I'm sorry. so, so sorry.

i didn't want to do it. in fact, i fought it. long and hard.

it was a present. i swear. from my dad.

and there it sat, for over a month, because i refused to acknowledge that the time had come.

after nearly a month, and several inquiries from my father as to what i thought, i decided it was finally time.

so i fired it up.

and just as i suspected, i fell in love. instantly.

i'm so sorry, lovely physical books taking up an entire room of my otherwise spacious apartment. i'm so, so sorry...

Running on the sun

as an endurance athlete, i think it's safe to say that i have some sort of strange attraction to pain. i crave it. i need it. i get it. while running a marathon (26.2 miles) might be enough for some folks, i need more than that. 31 miles isn't enough either. i think 50 miles is right in my wheelhouse... 100 miles is pushing it (that's my goal for 2012)...

but running 135 miles in 125 degree temperatures on a fucking ROAD in the middle of the summer? um... no. not interested.

for now, anyway...

but the real-life stories and individuals featured in this documentary entitled running on the sun (which is available for viewing free on YouTube), is so moving that i just have to share. this is part one. it's 11 parts long (feature length), but worth every second if you wanna know just how strong the human spirit can be. this is some real inspiring shit right here.

Rearranging priorities (or, how i really don't give a fuck about that anymore)

well, i think i've finally had enough -- enough of the dating merry-go-round that is.

for now, anyway.

sure it was a good ride there for a minute, juggling a couple handfuls of potential women while projecting myself as some high falutin cassanova... but in the end, for myriad reasons, none of 'em really stuck. and to be honest, i simply got burned out.

oh fucking well.

i ain't gonna cry about it. and of course, i'm gonna keep my eyes open in case serendipity comes a knockin', but the more i think about it, the more i think focusing on finding a compatible mate might be a waste of my fucking time. i mean, the time and money spent on courting women adds up. it sure fucking adds up... and in the recent time it's been adding up i haven't found much happiness at all, mostly because it's all a fucking crapshoot -- and in crapshoots, you can't control anything but the allowance for randomness.

i do know this: i'm happiest when i'm focusing on the things i can control. my running regimen has become euphoric. my marathon training is halfway through and i finish every single long run wanting more, and more, and more.

so i'm going to run a 50 mile race in july. my legs are begging for it. maybe by late 2011 or early 2012 i'll even be ready for a 100 miler. i have learned, in recent months, that my body can handle more pain than most people's, that i have the guile to fight fatigue, that my physiology was destined to endure. so i'm gonna fucking take advantage of it.

outside of my writing projects, i can't think of anything else i'd rather be working hard for right now. besides, there are lots of cute hardbody female runners out there. and i think the chances that i connect with one of them one of these days is pretty strong.

and if not?

who fucking gives a shit.

Fuck my ass!

okay, not literally. but close. it'll work if i say: fuck my strained right gluteus maximus!

i'm human. so sometimes i do human things, like getting tunnel vision and thinking the entire world revolves around me.

i know that's not ideal, that the world has other things to worry about than my wants and my so-called needs; so i'm actively trying to curb that shit. but that doesn't mean i can skirt my frustration at will.

my running regimen has stayed tough and steady for the last year or so, and as i prepare to run another half marathon this saturday, disaster struck! in my fucking ass!

blame it on the cold weather, fibers not twitching fast enough, or just fucking murphy's law, but i ended up with a nasty strain in my right glute the other day and so far, the pain has not gone away. in fact, that one little muscular nuisance took me from running 7:15 miles easy to running 10 minute miles like an old man.

so. finally... after trying to run on it anyway (smart move? not likely), with no luck, here i sit.

and rest.

doing nothing.

and it's fucking driving me insane!!!

patience. i believe patience is an integral part of mental toughness. it's the part that is often overlooked, mostly because when it comes to certain subjects -- the ones i hold closest to me -- i just don't have any.

but all in all, i see myself as a patient person. so i'm gonna try to borrow that virtue from other areas of my life, apply it to my sore ass, then hope i can run like a muthafuckin' fiend on saturday.

if not, i'm still hobbling over that finish line, on my own two feet or not.

i'm finishing that fucking race.

Bring it on, muthafucka

in recent days i've sorta become obsessed with the idea -- or, at least, the challenge of standing up to the idea -- of pain, endurance, suffering. this is not the first time i've focused this much energy on toughness, but it's the first time i've done it willingly, on my own, as opposed to being forced to deal with some real fucked up shit.

in the last month or so i've discovered how acutely aware of my surroundings i can be. i've taken notice of all those things -- mental and physical pains, discomforts, nuisances -- that used to keep me awake at night, and i came to the conclusion that if there's anything i don't want to be it is WEAK.

fuck.

that.

it's not that i'm going all rogue alpha male arrrrggghh he me roar or anything like that, but, for me, i am much happier knowing i can eschew wimpiness at will. and let's face it, wimpiness runs rampant in western society these days.

mental toughness. being mentally tough makes it easier to be physically tough. and vice versa.

as the temperature drops here in the Chi (and believe me, it's been droppin like a motherfucker, especially in the morning before sunrise) i've been experimenting with the elements, running in to the strong winds, braving the frigid air, forcing myself to buck the fuck up. sure, i have some winter gear to help me out, but there's something carnally satisfying about telling old man winter to go fuck himself, to fight through the discomfort and ultimately kick his ass. unfortunately for him, it has only just begun. i don't like running on treadmills.

so fuck you, winter. fuck you, pain. fuck you, weakness.

all across the fucking board.

fuck.

you.

Getting past the fallacy of "the one"

i'm almost embarrassed to think that i once subscribed to the theory that on this planet, in this life, in this dimension there is only one TRUE match, only one true lover, only one true 'soul mate' per individual.

i believed it 'cuz it sounds good... 'cuz it's romantic... 'cuz it's sensationalized.

but just like i did with religion one day, all i had to do was stop myself and ask: WHY DO YOU BELIEVE WHAT YOU BELIEVE?

then, boom. felt like an idiot. felt stupid for injecting meaning where there needn't be any.

in this world, with billions of people spread across oceans and mountains and deserts... it makes absolutely no sense to think there's only ONE FUCKING PERSON out there who is "perfect" for me. just doesn't make sense. it's illogical. stupid. asinine.

my mind tries to kid itself, because my mind likes to put pieces together and my mind likes to feel like it's in control. it thinks it knows exactly what the fuck is going on, at all times, always. but when i step back and put my hand on my mind's mouth, to get it to shut the fuck up, reason takes over and it is very clear that my mind is the one at fault. it is very clear that, given time, it will heal itself into thinking logically again.

doesn't mean you're not gonna hurt and it doesn't mean you're not gonna feel like you got your fucking teeth kicked out.

but it does mean ya might wanna relax. chill out. there'll be more, tiger. there'll be more.

Bracing for the possible

so disconcerting is the world that you can do every single fucking thing right, make every single correct move, be the dream of one's epitomized dream, and still fucking fail.

yes.

part of being alive is coming to terms with the fact that lots of things are fucked up.

and the possibility that one's "perfect" world can be destroyed.

at

any time.

when all is well, we tend to block out this reality, thinking, 'oh, it'll never happen to me.'

and then one day you wake up...
...and it's totally fucking you.

BAM!!!

i think part of being a healthy, intelligent being is recognizing that this can happen at any time. enjoy what you have, but never lose the sense that it can all be gone.
forever.

and rather quickly.

it's not quite saying you shouldn't ever let your guard down, because if you don't open yourself up, you'll certainly miss out on some of life's more extreme pleasures.

but just never lose sense of the idea that you don't know shit about shit. be ready to react.

on the fly.

and let me tell ya:

that ain't easy.

Do something new, learn something new

the last week hasn't been an easy one for me.

in fact, it's been awful. just... plain... awful.

such awfulness led me to run, and run, and run...

until -- lost -- i eventually found myself face to face with my mother. and a bottle of wine.

after 31+ years, my mother and i -- two polar opposite people with polar opposite worldviews -- finally sat down and had a drink together.

it had never been done before.

and in that conversation she showed me that awfulness often breeds breakthroughs.

she was right.

because i realized, despite the awfulness, that i can feel again.

that i know what i want my life to be. i know what i'm capable of: that i can love, that i have support.

and that's fucking cool.

Broken

"to be whole, you must be broken"

the one sound bit of advice i ever got from a christian.

it's true.

'cuz it's universal, regardless of faith, or lack thereof.

...if only being broken didn't hurt like a motherfucker...

A bad understanding of perfect

shit happens. i know. can't avoid it. no one can.

that "shit" often translates to pain. and everyone feels pain -- physical, mental, psychological.

what could be more convincing that the probability of a sky daddy pulling strings from above is a bogus notion?

an omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent "god" chucking out pain sans a thought, paints the picture of a pretty shitty god.

i know, i know. throw the story of job in my face. it was god teaching a lesson of obedience to job.

yeah. well, job was a fucking idiot.

you just gonna sit there and let god take a shit on you, to impress SATAN of all fucking fantasy-creatures?!? come on. not only would this make us slaves, but it'd make us slaves to something that can't even be seen, heard, touched!

yet, that's their reply -- that putting people through PAIN is a test, a test handed out by god.

to be exact, the bible-thumpers say:

"job did not understand why god had allowed the things he did, but he knew god was good and therefore continued to trust in him. ultimately, that should be our reaction as well." (link)

thanks. thanks for TELLING me how my reaction should be. thanks for trying to be the boss of me.

uh... fuck... no. our reaction should be:

SHUT

THE

FUCK

UP!!!

and STOP talking to invisible sky daddies. they're... not... real...

no one living thing deserves to feel pain. no one.  yet we all do.

say what you want about pain, but there is no way a "god" -- a loving, forgiving god -- sees something that is good, and after seeing something that is good and taking pride in it, all of the sudden slips gears and says "fuck it, lemee just fuck up some major shit right here!"

that...

that just wouldn't happen.

but.

it does.