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Misc Stuff

This is a page for anything that comes to my mind

2013-04-14: A Single Tear Rolls Down My Cheek

When you first start running, the most obvious thing you notice is how your body rebels. You sweat, suffer, pant, and generally feel like crap.

That never really changes -- not really. The suddenness with which your body bombards your mind with these signals, and the intensity of the signals certainly slows. But the fundamental character of the pain and weakness do not change.

Part of conditioning is understanding that your body will scream at you after .25 miles, and you will feel like something is wrong. After repetition, this scream is a soft kiss on the lips (albeit, still from a harsh harpie).

After your body is basically used to the beating, it is really up to your mind. You need to find motivation from outside of yourself. Ideas need to invade you, and make you understand that it is possible to be faster and stronger than you are today.

This struggle never ends. It is hard every day. But part of this process is changing yourself from a person who skulks away from problems and pain, and into a person who takes time out of their busy life to seek out challenge. Why? To prove to yourself that you can.

At no extra charge, this drive comes equipped with a never-ending dissatisfaction with current performance. Run longer, faster, and longer and faster.

I usually listen to lyrics when I run, and one of my favorites is:

"But I got a drug and I got the bug and I got something better than love / How you like me now? / Going on, feeling strong."

Yesterday I ran through a city, and I was struck by how much you see when you run instead of drive. Years ago, I ran so many hundreds of times through the Marigny, and every time I saw something new. Now I run through Hammond, and I am stunned at all I can see.

"It is better to struggle and suffer than to coast through life free of strife. Effort and pain are what makes a man a man." -- Me

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2013-03-09: I'm so tired.

I awaken. I'm so tired. I look at my sleep-puffed face, lines accentuated, and feel more tired still. I look closer. Another hair. Another line.

But I am fortunate. From somewhere far away I have a muse not addled by booze. She lovingly mounts my cerebellum and injects me with pride, ferocity, and lust.

I run and sweat and am chased by redneck people's dogs. I strut and I grit my teeth into the sun. I don't care who is watching.

And Fred Schneider, of all people, makes me strong. Rock Lobster is no longer just a song -- the sounds contain within them thousands of memories and feelings. They are flashes of time, articles read, and moments missed.

Next weekend is the Hammond Rotary 10k. I hope to see you there.

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2012-11-06: Toaster Savior

When you're on fire, it doesn't really matter who is going to do a better job of fixing your toaster.

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2012-10-05: The Mountain

One day, on a rare day off, I drowned in a lake of alcohol. I grew ever more emphatic, threw wit and barbs frantic, and buried my mind beneath a mask of grins manic.

I found myself dared, indeed challenged, and fired and mired to prove myself well-managed.

Before I slipped away, before blackness consumed me, I promised to all who could hear or see:

I will run tomorrow.

I woke. And the first thing in my mind was this promise. Weakness weighed on me, exhaustion wanted to break me, and I grabbed my cell phone to mock my own weakness.

I drank gallons of water while the boys played X-Box -- I was consumed with grim determination and Atlanta Rocks.

I walked out of the house, and as soon as I hit the red dirt I ran. I ran and passed Heather's house. The kids outside were looking at me, and I ran as fast as I could to show off.

I hit a hill, no not a hill... I hit a drop-off the likes I had never seen. I started to fall. I wasn't running, but falling in a controlled way. This was the opposite of running. All of my muscles were pushing backwards to slow the descent. I fell and I fell and I fell.

And I hit a more subtle descent. I ran, then I fell, and then I ran and then I fell.

After almost two miles I turned around. I was at the bottom of a mountain. Honest to God, I was at the bottom of a mountain. I choked up. I slugged up. I tortured up. I cried. It hurt that bad.

After a mile or so, I saw the kids at my sister's house. I ran as hard as I could. I wanted to show off for them. I wanted the be the crazy bad-assed uncle running up a mountain. I ran with every ounce of my soul, and didn't stop until I was in their yard.

I stopped in their yard, an exhausted, panting mess. I sucked in air, smiled, and looked at them. They weren't my relatives. I was at the wrong house. I had just sprinted into a yard full of children in the middle of nowhere.

"Sorry, wrong turn," I said.

I then ran up the right road. Every six steps I stopped and cried (like a man). I hurt so bad that I couldn't run more than six steps up this demon of a slope. And now today, six days later, I am still in pain.

But still, weakness, I eat you.

No matter where I go, the road is always there and honest. The road is solid and hot. The road tells me what kind of man I am. Only the road is there when I am at my weakest. I try to tell you how weak I feel, but only that black asphalt knows. And every step I take in this state of absolute weakness is a victory. All of my proudest moments are just stupid moments of pumping my shoes on asphalt.

I love running.

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2012-08-30: Hurricane Life

Alone on my birthday
Worse than each other day
Can't even say hi to my wife

I am drunk and listless
Listening to pummeling rain
So sick of this Hurricane Life

It was bad six years ago
Four years since pounding rain
Wind makes rain slice like a knife

Where are those young -- not-so-young -- Decatur days?
Where is running in the heat, in the cold, though a crowd, full of life?

I lost my heart fifty miles away.
Fifty miles over sand and clay.
Now my friends are all alligators.
Such a long way from the streets of Decatur.

And my friends say
And you say
And I say
When you comin' home?

When, I don't know.
When, I don't know.

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