August 19, 2010

Thursday 100819

Rest Day

CrossFitHandstandsWorldwide3_th.jpg

Enlarge Image
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Worldwide Handstands 3.


"CrossFit and Injured Swimmers" with Chris Michelmore, CrossFit Journal preview video [wmv] [mov]


"How to Spend the Money" with Jason Khalipa, Rob Orlando and Kristan Clever - video [wmv] [mov]


Antoine Forqueray, Suite no. 1 in D minor


What is the most potent poem or short story you've read?


"Market Data Firm Spots the Tracks of Bizarre Robot Traders" by Alexis Madrigal, The Atlantic.

Post thoughts to comments.

Posted by lauren at August 19, 2010 5:00 PM
Comments

Most Potent Poem Right here...

O Captain My Captain
a poem by Walt Whitman


O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.


Comment #1 - Posted by: JonL at August 18, 2010 5:03 PM

"The Word" - Nabokov

"An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge" -Bierce

"The Short and Happy Life of Francis Macomber" - Hemmingway

Comment #2 - Posted by: Brian PCF at August 18, 2010 5:23 PM

"The Invitation" by Oriah, Mountain Dreamer

http://www.inspirationpeak.com/poetry/theinvitation.html

Comment #3 - Posted by: jenniferg at August 18, 2010 5:24 PM

Poem- "If" by Rudyard Kipling.

Comment #4 - Posted by: Eric at August 18, 2010 5:27 PM

Mid-Term Break
by Seamus Heaney

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year.

Comment #5 - Posted by: Aidan at August 18, 2010 5:28 PM

By far, "Dulce et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owens.

A true Soldier's poem...

Comment #6 - Posted by: james.patrick [M/47/66"/135] at August 18, 2010 5:35 PM

Anything and everything by Wendell Berry.

Brian PCF, good choice... Francis Macomber is one of Hemingway's best.

Comment #7 - Posted by: John S at August 18, 2010 5:35 PM

"The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner" by Randall Jarrell

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Comment #8 - Posted by: J.T. at August 18, 2010 5:39 PM

#7 J.T. another good choice...

Comment #9 - Posted by: james.patrick [M/47/66"/135] at August 18, 2010 5:44 PM

It's not really a poem, but "The Pale Blue Dot" by Carl Sagan changed my life. One of the most moving things I've ever read.

Comment #10 - Posted by: Joe at August 18, 2010 5:50 PM

"Invictus" by William Earnest Henley

Comment #11 - Posted by: briang at August 18, 2010 5:53 PM

this is not a poem but it is one of the most powerful messages Ive ever read and I use it in every part of my life. Trying to live life as RXd by God.

Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest. Joshua 1:9 - The Bible (KJV)

Comment #12 - Posted by: SamA at August 18, 2010 6:03 PM

"War" by Jack London -- That's the first that come to mind, but I'd also have to re-emphasize the following that have already been mentioned:

"The Road Not Taken" by Frost
"If" by Kipling
"An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge" by Bierce

Comment #13 - Posted by: MB at August 18, 2010 6:06 PM

Please by Charles bukowski is an awesome poem. I think it's from the book by him called the tornafortia tree

Comment #14 - Posted by: Mr W at August 18, 2010 6:08 PM

Today was my first day of crossfit here in Austin! I'm so excited, just had to let eveyone know. Woo hoo!

Comment #15 - Posted by: Mr W at August 18, 2010 6:12 PM

I agree with briang

Comment #16 - Posted by: Shane Jensen (M/22/5'11"/182) at August 18, 2010 6:13 PM

do any of you guys or girls know how i have to train if i wanted to compete at crossfit games?are the WODs enough?

Comment #17 - Posted by: AB at August 18, 2010 6:18 PM

"Ulysses" - by Tennyson

Comment #18 - Posted by: Nick Scott at August 18, 2010 6:28 PM

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night", Dylan Thomas:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Comment #19 - Posted by: Duncan at August 18, 2010 6:34 PM

We try to do well in treating our soldiers well when the war is over, but this poem always moves me.

"Tommy" by Rudyard Kipling

http://www.online-literature.com/yeats/840/

Comment #20 - Posted by: Matthew Williams at August 18, 2010 6:38 PM

I was a writing major in college and could list dozens of these, but I'll limit myself to five, in any order:

Short Story -

1) Flannery O'Connor, "A good man is hard to find"
2) John Cheever, "The enormous radio"
3) Raymond Carver, "So much water so close to home"
4) E.B. White, "Once more to the lake"
5) George Orwell, "Shooting an elephant"

Poems -

1) Henry Longfellow, "The Saga of King Olaf"
2) E.E. Cummings, "Buffalo Bill"
3) William Butler Yeats, "The Second Coming"
4) Henry Longfellow, "The Ladder of St. Augustine"
5) William Butler Yeats, "The Municipal Gallery Revisited"

Comment #21 - Posted by: Luke/m/30/5'9"/185 at August 18, 2010 6:39 PM

Chekhov - The Student

Comment #22 - Posted by: quince at August 18, 2010 6:39 PM

"The Iron" by Henry Rollins.

CrossFit Bogota posted it on their site earlier this year and I thought it was pretty solid. I think it came from an article in Details magazine.

http://www.crossfitbogota.com/cfbog/2010/01/the-iron-henry-rollins.html

Comment #23 - Posted by: bobbi at August 18, 2010 6:43 PM


As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.


by C.P. Cavafy

Comment #24 - Posted by: george at August 18, 2010 6:50 PM

AE Housman
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Last_Poems
Number XXXVII, EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES
These, in the day when heaven was falling,
The hour when earth’s foundations fled,
Followed their mercenary calling
And took their wages and are dead.

Their shoulders held the sky suspended;
They stood, and earth’s foundations stay;
What God abandoned, these defended,
And saved the sum of things for pay.

LPN, Vive la Mort etc.

Comment #25 - Posted by: Pär Larsson at August 18, 2010 6:51 PM

short story..."tonio kroger" by thomas mann

Comment #26 - Posted by: george at August 18, 2010 6:54 PM

Dedicated to Crossfit.

"Within you I lose myself. Without you I find myself wanting to become lost again."
--Unknown

HAHA! :)

SANTI

Comment #27 - Posted by: santi at August 18, 2010 6:54 PM

"The Sensible Thing" by F. Scott Fitzgerald, the most searing depiction of romantic heartbreak and rebound ever committed to paper.

Comment #28 - Posted by: TRN III at August 18, 2010 7:04 PM

"The Raven"
Edgar Allen Poe

Comment #29 - Posted by: thatguy at August 18, 2010 7:08 PM

Short Story:

"Harrison Bergeron" by Kurt Vonegut

Comment #30 - Posted by: Jerrod at August 18, 2010 7:09 PM

The Lottery by Shirley Jackson.

Comment #31 - Posted by: Ben 5'5''/145/31 at August 18, 2010 7:12 PM

OZYMANDIAS
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Comment #32 - Posted by: Paul Siegel at August 18, 2010 7:28 PM

"The Men Who Don't Fit In" by Robert Service

Comment #33 - Posted by: Panda at August 18, 2010 7:32 PM

RE to #8:

Thanks, James, and I looked up your poem because I had never read it before...very, very hardhitting. A few years back, I toured the trenches at Verdun and even had a chance to view the tight confines of the battlefield of The Last Battalion. I don't mean to sound callous, but I don't think reenlistment numbers were high back then..."young" or "male" meant "expendable." If you haven't done so yet, check out the movie "Gallipoli." At the end of the day, moving patriotic speeches notwithstanding, war is about metal meeting meat, hopefully more of ours of the former and theirs of the latter.

Comment #34 - Posted by: J.T. at August 18, 2010 7:33 PM

Flanders Fields by Col. John McRae
Horatius at the Bridge by Livy
Tommy by Rudyard Kipling
Psalm 23
The Chauffers of Madrid by Ernest Hemingway

Comment #35 - Posted by: sarge712 at August 18, 2010 7:37 PM

"As A Man Thinketh" James Allen

Comment #36 - Posted by: Stuart at August 18, 2010 8:12 PM

#31... My puppy is named Ozymandias and his personality is that of the Great King.

Poem: "The Wasteland," though I find myself returning to "The Second Coming" at various stages of my life.

Comment #37 - Posted by: Chris M/24/190/6'1" at August 18, 2010 8:14 PM

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Henry Wordsworth Longfellow (from the Psalm of Life

Comment #38 - Posted by: tom at August 18, 2010 8:26 PM

+1 for 'If' by Kipling
and Also nominate the short story 'Call it Courage' by Armstrong Sperry

Comment #39 - Posted by: Leithoa at August 18, 2010 8:32 PM

Dedication by Jon Gilson from Again Faster

Awesome Read and a MUST for every crossfiter

http://www.againfaster.com/articles/from-the-archives-dedication.html

Comment #40 - Posted by: juangar at August 18, 2010 8:40 PM

My favorites of all time:

The Road Not Taken

If

Ozymandias

I also find mind-blowing wisdom in the Bible, Proverbs and throughout.

How outstanding is Crossfit and the CF community? The fact that we are discussing poetry is fantastic! It applies directly to the attitudes toward fitness and nutrition we've taken. Hoorah!

Comment #41 - Posted by: Jonathan McBride at August 18, 2010 8:42 PM

Oh yea, more handstand photos. lol

Comment #42 - Posted by: -=Gar=- at August 18, 2010 8:52 PM

"In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit to his full height." -W. Shakespeare

Comment #43 - Posted by: -=Gar=- at August 18, 2010 8:59 PM

Good ones Sam A, Luke and Quince.

I would add almost anything by Anton Chekov.

Comment #44 - Posted by: Andy P 6 3 205 pound 43 year old guy at August 18, 2010 9:02 PM

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
- d.h. lawrence

Comment #45 - Posted by: Christian at August 18, 2010 9:05 PM

Not a poem...but the lyrics to Two Suns in the Sunset by Roger Waters of Pink Floyd

"Two Suns In The Sunset"

in my rear view mirror the sun is going down
sinking behind bridges in the road
and i think of all the good things
that we have left undone
and i suffer premonitions
confirm suspicions
of the holocaust to come
the rusty wire that holds the cork
that keeps the anger in
gives way
and suddenly it's day again
the sun is in the east
even though the day is done
two suns in the sunset
hmmmmmmmmm
could be the human race is run
like the moment when your brakes lock
and you slide toward the big truck
and stretch the frozen moments with your fear
and you'll never hear their voices
and you'll never see their faces
you have no recourse to the law anymore
and as the windshield melts
my tears evaporate
leaving only charcoal to defend
finally i understand
the feelings of the few
ashes and diamonds
foe and friend
we were all equal in the end

Comment #46 - Posted by: Jor at August 18, 2010 9:37 PM

Short Story: "The Heart of Darkness" Joseph Conrad

Poem:


To Earthward
by Robert Frost

Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of--was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Downhill at dusk?

I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.

Now no joy but lacks salt,
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,

The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.


Comment #47 - Posted by: ThomasD at August 18, 2010 10:10 PM

Another vote for 'If' by Kipling.

#22 Bobbi: thanks for the link to "The Iron" by Rollins, that was very cool.

~Never Quit!

Comment #48 - Posted by: Playoff Beard at August 18, 2010 10:16 PM

A Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes.

Comment #49 - Posted by: Mark Vincent at August 18, 2010 11:06 PM

"It's all in a state of mind"

This got me through HS football, and continues to help me everyday.

Comment #50 - Posted by: Jimmy at August 18, 2010 11:08 PM

"The Harvest" by Amy Hempel, one of the great minimalist writers.

Comment #51 - Posted by: el_flaco at August 18, 2010 11:22 PM

Psalms 18 and 42, among many others.

Also, another vote for "If."

Comment #52 - Posted by: ericthered at August 18, 2010 11:34 PM

"Persistance,
Dedication." - Talib Kweli

I say it over and over. All day, everyday.

Comment #53 - Posted by: nate jansen at August 18, 2010 11:44 PM

Now this is the law of the jungle,
It's as old and as true as the sky.
The wolf that shall keep it may prosper,
And the wolf that shall break it must die.
As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk,
The law runneth forward and back.
The strength of the pack is the wolf,
And the strength of the wolf is the pack!

"The Law of the Jungle" - Rudyard Kipling

Comment #54 - Posted by: Jon Scott at August 19, 2010 12:04 AM

Coleridge: "The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere"

It taught me English

Comment #55 - Posted by: Anders - Denmark at August 19, 2010 12:22 AM

Agree with post # 34. Anything by Allen is golden. You could use experts from "As a Man Thinketh" or "Above Life's Turmoil" for months alone.

I would also suggest the short story "The Whole Town is Sleeping" (the Raven) by Ray Bradbury

Comment #56 - Posted by: Nelson at August 19, 2010 12:41 AM

The Genius Of The Crowd by Charles Bukowski
there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

Comment #57 - Posted by: gc at August 19, 2010 1:12 AM

The Low-Down White, by Robert Service.

Comment #58 - Posted by: J1 at August 19, 2010 1:31 AM

Two Tramps in Mud Time
-Robert Frost

Comment #59 - Posted by: Paul at August 19, 2010 2:01 AM

A Feast of Snakes, by Harry Crews

Comment #60 - Posted by: Edwin Townshend at August 19, 2010 2:07 AM

A Feast of Snakes, by Harry Crews

Comment #61 - Posted by: Edwin Townshend at August 19, 2010 2:09 AM

Was wondering if anyone had any information about crossfit Okinawa. Like who I would talk to about getting certified. I see classes scheduled for on base all the time but went to my gym and they told me the Marine Corps doesn't deal with the certificates. Any help would be great.

Comment #62 - Posted by: Josh 25/M/5'7/180 at August 19, 2010 3:16 AM

Crossfit sri ram ashram,India
Yesterday WOD,
"Nate"

Complete as many rounds in twenty minutes as you can of:
2 Muscle-ups
4 Handstand Push-ups
8 2-Pood Kettlebell swings

Arvind 11 rounds using 1 Abmat for HSP,20kg KBS
Bachendra 14 rounds(jumping muscle-up,25kg KBS)

Comment #63 - Posted by: rashmi at August 19, 2010 4:10 AM

I'm not sure if it's the most potent, but a really good one is
The Man Who Planted Trees by Jean Giono.

Comment #64 - Posted by: RobW at August 19, 2010 5:11 AM

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost. Also, several poems from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

Comment #65 - Posted by: hypnotodd at August 19, 2010 5:50 AM

"I Would Like" by Yevgeny Yevtushenko.

"The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" by Ursula Le Guin.

Comment #66 - Posted by: Jose Ramirez IV at August 19, 2010 5:56 AM

In the Ravine - Chekhov
Neighbors - Raymond Carver

Looks like I'm adding several to my "to read" list. Thanks Crossfit for such a well-rounded presence.

Comment #67 - Posted by: David at August 19, 2010 5:56 AM

The hand stand pic from Kauai makes me dizzy.

Comment #68 - Posted by: JoeK at August 19, 2010 6:17 AM

RE to #52:

Heck, how could I have forgotten about Ray Bradbury? May I suggest his short story "Boys! Raise Giant Mushrooms in Your Cellar!"

Comment #69 - Posted by: J.T. at August 19, 2010 6:29 AM

"The Second Coming" - Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Comment #70 - Posted by: BLL at August 19, 2010 6:45 AM

Excerpt from: "A Satire against Mankind," by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647 - 1680)

For hunger or for love they [animals]
fight and tear,
Whilst wretched man is still
in arms for fear.
For fear he arms, and is of
arms afraid,
By fear to fear successively
betrayed;

Comment #71 - Posted by: Espinosa m/25/5'11"/165 at August 19, 2010 7:23 AM

Base fear, the source whence
his best passions came:
His boasted honour, and his
dear-bought fame;
That lust of power, to which
he's such a slave,
And for which alone he
dares be brave;
To which his various
projects are designed;
Which makes him generous,
affable, and kind;
For which he takes such
pains to be thought wise,
And screws his actions in a
forced disguise,
Leading a tedious life in
misery
Under laborious, mean
hypocrisy.
Look to the bottom of his
vast design,
Wherein man's wisdom,
power, and glory join:
The good he acts, the ill he
does endure,
'Tis all from fear, to make
himself secure.
Merely for safety, after fame
we thirst,
For all men would be
cowards if they durst. ....

c. 1675 John Wilmot

Look it up. Read the rest.

Comment #72 - Posted by: Espinosa m/25/5'11"/165 at August 19, 2010 7:29 AM

Look to the bottom of his
vast design,
Wherein man's wisdom,
power, and glory join:
The good he acts, the ill he
does endure,
'Tis all from fear, to make
himself secure.
Merely for safety, after fame
we thirst,
For all men would be
cowards if they durst. ....

c. 1675 John Wilmot

Look it up. Read the rest.

Comment #73 - Posted by: Espinosa m/25/5'11"/165 at August 19, 2010 7:32 AM

Look to the bottom of his
vast design,
Wherein man's wisdom,
power, and glory join:
The good he acts, the ill he
does endure,
'Tis all from fear, to make
himself secure.
Merely for safety, after fame
we thirst,
For all men would be
cowards if they durst. ....

c. 1675 John Wilmot

Look it up. Read the rest.

Comment #74 - Posted by: Espinosa m/25/5'11"/165 at August 19, 2010 7:32 AM

Philippians 2:5-11

just written beautifully, not really a big reader but this always gets me and reminds me how i need to continue to be humble and love those around me.

on another note, back is starting to feel better day by day, can't believe two wod's in a day set me back so much.

Mr W, welcome to the pain and suffering that we all love so much. go read the article on the affiliate page about us being different. it's a good one.

going to hit up the run and rest wod, but going to sub rowing due to need of lower impact.

Comment #75 - Posted by: Raph at August 19, 2010 7:39 AM

The Men Who Don't Fit In*

Robert W. Service


There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.

Comment #76 - Posted by: Jim D. 49/m/165/5'11" at August 19, 2010 7:53 AM

Oh if youre a bird
be an early bird
and catch the worm
for your breakfast plate
Oh if youre a bird
be an early bird
But if youre a worm
Sleep Late

Shel Siverstein

Comment #77 - Posted by: CWS at August 19, 2010 8:03 AM

A Clean, Well-Lighted Place
By Ernest Hemingway

Comment #78 - Posted by: Marshall at August 19, 2010 8:11 AM

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden

This poem reminds me to give thanks to my dad or any other imperfect person whose kindness to me is so obvious I'm tempted to take it for granted.

Comment #79 - Posted by: Devin at August 19, 2010 8:21 AM

Also, this "Bokononism" from Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut:

"Tiger got to hunt, bird got to fly; Man got to sit and wonder, 'Why, why, why?' Tiger got to sleep, bird got to land; Man got to tell himself he understand."

Sums up the human condition quite nicely I think.

Comment #80 - Posted by: hypnotodd at August 19, 2010 8:22 AM

When Goldilocks went calling
On Little Baby Bear
And spoiled his bowl of porridge
And sat holes into his chair,

I hope she hurried home again
For others nice and new
And took them back politely
To Baby Bear. Don't you?

Comment #81 - Posted by: SueAnne/f/50/5'6"/140 at August 19, 2010 8:24 AM

"Harrison Bergeron", by Kurt Vonnegut: a description of where I fear we're going.
http://www.tnellen.com/cybereng/harrison.html

What's wrong with trading algorithms? They provide liquidity and help markets move and, like many many other things, are dangerous when placed in the hands of the incompetent. Hence, the flash crash.

Comment #82 - Posted by: Dan M at August 19, 2010 8:46 AM

There are too many too choose from; however, if I must:

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
--Ezra Pound

Short Stories:
T.C. Boyle "Tooth and Claw"
O'Brien "The Things They Carried"
Alexie "What You Pawn I Will Redeem"

Comment #83 - Posted by: Brit at August 19, 2010 8:47 AM

So many good ones here - my new project is to read (or re-read) them all.

Story: The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allen Poe
Poem: Jabberwocky, by Lewis Carroll

Comment #84 - Posted by: Newbie at August 19, 2010 8:47 AM

The Rules of Evidence
Lee Robinson

What you want to say most
is inadmissible.
Say it anyway.
Say it again.
What they tell you is irrelevant
can't be denied and will
eventually be heard.
Every question
is a leading question.
Ask it anyway, then expect
what you won't get.
There is no such thing
as the original
so you'll have to make do
with a reasonable facsimile.
The history of the world
is hearsay. Hear it.
The whole truth
is unspeakable
and nothing but the truth
is a lie.
I swear this.
My oath is a kiss.
I swear
by everything
incredible.

Comment #85 - Posted by: LD at August 19, 2010 9:10 AM

Regret the late post, but from an earlier WOD, what does: "...Squat snatches...(movement initiates with barbell below the knees)..." mean? Is this just a classic snatch? The parenthetical statement makes me think not, ie, do you not have to return the bar to the ground?
Thank you.

Comment #86 - Posted by: Roger at August 19, 2010 9:12 AM

can someone tell me the equivalent for 1 pod kettlebelt, 2 pod kettlebelt, and so forth?

Comment #87 - Posted by: JTA at August 19, 2010 9:26 AM

"Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers. Pray for powers equal to your tasks."

Phillips Brooks

Comment #88 - Posted by: Mike Jones at August 19, 2010 9:35 AM

"Gilgamesh" and The Odyssey by Homer

Comment #89 - Posted by: Flea at August 19, 2010 9:38 AM

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside all people. He said, “My son, the battle is between two 'wolves' inside us all.

“One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.”

“The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

Feed the right wolf!

Comment #90 - Posted by: Mike Jones at August 19, 2010 9:40 AM

"Hills like White Elephants" - Hemingway

just awesome.

"Tony Takitani" - Haruki Murakami

hard to chose just one by Murakami...powerful stuff.

Comment #91 - Posted by: wes at August 19, 2010 9:53 AM

It doesn't have any poetry, but the linked article's comments section has some good theories to explain the data (but could do a good job at effectively debunking the idea that this is a naturally emergent pattern).

In particular, the idea that it's a QA test that accidentally got put into production and the idea it's a deliberate attempt to introduce noise into the system to through off competitors seem the most plausible to me.

Comment #92 - Posted by: J at August 19, 2010 9:59 AM

#78: Snatch the weight from the ground, receive it in a full squat (or receive it above parallel for a power snatch and squat it down to full depth), stand with the weight overhead.

#79: 1 pood Kettlebell is 16kg and just over 35lbs.
1.5 pood is 24kg and about 53lbs.
2 pood is 32kg and about 70lbs.

Comment #93 - Posted by: Candice at August 19, 2010 10:00 AM

how could i have forgot.

"A Temporary Matter" - Jhumpa Lahiri

hits you hard. read it

Comment #94 - Posted by: wes at August 19, 2010 10:05 AM

Courage

Courage is armour
a blind man wears
The calloused scar
of outlived repairs
Courage is fear
that has said it's prayers

Anon

Comment #95 - Posted by: Ryan at August 19, 2010 10:09 AM

The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Comment #96 - Posted by: Jim at August 19, 2010 10:21 AM

"Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone.
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own."
- Adam Lindsey Gordon

Comment #97 - Posted by: sarge712 at August 19, 2010 10:26 AM

The Soldier - by Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Comment #98 - Posted by: Jim at August 19, 2010 10:27 AM

Emily Bronte
Remembrance

Cold in the earth -- and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that northern shore,
Resting their wings where heath and fern leaves cover
Thy noble heart forever, ever more?

Cold in the earth -- and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring;
Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!

Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
While the world's tide is bearing me along;
Other desires and other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

No later light has lightened up my heaven,
No second morn has ever shone for me;
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy,
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion --
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine.

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?

Comment #99 - Posted by: Court at August 19, 2010 10:30 AM

#84, thank you for the clarification on the squat snatch; well said.

Comment #100 - Posted by: Roger at August 19, 2010 10:31 AM

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

–Rudyard Kipling

Comment #101 - Posted by: Gregg at August 19, 2010 11:00 AM

No list of this nature would be complete without James Joyce's "The Dead."

Also missing is the American poet, Mary Oliver. "Wild Geese" is a personal favorite.

Comment #102 - Posted by: Dave at August 19, 2010 12:08 PM

"If"; Kipling
"Ode to and Athlete Dying Young";

Comment #103 - Posted by: bingo at August 19, 2010 12:27 PM

Footprints in the Sand - Poem

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.

So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most, you have not been there for me?”

The Lord replied,
“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
is when I carried you.”

-Mary Stevenson

Comment #104 - Posted by: Mark Nash at August 19, 2010 12:37 PM

Neither a short story or a poem, just a quote from a novel:

"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly," declared Robert Heinlein character Lazarus Long. "Specialization is for insects."

Comment #105 - Posted by: Jim S. at August 19, 2010 12:55 PM

FYI everyone. I was at Christians Fitness Factory today picking up some equipment for my hopefully soon to be opened box. While there they showed me their new Econo GHD. I asked how much, they said $198 plus shipping. At first I was a little skeptical but once I got on I realized this was one solid GHD for the price. It even has a split pad. To top it off they give 7% off to miitary, police, & fire. I am thinking of picking up a few for my box.

Comment #106 - Posted by: Aldo M. at August 19, 2010 1:13 PM

Evolution, by Chuck Palahniuk

What will you do today? How will you justify it?
That mountain of dead animals and ancestors on which you stand.
Every breath you take is because something has died.
Someone or something lived and died so you could have this life.
This mountain of dead, they lift you into the daylight.
Will the effort and energy and momentum of their lives…
How will it find you?
How will you enjoy their gift?
Leather shoes and fried chicken and dead soldiers are only
a tragedy
if you waste their gift
sitting in front of the television. Or stuck in Traffic. Or stranded at some airport.
How will you show the creatures of history…
How will you show their birth and work and death were worthwhile?

Comment #107 - Posted by: jko at August 19, 2010 2:14 PM

Casey at the Bat

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

Ernest Lawrence Thayer

Comment #108 - Posted by: Chris M. at August 19, 2010 2:16 PM

"The Bet" is an 1889 short story by Anton Chekhov about a banker and a young man who make a bet with each other based on capital punishment and whether the death penalty is better or worse than life in prison. An ironic twist responds to this exploration of the value of a human life with an unexpected result. The terms of the wager state that if the lawyer can live in solitary confinement for 15 years, he will be given 2 million rubles.
http://www.classicreader.com/book/240/1/

Comment #109 - Posted by: Mario Ashley at August 19, 2010 2:40 PM

uuuhh. The sound if messed up on the money clip.

Comment #110 - Posted by: groo at August 19, 2010 4:17 PM

The Bible:
Currently the Book of John

Comment #111 - Posted by: Brad at August 19, 2010 4:17 PM

Still on-the-road. Made up this WOD today:

4 RFT of:

(25) double unders
(20) walking lunges w/ 25# DB's overhead
run 400m

1-3:30
2-7:25
3-11:40
4-15:26

Comment #112 - Posted by: GleichSTL m/32/177/5'10" at August 19, 2010 4:47 PM

"The Rocking Horse Winner" by DH Lawrence


Comment #113 - Posted by: Freeman at August 19, 2010 6:31 PM

This poem is haunting and vivid in its images of a beautiful snowy evening, the writer trying to enjoy the moment and the beauty of it, yet the constant pull of life's commitments cutting the rest short. We all have promises to keep, obligations to fullfil, therefore miles to go before we sleep. Its about carrying on even when you think no-one is watching, or when all you really want is to rest. Always remember, every task, job or challenge you take is a promise you make. And someone of good character would go the distance before they rest.


Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by
Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Comment #114 - Posted by: Sting m/45/160/69" at August 19, 2010 6:44 PM

Short story: "Youth" by Joseph Conrad,and Master and Man by Leo Tolstoy. Poem: The Aeneid by Virgil. Without peer.

Comment #115 - Posted by: Ross m/52/215/75" at August 19, 2010 6:57 PM

The epic poem "Beowulf" (Seamus Heaney translation only)

Comment #116 - Posted by: sarge712 at August 19, 2010 8:52 PM

Story: "The Only Thing Worth Dying For" by Eric Blehm.

Poems: "Invictus" by William Earnest Henley
"Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman
"Morning of Final Farewell" by Kenji Miyazawa.

Comment #117 - Posted by: Mike Mathers@ Joint Base Balad at August 19, 2010 9:16 PM

At the risk of sounding lame, some of the most potent poems and short stories I've read recently have been rest day links from this site. I find them as important to my overall well-being as the workouts.

Comment #118 - Posted by: Mike L at August 20, 2010 5:06 AM

Success

If you want a thing bad enough
To go out and fight for it,
Work day and night for it,
Give up your time and your peace and your sleep for it

If only desire of it
Makes you quite mad enough
Never to tire of it,
Makes you hold all other things tawdry and cheap for it

If life seems all empty and useless without it
And all that you scheme and you dream is about it,

If gladly you'll sweat for it,
Fret for it,
Plan for it,
Lose all your terror of God or man for it,

If you'll simply go after that thing that you want.
With all your capacity,
Strength and sagacity,
Faith, hope and confidence, stern pertinacity,

If neither cold poverty, famished and gaunt,
Nor sickness nor pain
Of body or brain
Can turn you away from the thing that you want,

If dogged and grim you besiege and beset it,
You'll get it!

Berton Braley

Comment #119 - Posted by: Tim Henley at August 20, 2010 7:43 AM

" Success"

If you want a thing bad enough
To go out and fight for it,
Work day and night for it,
Give up your time and your peace and your sleep for it

If only desire of it
Makes you quite mad enough
Never to tire of it,
Makes you hold all other things tawdry and cheap for it

If life seems all empty and useless without it
And all that you scheme and you dream is about it,

If gladly you'll sweat for it,
Fret for it,
Plan for it,
Lose all your terror of God or man for it,

If you'll simply go after that thing that you want.
With all your capacity,
Strength and sagacity,
Faith, hope and confidence, stern pertinacity,

If neither cold poverty, famished and gaunt,
Nor sickness nor pain
Of body or brain
Can turn you away from the thing that you want,

If dogged and grim you besiege and beset it,
You'll get it!

Berton Braley

Comment #120 - Posted by: Tim Henley at August 20, 2010 7:47 AM

I'm surprised my HSPU from Guam didn't make it...A island in the middle of the Pacific didn't make the Worldwide post.

Comment #121 - Posted by: AFrancisco at August 20, 2010 8:58 AM

THE DONKEY
G.K. Chesterton

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born;

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.


Comment #122 - Posted by: CD Womack at August 20, 2010 10:44 AM

most potent short story: The Nine Billion Names of God (1967) by Arthur C. Clarke

Comment #123 - Posted by: Daniel at August 20, 2010 11:45 AM

"The Yellow Wallpaper" - Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Comment #124 - Posted by: Prolix at August 20, 2010 3:33 PM

Short story: "The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien (and the "novel" by the same name.)

Poem: "At the Executed Murderer's Grave" by James Wright.

Comment #125 - Posted by: Randall at August 20, 2010 4:28 PM

Great stuff mentioned. I'd second the Tennyson piece (Ulysses). "Easter 1916" by WB Yeats.

I didn't see any comments on the article in the Atlantic, which I think put some interesting facts out there.

It seems like one effect of these high frequency quote or order requests could be a like a denial-of-service on the active market. Flood the market with orders, even away from the current trading market prices, and it could create pockets of illiquidity...which makes the market less stable (which, of course, we have seen).

Treating these kinds of tactics as a DOS attack makes them rather solvable as a technical problem, something the internet has learned to deal with reasonably well.

Comment #126 - Posted by: BrianO at August 21, 2010 12:07 AM

M/26/5'9"/170

I missed 100816 WOD so made it up today. I wanted to train outside today so I programed something different.

"Grace-n-Potatoes"

For time of:
Run 400m
3 rounds of 10 135# clean & jerk, 6 muscle ups
Run 400m (the run is meant to be all out)

Time: 16:32

DO WORK!!!

Comment #127 - Posted by: BlackCatX-Fit at August 21, 2010 6:49 PM

Comment on the BOT Traders Article
"The oscillatory patterns are the direct result of the periodic, clocked, nature of modern computing. I am an embedded programmers, and as such I've seen patters such as these present themselves in my code and made visible by use of an oscilloscope or debug outputs.

These oscillations are most likely the result of a feedback, recursive, loop. The output of a subroutine is affecting the input to the very same subroutine milliseconds after the prior iteration's output. This is a common problem with recursive loops, and one that is very hard to predict.

It would be obvious to any programmer that these patters are programmatically based just by observing the outputs. For instance, in the stubby triangles example. Placing a bid, then canceling the bid, then placing the bid again, is obviously a set of faulty conditions causing the subroutine to cycle between to extremes in its case table. It is probably cycling between the default case, stub, and another state lowering the price.

Most probably the programmer(s) missed several, particular sets of conditions which causes these oscillatory patterns. This is common and not necessarily the result of bad programming or a bad programmer. It is very difficult, and possibly impossible to predict every set of conditions coming from a dynamic real world (analog) input source. However, most programmers are the arrogant type and in their mind they've accounted for every set of possible conditions. However interactions between code modules, interrupts and abnormal input states can create unimaginable conditions that are near impossible to debug or to correct in code.

Everyone is familiar with this condition. It often results in a locked up iPhone or Word crashing on your PC, etc. It is usually handled by a "watchdog" routine that resets the system. Reset watchdogs are not practical in the trading business however. Resetting the system could results in untold monetary losses.

It is also probably the case that the programmers assumed that the granular, bit wise, nature of the input source, (quotes), makes this a digital system and thus frees them from applying the necessary filters to the input stream. However this is not the case. Digital systems, especially high frequency and unpredictable digital systems require that the input and output streams be filtered just as if they were an analog input.

It is also highly likely that these trading patterns are produced by the same software package. Probably some standard trading software package used by multiple firms across the industry, but produced by one software house specializing in this type of software. If this is the case then it presents a new problem as competing bots, running on the same code base, yet on different systems can cause unforetold conditions as they compete against each other in the market. Two identical software packages in this indirect communication condition can cause interference patterns to emerge just as occurs in nature as electromagnetic waves cause noise or spikes or dead zones when they are transmitted in close proximity on the same frequency spectrum. These computer software programs are probably operating on similar systems, running at similar speeds, and operating in the same domain and thus are subject to the same types of interference.

As a programmer assigned to debug this code, I would first try to identify the specific subroutines responsible for these patterns. I would then try to account for the missing conditions that cause these patterns to emerge. However even if I find the particular conditions and correct them in code. I have no guarantee that I didn't create a new problem or that I've solved all of the existing problems. This is where filtering comes in.

A programatic low pass filter must be applied to the input stream just like a debounce circuit on an old school push button. Depending on the nature of the recursive algorithm, a filter may have to be applied to the outputs as well. These filters will dampen the oscillations caused by these anomalies, thus limiting their impact. The weights on the filters can be designed to quickly dampen or to just lightly muffle the data streams as necessary. Also the markets, to protect themselves from malicious or poorly written software needs to filters their input streams as well.

Legally I foresee this problem as a huge lawsuit waiting to happen. I would do everything in my power as a business owner myself, to protect against these unpredictable behaviors. For one If I owned the software company I would fix the problem, release a free patch and then limit liability claims to only those customers who updated with the new patch. As a stock market I would filter inputs from outside trading software to limit this behavior and to prevent crashes. As a legal advisor I would suggest to the companies involved that they ask their customers to sign waivers limiting their liability.

This problem is probably largely ignored by the company that make the software package probably because the causes are hard to find, and there haven't yet been any large complaints. However, it is definitely a software problem. That point is extremely obvious.
"

Comment #128 - Posted by: Daniel Byrne at August 22, 2010 7:51 PM

Stranger passing by - go tell the Spartans,
That here, obedient to their laws, we lie.
Simonides of Ceos
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Thermopylae#Epitaph_of_Simonides

Comment #129 - Posted by: Pär Larsson at August 23, 2010 9:36 AM

It's not a poem, per se, rather a quote that reads like poetry....

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."


Theodore Roosevelt
"Citizenship in a Republic,"
Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

Comment #130 - Posted by: GaryJ at August 23, 2010 3:12 PM

Today;

4 rounds of;

Jump and touch 1 feet overhead 10 reps
Lateral jump burpees 10 reps
Incline situps full range 15 reps
Pull up row heels on ground
Broad jumps 5 m
Walking lunges 5 m

Comment #131 - Posted by: Johan S at August 25, 2010 11:52 AM

No Rest Today!

SB Five O workout
5 rounds in 10:05
5 reps 250lb Deadlift
5 reps 24" Box Jump
5 reps 115lb PushPress
5 reps green band assisted chin ups

Comment #132 - Posted by: do_b330 at August 26, 2010 9:35 AM

Rest Day 5K: 30:49

Comment #133 - Posted by: mom to five at October 8, 2010 7:38 PM

Fran (1st attempt)

21, 15, 9 of:

95# thrusters
pullups

5:34

Comment #134 - Posted by: MNinKC at November 9, 2010 7:30 PM

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Comment #135 - Posted by: wow po at October 31, 2012 8:25 PM
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