who wants pudding?

« January 2006 | Main | March 2006 »

February 28, 2006

holly's story

umm... this picture was taken at the rogue post-party. and, see, we had won these socks because, well, we quit our jobs, and someone found these umbrellas, and holly knitted that scarf herself... and, you know... alcohol. anyway, picture by dr. melissa long, who has some letters that are supposed to go after her name.

i'm going to post some of the marathon stories from other runners in the rogue training program over the next week or so. one of the coaches asked people to post them on the group's forum, and it's a great chronicle of many experiences, and one experience. first up are the stories from holly and tom, who i started the race with...

Miles 1-6 Flew by, literally. Tom, Rob and I tried diligently to get into MGP, but it was so easy to go fast. We felt good. We were joking and having a good old time. I think we averaged 10 min/miles. Which was a little too fast.

Miles 6-12 were just flying by. I felt good. It was a little icy in spots, but fun. I was taking in one shot block per mile and stopping at every water stop. We lost Rob around mile 8 so he could potty. I wouldn't see him until I REALLY needed him at mile 24.

Miles 13-16 we hit the halfway point at 2:15. I still felt good. Going down Great Northern was cold but not bad. Then Shoal Creek and I still felt good. Then along North Loop I started to think I might have to struggle for this one. I brushed it off and kept moving. At mile 16 I stopped talking to Tom. I just kept repeating "Get your head in the game". At this point I knew it was gonna be tough, I still thought I could do it. My stomach starting revolting against me around mile 15. I stopped taking the cliff shot blocks at every mile. I continued with the water, though.

Miles 16-21. Around this point Tom figured out that I was struggling and tried to talk me out of it. I was fighting to "Keep my head in the game". I managed to run up the hill on San Jacinto at the top I knew I was in trouble. I managed to tell Tom to go on and not jeopardize his goal because I was having a bad day. I tried to eat another shot block and couldn't, I spit it out.

Miles 21-26.2. I don't remember much about these miles. I started walking on the way around the capitol. As I exited the capitol I saw the photographer and started crying. I knew then the game was over. I started feeling dizzy and my hips were on on fire. I started wishing I had told Chris to meet me on Congress, that way I could just go home. The thought of even attempting to finish seemed impossible. I felt HORRIBLE.

Somewhere along Congress Coach Janie spotted me. She got right next to me and started talking me. I just remember wanting her to go away so I could quit. I couldn't even talk to tell her to go away. Then she told me to start running, I figured that maybe if I ran she'd go away so I could quit. I had no intention of turning onto 2nd St. I was gonna walk across the Congress bridge call Chris and hide until he came to rescue me. Then, while I was running and Janie was talking I started feeling better, then she stuck with me for the turn onto 2nd and my escape route was blocked.

At some point on 2nd I started talking. I turned onto Caesar Chavez and started the turn around that I didn't have any intention of even attempting. One thing Janie said was to use my anger. I used my anger at the spectator who told me I was almost there to get myself to Lamar. Then I used my anger at the civil engineer who designed the overpass to get up it and made the turn. I stopped looking at my watch - I knew if I saw my goal time while I was still on the course I would start crying again.

Around Mile 24 Rob caught up with me. I remember he asked how I was doing and I told him "I was having the worst day of my life." I guess around mile 24 I become a drama queen. He shuffled along with me for awhile. We'd shuffle (I can't call it running) for a while then walk for awhile. We kept each other talking. Next thing I knew we were at the 25 mile marker. We took another walk break and then along came Janie. I turned to Rob and said "There's Janie, she's gonna make us run." I started attempting to run hoping she wouldn't notice (she did).

She rode with us until the 26 mile marker and then told us to sprint to the finish. Everything hurt so much, but for some reason it stopped hurting when I started "sprinting". Rob took off and I couldn't catch him, but I still felt like I was the fastest person in the world. I heard my name and then I crossed the finish. I remember getting my medal, but for some reason the silver space blanket seemed so much cooler. I'm gonna frame that blanket.

So that was Holly Runs A Marathon II aka Holly Knocks 2.5 Hours Off Her Finish Time. Right now considering how funny look when I try to hobble to the freezer to get my thin mints I don't know if this will turn into a trilogy or not.

Posted by Rob at 02:29 AM | Comments (0)

February 27, 2006

no, really, what do you want?

"I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."
lloyd dobler, "say anything"

"i don't want to practice law, study law, or cite the law as a career. i don't want to practice any law that is studied or cited, or study any law that is practiced or cited, or cite any law that is practiced, studied, or cited, or write about any law that is practiced, studied, or cited. you know, as a career, i don't want to do that."
me

thursday, my boss read my last blog entry. thursday afternoon, at 4:31, he emailed me, the subject line read "blog/departure." he said he had seen my declaration that i would be leaving the law, and therefore, the job, on march 31. he was very understanding about it all, and wished me the best in finding the path i want in life.

not everyone at work knows yet, and that's fine. i had gone a week without talking to any of my fellow attorneys. at all. i came in, closed my door, and sequestered myself. this latest bit of weirdness is probably what prompted my boss to check the blog.

i told the executive director. he seems to be genuinely unhappy about it. not just a passive lack of happiness, but an active unhappiness about it. that's nice, but he has only seen the best of me - he hasn't had to work with me every day.

another woman at work is more than a coworker. she's always been one of my strongest supporters, and there's little i haven't told her. i would consistently find something thoughtful on my desk from her, whether it was a holiday or special occasion or need, or not. there was a card on my desk the friday before the race. today, two writing magazines, a card, and two yummy chocolate truffles, tied with a ribbon.

so, i've got the people at work squared away. as for my parents, i won't tell them until absolutely necessary, which i'm tentatively projecting to be April 2007. yes, this is an act of rebellion, but rebels, at least the smart and successful ones, don't usually make a phone call to the reigning despot giving them a heads-up.

plus, there still has been no post-marathon call from them. so there's that.

all that's ok. because, quite frankly, when they do find out, and if they don't support the decision, they'll be hideously, intractably outnumbered.

years ago, i had a similar epiphany on a smaller scale. i was still living at home during college, which was a mistake in itself, but something that was again a product of my own failure to assert myself against their edicts. the fear was very muh alive back then.

i knew something was coming, that a shoe was about to drop. i was on spring break with some people that remain some of my best friends to this day. i remember the moment i looked around at them and realized that whatever might happen when i got home, and more importantly, no matter what my parents thought or how much they were disappointed, these people, my friends would still think the same of me. these were people that i loved and respected, and didn't fear. they had already judged me, and called me their friend, and unless i really changed into something ugly, i held that title and esteem for life.

for the past several weeks, i've met more members of the rogue training systems programs than i ever have. they email me, come up to me at the parties and pub runs and happy hours, they ask me if i'm the rob with the blog. people are telling me that something made them laugh, or that something made them cry. they tell me i have something useful and good, and the warmth of these people make me believe in it, just as much as when my friends have told me the same.

as i've shared the news, and people have found out, the one word i've heard first, almost unanimously, from people who know me at all, or who read the last blog entry, is, "congratulations."

and i'm not alone. on the running group's forum, one guy wrote that he had quit his job on december 18th. he was in high-end scientific and industrial testing equipment sales. he had made, at times, five figures a month. he had been running with rogue for two years. it put him in touch with things, and he credits it with giving him the clarity and perspective to change his life. he had probably known for a while what was important to him and what wasn't, but he had probably lost some of his better goals and dreams in the measures of single days, and single steps.

holly, a new friend, one that i began the marathon with, and finished the last two grueling miles with, quit her job, as well. she had run many of the long distance workouts with tom, fellow mastodon (6'10", 300+ pounds of former basketball player), and father of five. it reminded her of how she wanted kids, too.

she's a chemist, and works with hazardous materials that aren't exactly ideal to expose an incubating kid to. but it was her job, and she had probably known for a while what was important to her and what wasn't, she had deferred her dreams and goals in the measures of single days, and single steps.

after a long run, listening to tom talk about his kids, she came home and told her husband that it was time, and that she wanted to try to have kids. she gave her notice a week or so ago, and now she's teaching kids to swim. wednesday, she will try to teach some of our group to swim, including me, which may make her regret leaving her other job.

a marathon is a matter of running minute by minute, step by step, and while you have to focus on that, the goal, the finish line, is inescapable, palpable, real. that clarity and perspective is difficult to find in real life.

friday morning, my great friend julia, in california, called me. her husband, pat, had come in the day before and told her about my great blog entry proclamation. shortly before, she and her husband had talked and decided that yes, she was going to quit the law, completely and utterly.

there is, of course, the small question... of exactly... what i'm going to do. for like, a career. and for like, money. those questions, tend to give rise to a shrugging of the shoulders and something of a smile.

i got no idea. i just know what it isn't going to be, and i know i've got love and support, and i know that whether it goes well or badly, it's going to be mine.

Posted by Rob at 10:26 AM | Comments (2)

February 22, 2006

40 days

this is a lot. i've talked about almost everything. this is harsh. this is personal. this is pointed. this is angry. this is different. this is a long time coming. this is the truth. this, finally, is the truth.

i brought my copy of "office space" to friend amber. she watched it, didn't get it, but saw how others could. she understands that it's an experience thing.

years ago, i worked in the industrial building complex where many of the interior scenes were shot. the evil and non-handicapped lumbergh parked his porsche in the handicapped spot right in front of our offices, where chandra and i would park when we drove in to work together.

our hero, peter gibbons, suffers from a malaise. he's burned out from working in his cubicle farm. sometimes he thinks his prissy girlfriend anne is cheating on him. everyone else thinks so, too.

he gets hypnotized into feeling peaceful and free. then the hypnotist dies in mid-hypnotizing. so, peter has a falsely-induced epiphany, that nonetheless leads him to change his life. suddenly, his drone-like existence means nothing. he just wants to have dinner with jennifer anniston's character, and watch kung-fu movies.

in recent weeks, a feeling has grown. it's been prodded along by my feeling less and less a part of the environment at work, less and less in tune with the work itself. errors abound, despite my good faith efforts to be attentive and thorough. and i don't want to associate at all with most of my coworkers.

last week, i let the marathon consume me, and it was welcome. after months of training and focus, the goal i wanted was before me, the one that i cared about, had worked so hard for, had found true friends in.

and now, after the marathon, i am hypnotized, trapped, at least for now, hopefully for long enough, in a place where i don't care anymore about the lies i've been living.

this afternoon, i took a late lunch to help a friend bury her cat. i hugged my friend. we dug a hole, laid the cat carefully within. i touched her fur, and it still felt real, still felt alive. it was real. it mattered.

i came back to work. phone messages - "i need to know my rights. a dentist was rude to me." "i can't believe you dismissed my case. i'm devastated," from a hypochondriac complainant that i still worked and managed to negotiate some result for.

i went across the street to the coffeeshop. some people take coffee breaks. some take smoke breaks. i had a lone star. returned to the office. got several faxes. bullshit mickey-mouse games from an attorney that doesn't have the good faith or intelligence to accept the olive branches i've extended.

i cleared off my desk in about 3 seconds. it's all layering my office floor now, covering the carpet. i often wonder if the floor ever gets vacuumed. it won't tonight. i left at 4:40, and now i'm here, with beer, and i don't care. it was either leave, or walk down the hall and tell my boss that i quit.

my life has, so far, been primarily about half-assedly living other people's dreams, making just a minimal effort to meet the goals that others wanted for me, my own wants and needs and best destinies be damned.

i've writhed through the years of being an attorney. i tried to find a niche, tried to give it a fair shot. but i've always known better. being an attorney was never my dream. law school was a choice that was really my failure to choose and pursue my own dreams over those of my parents. it was an acquiescence to fear, both of disappointing them, and just of them.

the marathon, however, was a revelation. four hours and fifty-four minutes became my forty days in the desert, beset by the temptations of quitting, of resignation, surrender. i suffered through a little pain, a good deal of doubt, a lot of questioning of who i was, and who i was going to choose to be on that day, running 26.2 miles in the sub-freezing cold.

who i was going to choose to be. what i was going to choose. what my life would mean, right then, at that moment, in those hours, for all those miles. only my choice. for once, no one else could make the choice for me, against me.

for one thing, they weren't even there. couldn't be troubled to be there, despite my endless talking about the training and how much it meant to me, despite the reminders, despite the plea to them a week before, slightly drunk, still a little beery and teary from the pre-race party in which our head coach, steve sisson, spoke, sermonized, ministered to us about the spiritual journey we had been on, and the consummation of it all that we would experience in another week.

they couldn't be bothered. after all that i had given for their dreams of what their son might turn out to be, after all i had given for what they had wanted, after i had lived through the disappointment of being less than perfect, less than right.

as a child, my worst offenses, those punishable with a belt, were talking too much in class (in the few hours i ever had to be around and talk to other kids), once forging a disciplinary note (see: fear; see: belt), and once missing a bus, which was bad enough for my stepfather to tell me that maybe i could go spend the night at the YMCA, that they'd take me in for awhile.

a year ago, my mother told me that i only got the belt once, and she hadn't known about it until she saw the long, solid welts it left, and that she confronted my stepfather and never let him use it again.

what an amazing thing denial is. lots of people get the belt. but to deny it happened, to forget the piddly offenses that i earned it with... i can still hear the sound of the built-in drawer in the walk-in closet, the crisp snap of the belt doubled. i still remember the sun on the grass through the glossy green oak leaves in the back yard, me, around 10 years old, tied to it, threatened with a bullwhip. a bullwhip.

denial is easy. memory, that's a bitch.

after all my heinous crimes, there was the night at the pizza parlour, when they put the brochure for allen military academy on the generic red and white checkered vinyl table cloth. i saw kids with blank faces, hollow eyes, marching, looking blankly at their teachers. maybe that's what i needed. maybe that's what would set it all right, and make me in the image that didn't reflect their own failures.

i never did drugs. i never drank until after college. i never snuck out of the house. virgin until... well, later (not that much later, but a little later. but not late, just not early).

it was not enough. not enough to be the first on either side of my family to finish college. not enough to be the first to get a graduate degree. not enough that i try to be a good person, though i sometimes fail. not enough to have the love and care and respect of some of the best people i could ever know.

it was not enough for them to be there, not at the start, not along the way, not at the finish. maybe because this dream was mine, and it had nothing to do with being the top-gun, top-paid lawyer. it wasn't bragging rights for them. they couldn't be there, just like they couldn't be there when i got to read my one published piece at the texas book festival, in front of a crowd, a crowd that laughed, and cried when they heard how proud i was of my mother and how hard she had worked to make herself something, and to give me a life. they asked, liz carpenter, an icon i was so honored to meet and know for those few hours, asked, if my mother was there, and she was not.

i had told them about it, reminded them, reminded them the week before, and they said they'd "like to go." i called and left them a message about it the night before, but later that day, when it was all over, i got only a voicemail - "hi, we're in montana. can you pick up our mail?"

my fifteen minutes lasted longer, when i was asked to read the piece at zachary scott theatre. friends came. i was able to coerce my mother into coming. again, i saw laughter and tears through the spotlight, and hugs and words from people i didn't know, but i still don't know how much she saw, how much she heard.

i don't want to deny my part in the course of my life. ultimately, the failure is mine. failing to make the choice even to rebel, if necessary. the fear was strong, and reinforced, but i wonder at how much of it was weakness and cowardice.

i don't want to be unfair. my mother's life in america was all about sacrificing for me. they overextended themselves, moved to a better school district, given me things i wanted, and, of course, given me the tools and resources to succeed academically. they did probably all they knew to do. and it was enough, enough for me to go along, to keep my mouth shut, to blame not just myself, but only myself for failing to make my own life.

but i would trade it all to have my life, my life. to have had my strengths and dreams recognized and cared about and supported. to have them at least call and ask me how the race went, and care just because i do.

but last sunday, at mile 12, 16, 21, i didn't need them, or their approval, to make me strong, to keep me moving through the cold, up the hills, through the pain. i wasn't driven by fear of them. i had truer friends that braved icy roads and freezing temperatures and early sunday morning hours. and, more importantly, i had me. mile after mile, minute after minute.

it's so hard to break away from all of that, from them. so hard to escape that black hole, the remnant of the star, the center and light of what parents should be, the collapse of a gentle, essential gravity into something from which my own light, my own image, cannot emerge.

four hours, fifty-four minutes, nineteen seconds, of pain, doubt, friendship, truth, belief. 40 days in the desert to fight my demons, to learn truth. and like peter gibbons, i didn't seem to snap out of it afterwards. 4:54:19 was enough. 37 years has been enough.

steve said that whether it was the first time you crossed the finish line, or the 50th, you would never be the same. it sounded profound at the time, but i understand that better now.

tomorrow, i'll tell my boss that i'm out by the end of march. from the end of the marathon, that will be, roughly, 40 days.

Posted by Rob at 05:45 PM | Comments (2)

February 20, 2006

shiny

it was still cold. horribly, freezing cold. i was offered a chair, and i took it. i watched people move in and out of the rogue training systems' post-race compound. i had a bag of dry, warm clothes, but my sweat-soaked clothes still felt fine to me. eventually, someone said i really needed to change clothes, i was shepherded out of the old clothes and into the new.

i got to talk to people, some hugs, high-fives and handshakes, then holly, her husband, her friend april and i made the slowest walk ever back to the runtex annex, where the heat was cranked up, and where another keg awaited.

i got a ride home, kicked off my shoes and pants, and crawled into bed with my warm shirt and my medal.

i slept hard. got up to finally shower and go to dinner with tara, who had also gone to war yesterday and won. i came back home, and watched about 30 minutes of t.v. before falling asleep again.

the events were all there in my head, but i didn't feel up to sitting down and setting them all down to words for ahile. no doubt, i will think back through the marathon for days, probably longer, analyzing bits, critiquing and asking questions. but for now, i know and remember enough to matter...

i got to the race a little later than anticipated, but still early enough. it was still sub-freezing, around 29 degrees. traffic was backed up for miles, and i had seen several cars that had spun off the road on the ice that had formed overnight. the race directors postponed the start for half an hour, and the freescale people were kind enough to open up their building, including their cafeteria, for people to stay inside and keep warm. televisions were on and coffee was available, and it was good to relax some pre-race anxieties.

i've been going most of the races alone, so i was happy to be running this one with holly and tom, who shared my pace. holly is a chemist who claims she's never bought super glue, because she just mixes it up herself. tom is a 6'10", 315-pound ex-basketball player. definitely a fun, if odd, trio.

the starting gun... horn... well, whistle, went off, and the nothing that had been going on for several minutes in the starting chute suddenly... continued. it takes a long time for 10,000 runners to get across a starting line.

just past the start, we saw deer, trapped by the runners and spectators, running in circles through the grass around the freescale campus, terrified. the event we had all paid to be in and had trained and looked forward to was one of the more frightening thing these animals would probably ever experience. it's all a matter of perspective.

over the first mile, we were over a minute slow, and i was all concerned, like 1:15 was going to wreck my day. little did i know that an 11:30 mile would be a time i strove for in the last six miles of the race.

we ran, shed clothes as we warmed up, saw people wipe out on the ice running off into the woods to do what they had to do. holly mentioned that she had seen people that morning before the start making do, so to speak, out in the grass. she had seen a lot more than she had ever desired.

by mile six, i had what the doctor folk call "urinary urgency," and at mile eight, i finally left tom and holly to revisit my motive half-marathon pee stop, behind p.f. chang's. i've found their food to be increasingly mediocre, so it was sort of a political statement, as well.

i popped back out, and was able to see tom's head bobbing along ahead. i tracked his noggin for a good three miles, but wasn't able to gain much ground. i think things would have gone much better had i stuck with them.

at about 12 miles, i realized that i was starving, enough that my stomach felt completely empty.

a friend of mine was working the water stop at 12.5, and she was going to hand me my next pair of gu packets. she.... was not there. somehow, we just missed each other. i was a bit concerned. on top of that, i was in about mile 3 of a "rough patch." i began just taking it mile by mile - come on, just get to mile 13... mile 14, etc.

getting up north loop, my body became bored with inciting pain in my left foot, and decided to start trying new things, namely, a pain in my right achilles. morgan, who lives at the top of the long incline on north loop was there, and handed me not only the two gu packets i had dropped off saturday night, but two more he had gone out and bought (even the flavor i like), rubber banded to a bottle of water. life saver.

i actually got a cramp in the crook of my left arm around mile 17. i found it funny.

i got up 53rd, and tried to shift gears like our head coach steve sisson had suggested said, and it helped. it probably helped me get in under five hours. still, coming through campus, the whole "mile by mile" thing was really losing its effectiveness, as i began telling myself, "alright, you've been saying that for almost eight miles, and it's all been bullshit. i'm beginning to see through your stupid little mindgames, me."

i got up and through the hill on san jacinto, running. i kept wanting to just walk, just a little bit, but i kept thinking of the peter gabriel song, also called "san jacinto" - "hold the line, the line of strength that pulls me through the fear... san jacinto, i hold the line." sappy, i know, but things seem less sappy 20 miles in.

coming around the capitol and down the north drive, a girl in front of me pointed to a little black fountain. there were still ten inch-long icicles hanging off it.

congress helped a little. i've been down it so many times on my solo runs, doing intervals, that i was used to feeling like crap on congress. that faded pretty quick turning into the 2nd street wind tunnel. janie, my coach, caught me part way down on her bike, and rode with me a while, talking about how nice everything would be when it was over, and there'd be beer, and, god, i don't know, cupcakes and happy hand puppets or something. she veered off and said she'd be back. i kind of hoped she wouldn't.

i was hitting the shuffle/stagger down cesar chavez, but it was good seeing people coming down the other way - tara, tom, phillip, plenty of others. heading west, i was looking across the road at the st. arnold's beer stop at mile 25. at that point, it seemed inviting, and i thought that maybe i'd be doing that. i was wrong.

i got up the mopac ramp, still running. ok, still not walking. a woman passed me, and i gave her kudos. then she stopped and walked, and i passed her, and i very much dug it.

just past the turnaround, coming back down onto cesar chavez, i came up behind holly. seeing her at that point not only gave me some distraction, familiarity, and comfort, but actually some inspiration. yeah, she was crying, but she was still moving, still running, like her body was on automatic.

near the bottom, she needed to walk just a bit, because her hip was really hurting her, and i needed it, too. five hours had become the new goal, and it was within reach, so i didn't, and don't, feel bad about it. we walked a couple of times, and would set a landmark shortly ahead where we would start running again.

the last landmark was at the top of cesar chavez, just past the last water station. holly saw janie before i did, and said, "oh no, here comes janie, she's gonna make us run." we started shuffling again, like a couple of three year-olds trying to act all innocent. janie started hassling, i mean, inspiring us. i dug into my pocket, and found my last packet of gu, and flung it at her, which required a slight grunt. the packet hit her, and fell between her frame and rear wheel, and for a second i thought maybe it would somehow stop her bike. it didn't.

she rode with us across the bridge, and told us to stay with her. i saw holly dig deep and pick up her head and form and pace, and i couldn't help but follow her lead. i said many bad, foul words about janie in my head, but i loved her for what she was doing, and that she so badly wanted it for us. holly's bib had her name on it, mine didn't, but at everyone we passed, janie said, "this is holly and rob!" and people would cheer for us.

janie wanted us to accelerate again right before the turn, and i did a little bit, but holly started pulling away. i was incredibly proud of her, and heard somebody in the corner tell someone else to check out this girl finishing. the crowd in general seemed to respond, too.

i like the finishes, and running the last bits of the course, i always got my last kick in as i cleared the corner. so, it seemed kind of instinctive, and i put on some speed. i edged past holly, which was difficult, but i realized that she and i were moving way faster than the other finishers. that gave me another kick, and i just got lost in the feel of passing people. and, in my head at least, i heard a few more cheers.

i got through miles of so many runs imagining the finish, and of the last sprint at the end. not having it would have been a huge disappointment in the day. i also remembered all those days of straights and curves, and the feel of being the formerly pudgy and slow kid finally feeling fast. on top of all that, as my roommate later said, i am clearly an applause/attention whore, so i found one last gear and got into a full sprint.

i got in, moved to the side, turned, and holly was right there. i knew we were bound to be feeling the same thing - to go from the desperation and utter burnout we had felt a couple of miles ago, to powerful and dominating finishes, really meant something.

i know that people, faced with greater obstacles and greater pain, have shown a lot more will. but i also know that i pushed myself further than i thought i could go, and maybe pressed the limits of who i am back by about, oh, let's say, 15 miles. i also know that all my co-roguers and friends that i saw out there did the same, and that in doing so, we all know some things that the vast, vast majority of the people in this world couldn't begin to imagine.

there will be only a handful of people in our lives who show us the barely-discernable paths in the tall grass, and who teach us how to find them ourselves. to do it through something as basic and potentially arcane as running takes an immense depth of spirit and a grasp of the wonder of things in this world. my running teammates, old and new, are miraculously fortunate and blessed to have found that in our coaches, and to a great degree, in each other.

because of them and what they brought out in me, i have the shiny, shiny medal i wanted. and today, more things seem possible than did yesterday morning standing out in the cold waiting for the starting gun.

Posted by Rob at 03:18 PM | Comments (1)

February 16, 2006

maybe a bit punchy

good afternoon, this is rob.

yes. yes, ma'am. i see. well, tell me what happ... oh, snap, i can see the finish line from my office. i didn't realize that...

what? oh, no, please, go ahead.

right. i see. so the dentist pulled the wrong tooth. because he was drunk. on absynthe. wow, that's different. real different. no, different is good. no, not so much for you, of course not.

ok, ma'am, i understand you're very upset, and in what you understand to be "pain." yes, ma'am, i made the air quotes. that was very perceptive of you. now, i grant you, you sound like you've got about 10 packets of banana blast gu in your maw, but i think you need to put this in perspective. now, i...

i'm sorry? hello, it's a carb replacement energy gel. well, maybe if you turned off matlock and got off your ass, you'd have known that.

uh, no ma'am, i said... if jews turned over and cottoned giraffes, you'd have known that. no, ma'am that doesn't make sense, but it's ok, i'm a runner. i mean, an attorney.

so, look, i feel for you, but i mean, it's not like you've got, say, an IT band problem, or a stress fracture, or plantar fasciitis. heard of that? yeah, i got that. i get these pains in my feet that go up my ankle, and they annoy me and make me want to kick my cats, if it wouldn't, you know, hurt my feet. plus, they'll sleep next to my legs the night before the run and keep the hammies warm. no ma'am those aren't small hams.

you can file a complaint online, on our website. you don't need to talk to me. especially today. i mean... are you... are you talking to me? are you talkin' to me? cause... i don't see anyone else that's running a marathon this sunday.

you know, i shouldn't even be at work right now. i mean, what the hell? i'm making calls trying to see what the hell the hold-up is with sunday. i think my calendar is slow. i should be home stress-testing my socks, and making sure there's no exposed elastic in the liner of my shorts. i should be hanging upside down in a vat full of icewater and listening to some ice cube, ac/dc, and mars volta to keep me mentally prepared. i shouldn't be here sneaking monopolova into my iced tea at work.

but here i am, listening to your petty problems. oh, a golf-ball sized abscess? oozing pus? yeah, well, i got a toenail i could show ya that'd make you gag. what? a fever? A FEVER? you wanna talk about hot - do you know the temp outside? it's 79 DAMN DEGREES! the wind is gusting up to 16 mph from the SOUTH! that's a headwind! what? why in god's name would anyone be going north on sunday morning? are you mental?

i need sunday morning's temperatures to curve smoothly from 38 degrees at 7:00 am, to 50 at about 11:30. i need low humidity. and a tailwind. i was promised a tailwind. i converted to catholicism two weeks ago just to get low humidity and a tailwind. so help me god, and i mean that literally, i'll go aetheist!

no, i'm not spending taxpayer money staying glued to weather websites. i opened a personal credit card to pay a meteoroligist to sit in my office and give me verbal reports every ten minutes, freeing me up to study the course map carefully during my work hours. i don't know, he used to work in portland, then there was something about a career day visit to the local highschool. not important, except it made him a little more affordable.

so, you know, it's easy for you to sit there and mumble, with very poor diction, i might add, "look at me, my 72 year-old negligently mangled mouth hurts, i might die from the infection. wahhhh." but sunday morning, while you're watching faux news and gumming some pureed scrambled eggs, ima be at about mile 14, schvitzing through whatever nike dri-fit shirt i finally decide on, hoping the bandaids hold on over my nipples, and trying to focus on the hot girl in the black tights in front of me, hoping it'll distract me from the weird twinge of pain in my left ass cheek.

yeah, you're damn right. no, don't cry, you didn't know. now you do. call me back on tuesday. afternoon.

Posted by Rob at 02:41 PM | Comments (0)

showtime, recycled

don't know how much more i can say about the marathon at this point, or about anything else, since nothing else is really on my mind. so, not to be lazy, but i'm recycling this one, because it's all there for me. i wish they'd put the sign back up... i'll have to drive by today and check...

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 real thing.

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 10:51 AM | Comments (0)

February 15, 2006

racing through my life

i have about four copies of the marathon course printed out and strewn everywhere. i feel like the guy in memento, finding documentation everywhere, clues to be remembered and considered. kitchen counter. desk at work. work table behind desk at work. bedside table.

some have been printed out at work, costing the taxpayers of the state of texas about one thousandth of one cent each. sometimes i get distracted after i print one, looking at the copy i already have packed with my lunch, and the new one gets left on the printer. i would not be surprised if a dentist received a board order with instructions for compliance that included a map of the course. maybe more than one. some dim-witted dentist will no doubt pay her $5,000 fine, take 15 hours of continuing education in endodontics, then attempt to run 26.2 miles, terrified of having her license revoked for non-compliance.

i look over the map, and i plan, but as i run through the course in my head, and as i've actually run through parts of it, i find myself amidst memories. i've come to believe that the course is, in a way, mine, like i'll be running through bits of my life.

writing this, i have to print out yet another copy of the map. please stand by.

ok. i do have to admit, though it dampens the sentimental impact, that i have little memories of the first six miles of the course. at all. it is extreme north austin, where i try not to go unless i have to.

at around six miles in, though, we run by the last place my grandmother lived when we moved her to austin, after my grandfather died. sunday, i will run by it for selfish reasons, but 15 years ago, i couldn't, didn't make the time to go there enough. i don't think i could even remember how to get to her small apartment. now it's just a reminder of my selfishness. it would have been something if she were out there on sunday morning. there's no way she would have missed it, rain or shine. i keep hoping that maybe i'll just catch something out of the corner of my eye...

a mile later, we run close to where the race started last year, katie, janay, tiffany and i running together in the half-marathon, janay telling me to slow the hell down, something i should have listened to. at shortly past mile nine (three miles in last year) is the point at which tiffany's asthma forced her to drop back. janay stayed with her, and katie and i plowed ahead. katie is the faster runner, and our pace crept up slowly.

miles 11 and 12, running on shoal creek and the long stretch of great northern that i had always dreaded. i've run it both ways, and either way, it drains me of my will to live. last year, near the end of the stretch, at mile seven of that race, with katie and i running up to a minute faster per mile than we, ok, i, should have, janay caught up to us, a feat that still amazes me. around the same time, i started my long tailspin.

katie and janay finished well ahead of me, with pr's (personal records). tiffany has since kicked all the half-marathon ass, and will be out there Sunday.

luckily, this year, my good friend shannon will be working the water stop at mile 12, right before the hell of great northern. she's agreed to pass me some gu, though she insists that it be contained. she calls herself a "friend," but can't just hold a gooey glop of the stuff in her hand or pocket for a couple of hours for me. nice.

morgan and amanda's house is on the corner of north loop and aurora, a nice white house with, literally, a white picket fence. morgan has pledged to be out there "with a bag of rocks." i hate that their newborn daughter, madeleine, is already two months old, but running past may be the first time i see her. i'm considering running with the pink gift bag with the yellow plush ducky on it, that holds the little pink air jordan booties in it. the gift has been waiting patiently in my car since she was born.

north loop becomes 53rd street. just a couple of blocks from where margo and i lived, up the street we walked on so many times. she would always want to take a walk right after dinner. i never really wanted to, but did. we'd hold hands. i miss them now, and i miss her.

51st leads us to duval, and a couple of miles down, the point of true crisis in last year's half marathon, where i realized i had failed. i had to begin alternating running and walking at about mile nine, but by mile 11, both thighs and both calves were cramping with every step. i was dehydrated, and wheezing. many of my friends had wagered some money on me, all to go to an education fund for the little girl of a friend who had died just a few weeks earlier. i finished, but it was over a mile of self-hatred and doubt and newfound fear that it took months to shake.

coming out of the ut campus, where i spent eight years in undergrad and law school. too many memories to process, but most are about her. past the gym where i learned to play basketball, the first sport that really made a difference in my life.

across martin luther king blvd. more career memories two blocks up to my right, schulz's beer garden to my left, where the half-marathon ended last year, with me lurching across the finish, the seeming failure complete. a medal was handed to me, and i handed it to a kid standing near the finish, told him to run one someday. i spent the next 15 minutes unable to find my friends, largely because i couldn't stand up, and i couldn't see. i got myself over behind the medical tent, and sat down, assuming that if something happened, someone would find me there, and it wouldn't be so far to drag my body.

later, at the suggestion of friends, and a bashful request, the marathon organizers happily gave me a new finishers medal, that i finally appreciated. and my friends gave me kind words, and made their donations anyway.

but sunday, there's more to run. across 15th street, and then into one of the most talked-about, most dreaded parts of the course - the long uphill to the turn at 12th street.

running it last sunday, i was 18 again, walking out of one of the older parking garages, up the hill, up to my job at the insurance board's annex on 11th street, in the afternoons during school, in the morning during summers. i listened to old genesis, sting, the police, boston, debbie gibson. i mean... debbie harry. or something. as i said, i was 18.

the course turns right at 12th, the old main insurance building to the left. i used to wait everyday for my mother to get off work. i'd play on on the bar that served as an unused bike rack, and on the short wall and the two huge blocks of granite that the flagpoles sat on. i remember the day it was all covered in a fine, glassy, white ash, fallout from a volcano in mexico, hundreds and hundreds of miles away. on some days, i helped the security guards fold the flags after they came down, the first small fold, then the alternating triangles, with the final fold and tuck.

i remembered spending so many vacation days inside the building, having the run of it, talking to the guys in the supply room, buying ice cream sandwiches from the coffeeshop that was run by a blind woman. i remember my first summer jobs there.

through the old iron gates into the capitol grounds. memories of being amazed at how tame the squirrels were. around the north side of the pink granite building. talking to the old guys, in their seventies and eighties, who sat in lawn chairs out in the grass every day.

i can give the entire capitol tour by memory now, with the exception of the new underground labrynthian structure. i can explain the details and history behind the paintings - there's "deaf" smith behind the tree, his hand cupped to his ear listening to a wounded santa anna surrender to sam houston at the battle of san jacinto. there, in both the great epic painting of the battle at san jacinto and another of the battle of the alamo, there's an almost-hidden, frail spectre, an image of the artist's son, who had died of some horrible disease.

i used to annoy the tour guides. "why is the roof-top spire over the west wing crooked?" "how thick are the floors?" "when were the elevators installed?"

passing by the west side and into the south side of the building, i look down one of the course's gifts, the long, straight shot down congress avenue towards the river.

countless times, i've run from my apartment, up congress to the capitol, turned around, and headed back down the slow, steady downhill. i run a block, then sprint the next, full blast, hips forward, back straight, head up, quick, long strides, strong but loose, until just the balls of my feet brush the ground.

congress avenue is mine.

turning onto 2nd street, i'm in my neighborhood, a block from the state office building i worked in through college, a couple of blocks from the coffeeshop, from the bars where i sat with a notebook, ipod and beer two years ago, to begin writing again.

down cesar chavez, where i've run and rode bikes since high school, except on sunday, i'll get to run the ramp under the mopac expressway, up to the Run-Tex Store for Psychotic Running People. the green sign on top this week says, "think fast."

we turn, come down the another ramp back onto cesar chavez again, mile 24, mile 25, up the slight incline that i've always had a little mental problem with. but when i get there sunday, i'll see it for the last, insignificant bump that it is.

the turn onto the south first bridge, and the view of south austin that opens up. the municipal auditorium, where i was a floor supervisor for an ozzy osbourne concert, went to gun shows and boat shows and car shows as a kid, scout-a-rama, my high school graduation. i recall the lonely black and white photo of the interior, filled with white linen-covered tables, ready to receive president kennedy on november 23, a dinner that would never happen. now, the auditorium is gutted for a complete rebuild, with a pair of saturnian rings standing free, with no planet in the center to hold them there.

auditorium shores, and all the concerts i've seen there - countless artists in the days of aquafest - stevie ray vaughan, roy orbison. suffering through billy ray cyrus. i broke up with that girl very shortly thereafter.

the last turn, the last stretch, onto riverside drive, a stretch where i've finished quite a few races, now. i will remember and try to recreate all of those glorious sprints to the finish, but none will ever have been like this.

there will be more marathons, in other cities around the country, hopefully around the world. but a friend told me that my first one should be here, in my hometown, and she was right. there, on riverside, on sunday, will be a new landmark in my memories of this city and my life - a line, marking the end of a new memory that will not only join, but encompass and contain, and in some way, renew, all these others.

Posted by Rob at 01:22 AM | Comments (2)

February 13, 2006

mine

ok, barring a major catastrophe or kate beckinsale coming and begging me to get back together with her, all this week i probably won't be writing about anything but, wait what was it... oh, yeah, the marathon.

in february of 2004, i had just met this girl that briefly had me kinda fascinated. she looked a bit like marisa tomei in the face - there was that. and that, together with a slightly enigmatic personality, was largely enough.

she invited me to come out and help her organization, the austin child guidance center, run a water stop on the freescale marathon course.

it was sunny, but miserable, because it was horribly cold and windy. and, despite a short-lived attempt to reintroduce running into my life years before, i had little connection with running other than the memory of being yelled at and derided by junior-high and high school football coaches.

still, i enjoyed it. runners came by, and seemed so spirited, thanked us, motored on, determined. i saw some people i knew. i was soaked with water and red powerade, which just made the cold into a permeating, inescapable reality,but i thought of how much worse it must be for the runners.

it occurred to me for the first time that yeah, it might be cool to try it someday.

afterards, we went up north to the trudy's sunday brunch buffet, one of my favorite, and most indulgent, eating pleasures. as we waited, we began to see people come in wearing brightly-colored jackets, and wearing shiny, shiny medals on pretty, vibrant ribbons.

i asked one if they had won the medal, and they told me that yes, you get one for finishing.

holy crap, i thought. you just gotta finish. i didn't disrespect the feat by underestimating it, though. i couldn't begin to fathom running that far, but i knew i could pull it off someday, when i finally lost, like, about 80 pounds. and i knew, for the first time, that i wanted it sooner than later.

i wanted one of those freakin' shiny, shiny medals. and i wanted to be able to show up at trudy's with my freakin' shiny, shiny medal and eat all the pancakes and waffles and migas that i wanted, and people wouldn't be able to say shit to me, because, dammit, i just ran a marathon.

there still was no timetable, until later that year, when i accidentally stumbled into a half-marathon training course, and found that i wasn't able to quit it.

i've run five half-marathons now, and gotten five shiny, shiny medals. i ran a 20 mile race and finished. but in six days, i will run my very first marathon.

and it has comsumed me.

i find myself taking detours to drive on parts of the course. i also find myself mumbling, coaching myself through it: "a little incline there, not too much, ride into it, take the top, a little recovery before the next hill. yeah, it kicked your ass in the capitol 10K, but it's just not that bad."

i sit at work with my shoes off, icing my right foot and left ankle. i will likely injure my back before the race trying to turn 180 degrees from the table the phone is on to my computer on the desk, without moving my ice-bound feet.

i keep bringing the marathon up awkwardly in conversations, enough that even i am annoyed by it.

"yeah, that's weird about dick cheney shooting that dude. i hope he's
not out on the marathon course, heh heh. yeah, that's this weekend..."

"yeah I've got that default hearing next tuesday morning. would a
pewter-colored medal go OK with this suit? cause, i'll be getting one when i finish the marathon this sunday, you know."

tonight, sitting with a couple of my coffeeshop coworkers, i tested my mettle, refraining from speaking of the marathon at all. a couple of times, i saw openings: when a homeless guy with a harmonica came by our sidewalk table ("in addition to lots of bands, they have high school bands, mariachis, and even bagpipers on the marathon course"); when a car honked its horn ("man, a lotta people get pissed when they have to wait for hours at intersections that have been blocked off for the race"); and even when someone had to go the bathroom ("yeah, i gotta be real careful about how much i eat and drink in the days before the race, and especially that morning. can't run if i have to pee, much less if i gotta, you know...")

i've tried all week to see the rooftop billboard atop the lake austin location of the Run Tex Store for Psychotic Running People, from my office, from the congress avenue bridge driving or riding my bike home. i finally just drove by today, and i'm bummed that last year's big yellow "Showtime" sign isn't up.

i'm on the phone trying to convince a dentist that no, dental assistants can't be putting IV needles in patients, but i'm visualizing, for the 124th time that day, me picking up speed across the first street bridge in the last mile, then rounding the curve into the last 100 meters. i think about how much it'll hurt and how scared i'll be at the fact that i can't breathe, but i also remember how i can hear the crowd respond when they see someone break into a dead sprint at the end. the people, they like a strong finish. i long for the feeling in those seconds, when nothing else matters - not how i feel then, or what'll happen to me after i cross the finish line. it's just moving. they can bury me with my shiny, shiny medal.

over the course of the last year, i would get a bit down on the idea of running a marathon from time to time, questioning how much it could really mean. a few people i had even known for some period of time revealed that, oh yeah, they ran a marathon once. it seemed like everyone had done it, everyone could just up and do it. one of these people told me that running my first half-marathon was a cop-out, and that i should just run the full one.

sometimes, i'm still not so sure how to put all that into perspective. but i do know that i have trained really hard for six months. and actually, i've been working hard for this since that stupid, fateful and/or serendipidous evening in september 2004. i've known other people, friends and brothers and sisters in arms now, that have come out and given everything they've had, running at speed for miles on tracks, running hill workouts hard in the dark, in the rain, in the heat, in the cold.

i can't speak to the experiences those other people had, the ones that made it seem like no big deal. maybe there are some people who could just up and complete a marathon with little to no preparation. but i know that my friends and i have worked hard, pushed ourselves harder physically than the vast majority of people will ever voluntarily push themselves.

the other night, the leader of our training program, steve sisson, spoke to 150-200 trainees at our pre-race party. he broke down the course in terms of topography and biomechanics, but also in terms of psychology, and spirituality.

he spoke of pain, and how the greatest thing about what we do is not so much what our bodies are or become capable of, but our ability to put the pain in perspective. he didn't talk about ignoring pain, but almost of embracing it, and making a choice in what we do with it. that is what we have earned with all of our work, and our focus.

he said that whether it's the first time, or the 50th time someone crosses the finish line of a marathon, that person will never be the same.

so i will mumble, i will talk, i will get emotional, i will ice my foot, i will visualize, i will ask a few friends to be there to witness, i will relish and revel in every moment of this week and those four and a half hours, because i've earned the right to do so, because this says more about me and about who i want to be than anything else in my life right now, other than the words that come out of me. if nothing else is, then at the very least, this race is mine.

Posted by Rob at 11:11 PM | Comments (2)

February 10, 2006

horton survives the race

for those readers not in my running group: a few weeks ago, while running repeats in zilker, i was thinking about climbing into the back of one of our coach's honda crv, covering myself with a blanket, and trying to keep my whimpering quiet until we got back to run-tex.

as it turns out, i was too large to fit. but i did find a copy of "horton hatches the egg," by dr. seuss, which i had never read. gabby read some of it to us at the happy hour, and started applying it to our team before we were distracted by the delivery of beers to our table. thusly was this project "hatched." it will likely make very little sense to anyone.

sighed janie and gabby, psycho coaches before a race:
"we must spread the word,
of marathon goal pace,
of straights and curves and synthetic shirts.
it's nuts! how we love it!
we'll make people hurt!
they'll all bitch and moan while we inflict great pain,
they'll become like us - completely insane!"

they'll all think it's great until we kick their ass."
then the students all showed, for their very first class.

"hello!" janie called out, in her sharp nike frees,
"26.2 is a ways... ok, well, not for me,
but we'll teach you to run it with... minimal ease."

a mastodon laughed.
"why, of all silly things!
i'm built like a brick and... really slow things.
ME run a marathon? Why, that doesn't make sense...
The race is so long, and my butt's freakin' immense!"

"tut, tut," answered janie, (which she'd never really say)
"i'm sure you can do it. you'll blow it away.
just come out on Wednesday. i'll go easy, i swear.
don't be a loser. you've already lost hair."

"i can't," said another.
"come ONNNN!" teased the girl.
"all the cool kids do it. just give it a whirl.

we'll have a great time, we'll be the P'Dipps."
"well, crap," said the runner, "but you read my lips:

i have expectations. they all must be met.
no pointing and laughing at how much I sweat.
i'll give it my best. and i'll drink lots of beer."

"got that covered," said gabby, "it's always near."

"hmmm... the first thing to do," murmured many,
"of course -
the first thing to do is to buy some new shorts
that won't chafe my thighs - God knows how they rub.
it can be quite painful, the dark curse of chub."

then gradually,
cautiously,
painfully, began
the mornings and weeknights when they doggedly ran.

sometimes they griped, "this shit is getting old."
but they ran
and they ran
and they ran
and they ran.

and they ran many days,
and practiced their form...
and they ran through dark nights
through annoying storms.
it poured and shoes soggened!
gu made bowels rumble!
"this really f-ing sucks,"
the poor runners grumbled.
"i wish she'd let up
'cause my couch i do miss.
i can't believe that i paid for all this..."

but janie and gabby, they weren't done yet,
and the runners suspected some sadistic bet
between their coaches, and many believed that the truth,
was a conspiracy that went as high as sisson, carolyn, and ruth.

so the p-dipps kept running on, day after day.
and soon it was winter, though autumn stayed.
they ran straights and curves .. the damn-ed repeats!
one day, the girls -
they all learned how to pee.

so the runners kept running, their mantra became:
"i'll crush that damned race, and keep my head in the game.
'cause i meant what i said,
from this i won't steer:
a p'dipp is stubborn
and can drink lots more beer!"

and after a while of their long training capers,
they came at last to the mysterious taper.
"slow it down!" coaches shouted,
and some people feared
they'd lose all their mojo
as the marathon neared.
workouts got shorter, still they sipped on cold brews,
and they got the idea to mangle doc seuss.

then... RACE DAY.
the thousands all were lined up,
and the pavement lightly drummed with empty paper cups
(alternative line: "though long ago someone had left with the cup")
the p-dipps ran drills, stretched, said their "good lucks,"
and heard muffled speeches from muckety-mucks.
then the horn blared out, a bad medley did play,
and the p-dipps fell into their pace right away.

they motored through four miles, and six miles, and ten,
they remembered that race in that miserable wind.

and then fourteen miles came
all still running well...
it was nothing compared
to steve's "run from hell."

twenty miles came, and they began to recall,
some sort of strange talk about some sort of "wall."

but something had been found in training's rough course:
and they remembered the repeats, remembered the source
of insistent persistence, and something not lame,
that janie had taught: "keep your head in the game!"

twenty-three... twenty-four
and 2.2 miles more...

and the finish appeared, right across from the store!
dozens and hundreds of people were cheering,
and we all took heart at the finish line nearing.
p-dipp chips tripped the finish line mats!
BIG MEDALS
AND BIG SMILES
AND NOT ONE HAD GONE "PLATZ!"

janie and gabby both huzzahed, "look at our freaks run!"
they smiled! and they clapped as we finished one by one!
then they cheered and we beered and we beered more and more,
our coaches had had faith in us long months before -
"we knew it, we told you! you're marathoners now!"
we said, "yeah, you made us
as nutty as you two, somehow!

and you knew it, you knew this! it went down like that!
because p'dipps rock harder! you coached and we ran!
we kicked all the ass,
and you got us all here."

... and we thanked janie and
gabby...
and drank some more beer!

Posted by Rob at 01:47 AM | Comments (6)

February 08, 2006

an unheard, deafening need

as usual, this is long, but it's important. if you want, just skip straight here.

so, until a few days ago, i thought "Malawi" was the name of the ewok king or something. or maybe a tropical fruit. imagine my surprise - it's a country. of course, i also previously thought Eritrea was a part of the urinary tract. geography... not a strong point.

anyway, Malawi is in Africa, which our presidense has dubbed "a troubled country." if Malawi's name is spanish in origin, it would mean, "bad awi." if that's the case, then i have to assume that "awi" means "conditions for people."

the life expectancy in Malawi is 36.5 and declining - it's five years lower than it was 50 years ago. the child mortality rate is 103 out of 1,000. there are over a million orphans - 10% of the country's population, and over 700,000 of those are orphans of AIDS victims. 14.2% of the population is HIV-positive, resulting in 90,000 deaths from AIDS in 2003.

the Food and Agriculture Organization reported in June 2005 that a quarter of the population would not have enough food in 2005 to survive. those fears began to be realized with the first famine deaths in November 2005.

anyone seen this on CNN? no? MSNBC? Faux? maybe heard some of these shocking stats in between stories about Pittelina or whatever and the artificially resuscitated chicken? didn't think so.

so, here's the deal. my running coach, janie, is leaving austin, which has saddened a lot of people, and me. i had just finally decided that she really wasn't trying to kill me. but we can't help but be supportive, because she's moving to malawi with her husband, where they'll making sacrifices to make a differrence.

they'll be working at The Story Workshop. a non-profit Malawian organization that uses traditionally-based entertainment to promote cultural change.

attacking large-scale social problems like those impacting malawi is not just a matter of money, or feet on the ground. it's a matter of education. literature, music, theatre, and movies have been hugely important, almost unstoppable initiators and engines of change around the world. people can relate to entertainment that speaks to their traditions and their hearts far easier and more effectively than to the speeches of politicians or edicts of bureaucracies. it's little wonder that the first move in totalitarian societies is often to destroy or co-opt cultural outlets.

fortunately, you don't have to move to Malawi and get bit on the ass by a puff adder to make some kind of difference. on march 2, come out to the Austin Children's Museum, from 6:30 to 9:00 p.m., to the Austin to Africa Fundraiser, benefitting the Friends of Malawi organization.

i know it's texas independence day, but... come on. i mean, really.

check out the extra-cool invite. you can also donate if you can't make it out.

the best thing about this blog has been the responsiveness of its millions and millions of readers, almost all ten of them, to needs and causes. i've tried to pick and choose carefully. i wanted to do something in conjunction with the running of the fool, i mean, full, marathon on february 19th, but it was hard to latch onto any one thing. this one's important and timely. i hope to see some of you guys there, and please spread the word.

thanks,

rob

p.s. - the 9th is my birthday, and donations make great gifts. not donations to me, you dimwit! to the Friends of Malawi. geez.

Posted by Rob at 09:37 AM | Comments (3)

February 07, 2006

software

there are people alone, here in the coffeeshop, working on their notebook computers. one furiously writing code. one editing images in photoshop. i can catch glimpses of their lives, their lives in this moment, from my ability to recognize the software they're running.

i am surrounded by couples. getting to know each other, comfortable with each other. coffee, beer, water, one couple playing an on-line role-playing game, their notebook computers back-to-back. a local musician and her girlfriend.

i can catch glimpses of their lives, their lives in this moment, from my ability to recognize the software they're running.

i am running movable type 6 point something, a blogging program. i am writing about their lives, and that is the life that is mine in this moment. it is the software i'm running.

Posted by Rob at 09:42 PM | Comments (0)

February 06, 2006

the obsolescence of memory

As we all know, our thoughts and concerns move into memory at a rate proportional to their importance, their immediacy, their impact on our own lives, and, today, the media's commercial interest. There is a pecking order of news stories that encourage forgetfulness and obsolescence, like that container of yogurt on the bottom shelf of your fridge that just keeps getting pushed by beer and nacho leftovers and that package of asparagus spears that you're never going to steam, towards the back, and towards sort of a psychic expiration.

We know, but tend to forget, and fail to be reminded, that things don't end when the cameras leave.

My good friend Julia out in the O.C. recently took a trip down to New Orleans, and was brutally reminded of what none of us are necessarily unaware of, but have been able to not confront as much from day to day. She sent this email, and with her permission, I'm passing it along. I'll hav to mess with the pictures she sent to put them up - I'll try to have them up in the next few days. rob

Hi all:

I have just returned from an intense 5-day Hurricane Katrina relief trip in New Orleans and wanted to try to briefly share some of this incredibly humbling and moving and experience with you.

Let me first say this: Despite what you have heard (or not heard due to the significant decrease of news coverage on this story these days) things are not fine in New Orleans. It has been 4 and ½ months since Katrina ravaged the city on August 28, 2005, and quite frankly, the city and its people are in shambles, both physically and emotionally.

I was able to witness this personally, as I met and talked with literally hundreds of people who visited the Celebration Church food and clothing distribution center that our team of 16 volunteers helped operate during our stay. While helping people stock up on the available supplies, these folks told us their heart-wrenching personal stories of loss: of loved ones, of wind-damaged and flooded homes to the extreme degree, of the loss of all their personal and material belongings.

Katrina, supported by Rita, was an Equal Opportunity Destroyer. The physical and emotional trauma is widespread and crosses the entire socio-economic stratum that comprises the city. Because their physical environment has literally been crushed to smithereens, the rest of their lives have started to unravel. While at first adrenaline kept them going, the adrenaline is now giving way to depression and even despair. The effect is exponential and the burdens become heavier as each day folks wake up to the same devastation that existed yesterday, with little or no progress. The regular course of "Pre-Katrina" life has faded away and peoples' lives seem to be spiraling downward and out of control as they try to figure out where to go from here.

Multiple families are currently living in cramped, damaged quarters or hotels. Many are not able to cook because they have no appliances, marriages are being seriously tested as they grapple with whether to stay and try to rebuild their lives or to go somewhere else and start anew - and with what resources? Insurance pay-offs are ludicrously insufficient. People are experiencing increased health problems, losing jobs and/or not getting paid for their work, landlords are implementing unconscionable rent hikes, so-called 3-month mortgage "moratoriums" are simply a ruse with foreclosure quickly looming at the end of the supposed respite.

The sense is that FEMA is increasingly less responsive, which is no doubt worsened by the recent switch of the phone number to an automated system. As a result, people are confused, uninformed and simply waiting for word through every step of the process: Do we qualify for a FEMA trailer? When might it arrive? Where will it be put (and how much is that going to cost)? When it arrives, how long will it take to get connected to the temporary sewage system? How much longer will it take to get connected to the temporary electric poles? Will FEMA provide one of the signature bright blue tarps for my roof? If so, how long will it sit beside my house before it is installed?

As for the physical damage, we were able to tour around the city, including through the hardest hit Lower 9th Ward. Even seeing it with my own eyes, it was surreal. As we continued the drive through several different parishes, the devastation and debris were endless. The infested water came in and thrashed everything into bits, then settled in and festered for 2 weeks, literally ruining everything. Now that the water has receded, a thick residue of muck blankets every square inch, inside and out. Cars are upside down and protruding from demolished rooftops. Rooftops are blown out and separated from the rest of their structures, houses are cracked and shredded, removed from their foundations and sometimes even blocks away from where they used to sit. They look like gigantic toy houses that have been sitting in oily mud and are now warped, crooked, broken open and in pieces, as if they were angrily stepped and ground into the dirt during a frenzied tirade. If you are able to make out what once was inside the house, the rooms are virtually unrecognizable unless you can make out a piece of a kitchen counter, a closet door, a lonely commode. Most houses are spray-painted with people and pet fatality information by the teams that searched them, and residents have added their own painted messages, such as: forwarding phone numbers, "For Sale", "Goodbye" or even "We'll be back."

The typically non-seasonal mosquitos are humongous and hungry. There are very little signs of plant, animal, or human life in many of these areas. As people come and go into the city to try and clear out the insides of the homes that are still standing, curbsides are buried with mounds of wreckage that include televisions, computers, clothes, furniture - a personal junkyard for each family dwelling. Where will it all go? Who is going to pick it up? When? I have attached a few photos at the bottom of this e-mail that show this more clearly than I ever could express in words.

Yet, in spite of all that has happened and the sadness that weighs heavily on the collective shoulders and the spirit of this community of Americans, it was an incredible privilege and blessing to meet and talk to as many people as possible. These souls were grateful not only for supplies, but for prayer, and they expressed faithfulness, relief, joy to have people help, the need to have people listen to what they have and are continuing to go through with no end in sight. I am utterly inspired by the grace, love, humility, openness, gentleness, sweetness and kindness of the people I met. As I am able to simply get on an airplane and leave the scene of this tragedy, these memories will continually replay both in my mind and in my heart. They will encourage me to remember, to do more, care more and to hopefully return again.

I have a lot more to say about my experience if you are interested. If you have any questions for me or just generally want to talk about this, please do not hesitate to let me know as I would love to share as much as you want to hear. Also, because of the dire need for certain supplies, such as blankets, coats and diapers, some of us will be looking into ways we can raise funds to purchase these items and send them to the distribution center in the coming months. If you are interested in hearing more about this, please reply to this e-mail and I will send you a follow-up e-mail with details on how you can help.

Until then, thank you for letting me share this with you. Julia

Posted by Rob at 10:32 AM | Comments (0)

February 01, 2006

a dream

last night, at about 2:30, i awoke from a dream. it was more unusually cohesive and epic than most of the dreams i'd known, or felt, before.i wrote down what i could, and reconstructed the rest today.

i can't remember how it began. i know, fuzzily, that amber and i revisited somewhere we had been in my dreams before, a simple, easy place, with an outdoor stage. afterwards, we left, and went to where she lived, a large, older brick structure, so much like the older dorms in the quad at the university of texas, where mary lived and i spent so much time. except this building stood in a neighboorhood, and was surrounded by more darkness than the carothers dorm.

we walked through the interior, grabbed a few beers from the fridge in a darkened kitchen, and moved through an area where her roommates and friends were congregated, hanging out. they were real, in the sense that i didn't recognize all of them, but as characters, they were as they should have been. they were inhabitants of the subculture that part of me yearns for, that sees values in different things than so many of my peers do. it's not that it's right, but it's different, but yet no less valid. i felt welcome, though with a little of the conspicuousness that i feel in my waking times.

we walked outside, across a yard that was pleasant, though not so well-manicured. i followed slightly behind, picking my way through the darkness, and when i looked up, amber was in a swing, already moving in low, long arcs through the night. i looked up, and one of the other swings was tangled, and moving across her path, but it kept tangling in the chains of her swing, and moving away, twisting.

i looked up, and could just barely see the branches the swings were hung from, on the branches of trees that seemed to be oaks, but impossibly high, like no oaks i had ever seen.

i looked at how high she swung, and i asked her, "i guess i shouldn't bring these beers up with me, should i?"

she laughed, and it reminded me of the message on her cell phone's voice mail, an odd laugh at some inside joke, before she says, "this is amber, please leave a message."

this time, the laugh, then, "no, probably not."

i walked towards the swing, then time flashed forwards. we were back at the house, on a large patio. an older man sat on the edge, well-dressed, but his feet dangling off, his eyes looking into the darkness.

his face was old, wisened, disturbed, but kind. it was a composite sketch of physical traits that followed from character traits. i knew from his complexion and his speech and even his clothing, the simple but elegant white shirt and black pants, that he was cuban.

he asked me what had happened. amber stood behind me at the door. she watched, and i felt some comfort from that, but she didn't interfere.

still, i knew what he wanted to know. i knelt beside him. i spoke in spanish. i apologized for the poor quality of it, but he smiled wanly and said it was alright, that he appreciated the courtesy.

i told him that we had resisted it. that i felt guilty, knowing she had pledged herself to another. we had done our best to ignore the obvious, we had tried to remain friends, that she, too, had resisted, but our efforts had failed in the face of youth and immediacy and, i said, love.

when i finished, he nodded, and thanked me. he told me he understood how these things happened. he did not seem to judge me, but he told me that now things were different, and i felt the sadness in him of fates altered, in the dictates of rules that went beyond the wants and dicates of the heart.

i turned, and it was still amber, but maybe it was not. i don't know who she spoke of, but she told me that now, she could no longer marry her boyfriend, her supposed intended. now, it fell to her to marry another, a relative several times removed, for whom she felt nothing.

amber and i walked back out across the yard, back to the swings. we were quiet. i heard a voice calling out behind us, and i turned to see the father on the patio. i told her i'd go back to see what was happening.

i began to walk, then, as i tend to do these days, i began to jog, and my strides slowly lengthened and quickened until i felt the joy of wind in my ears and the feel of the balls of my feet only briefly touching the earth.

as i approached the house, i heard sounds behind me, and i turned, and saw four dogs running out of the darkness after me. i was not afraid. i looked back ahead, and saw three more appear. i slowed on the gravel leading to the back door of the house, and the dogs surrounded me, their faces friendly, their paws gentle on my legs and on my chest as i knelt to pet them.

i left them and went inside, and up the stairs, to a brightly lit but small room, so much like the dorm rooms where mary and her friends lived, but even older. the room was full, of women in flowing white gowns, their faces covered in hoods of white cotton and gauze, with characters in black ink down the center of the hoods.

i saw the father, and i went to him and asked what was happening, and he looked up at me with a mixture of certainty and sadness, and told me that they were preparing for the wedding of his daughter to another man, whom she did not love.

i felt fear and guilt and remorse, and i ran out of the room, past the women who were lining up to begin the wedding procession.

i ran down the stairs, and the wide double doors at the end of the atrium were open to a small courtyard with a pool. i saw my friend michele there, waiting, and i knew that she knew what was happening.

she said my name, and pleaded with me to stop, and she reached out to grab me, to stop me from what i knew looked like a headlong, panicked rush into madness. but she only caught hold of something that draped over me, the lightest of gauzes, like a thin veil across my eyes, and i saw it pull away in her hand, my vision becoming slightly clearer.

as i ran past, i told her that i had to find her, and as i ran outside, the night became a storm.

lightning flashed, and water ran in sheets, planar flow across the yards and in the streets. i saw workers with shovels and sandbags, and i thanked them for their efforts, even as i looked through the water that poured over my face for amber, for my friend, for my one friend with many names.

i called her name repeatedly, and tasted the rain in my mouth each time. i looked back in fear at the procession gathering on the patio, and i kept calling her name.

then i woke up.

------

notes

tonight, i shared the story with amber. when i told her about the swing, she pulled her sleeve down, and pointed at her wrist.

i looked, felt dim, said, "what?"

i saw she was pointing at her one tattoo, that i always see as a stick figure of a reindeer. she reminded me that it was a swing, hanging from a tall tree.

as i told her about the dogs appearing out of the night, her eyes grew wide, and she told me that in the same night of my dream, at about the same time of my dream, she had dreamt of dogs chasing her.

i felt last night, but recognized intellectually today, that amber is a stable, steadfast point of reason in my life right now, just as she was the non-interfering, but comforting and protecting observer in my dream.

the father of a past love, the most significant one, is cuban, though i never met him. some of you know the rest of that story. hi, fgm...

at one point, i had an... encounter with a girl whose father i consider a friend. she has a fake boyfriend.

i have another friend, whose name i called out in the storm, that suffered a problem with her parents not accepting the culture and religion of a man she loved.

and finally, oddly, but understandably, i really did speak spanish in my dream. when i woke, i remembered what i had said, without having to go through the thought process of translation that i usually have to go through in the first stages of speaking in another language. and as evidenced by my attempts to speak spanish later today, i was slightly more fluent in my dream than i am waking.

i know what some of this means, clearly. but there are so many new questions...

Posted by Rob at 12:39 AM | Comments (0)