the shaft. No good. Fortunately, Cindy and I had a great ride. I love easy road rides with her. The route was virtually traffic free and the conversation was nice. We made our way up the back roads to Provo Canyon and up the river trail. Good times. That still left me with an 1:40 short of my goal, so I did 50 minutes on the trainer. I'd planned on doing the rest of it after my nephew's fairwell feast, but ended up with pre-form toxin food poisoning. (It's nice having a brother who also happens to be one of my best friends as a doctor.) That laid me up pretty well for the rest of the weekend. The combination of climbing and the indoor riding limited my mileage - 380 remaining.

Renaming a Signature Dish

Over the years, I've developed a few signature dishes. One of the oldest dish I had named as Haole Killer chicken. I named it thus because white folk seem to choose this chicken to the exclusion of other proteins at the luau, especially the pork. I'll take pig and poi three or four times over chicken, but that's just me. Previously, the process included skinning chicken quarters, marinating them overnight, baking them for an hour, finishing them on the grill, then pouring a finishing sauce over the final product. This was fine for working in waves as I've done previously, but this year we're going to do it all in one go. So, over the last month I've worked out my sauces and technique so that chicken now includes three liquids: a poaching liquid, a grilling sauce, and a finishing sauce. The poaching liquid includes 1:2:3 ratio of flavoring liquids and the grilling and finishing sauces include three ingredients. So, three steps, three sauces, three ingredients. From hence forth, the sauce will now be referred to as 'Ekolu Chicken.

Luau Count

So, I'm trying to get a better idea of how many people will be showing up. Of course, a comment that something came up doesn't mean you shouldn't show up if your schedule clears up. Anyway, please post a comment if you plan on coming or not coming. Saturday's ride was hot. Brutally hot. I was happy to be able to get through it without getting dehydrated. 425 left to go.

Current Fave

I can't remember if I've posted on this before or not, but I'm going to post it anyway. Generally, I like George Clooney. I liked him in O' Brother, I liked him in the 'Oceans' series. I loved him in Michael Clayton. I've also been a fan of Elmore Leonard. I liked Jackie Brown. I loved Get Shorty (despite Travolta). I also like Steven Soderberg - Traffic is still one of my favorites, and as I've mentioned, I like the 'Oceans' series - even if they are formulaic. These three elements come together best for me in Out of Sight. Before I saw it, I was doubtful at best. It was a dollar movie and when were first married the dollar movies were our principle form of entertainment. We'd sit through virtually anything they showed there. And from this, Out of Sight has now emerged as one of my favorite films. Not so much that it will displace my current top two - Shawshank Redemption and Unforgiven, but it's definitely made it into my Top 5. And no, I haven't read the book. P.S. Today Brently and I headed out on an MTB ride after work. We climbed up Memory Grove, over the City Creek trail and went down Bobsled. I rode my 69er Serotta. Two things became clear: one is that I need to do more climbing and two is that I've got a phobia right now of falling and breaking my collarbone. As a conclusion, I don't think I'm ready to do real mountain biking yet. I need more fitness, more complete healing, and more confidence. Hopefully, I'll have the legs and the confidence back in time for fall perfection. I'm guessing at this, but I'm guestimating total mileage today at about 10 miles, taking me to 510 down with 490 to go.

Best Piece of Geek Gear Ever

I love gear. A lot. Most of the gear I buy doesn't really make that much of a difference, but it sure is fun to play with. Sometimes it even looks cool. Like my Zipp wheels. Man they look good. I don't know if they're any faster, but they at least look the part. One piece of geek gear my wife bought me as a birthday/anniversary gift is this: The swimman system of waterproof headphones and a waterproofed iPod shuffle. Swimming is easily the most mindless physical activity I do. It turns out watching that little black line slide by lap after lap isn't really that engaging. I try and focus on my stroke, but man it's boring. The swimman system rules. It works well, generates decent sound, and is durable. I've had this system since April and it's worked like a charm. It sure makes those long swim sessions easier, which is proving invaluable as I get ready for AZ in November.

The Pre-Luau Ramp Up

It's about that time. The days are starting to get a little shorter. The evening temps are getting a little cooler. College football is on the horizon. And, it's time to start getting my game face on for the luau. This year, it will be at the Timpanogos Cove park, as you should already know. Instead of the multi-session affairs of the past, this year's luau is going to be one single-session shabangabang. So, instead of constantly cooking as the luau wears on, it all needs to be delivered at just about the same time. I've been working on layout, timing, and mechanical setup. The logistical challenge this year should be most of the fun - or most of the anguish. I've been picking up additional chafing dishes and high-volume outdoor cookers. It's time to start picking up the table settings, the charcoal, and the sauce bases. Finally, it'll be time to pick up the food and finish the final details. I've recruited Ben to man one of the grill stations. The two of us should be able to pound out the proteins in a couple of hours. I'm excited about this and hopefully you'll all be able to make it. Ride update - it's been a while since I've updated this - since the Vikingman, actually. So with about 245 since the Vikingman, I'm half way there.

Hello, My Name is Fish and I'm an Addict

Jeff the interventionist on "Intervention" is found of saying that every addict needs to hit a bottom before they change. I may have hit my bottom on the Utah Half last week. You see, I theorize that participating in long distance events is an addiction. By long distance, I mean anything that takes more than five hours to do. My first long distance experiences came in 2006. My brother had talked me into doing the Honu Half Ironman in Hawai'i, even though my triathlon experience to that point included the American Fork Splash 'n Dash and the Turkey Tri. Those were both reverse order pool triathlons. To get warmed up for Hawai'i, we did the California 70.3 Oceanside race. And that was really my first hit. The novelty of the experience was invigorating, from the training, getting set-up through race day, and taking the line. It was all part of the rush that topped out with crossing the line. Running down the finishing chute was one of the most exhilirating things I've ever done. As I crossed the line, I was nearly overcome with emotion - pride that I'd done pushed through the pain and self-doubt and disbelief and relief that it was finally over. It was awesome. Ever since that, every long race I've done I've been chasing that high. And like with a drug addict, each long distance adventure seems to render a little less of a high at a higher cost. At every occasion, the question of what the hell I was thinking became a question I asked myself searchingly as I pushed through the pain rather than an ice-breaker comment made to fellow participants. Each time, the doubt and self-loathing increased. Yet each time, just like an a drug-addict, I found myself plotting my next score. At the Utah Half, there wasn't much of a rush in signing up. Even less in prepping. Doubt and self-loathing combined with heat exhaustion and dehydration led me to utter those words, "Never again Swanney. I'm off the skag." And I meant it. It sure felt like the bottom. Only time will tell if I'm on the road to recovery or whether that the Utah Half was just a bad trip.

UtaHalf Race Report

Long posts can be tedious to read. This is going to be a long post, but one that I think may be worth reading. So, for your convenience, I've condensed it down a short version. The short version: -The organization was severly lacking. -It's sheer stupidity for me to do long races in the middle of the summer. -Triathletes can't seem to ride a straight line, but non-race racing roadies (I'm talking about the ULCER here) have are color-blind to yellow. While this may not look like the short version, I assure you it is. I was out there for a long time. Pre-Race Three hours of fitful sleep didn't quite refresh me like I hoped when 4:40 rolled around. I got up, went through my race-day routine and arrived at Utah Lake State Park nearly on schedule. The line of cars queued up at the entrance to the Utah Lake State Park was an ominous sign of things to come . You see, the organizers were collecting a parking fee and figured that instead of using the two lanes already there, they'd block off one lane. Nothing like sitting in line in your car at 5:30 a.m. Fortunately, the poor organization was spaced through-out the day. Upon arriving at the race venue, I thought I knew the swim was going to be one-lap, the bike course headed to west mountain and included four aid stations, and the run included part of the road around the airport and as well as the river trail. It turns out the organizers decided on a two lap course that morning. Confusion abounded as race time approached and no one really knew where we were going. I don't know how they measured the course initially, but even they admitted afterwards that it was too long. The problem for me is that I have a hard time judging distances in open water and so count on the race organizers to have the distances measured correctly. Seeing how long it took me to do the swim, I started the bike even more discouraged than normal. As I made my way through the bike leg, I was nearly hit by a car in a roundabout by the Provo Town Center. The driver was looking to see if anything was headed into the roundabout while failing to look to see if there was anything already in the roundabout. I shouted to get her attention, to which she honked and yelled. I responded with a full version of a TLA (three-letter acronym, courtesy of Jon). It's one of the TLA's that the youngsters are fond of texting. And it wasn't LOL or OMG. A slight headwind slowed me as I made my way toward Lake Shore. I've ridden that road enough times to know that given the time of day, it'd probably be a head-wind on the way back as well. I was making good time and at around mile 14 I started looking for the first aid station. Nothing. You see, instead of four aid stations on the bike, the organizers decided on one instead. Unfortunately for me, I set up the water bottles on my bike on a four aid station strategy as I count on organizers to have the course according to the information they publish on their website the week of the event. I know, foolish on my part. I noticed two things as I limped into the only aid station. One is that triathletes do a masterful job of drafting in races, but can't seem to stay off others' wheels in group rides. Tight groups of five or six in full aero tucks made their way past me on their way back. Maybe I'm just weird, but I wouldn't consider a time to be worth anything if I'd cheated to get it. The other thing I noticed is that century riders are color blind to yellow. The ULCER and the UtaHalf shared the same route, so excitable types in Rock Racing jerseys started coming the other direction as I headed back from the turn. Three or four of these guys in every group would be riding on the wrong side of the yellow line. This wouldn't have been a big deal if the roads were closed, but they weren't. As a result, several cars swinging wide of these guys pushed me into the gravel on my side of the road. On the way back, one of my two water bottles rattled out at a cattle guard and spilled onto the road. One water bottle wasn't enough as I made my way from Lakeshore with another head wind. As a result, when I started the run, I was already getting dehydrated. Good thing on the run there were eight aid stations and the shade to look forward to. The run did have some shade and there were eight aid stations. On most out and back legs of more than a mile, there's usually an aid station at the turn around where volunteers are making sure you run the whole leg. The problem was that a three mile stretch of the run headed through a festering swamp with very little shade. And no aid station. The pavement simply ended and a spray-painted u-turn sign on the pavement told you to turn around. With that, my dehydration was complete and I spent much of the rest of the day walking while trying to rehydrate. At some points, I'd get enough fluid in to start to well enough to run again, but those were short lived. It was a long day that may have cured me of the long course. I'll save that discussion for another post.

PDX '02, Part I of N

Those who know me at all also know, or at least have heard me speak about, a few people. I met B the winter semester after I married Cindy through a mutual friend. In short order, we were fast friends. We studied together through undergrad as well as law school, and then worked together at the same law firm for three years. As such, B is one of my oldest friends that I didn't grow up with. Between our 2L and 3L years, both of our wives were pregnant. We were each relying on their respective insurance plans from their jobs. We each ended up getting jobs in the Portland area. So, we decided to leave the wives at home to take maintain insurance coverage while we headed to Oregon where we would share an apartment. B had a truck, so we rented a U-Haul for him to haul most of our stuff. I loaded 5 bikes on the top of my sweet 96 Subaru Loyale and headed for Oregon. Why so many bikes? I needed a road bike, a mountain bike, and a bike to commute in to downtown PDX. More on my commuter in a subsequent post. If you've been across eastern Oregon, you know it can be pretty bleak. We were making our way through the hills near Baker when the front end of my car suddenly resembled a guyser. The temperature gauge confirmed the obvious as the needle was almost instantly in the red. We pulled over to assess the situation. As I opened the hood, the remaining liquid in the radiator spilled out on the ground. Water drawn from a nearby stream similarly drained immediately out of the radiator. Upon closer inspection, we realized that the axle that supports one of the fans had broken loose and made its way through the radiator. No big deal, I'll call a tow truck and get it fixed in Baker. The problem was there was no cell service. What to do? We needed to get to PDX in time to move in the apartment so we could be to work the next day. So, we had a broken car, no cell coverage, and we needed to keep moving. As the saying goes, necessity is the mother of invention. I'm not so proud of our 'invention'. B had a tow rope but nothing to fix it to on the trailer. So, we threaded the tow rope through the door latch on the trailer and pinned it in place with a tent stake. We made our way toward Baker with the truck towing the trailer and the trailer towing me. We kept this makeshift train moving all the way to Pendleton. On the way to Pendleton, it all started to go wrong. You see, there's a massive descent on the way into town. Any number of warning signs tell you of the curvy, long, steep descent. The trailer provided the perfect draft. That was great on the flats, but it made for an interesting descent into Pendleton. B did his best to keep his speed up, but there were a lot of vehicles going slowly down the hill, which made for lots of breaking. The brakes heated up quickly and started to smoke. They continued to smoke until I wore through the pads and the calipers were pushing on the rotors. It turns out calipers don't work so well. Unfortunately, we weren't even close to the bottom. What to do? Only one option, the clutch. So, I got braked with the clutch as much as I could. Finally, we made it into Pendleton, my nerves frazzled. The final damage? The clutch drove the engine at high enough rpms to burn up the alternator. And not surprisingly, the clutch wasn't doing very well either. So, we packed everything as best we could into B's truck and the trailer, pulled the radio and plates from the car, and left it in a junky part of Pendleton, and made our way to Portland.

Illustrative Example of Why Triathletes Suck

This weekend we packed the little ones and all our geek gear and headed to Burley, Idaho for the Spudman. My wife is from Burley and this race has been an annual tradition since long before triathlon was cool. This year there were ten of us affiliated with the Christenson-brand racing. Prudently, they put the fat kids in the last wave so we're out of everyone's way. I entered the water an hour after the first wave and waited for the gun. Once the announcer gave the 30 seconds to go countdown, my adrenaline spiked and I was ready to go. Only to be pulled back. Seconds of waiting turned into a couple of minutes before they pulled us all to the side. More and more minutes passed and I finally climbed out onto the docks. During this time, the announcer's incomplete description of the situation downstream fed speculation and rumor. After a few more minutes or relief-society style gossiping the race director called us all together. A man had been seen by some others in his wave to yell for help and then had slipped under the water. It had been nearly 10 minutes and it was clear that the rescue effort had now switched to one of body recovery. As the recovery effort continued, the race director told us all to head to T1 as the swim was cancelled. As the crowd walked by the river near where the boats were doing the search, we were called back to the start line as the body had been recovered. Immediately, the race director started getting heat to restart the race. That wasn't a typo. People immediately began pressuring him to allow them to swim past the same spot where literally seconds earlier Donald Morehouse's body was pulled from the river. His now widow was actually waiting for him at T1 and broke down at the news that circulated that they found him and he didn't make it. I stood there in disbelief at these people, who made up about 1/3 to 1/2 of the crowd. They shouted, "It's not fair, we trained for this." "If you're going to cancel the swim, I want my money back." Seriously. My wife noted that the problem with triathletes is that their focus makes them selfish. That's why they can't go on a ride for fun or have fun on a ride that also doubles as training. Nothing is more important than the next race. Unfortunately, I saw the limits of how far that thought extends - for those sorry bastards, nothing is more important.

The Funniest Thing I've Read So Far in July

The word smithing in this post is beautiful. For those of you who don't know him (I've only met him once), this is Dug's brother-in-law Sleepy.

The Official Luau Invitation

Time is rapidly approaching for the annual luau. Per tradition, I have scheduled it the same day as the first BYU football away game. Unfortunately, this year it happens to be the same day as LOTOJA. So, it'll be on September 6 at 5:00 at the park linked below. In particular Dug, Kenny, Fatty, Rick S., and Botched; if you're not doing LOTOJA, I'm hoping you'll be there. Hopefully, Ricky can make it as well. The park is 5 acres big and has two huge swingsets so it should be a good time for the entire family. From Racer's:
View Larger Map From SLC Bike:
View Larger Map

Spudman Predictions

Last Saturday I got up early to a light but steady headwind and made my way to Racer's house. He joined me and we continued south. The headwind fought us all the way to the mouth of Spanish Fork Canyon. For a brief time after we made the turn, the wind pushed us back toward Springville. At Mapleton, we turned east and climbed up through the houses to the mouth of Hobble Creek, where we then headed toward home. Racer patiently hung with me as I struggled up the hills. As we rode through Springville, the wind switched and we had a light but steady headwind on the way home. Normally, I'd be complaining non-stop about a headwind both ways. This time, I was just glad to be riding outside and especially glad to be riding with a good friend. My job has me riding less than I'd like on my own. Even less of that is done outside and pitifully less of that is done with friends. The abscence of pain has convinced me that I'll be fine for the Spudman, so I'm going to do it. The swim will be interesting, as I've only been swimming very slowly to work primarily on range of motion. So, the swim will be slow. Good thing it's down river. If I can do it in less than 30 minutes, I'll be pleased. The bike is going to be slower than last year, since I have been working primarily on long rides rather than power. I'm guessing 1:10 to 1:15. The run will be ugly, probably in the 1:10 range as well, which will put me at around 2:55 hopefully. Normally, this would be enough to discourage me as well. This time, I'm just glad to be able to do it. Amazing what being cooped up for four weeks in the middle of summer will do to you. The Vikingman plus Saturdays ride puts me at 734 miles to go. Commuting by bike starts again tomorrow hopefully.

Be a Traveller, Not a Tourist

First of all, I need to publicly admit that Ben is almost always right. Like with the 29ers. And Pizzeria 712. And those apple cider ribs. And yet, I often find myself questioning some of his recommendations. One of Ben's recent recommendations was that I check out Anthony Bourdain's show "No Reservations" on the travel channel. To that point, my only exposure to Tony was his work on "Top Chef." As a judge on top chef, he was negative and a bit smug. So, I resisted Ben's recommendation. Then, one evening after I'd been through everything interesting on the DVR, I switched it to Tony's show. And it was great. I'm pretty confident that Tony would hate Kneader's as much as I do. I wouldn't imagine he'd have good things to say about Cafe Rio either. (Though it is a guilty pleasure for me). On the last episode Cindy and I watched last night Tony went to Namibia and spent some of his time with the Bushmen. The Bushmen were eating some pretty awful stuff. The worst of which was a pig anus that had only been squeezed out and then cooked. Tony choked it down and did his best to be gracious. In his narration, he noted that though it was the worst meal of his life, that in order to experience the truly great food, you've got to be willing to leave yourself open to getting some bad. So Ben, I'll try and do better at leaving myself open to your suggestions, though some of them may end up being bad.

The People's Committee for Pets

A friend of mine, we'll call him JG, has been deliberating about adding a new member to his family - a dog. After thoughtfully talking through the issues with his wife and kids, they decided they could commit to getting a family dog. I suggested he check with the operation formerly known as the Utah Humane Society. They're having a half-price sale on older, heavy, black dogs. Apparently not their best sellers. However, JG isn't one who can pass up a bargain. He's also a bus commuter. So, we packed it up a little early and I drove him down to the People's Committee for Pets. JG found a calm, friendly looking black lab mix named Atticus. After taking forty minutes to run and play with Atticus and see how he played with other dogs, JG figured Atticus would be a good fit. He filled out the paperwork and submitted it to the interrogation committee. The interrogation committee consisted entirely of a lovely young lady who had a healthy BMI between 10-12 and who's skin had a nice methamphetamine-spotted glow. She asked several preliminary questions about the application after settling on the issue of accomodations. You see, JG had make the mistake of proposing accomodations that included several kids to play with, a large yard with a radio fence, a full-time house maker to watch after him while the kids were out, and a dog bed in a garage. What was he thinking? He was given a flat denial in one of the smuggest tones I've ever heard. She explained that if the dog didn't have his own accomodations inside the house and was only outside to poop or to play, they simply would not allow him to go to that home. Seriously. In disbelief, we walked out. You see, the People's Committee has decided that unless a dog receives accomodations that are as good or better than most people have, they are perfectly willing to let the dog hang out in a small cage that reeks of shit until they euthanize him. Heaven forbid a dog sleep in a garage after spending a day playing with the kids or playing outside. What was he thinking?

Honestly, Doc, I Fell Down the Stairs

I'd like to say that I'm surprised about this. I really would. The strange thing is that since I didn't have any realistic expectations it would be any different, I'm not actually disappointed. I had a sneaky suspicion as I watched the Cobra leave the field for dead that he was probably doping. Ricco's nickname lends itself well to one of my favorite cliche morals: You knew what I was [a snake] when you picked me up.

Remember When . . .

Warning: This post isn't nostalgic in any light-hearted way. Last night some friends from home stopped by and I cooked them up some dry-aged ribeyes. Good times were had by all. These friends are a rare couple in that 1) they're both my friends and 2) they're both from Blanding. The wife in the family is the sister of a former friend. It is indeed a rare thing indeed that someone makes the move from A-Ring friend to former friend. Her telling of the former friend's (FF) side confirmed that I made a good move in letting him go. Basically, his side of the story is that the only thing he did to merit my disdain was the thing that broke the camel's back. As Dan and I drove in to work together today, we thought of an apt analogy that applies: a friendship as a bank account. With relationships, I'm not the kind of guy that worries about a balance. My basic approach is to try to contribute and avoid taking. In the end, my best friends are those who also contribute and our friendships just get better. FF had a decidedly different approach. He figured that because of our long history (we grew up together) that there was enough in the account that he couldn't ever possibly spend it. I believe he stated it loosely as "I could piss in his face and he'd not only take it, he'd be cool with it." And so rather than contribute, he did his best to make as many withdrawals as possible. He chose to make his withdrawals by doing his best to piss me off just for the sake of pissing me off. Like many who've had their accounts closed, he made his withdrawals to impress others. I'm not talking about the good natured ribbing, I'm talking about comments like: "You say you went for a run? You don't run. You jog. Running means going fast. You jog." Thanks for making sure that I know that I'm slow. That kind of crap went on non-stop for a long time. After a year and a half, his account total was quickly down to zero, but because of our history I gave him a line of credit. He blew through that as fast as he could. A year later and he'd reached the point that I simply had to cut him off. It wasn't that big of a thing that did it, more of a cumulative effect. It just wasn't worth the resources and time to maintain a relationship with someone who had explicitly stated that my only value to him was as someone to mock. Last night, FF's sister noted that FF figured it was his last withdrawal alone that got him cut off. That would be like a situation in which a guy tries to buy something only to have his card declined and then assumes that his last small purchase drained his entire account. Nope, it was a constant series of withdrawals over a period of time without making any contributions. That's how you run an account dry. Anyway, just a confirmation for me that if I hadn't closed the account, FF would have continued to make withdrawals without contributions.