Everyone who does this sort of thing must go through these mental blocks. For me it starts with the fact that I'm 50 pounds overweight and I've only jogged once in the last decade. Right now it's midnight and it's raining and chilly out and the economy sucks and I'm on my last shred of energy, but preparations must go on if I am going to run this marathon.
I can't find my sneakers. Also tonight I smoked a cigar with my father-in-law and I just ate a half a bag of cheese curls and yesterday I stubbed my toe pretty hard on the wall trying to turn a corner too fast to get to the fridge. Training for a marathon requires you to hone your reflexes. Razor sharp reflexes, or sharper if possible. Note to self to Google sharper reflexes.
Blogosphere, I'm getting nervous about this marathon. I know it because my reflexes are a little off. The other day I was washing a wine glass and I accidentally put my hand through the glass -- breaking it into about 5 pieces with just the joint of my left thumb. I don't want the bleeding to be a distraction, so I've got to keep a good supply of Band Aids at the ready if I'm going to run this marathon. Thumb removal might be a faster way to heal. Or sports medicine? I also know I'm nervous because when I'm nervous I eat and surf the web a lot. Mostly looking at boring shit that I hate. The more boring the more nervous I am.
But when you're running you aren't nervous (unless you're nervous you're going to keel over), you're an eagle, a gazelle, leopard, etc. You are everything Apple has ever named an operating system after. When you're running you become one with the landscape, with the wind, and in the rhythm of the wind (of the you) you can beat your demons.
My demons are pretty boisterous. One of them is wearing an Atlanta Falcons jersey. Another is dressed in a speedo and drinking Boone's Farm and I think he's the asshole who hid my running shoes. I could run in my dress shoes and that speedo and the old Falcons jersey. Determination. Fuck you, demons.
I'm not going to go running tonight, I'm going to go to sleep. As everyone who's ever run a marathon knows, you have to get a good night's sleep the night before. And eat a boatload of carbs first. Head start on that.
4.13.2010
bright new atmosphere
perhaps i'm going to have to do this nyc marathon 2031 thing last minute. sinking feeling that the night before I’ll be lacing bobo running shoes for the huffing first mile of practice, "wracking" my brain to figure some adrenaline-laced recipe for success only to end up the next morning sprawled on my 300-pound ass in a pile of crushed gatorade cups on fourth avenue in the gray November light looking up at the clock tower thinking it's the empire state building, drooling into the cracks in the concrete.
i keep getting signs from the world that i need to keep it simpler. that i need to find comfort in my own skin and not spend every waking minute trying to escape.
when i was a wee plus-sized i learned to "dodge" reality through books, a strategy that made good sense then. even if books can't tune out your childhood's screaming violence, they can help one you make it through the aftershocks. stick a book in front of your face and a) it acts as a simple visual shield b) it fills your brain with other elements, other compounds, a bright new atmosphere. ignoring for the moment that what i loved to read then was horror.
"the" problem being that decades later i don't know how to turn off that winning escape instinct. dodging reality has served me well enough to this point, so why suddenly believe in the here and now. deep down i do, i do, i really do, though its been hard to get a brain quorum on that.
Doogie Howser diary entries aside the late-or-non-bloom curmudgeon will lace up shoes this morning, not for a jog but for the subway steps, up to the summer street and on to numbing work.
{P.S.: mountain goats sunset tree on the train in this morning, and how that guy has really learned to reckon with his memory, to find his pain and use guitars to anesthetize it, if not beat it}.
i keep getting signs from the world that i need to keep it simpler. that i need to find comfort in my own skin and not spend every waking minute trying to escape.
when i was a wee plus-sized i learned to "dodge" reality through books, a strategy that made good sense then. even if books can't tune out your childhood's screaming violence, they can help one you make it through the aftershocks. stick a book in front of your face and a) it acts as a simple visual shield b) it fills your brain with other elements, other compounds, a bright new atmosphere. ignoring for the moment that what i loved to read then was horror.
"the" problem being that decades later i don't know how to turn off that winning escape instinct. dodging reality has served me well enough to this point, so why suddenly believe in the here and now. deep down i do, i do, i really do, though its been hard to get a brain quorum on that.
Doogie Howser diary entries aside the late-or-non-bloom curmudgeon will lace up shoes this morning, not for a jog but for the subway steps, up to the summer street and on to numbing work.
{P.S.: mountain goats sunset tree on the train in this morning, and how that guy has really learned to reckon with his memory, to find his pain and use guitars to anesthetize it, if not beat it}.
4.11.2010
scattershot pattern
When I was a kid and I ended up alone outside at night I could feel an evil force rushing behind me as I approached the house. I always broke into a late sprint, as if it were possible to outrun a shadowy evil force, outwit it by switching from a walking pace, I always turned around as if by looking it in the face you could ward one off.
At times I've felt the opposite, that my dead are watching over me and those that I love behind the scenes. At moments of loving weakness I even explicitly pray to them, appealing to them to pull strings behind the scenes to make sure things fall right. If love is such a transcendent force can it disappear when those we love die? Or could it transform into pure energy, become immanent in the world for us to access when we need it most.
At other times I've felt that both views are too simplistic. That either things go well or not in a kind of scattershot pattern separate of all love or human logic and the best we can pray for is to be alert, to react with our true hearts and good reflexes to what the world throws at us, to what we throw at ourselves.
O mucky universe, what's your true nature, why so project as beautiful murderous creature never to be fully understood, like some philandering middle-aged English prof's platonic daydream grad student turned soul-sucking vampire (and of course the fact that she's a vampire was the kinkiest part of the daydream). And lo as his metaphoric soul is consumed he tries to figure out the prime angle for some final discerning piece of academic critique, luckily she hips to his game and nulls his mind at that instant.
At times I've felt the opposite, that my dead are watching over me and those that I love behind the scenes. At moments of loving weakness I even explicitly pray to them, appealing to them to pull strings behind the scenes to make sure things fall right. If love is such a transcendent force can it disappear when those we love die? Or could it transform into pure energy, become immanent in the world for us to access when we need it most.
At other times I've felt that both views are too simplistic. That either things go well or not in a kind of scattershot pattern separate of all love or human logic and the best we can pray for is to be alert, to react with our true hearts and good reflexes to what the world throws at us, to what we throw at ourselves.
O mucky universe, what's your true nature, why so project as beautiful murderous creature never to be fully understood, like some philandering middle-aged English prof's platonic daydream grad student turned soul-sucking vampire (and of course the fact that she's a vampire was the kinkiest part of the daydream). And lo as his metaphoric soul is consumed he tries to figure out the prime angle for some final discerning piece of academic critique, luckily she hips to his game and nulls his mind at that instant.
4.05.2010
employment history
Four years as dishwasher at a local pizzeria taught me that I will never succeed as a short-order cook, delivery person, or server. I learned how to wash a large number of dishes effectively in a brief time. I also learned to have unrequited crushes on women totally out of my league (e.g. every waitress/counter girl in the restaurant), and how my best strategy for getting close to them was to present myself as totally pathetic. Over time I was able to perfect this particular skill and am now married to a woman totally out of my league.
Ten years as an IT guy taught me that writing email(and writing in general) is a wonderful way to escape reality into a kind of mental pseudo-reality free of all inconvenient physics and biology. Over time I was able to hone that skill and am now a successful nonprofit fundraiser.
In five years as a nonprofit fundraiser I've learned that dishwashers have an amazing impact on the world. Every night they are presented with a target number of dishes to wash and every night they meet that target before they can leave. No one writes a bullshit report about how the dishes would have been washed but the policy landscape shifted and here are some lessons learned. There are no pressures to invent a new washing technique, and no middle managers who exist solely to watch the dishes get washed or coach the dishwashers.
I have identified my path to self actualization. Or, as the poet wrote: The search is over...you were with me all the while.
Ten years as an IT guy taught me that writing email(and writing in general) is a wonderful way to escape reality into a kind of mental pseudo-reality free of all inconvenient physics and biology. Over time I was able to hone that skill and am now a successful nonprofit fundraiser.
In five years as a nonprofit fundraiser I've learned that dishwashers have an amazing impact on the world. Every night they are presented with a target number of dishes to wash and every night they meet that target before they can leave. No one writes a bullshit report about how the dishes would have been washed but the policy landscape shifted and here are some lessons learned. There are no pressures to invent a new washing technique, and no middle managers who exist solely to watch the dishes get washed or coach the dishwashers.
I have identified my path to self actualization. Or, as the poet wrote: The search is over...you were with me all the while.
4.02.2010
rare perk of sobriety
A year plus in I'm starting to notice an actual mental payoff to not drinking. Yes -- even above and beyond the lack of daily hangovers.
A, um, new kind of internal strength. Sharper focus. Remembering more day to day, being more aware of the subtexts to a conversation. More aware of what I want from the world long-term/how the world should/could be. What needs to be done to avoid getting killed on the road or run over by my professional life. More aware of how individual and family dynamics evolve and relate. Of the need for closeness and clarity. Of how beautiful Spanish is on the page.
Even hanging out in drinking situations has gotten easier. A fun project to match the trajectory people take when they drink and loosen up on your own. In a way I actually over-compensate and loosen up further than people. So I'm the asshole who says the wrong thing with no relevant cultural pretext to back it up. Crackpot role to relish.
A, um, new kind of internal strength. Sharper focus. Remembering more day to day, being more aware of the subtexts to a conversation. More aware of what I want from the world long-term/how the world should/could be. What needs to be done to avoid getting killed on the road or run over by my professional life. More aware of how individual and family dynamics evolve and relate. Of the need for closeness and clarity. Of how beautiful Spanish is on the page.
Even hanging out in drinking situations has gotten easier. A fun project to match the trajectory people take when they drink and loosen up on your own. In a way I actually over-compensate and loosen up further than people. So I'm the asshole who says the wrong thing with no relevant cultural pretext to back it up. Crackpot role to relish.
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