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February 28, 2005
classic rock
my eyes twitch. the writing jumps, and i have to back away from the page. the latest development in the aging process.
days, months, years are meaningless, but time persists, its progress undeniable.
someone broke the satellite radio receiver here at halcyon, so the stereo is on z102. it was ez102 in my childhood, as in e-z listening, the bane of my existence, the cruelest of psychological assaults my parents subjected me to. i remember the day the format changed to classic rock, how my parents writhed in agony. i loved it. i spent career day there in the booth my senior year, on the day boston's new album, "third stage" was released.
time. so much of it. sometimes, it doesn't seem so linear, as if all the points in my life coexist here. i feel like i can see so clearly, maybe step into that day in world history in 6th grade - i see the desks, the faces; that day in football practice in 8th grade - yeah, i can feel the grass under my cleats, the crackle of pads under contact; the day running around the apartment with my dad, my father, playing star trek, back when i actually wanted to be mr. spock rather than captain kirk. maybe i just loved my dad enough that i knew he should be captain kirk.
the moody blues, "nights in white satin". i'm in a cotton orvis shirt my parents gave me. it's too big, and the nice cotton is a bit stiff, like something a car salesman would wear. pleated pants. a sheep in wolf's clothing.
i feel time sliding by. not so much tonight - i've slowed it to a crawl with the help of beer and friends and music. there's much time to go, but as much already past, so many forks in the road so far behind me now, my field of vision, of possiblity, seeming to narrow daily as i accelerate into middle-age, into age, into the hanging-on years, into oblivion.
pink floyd. appropriately, "time". but all this i feel is only a little bit about time. it's more about the quality of the time. i'm making headway, certainly, and today is just a speedbump, as i let myself get stressed about money and work. it's more about what i feel i miss at this point in my life.
"jack and diane". i'm back at blake's birthday party, 7th grade, at his house, the white supermodern architecture. we're all on the patio under the house, the pool nearby, the late summer night reasonably cool.
that was the first night i saw the miraculous new thing, "mtv." they were playing a dire straits concert. later, it would be the first place i saw a porno movie - "behind the green door."
maybe this is enough for a life, the wonderful, awful, beautiful persistence of memory. to sit here and feel procul harum sing "a whiter shade of pale." to lose yourself in a friendly mosh pit at an eve's plum show (anyone remember them?). to remember suzanne teaching me about 9/8 time, tapping it out on my leg at the sting concert. tearing up at the peter gabriel concert, he at attention in his long somber black coat, on a red stage, singing "biko," weeks before i would begin law school, and the slow hemorraghing of my soul. hearing ian moore at a small accoustic show at tower records, before folks recognized, hearing true soul ring out of his voice and his guitar, hearing new hope after stevie ray died, after stevie wonder became more a legend than a fresh source of inspiration.
there are more moments, certainly, not connected with music, some of them deafening, many of them quiet, like the moment i looked in her eyes and saw and knew the same love there that i felt. but music is for me the reminder. i'm drunk and i know it. i know that there is more left, more moments loud and soft, maybe, maybe, maybe more love like the one i once knew, and always, always, always, more music to remember it all by.
Posted by Rob at 11:21 PM | Comments (0)
February 23, 2005
mumble mumble
just got home. emailed amelia.
after work today, i went over to halcyon with coworker felipe. we had a few beers, he left, and i had a few more beers. i got hungry, but not too hungry, so leora shared her popcorn with me.
i tried to write. i had started writing about neighborhoods, how living in one was something i've always wanted. but the storyline kept branching, taking off on the tangents of my life. seven pages and many beers later, i found i was well into an extensive autobiography. it was odd, but interesting and sort of liberating. i was remembering so much of my life, looking at some of it with fresh eyes.
but it also made me a bit sad, a condition probably brought on largely by the alcohol. the folks at halcyon unknowingly warded off any serious feelings of isolation, then amelia came by. i'm a bit transparent (ok, a lot transparent), but amelia's also particularly perceptive. she helped a lot just being there.
in a fit of drunken efficiency, i stopped on the way home to vacuum out the new car. then i decided to wash it.
ah, the new car. so much has continued to happen in the past two days. i looked at cars monday. i hate to bitch and moan about it, but it was sorta frustrating and a little disappointing.
i was aimed at a beige '98 honda accord with a beige interior, what my friend cat calls a "camouflaged car," because there are so many of them that they just fade into the traffic. then, yesterday, my old friend kanton, who has a used car lot, called to tell me he had a '97 acura tl he paid $4,000 for. said it had slight hail damage.
after work, i wanted to go running, needed to go to the bank, wanted to look at cars. i was uninspired by kanton's description, and had decided not to even bother, but i changed my mind and swung by the shop on the way to the bank.
yeah. not a big, lunky tl, but the 2-door cl. a merlot color. black leather interior, sunroof, and a stick. i don't see hail damage, but it's got it's share of dings, which is fine with me. i drove it away, down to town lake to go running, then home, and i was immediately sold.
it's a blast to drive, and between the lower car payment, better gas mileage, and insurance, i should save at least $380 a month.
yesterday, i also found a swanky pad possiblity on south congress. more to come on that.
so, tonight, i drove home in my clean new car, listening to a cd i put together for a friend, or rather an extra copy of it. actually, this is the friend i'm hoping to live with. anyway, for her birthday last month, she asked her friends to put together cd's of either their favorite songs or the songs that kind of marked out parts of their lives.
my first cut got to 112 songs, and i was only halfway through what i'd
put on the computer, which was, in turn, only about a third of my
collection.
i eventually pared it down, and found a pattern. i split it between
two cd's, one called "love doubt resolution", the other "despair
redemption hope." yeah, sounds moody, i know, and it sort of is. i
love rock, but these are the songs that really hit me. and they're not
downers, at least not at the end - they progress, and they end up at,
well, resolution and hope.
when i was in high school, i began to recognize and know the pattern
of moods i'd cycle through. i'd go through a high in which i was full
of energy and real brilliance. then, i'd crash, and there'd be
frustration and anger. then i'd burn out, and i'd be down, sometimes
for days.
i put together a tape titled "the manic depression tape." i'd pop it
into the headphones or the car stereo when the frustration came on. in
a span of ninety minutes, it could almost carry me through the cycle,
accelerating the process. i was listening to a lot of old genesis at
the time. it'd start with "mama", "i don't care anymore", and end up
with music like "entangled", which is almost like a lullaby, "blood on the rooftops," and "afterglow."
i remember one night at a retreat in high school. i was going through
it. my friend blake had a mobile d.j. service, and i used to help him
with dances, a way to be there, but not have to stand alone or
clumsily try to mingle. we had a dance that night, out on a concrete
slab in the middle of a field out in the country. we had left the
equipment out after the dance. i left the cabin, went out and put the
tape in, just on the second side, the soft side. i lay on the cool
concrete slab and listened and watched the stars. it's one of those
moments that persist in the memory, that i can go back to at almost any time.
i got home tonight. emailed amelia, listening to old genesis, the softer music in which i used to find so much comfort following the storms. i started spilling, as i often do.
in case you're wondering, there wasn't really a point to this entry. i cut and pasted a lot of it from the email to amelia. i hope she doesn't feel any less special - the late night emails have been a good outlet for me, letting me write what i can't always say in the blog. um. well. i guess that's about it. i'm going to bed now.
Posted by Rob at 11:44 PM | Comments (0)
February 21, 2005
flux
The self same moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge - The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
last week, i waited, laid low while the flood waters from the half-marathon receded. when they did, when the self-analysis and the physical consequences drained away, what lay beneath was revealed. bits of ruins, quiet artifacts of things, some built recently, some long ago.
i hadn't been able to sing for weeks. i know how trivial that seems, but it's half of my ability to speak. life gets thrown fundamentally out of balance when i can't write, or i can't sing.
i missed the training group, and the goal i had focused on for months. physically, i lost a sense of purpose.
then things started to change. friday, i sold my car to an F-16 pilot from minnesota. i left work for what i thought would be another fruitless half-hour wasted showing the car. hours later, i was driving back from san antonio, where we had dropped off his rental car. he dropped me off at my office at about 8:00pm. i pulled all my stuff out of it - a gym bag, three jackets, my suitcoat, a bag of stuff from the console, two basketballs, a pair of shoes, some clothes, and a couple dozen bottles of water and gatorade.
i shook his hand, wished him safe journey on his long drive back to minnesota, and watched a piece of life drive away.
the lexus had been a relic of a time when i was convinced that i would soon need an suv in my life, for someone i thought would be my wife, and for the children that we hoped might follow. in the last couple of years, it became a reminder of a failure, of a future not realized. then, not being able to divest myself of it, it became a persistent insinuation that my efforts to change my life, to overcome the past, might be in vain.
the weekend was spent looking for cars, helping diane look for a bike for her big trip to mexico with her kids sal and julian, and looking for a new place for me to live. my lease is up in early april, and i just know that i need to move on.
in 2002, i was laid off, a relationship ended, and i needed a place to live. i lived with my friends billy and michele for a few weeks while i looked for a place with billy's brother, robert. one day i got a voicemail from my stepfather suggesting that i should move to my parent's house until i got everything back under control.
within hours, i signed a lease. it was here, way out in the hills to the northwest of austin, so far that robert and i had decided the newness and the value simply weren't worth the drive.
in the past two and a half years, it was a halfway house of sorts, a safe, though empty and isolated location for me as i rebuilt my life. my experience here in the margins has been about as jungian as you can get.
so much seems to be happening at once. i've tried and pushed for these changes, but once again, the universe refused to be rushed. i remember lori and i saying that you can no more force the universe to unfold as you can force an acorn to grow into an oak. zen shit, but truth.
so today, it's all a little disconcerting, but exciting, as if the universe has decided that i'm either ready for change, or at least that it's going to present me with the opportunity to change my life. tomorrow, i'll buy a car. tomorrow, i'll see about joining another training group, or jumping in with the group still training for a half marathon on march 13th. and this weekend, i'll look with a possible roommate for a new place to live, close to downtown, where so much of my life seems to be lately. and once again, just before my 36th birthday, i'll watch bits of the past drive away.
tonight, incidentally, as i typed, listening to tori amos, jeff buckley, peter gabriel, songs in a cycle of despair, redemption and hope, i began, for the first time in weeks, to sing a little.
Posted by Rob at 10:34 PM | Comments (1)
February 16, 2005
ahh, morning
get up. shower. cough up massive chunk of bloody, hard phlegm. blow larger bloody chunk of stuff out my right nostril, about 2 cm long, proportioned and shaped somewhat like long island.
stare at icky chunk. decide i have to get the deviated septum fixed this summer, no matter how bad i cringed watching sean fix christian's broken nose on "nip/tuck."
thoughts shift immediately to breakfast. pointless, because i've been eating the same thing every morning for a while now - one slice toast, with peanut butter.
look at blog entry from last night. yick. it won't make sense to a lot of people. not very well written. pull it off the site.
cat and i stand in closet, looking for what i'll wear. choice of shirts is disappointing. i washed some last night, trying to avoid the cost at the cleaners. they are all bunchy and wrinkled. wear the one clean and pressed shirt. it's comfy, nice-looking, but it has a little man on a horse with a stick. it annoys me.
you know, it might not make sense, but it's what i was feeling last night. i'm not happy with things right now. i want something to look forward to, and i'm sort of low on ideas. put the entry back up.
feed the cats, hide and wait for the maintenance guys in the golf cart with the little trailer full of garbage to pull away down the parking lot. dump my garbage at the designated pick-up point, where they'll be annoyed to see it on the return trip. sorry, guys.
another day. i feel better than i did last night, but still anxious, still sort of aimless. today, i got up, to do what i have to do. and i'll go on doing what i gotta do, tomorrow, and the day after that, but something will have to change soon. i have to get the albatross, my stupid lumbering SUV, sold. have to get right financially. have to move the writing in some direction. have to lose weight.
most of these things i have to do myself. for some things, i need some luck, for things to unfold just so. selling the truck and dating are the only two things i've gotten really pessimistic about. it's actually funny, in a way, because those two aggravations parallel each other so much.
opportunities keep arising, but the would-be takers keep failing to pan out for various reasons: not appealing or interesting enough for the cost; too many other choices out there that seem better; nice, but not inspiring or exciting enough; the age and mileage of what i'm selling; poor gas mileage. ok, i'm not sure how "poor gas mileage" relates to my dating appeal, but it seems like it would...
anyway, it's the repeated failures that get harder to deal with and ignore. i don't just get all kerrigan and scream, "why me?" i question myself. i make adjustments. try to improve the look, try to make sure everything works the way it should. try to be positive. try not to try too hard, or to want too much. that's really all i can do. i just wonder how long i can do those things before i'm completely broke, or completely broken.
Posted by Rob at 09:45 AM | Comments (1)
February 15, 2005
hey, karen
Thanks - your email was really nice to get. Yes, that is almost a frighteningly cute baby... I love her hair!
i appreciate your concern that i was too bummed out about the race - i've gotten that from some other people, even though what most people have read is allegedly the heavily-edited, more optimistic version that's a bit more fair to myself.
i also appreciate you noting that i haven't written a new entry in a couple of days. i am the affirmation/validation glutton, you know.
when i wrote sunday's entry, i kind of knew there wouldn't be another one for a while.
there was the fact that i didn't feel good about myself after the race. but the situation wasn't really so simple. i didn't go into it in sunday's entry, because i didn't want to make excuses. in my head, the failure was still primarily one of will, and i didn't want to forgive myself too easily for that. in the days since, with the help of some friends, i've gotten a better perspective. here's some truth - i had been sick for most of the week with a bad sinus infection. i hadn't been able to sleep well for nights, and i was weak all the time. friday i went to the doctor, and he put me on antibiotics. still, that evening, i was weak, couldn't swallow, even had slightly greenish mucousy stuff coming out of my eye, which was kind of grotesquely cool. i was still pretty bad on saturday. but i wanted to run the race, and i felt a bit better on sunday. it was the right thing to do - had i not run, i would always have wondered if i should have.
i started off too fast, and i was seroiusly dehydrated, probably somewhat from the antibiotics. getting to the finish was painful, and for about thirty minutes afterwards, it was kind of scary - i had trouble seeing. it was like the brightness had been turned completely up, and everything was just a glare. i couldn't stand for long, not from fatigue, but because my head felt like it was gone. and i got some weird violent shakes at one point.
despite all that, i felt like i had given up. i was disgusted, and i even gave away the finisher's medal that i first saw people wearing last year, that for some reason i really wanted. the kid looked excited about it, so that's ok.
like i said, i've kinda come to terms with the experience, and even come to appreciate the fact that i endured more than most people would have just to limp across the finish line. but still, i keep going back to those in those last four miles, as i kept trying to urge myself to run, and as i cursed myself when i stopped to walk. there was a pitched argument going on in my head between my will and my doubts. it became a conflict, a questioning of my motivations.
how much was real? was i truly strong, did i truly push myself as far as i could, in good faith, to accomplish what i did? or did i give too much of myself to the pain and fatigue, acknowledge them, even want them, to amplify the martyrdom of persevering? did some part of me want to fail, for any number of self-serving reasons?
all these things swirled through my head. my body was genuinely collapsing and failing, but my mind was, too, reeling about to try to grasp on to one thing, one truth. that, really, is what disturbed me the most.
later, my disappointment was compounded by the simple fact that the race was over. it was like some sort of post-partum depression. preparing for it had really taken a lot of my focus for months, and been more of a distraction than i realized. i'm not through with running at all - i'm just getting started, but i can't, don't want to make it the same i do with everything else - just living from one anticipated event to the next, disregarding the fact that underneath it all, i don't feel good about my life, or sometimes, myself.
i know i keep going through this on the blog, and i keep coming back to a simple faith. i really try to keep that faith up, and i really try to do the practical things to help myself. i try to keep moving, just because. but after a while, more and more, i feel like i'm just moving, and i'm not getting anywhere.
something has to change, something has to result from the effort. i'm not looking for heaven or a pot of gold. i'm not looking for the end to a journey, but just for waypoints, places where one journey leads me, and others begin. but time and miles are continuing to pass, and i'm not reaching those points.
so, all that's to say that i fear that i've written myself into a hole with the blog, coming back repeatedly to this cycle of meaning and meaninglessness. i seem to keep repeating the same things, which could be horribly dull. and when i do, well-intentioned friends do just what they should do - they try to talk me down, they try to help me. what they have to say, even what i anticipate them saying, really does help me.
that's a good thing. but the flip-side is that when i do feel this way, i feel guilty writing about it, expressing where i am at this moment. i'm even afraid that eventually, people will lose interest in me, as an overanalyzing, gloomy person who won't help himself.
i admire julie's blog, and another friend's blog (call her palomita. she knows who she is). they're both as open as they want to be. they work through many of the same issues with what seems to be a greater sense of freedom. granted, palomita seems to write more completely for herself, and is apparently discreet about who gets her blog's address.
but, wanting to be a published writer, and because i am the affirmation/validation glutton, i do want people, lots of people, to read what i write. i want the blog to be something fresh. i want it to either entertain or to at least progress, to develop, not just stay as mired as i am. and there's the rub. i think i have to make a choice about what this is all about.
so here's my blog entry for today. originally, you were to be its only recipient, in response to your email. but the more i wrote, the more this writing itself became caught up in this same conflict. and the same questions in my head from those ugly four miles on sunday reappeared. i want to put this out there. do i want people to know these things about me for the right reasons? do i even feel these things for the right reasons? what is true? and why do i even have to ask that question?
so, there is no neat ending to this lengthy, rambling entry. on the one hand, i've realized lately that this blog isn't just a disjointed series of essays - there is a thread, it does tell the story of a journey i'm on. yes, i battle the same enemies more than once along the way, but each battle is slightly different, and it moves me one step closer either to peace, or to defeat.
still, i feel like i'm going to have to find new directions before i can write again. maybe it'll happen tonight, maybe next week. maybe it'll just be a matter of feeling well again, physically and mentally, and waiting for the next distraction to roll along. then i'll write something about the funny thing that happened in the bathroom, or about things you can do with staplers. and some people will laugh.
but then again, it might be more of the same, which is ok - it's partly what this blog is for, and it's part of the process. the reactions of my friends, whether it's morgan's smart ass comments (luv ya, man) or janay's friendly butt-kickings (luv ya, man, get well soon), or the emails and calls i get from mara or jana or my other friends, are also part of the process. beyond that, some people may not like what i write, some friends may get tired of my crap, but i am trying to get somewhere. and this is just where i am tonight...
Posted by Rob at 11:27 PM | Comments (0)
February 13, 2005
not today
OK. the short of it is, i didn't make it. i didn't even come close. i didn't even run the whole distance. yes, there were factors, excuses, explanations, but i don't want to talk about them. i just had a bad race, and maybe there's some stuff for me to sort out and work on, physically, strategically, mentally. i did try. i did finish.
i'm extremely thankful for my teammates. when they heard the goal i had set, they became determined to help me reach it, setting us up with the right pace group, and keeping me reined in when i was all hyped up at the start.
i'm also extremely proud of them - tiffany came out and ran despite being ill, and tried to stick with the elevated pace anyway. but she also has asthma, and when that hit around mile 2, she dropped back, and with janay there, she kept going until mile 5. she's a hell of a woman and a competitor, who's already looking for another half-marathon to do.
according to the official chip timing, katie and i ran the first 6.2 miles at a 10:27 per minute pace. i started struggling, and katie held herself back, and probably wasted some energy doing everything she could to keep me going. meanwhile, janay made an incredible effort to catch katie and me at about 7.5 miles, despite what had to be a lead of several minutes.
by that time, i was in trouble. katie and janay tried to push me. janay ran to people cheering from the sidewalks to cheer for rob. they did everything they could to keep me going, but i fell back, and at a little past 8 miles, i quit. i began walking, running some, but then walking again.
i wanted to make it, i wanted to pick time back up, but i just couldn't drive myself to do it. i walked at least half of the remaining distance. i finished at 2:27.58, over a minute slower than i had run the 3m. i averaged 11:18 per mile over the whole race.
janay and katie were amazing. they met and exceeded my goal. janay finished at 2:28:52, 8:47 faster than at 3M, at a 10:42 pace. katie at 2:16:29, a 9:51 improvement, averaging a 10:25 pace.
so many thanks, much respect and much love to my teammates. many thanks to julia and ben, who were in town visiting and woke up this morning to cheer for me at the finish, such as it was. and many, many thanks to all of you for your kindness and your encouragement. i'm sorry i didn't make it, but all these things are probably why i finished at all.
Posted by Rob at 06:08 PM | Comments (3)
February 10, 2005
showtime
no iPod necessary tonight. i'm at the bar at halcyon, lovely cold amber bubbling in a glass before me.
tom petty's playing - an american girl. earlier, journey, separate ways.
the songs of my youth. my youth - what a weird phrase to use. few memories exist where the radio isn't playing. i remember life marked out in time with music, with rock and roll, on KLBJ, on Z-102, on cassette tapes and eventually cd's.
i'm riding high. i feel myself rushing towards the surface from the depths, like one of the bubbles in my beer, driving smoothly upwards towards the heavens.
i went to take this picture after work, a mission that has bugged me for days. my coworker felipe went with me, walked part of the way, stayed behind to make a phone call. i ran across and along the access road, free on our first clear and crisp day in weeks, running past the people and the cars mired in rush hour traffic. i ran instinctively to a point on the grassier verge, turned, brought the camera up to my eye, and there through the viewfinder was the sun, low in the sky now, backlighting a glowing brushstroke of a cloud, and there, the sign, yellow, saying simply, "showtime."
on tuesday, i was awash in emotions. maybe illness or fatigue, but a few times that day, i was overwhelmed, and i felt the warmth build up behind my eyes, before i'd push it all back. but one moment that day hit me more squarely, more firmly, as i drove up to the Runtex Store for Psychotic Running People, and saw the sign.
i had run my first half-marathon a couple of weeks ago. and as important as it was, as an accomplishment, and a catharsis, it still seemed like a part of the preparation for the freescale half-marathon.
so, i didn't understand why, as i saw the sign, but even now, thinking of it, i feel again the same warmth, the same tightening in the throat. and this time, the words on the page blur in my vision, and the ink itself begins to blur in drops on the page.
there is so much in a life, so much to feel and know and remember, but nevertheless, there are those moments and events that we single out, that resonate more deeply for us, that we know will linger.
so much of life is preparing, so often for dreams, worthwhile or misguided, that may or may not come true.
this thing, preparing for this run, is a small thing for some runners, a small thing in this life, certainly a small thing in this world, but still... so many miles. so much effort, so much wanting and needing. so much love and encouragement from so many people, lifelong friends, new friends, old loves, even strangers, even from a friend now gone. so much wanting to help, to be a part of something, so much help from people for a little girl they may never meet.
i hear all the footsteps run, all the pavement and trail underfoot, i hear all those voices, i hear my own, cursing myself, praising myself, i feel everything of the last four months, i feel the echoes of preparations and hopes of a life already long but not done, all saying steadily, confidently, now, "showtime."
Posted by Rob at 08:57 PM | Comments (2)
i am writer, hear me scrawl
First... Wow. We're at $555 and more is coming in. OK, scratch that - $1,055. Holy crap. You guys all kick ass. If you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, please go here.
i flipped open the notebook last night, and it's at least half-full, about 70-80 pages covered in the scratchwork of my thoughts. it made me pretty happy.
see, over the years, i've bought a lot of notebooks, from spirals (lines too small), to small leather-bound journals (too small), even a big chief tablet (too flimsy/scratchy/funky-colored/stupid). i bought them periodically on the premise that a new notebook would encourage me to fill it with words, as i used to when i was younger, before the stupid intrusion of law school.
over the years, i accumulated and recycled a lot of empty notebooks.
all that's changed, thanks largely to the blog, and just some changes in habit: working downtown near a few comfortable niches where i can sit and write (last night, the bar at halcyon); finding a little release in beer; finding a little release in more reasonably moderate amounts of beer; getting back in touch with music with the iPod, and therein, getting closer again to my own soul.
when i began running, i struggled, because i was "doing" running. someone wise told me that the key for me would be moving past the doing, and simply becoming a runner.
it's the same thing with writing. it's become easy again, unlike all the times i sat with the latest notebook, or in front of the computer, and struggled to "do" writing, to force words out. now, whether any of this stuff is worthwhile or not, when someone asks me what i do, i can think of the blog, of the hours spent alone in a bar scribbling like mad, or banging away at a keyboard in the dark. i can think of this notebook full of words, and when someone asks what i do, instead of answering despondently that i'm an attorney, i can answer, "i write. i'm a writer."
---
a small, trivial cool moment last night. one of the girls at halcyon asked the other where she should take some people for drinks. i looked up and said, "G&S Lounge." both of them turned to me, impressed, i think, with what the 35 year-old lawyer had just suggested.
i so despise being misread, pigeonholed into an identity by what i do for a living or what i wear when i do it. it's nice when people realize it's not me, that i'm not the attorney, not the starched shirt and tie. don't underestimate me.
---
ok, you should have seen what i coughed up this morning. incredible. as crappy as i've felt all week, the byproducts of the annual sinus infections i've had since i got my nose broken are kind of ripley's believe it or not cool...
Posted by Rob at 10:51 AM | Comments (0)
February 08, 2005
sometimes
OK, first, if you haven't been here in a while I want to make sure you check out the zany money-raising attempt, here.
and now...
seek my part.
devote myself,
my small self,
like a book amongst
the many on the shelf.
sometimes i do
sometimes i rise
sometimes i fall
sometimes i don't
sometimes i cringe
sometimes i laugh
sometimes i walk
sometimes i kneel
sometimes i speak of nothing at all
sometimes i reach to myself.
- pearl jam, "sometimes"
where was i? monday's entry was a cheat - i had actually written it last friday, but didn't post it immediately. monday was a lights-out day in my office, just the light through the windows and the light from the computer monitor illuminating the day. i did this both to cut down on my irritation, and for the protection of the people outside.
i wasn't feeling so well physically, and it began to drag me down mentally, emotionally. i wanted to write about the weekend, and i did.
i wrote about how friday night had turned so unexpectedly fun, and special. despite the fear and growing pessimism i've felt lately in my relationships with other people, i began to believe, allowed myself to enjoy the moment, maybe to feel a little hope, a little excitement. i was with friends, old and new, and one in particular that has captured my attention for what seems like the longest time.
the night started as a few coworkers having a beer or two, and quickly became a curious mixture of friends, and really, of worlds. a bunch of thirty-something attorneys and three twenty-something girls that i've come to know at the coffee shop across the street. we all ended up going dancing at red fez until 2 in the morning. everyone on both sides of the supposed cultural divide talked afterwards about how much fun they had.
i danced the whole time with amelia. she is mature and understanding beyond her years. despite my efforts otherwise, i've been amazingly, embarassingly transparent to her, and she's handled it all with grace and kindness.
at the end of the night, amelia and i swapped email and blog addresses. i walked her to her car, and there was a wonderfully warm hug that, despite the claim in her blog the next morning, was not "drunken", at least not on my part. mildly buzzed, perhaps; slightly wobbly, maybe, but not drunken.
i wrote about the course of the weekend, which, though it had its high points, saw me drift increasingly into someplace i didn't want to be.
i wrote once again, so tiringly, of uncertainty and doubt, about the almost paralyzing inability to discern what is real through the noise of hope, desire, doubt, and illusion. once again, i was faced with the realization that everything i saw and felt on one night, at any given time, could fit easily into one of two vastly different realities. fear and doubt push me to believe in one, but hope and my heart push me to the other. i wondered if it is up to me to simply choose one, and by choosing, by some action of the will, make reality, or at least encourage one.
i wondered how many times in my life i had made that choice, most of the time, almost always, erring on the side of safety, and despising myself for my cowardice, and repeatedly ensuring loss and disappointment. i wondered if i would ever be able to change, despite my efforts.
i finished and published the entry. minutes later, i pulled it off.
then i thought, no, i have to be real, here. this is where i'm at now, i have to be honest and open - that's the point. i put it back up.
a short while later, a very well-intentioned friend with a good sense of humor emailed me, telling me that we should make me the eighth dwarf - "Gloomy."
i pulled the entry back off.
i went to a late lunch at fado's. a nice sandwich, a nice pint.
the first song out of the iPod shuffle was pearl jam's "sometimes."
i wrote a coda to the entry, a resolution, a return again to the theme of having faith in the possibilities that motion and choices will engender, but i saw no need to post it, or the original. that's all been done and said before.
i'm in a long process of trying to resolve a debate in my heart, but sometimes i can't tell what's right. i'm trying to write the end to my own story, but sometimes i don't know what the character will choose.
sometimes i fall. sometimes i rise. today, though home sick today with a sinus infection, i went to my running class, saw my friends, ran with them for a time, then, without a word, pulled away in the twilight, running harder and faster. sometimes i fear. sometimes i believe. sometimes i hurt. sometimes i choose. and sometimes, i run.
Posted by Rob at 11:57 PM | Comments (0)
February 07, 2005
thanks, and the wager
i ended the post about the half marathon with me finishing, because that was the moment that so many things kinda converged in my heart and mind. and, i'm not always so big on the whole "falling action" thing.
part of me wishes that we had all crossed the finish together. on the other hand, i was so glad katie was there 16 seconds ahead of me, ready to congratulate me. and as proud as i felt crossing the finish, i was just as proud to watch janay and tiffany cross, and to cheer them in.
for me, there's no way i could have done this without these guys. they're an impressive collection of women, and of individuals. their humor, encouragement, and drive not only got me through 13 miles saturday, but through my 10 weeks of training that led up to it. more importantly, they've been steady and dependable reference points in my life for the past several months. on so many days of frustration and hopelessness, i was determined to make it to the next tuesday or saturday, seeking release in the run and companionship and even counsel from these new friends.
i'm also thankful to have met so many other people in the training group that i look forward to seeing twice a week, and will be sad to maybe miss now that the final goal is in sight.
fittingly, in the high school football stadium that was the gathering area at the finish last sunday, we ran into the Evil Woman With the Clipboard that i had met on my accidental first foray into this running thing. she's been a great coach, and a lot of fun to be around, and therefore finally deserves to be known by her human name - Frances.
finally, thanks to my friends who have been so supportive.
but we ain't done yet. the original goal was to run the freescale half-marathon on february 13th. my team simply got cocky and decided to do both the freescale and the 3M. we ran the 3M for accomplishment, but several of us want to challenge ourselves more on the freescale.
in addition, janay is using her freescale run to raise money to fight pancreatic cancer.
for me, i finished the 3M in 2:26, averaging 11:12 a mile, which i know is slow, but is actually pretty good for me. so, i'm aiming a bit higher for the freescale (despite having turned my ankle and injuring my wrist simultaneously in my basketball team's thrilling 52-47 victory monday night), and it provides a fun little fundraising opportunity.
Julie's family set up an education fund for her nine year-old daughter Alexis at Wells Fargo bank. donations can be made securely online, or at any Wells Fargo location.
so, i'm taking wagers. see, at a minimum, i want to average under 11 minutes per mile. for a runner like me, cutting 12-15 seconds of time per mile would be quite an accomplishment, considering it wouldn't be as a result of more training, but just running harder, a mere 14 days after my first half-marathon.
on top of that, i'd really like to get to 10:45 per mile, but i'm not very bright, and that's a lot to expect. that's nearly half a minute per mile faster, and over a minute better per mile than when i started this craziness in october.
so, here's what we'll do - place your bets on a time for me to beat. you could say $15 for beating 11:00, or $25 for beating 10:45. if i can beat the time you set, you pay, and alexis wins (and i'll talk some smack). if i fail, then... uhh... well there's the whole humiliation thing, and the endless taunting i'll get for letting down a nine-year old girl. and then i'll have to do something else to raise money or something...
so, place your bets. show me your moxie, and i'll show you mine. give me a good reason to run my ass off.
how to pay up (and you will pay up):
Go to any Wells Fargo Bank, or Wells Fargo Online
Make a deposit into the account for Alexis Rumble.
Kacey Doebler (her aunt) is the representative for the account.
If you have any problems, let me know.
Posted by Rob at 10:51 AM | Comments (13)
February 03, 2005
running to stand still (with apologies to U2)
wednesday was blurred by tears. the days following were blurred by speed. occasionally, moments and memories would collapse in on me, but i was spared the persistence of painful reflection by the steady barrage of events and crises in the days after Julie's death. their immediacy and weight demanded a focus and energy that provided a distraction that i immediately and unquestioningly embraced.
so, when sunday morning arrived, i awoke at 4:45AM, just as eager to immerse myself in running my first half-marathon, the 3M half-marathon.
the night before, i had parked my car near the finish line, with post-race clothing and supplies packed and waiting for myself and the three other runners that have become my teammates.
morgan and i had dinner at china buffet, which is most likely not endorsed, encouraged, or even envisioned as a rational decision for a pre-race meal by runner's world magazine.
morgan ran me home, where i allowed myself to be anxious and excited, to worry and obsess about the handful of things i needed to get done. i filled my exciting new gu energy gel flask that had accompanied my exciting uber-cool new gu energy gel flask holster. i washed my socks. i pulled out my running shorts, and the red nike short-sleeve shirt, and spent a half-hour trying to get my number perfectly centered, level, and pinned to the front of my shirt. i trimmed down, sealed in plastic, and pinned Julie's picture above the number.
it was still dark when Janay and Katy picked me up, Janay as atomic-clock punctual as you'd expect her to be, if you knew her. my cats, accustomed though they are to my erratic and inexplicable behavior, watched me quietly with a mixture of bemusement and concern at where i could possibly be going at 5:30 in the morning.
we parked at the movie theater, waited for Tiffany to join us, and then we shivered across the parking lot to the starting area. quickly, one of my worst reservations about the race was confirmed - the same braying hickoid announcer that had annoyed so skillfully and completely at both the race for the cure and the turkey trot had once again been given, or had taken by force, control of the public address system. the cold morning air crackled with nonsensical, endless monologue; shuddered and threatened to collapse under the sheer weight of stupidity.
the hour before the race stretched to our breaking points. despite our efforts to get and stay warm, the moist cold air (44 degrees, 89% humidity) encroached, breached the defenses of our high-tech clothing, and began to soak down through us.
ten weeks of disciplined and structured training taught me many things, but the most important to me was bladder management. i woke up early specifically to allow for the hydration/accumulation/release cycle to sufficiently run its course. in the hour waiting for the start, i made two well-spaced trips to the porta-potty.
we waited in the crowd, as light began to defeat night. the national anthem was sung. some woman next to me was sucking down coffee and talking about how she had declined to stand at some event in support of the troops in iraq. bitch.
our governor/insurance company lackey p.rick perry made his usual "here i am appearing but not actually participating" appearance, and i wonder how it could be that ashlee simpson could be booed by 70,000 fans for being a lousy singer, and this guy doesn't get stoned to death?
the starting gun went off, and so did we, Tiffany and i in front, Janay and Katy close behind. immediately, in the first half-mile, the pressure of the crowd around us began to dissipate, but another pressure began to rise.
again, with the having to pee.
the first restroom stop wasn't until mile six, which at that point was, let's see, almost six miles away. there was no way, already being cold and wet, that this was going to work.
all along the road to our right, men were turned away from us, facing the woods, resolving their issues right damned there. Tiffany told me i had to do the same, but i wouldn't... i couldn't. i get the stage fright. on the other hand, my bladder was really starting to hurt.
then, i saw a woman dash out of the woods, through the patches of men. she was either cognitively challenged and had already gotten lost, had been distracted by and chased a squirrel, or she, too, had found her answer in the forest.
her audacity and confidence (they have to "hunker", you know) gave me courage, and i went for it, dashing in deeper than others, leaping bushes and ducking branches until i got to a spot that shielded me almost not at all from the runners on the street. a brief moment of doubt and bashfulness, and i returned to the earth what was rightfully hers.
i exploded back onto the street, jubilant not only in relief, but in the exhiliration of conquering fear and urination's axis of evil and oppression. i put on speed, and caught up to my team, my arms raised in the first victory we would know that day, and i exclaimed to all that i had, indeed, peed in the woods!
that elation became tempered somewhat by the realization that i still had to run about 12 miles. there was also the issue of the blisters already developing on my arches from the brand-new shoes (my 3rd new pair to try in a week).
we pressed on. quickly, we saw supporters, people with signs, people with cowbells, a group of people with feather boas, all braving the weather to cheer on their friends and/or the runners in general. we waved and thanked them. i felt a charge every time, i felt lighter and more determined, and it was difficult not to pick up the pace when we had cheerleaders. my female teammates seemd to react particularly well to the six or seven young firemen standing outside the firehouse just past mile four.
at a couple of points on the course, there were bagpipers in full kilted regalia. i do love me some bagpipe music. a man offered us donuts, and i think it may be one of a handful of times in my life where a donut did not strike me as a particularly good idea.
my teammates had friends and family out on the course, too. Katy and Janay were visibly lifted by seeing their husbands and kids out there, the young children probably shocked at the coincidence and weirdness of running into mommy on some random street.
i got used to the blisters, but i was taking a bit more pounding from the shoes than i've been used to. my ankles started to hurt, and my muscles were generally trying to tighten up. but my teammates kept me going, kept me laughing, and as hard as it got, there was no thought of not finishing.
i had Julie, too, that small rectangle of space over my heart a little warmer, her smile beaming out and shielding me. i would feel that warmth, think of her, sometimes talk quietly to her, and the run, the effort, the challenge, fell into perspective, and oddly became a sort of joy.
i did have my moment of doubt - by mile 10, i was struggling, both physically and mentally. but the course began a very slight downward grade down the drag in front of the ut campus, and Katy was ready to pick up the pace. we took our last shots of gu, and began to lengthen our stride.
coming out of the 12th mile, we were really moving, and i was working to keep up with Katy. i was pounding up the last uphill, less than a mile from the finish, and i told her to go and do what she could do, and she began to pull away from me. i crested the hill and let my legs go, let gravity carry me down the hill, faster and faster.
i rounded the corner, about a hundred yards from the finish line, and the crowds were there, and i knew it was over, and i broke into full sprint across the finish. Katy, who had finished 16 seconds ahead of me, cheered me through, and we high-fived shortly before i dropped into a heaving, sweaty crouch beside her to wait for Janay and Tiffany.
as i waited, struggling to breathe, fatigue and the excitement of accomplishment must have combined, gotten to me somehow. wednesday and the days since, and all that they meant, all the feelings deferred, seemed to finally catch up with me, but rather than crashing into me, they came gently and quietly, in tears that flowed smoothly and warmly on a cold, overcast january day.
Posted by Rob at 12:21 PM | Comments (1)
February 02, 2005
things i missed
so, this morning, i'm cleaning out my briefcase, sorting through the accumulation of papers from the whirlwind of the last several weeks.
i came across a few pages of writing, and went to put them in the little spiral notebook i carry with me all the time, that i sit with in the back of the bar and write in at least once a week. it's a notebook only for writing, not for scribbling grocery lists or phone numbers.
i'm a lover of the post-it note, the ability to put critical information on a bright square of paper and stick it somewhere where it won't be ignored or avoided. at least, that's the theory. in reality, my world is covered with sticky notes, but my mind has developed the extraordinary ability to completely fail to differentiate them from their surroundings, as if my eyes had yellow filters that prevent the notes from being seen.
but this morning, when i opened the notebook, i saw the yellow sticky in the front cover, the only one in the book, and i was shocked, but i also immediately knew that it had always been there. it was something i wanted to follow up on, but had overlooked, put off to another day.
it was Julie's name and phone number, given to me by a friend some months ago.
in the last week, amidst the turmoil and uncertainty surrounding her daughter Alexis' future, i kept thinking about how Julie had become single in 2003, and how i had left my last relationship and been unattached just months before that. i can't help but wonder, and though there's no more than wondering, there's an odd regret at what might have been missed, at how maybe even now, i could have at least shared the future of an amazing little girl.
i know it's silly, and presumptious, and a bit self-centered. but Julie's gone, Alexis' future hangs on the result of what will be an ugly legal battle, and an ongoing emotional war that may never be resolved. and for me, all i have is a yellow post-it note with a number now disconnected, some pictures, and the wondering.
Posted by Rob at 09:48 AM | Comments (0)