Today, my wife packed up the boy, hustled him into the car and drove to her folk’s house. Her father is getting surgery on Wednesday, and she wanted to be there with our kid to distract him. She told me I could stay home if I wanted to. [Read:: "Since I know your company is supposed to sign a deal for series-A funding on Tuesday you might as well stay home, since you will just be doing work anyways."] It’s a critical time, and while I miss her and my kid dearly, it’s a critical difference between our financial future being 'average American' or 'what private school should Vince go to'. So I stayed here, with good intentions of only working a bit, then getting some other household stuff done. Yeah .. right.

I'm not sure when I became a work-aholic. Don't get me wrong, I've always had a work ethic. I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty - stop laughing dad - and do work. Once when I was a teenager, I asked my grandmother for money because I was broke. I hated myself for months after that. I can always think of things I would rather do *THAN* work, but lately I've been up to my eyeballs in it, and treading water trying to keep my head up. Ten hours turns to twelve, which migrates into fourteen, then eighteen hours. Maybe more, most nights I barely remember stumbling up into bed, dreading the alarm that I know will start beeping in a meager three or four hours.

It’s possible that I am more conscious of my efforts because they are *MY* efforts. I'm in a position to guide aspects of this company, especially being the guy who BUILT the whole previous incarnation of the product we are busting ass to get out to the public. It’s humbling and exciting at the same time. For the first time since I started my own retail location in 1994 - which I sold in 1996 - I have the challenge before me of *building* my company from the ground up.

Maybe it’s because the rest of the executive team trusts me. They Explicitly trust me, they don't question my actions, at least not often, well .. at least not the RATIONAL actions. *grin* They trust that I will get my tasks done. They trust that my choices are the best for the company, and made with that in mind. Its a lot of responsibility, and if there was one thing my father passed on to me effortlessly, it was that bearing responsibility is something that a man is expected to do.

Who knows. All the above text is just a setup anyways. I gave you the recent background story of my life so you all will understand how big of a deal it was today when I left the house, and tasks unfinished for no other reason than to go to the local sporting goods store to buy a bicycle.

Part of the stress that’s been following me for the past two years has been a physical one. Working long hours doesn't help your physical conditioning. A car accident in 1994 that caused permanent spinal damage on top of that certainly doesn't help. My trim 25 had turned into a thin-ish 30, which then migrated into a getting-pretty-tubby 35. I'm out of shape, out of condition, and sick all the time.

In December, I became fed up. I started lifting light weights. Come January I felt good enough to make it a point to set 30-40 mins a day aside 5 times a week to do free weight training. Knowing I can put work totally out of my head for 40 mins out of the day has turned into a godsend. When the kid and the wife are asleep, I hit the weights and just turn my head off. Its me vs. myself, and I'm a pretty harsh judge of failure.

Back to the bike. After 30 days of pushing lumps of iron around, I can already see progress. I can also see that 3 years of frozen candy bars, Ice cream, and 2-liters of Coke-a-Cola have done me a fair amount of injustice. I'm not fat, but I have some. Its an unwelcome guest in my torso, and I decided that its been staying too long on my good graces alone. Everyone knows that dense muscle burns more calories per day than flab. Weight lifting has also boosted my metabolism back up. By the end of the day .. I am *hungry* .. which is an unusual thing for me. So - using the 'punish yourself for eating candy bars' theory, I decided that the BEST way to remove my unwelcome guest was to do more (any) cardio.

Last summer, fatty that I am, I tried to start running again. I was never GOOD at running when I was younger and in decent health, I was good at swimming. Although .. Baltimore summers are NOT New England summers .. running here past April is almost LIKE swimming. Since I don't have a pool handy, and I can't run well, the bicycle seemed the next best idea. I've been thinking about one for a while, much longer than the last month - because my son will be old enough to ride one soon. [How cool is that] I intend to ride with him, and to do that .. I needed a bike anyways.

So I left the house at 6:00 .. leaving work behind and set off to Dicks Sporting Goods - who were having an inventory clearance sale on bike equipment. I bought a bike, and a fluid trainer (like a treadmill for bikes) and brought them home. Took 10 mins to set it up, then I hopped on for 25 mins. Heart rate up means calories are burning. Lots of folks I know hate riding a bike indoors, but to me - that was 25 mins that *all* I had to worry about was making my legs go around in circles, and breathing.

I may be pedaling fast and going nowhere, but I am certainly getting something done.

Score one for Steve's mental health.

First off, here is the link : http://www.firstgiving.com/markwhittier

If you are so inclined, please go there and chip in a few bucks.

Mark Whittier was a great guy. He made me laugh, he had a horrible beard, we played stupid role playing games together with other friends. He was there for me with support and love when one of those friends died. Ironic, that soon afterwards, I would get a call from my sister asking if I was going to Mark's wake. [Long and very weird story made short - she knows his uncle very well.]

He loved Hall and Oats, Rush and Yes. He sat behind me during the SATs, even though we didn't go to the same high school. On holidays, everyone would get together at Mark's house after we did the obligatory family stuff and just hang out. He was THAT kind of guy - where you could just do that. He was a passionate man, he loved life, he loved people, and he could convince a rock that it was actually a bird given enough time. Charismatic is not the word. He had a peaceful way of talking - even when he was disagreeing with you. Sometimes to this day, I catch myself emulating it when I want to really get my point across to someone.

He wrote me a letter once, while I was in college, addressed to Steven Walk M.D. with the M.D. circled and crossed out ala Ghost Busters. Four pages of messy cursive, with ink blots. I lost that letter after he died, and haven't forgiven myself yet.

More than anything, as a true example of who Mark was, he convinced me to date his sister. She was mischievous, beautiful, and younger than me. I loved her very much (still do, always will.) and even when our relationship got as 'intense' and 'crazy' as every teenager's will, he never once told me he regretted suggesting it.

Mark Whittier was a man who died early, from a stupid assed disease that people just didn't know about. It was treatable even then, just hard to diagnose. He was good people. He *IS* still missed, and worth honoring. Take a min and look at the above website, even if you don't care or can not afford to donate funds, maybe you finding out about Wilson's disease might see you mention it to someone, who mentions it to someone, who mentions it to a doctor who find it in a patient and saves their life.

That is really all he would have wanted you to do anyway.