Change in the blink of an eye

I am trying to play it cool, but am having a hard time forming a coherent sentence. I desperately need a drink, but fear my shaking hand will give me away, and you will see how smitten I am with your presence. Six minutes ago, in a world that did not include you, I was a statue, incapable of emotional attachment. But, in this minute, I am the definition of vulnerable.

The Devil pt. 3

Notwithstanding my stated intention to tell her upon her return to the continent that I no longer harbored a place for her in my heart, I broke. As her arrive neared, I spent countless hours in the gym, completing my transformation from a 230 pound blob to a 170 pound sculpture. The vision of her stepping off the plane and being memorized by my new found physique and confidence drove me. On that fateful day, I drove to the airport with flowers in one hand, and my middle finger prominently displayed on the other—torn as to which would make an appearance. As she trudged down the ramp, I lost my nerve—I handed her the flowers, gave her a kiss, whispered that I loved her, and shed a tear.

Her reintroduction into my world was awkward. I was forced to distance myself from those that had kept me company the past 12 months out of fear that they would disclose one fact too many, and my cover as the faithful boyfriend would be blown. I truly wanted to make it work. The problem for her was that in her absence I had rebuilt myself into a confident—if not arrogant—young man finally able to cast aside the sheepishness that had caused me years of turmoil. She noticed a difference and it scared her.

For the first time since the inception of our relationship, I had the upper hand. The year of partying, pastries, and overcast skies had done a number on her once magnificent frame, and olive complexion. She was bloated and ghostly; I loved it. To make matters worse for her, I moved into a house with my high school buddies—individuals who had known me pre-devil, and were hell bent on having me join them in their quest to cast aside all things socially acceptable. Her groupies were gone, replaced by an odd cast of unique female housemates. Either due to a growing sense of attachment, or a feeling of loneliness, she fought for us.

For the most part, I appreciated her effort, and did all I could to make her feel welcome in my self-centered world. But, unlike years past, I did not spend every waking minute pining away for her—choosing instead to enjoy the company of numerous inebriated women who longed to show me the “true” college experience. Nonetheless, while I enjoyed the endless company, I basically stayed true, keeping it in my pants long enough to make it to the devil’s layer. As we came to accept our new existence, it appeared that we were going to make it. Or so we thought.

Halfway through the year, we were both accepted into a program that would send us to the Nations capital for a semester of work and classes. Accompanying us would be a small group of like minded degenerates.

Once in D.C., I fell in with my roommate and a shy, diminutive young genius—we did not know it then, but this would be the foundation of a lifelong friendship. We were almost immediately joined by a loud, pudgy, constantly drunk graduate from our college who I had befriended years before. The four of us quickly realized that we had three very important things in common: (1) our love of woman, (2) an abundance of free time, and (3) our love of the bottle. The thought of a healthy relationship was comical.

As our boozing reached epic proportions, we fell in with a crowd of lively, attractive and desperate co-eds. While the devil was a constant at all functions, I really do not remember her presence all the vividly. I know there were fights, excuses, and sneaking around. The fact of the matter is that I clicked, became comfortable in my skin, and mastered my now infamous ability to detach myself from any situation, regardless of its chaotic nature. This would serve me well as I blocked the devil out, bedded her friends and ran amuck. Why she stayed with me, believed my absurd excuses and blanket denials, I will never know; but I suspect it is because she had actually fallen in love with me.

Unfortunately, like all good things, the school year and summer came to an end, taking with it my freedom—we were home bound—the devil, myself, and my begrudging acceptance that I needed to put the craziness behind me and give “us” another try.

And she's back

Her name appears in my inbox, and my heart skips. I know better than to dream, but I can not help but wonder if this will be the time she apologizes for the years of neglect, the hurtful silence, the lost childhood. But as I eagerly scan the page for any sign of remorse, I am disappointed; left, once more, to slowly exhale the desperate breath held within. Predictably, there are excuses; short clips of joyous days spent in my absence; and dreams of new beginnings. They are cookie cutter -- seemingly written in days past, stored, only to be sent when she senses me letting go of the pain. I want to delete it, cut ties, and walk away – but I fear such an action will eliminate any possibility that this will some day change, giving her an excuse to blame this ridiculousness on me. For in the end, I want nothing more than for her to realize that she needs to love me as much as I need to be loved.

Silence at last

Nine hours, forty-two minutes and fifteen seconds is all it took to silence the defeatist voice that has been present since childhood – if I had only known, I would have pushed myself to the brink years ago.

One foot in front of the other

My first ultra-marathon is on Saturday. As I write this, I am sitting in the airport waiting for the second leg of my journey to get underway. Upon my arrival, I will meet up with my wife, good friend, and, a bit later, my sister and her new boy toy. For the next four days (as it has been for the five or so days before this moment), the conversation will center almost entirely on me. We will discuss my running needs – hydration, calories, band aids, sunglasses, etc. – my ridiculous desire to push myself to the breaking point, my next goal, and hopefully, about what a great experience this all has been. And while I love the attention (I am not shy about saying that), there are a few things I want to say before I get too focused to care about the details:

To those who have stood by me for the past five months and dealt with my incessant chatter about weight loss, running shoes, food consumption, nipple chaffing, heat stroke, etc., without so much as a grumble, a slap to the head, or an eye roll, I thank you. Without your unwavering support, good natured ribbing, and ability to put this all in perspective, I would have come to resent this journey. You have all made it possible – as such, this race is as much yours as it is mine, we are a team, and I only hope I do not let you down.

If I do not finish – for any reason – I will be okay. I have come to grips with this possibility, and know that the chances are real. If it happens, do not be afraid to talk with me about it. While I hate to fail, I can think of nothing worse that failing without an outlet.

I know some of you look at me and wonder what the hell am I going through that would cause me trade in everything I love for long, lonely runs. I am not crazy, but I have no better explanation for you than this – I do it because I can, and one day, for whatever reason, this will no longer be possible. It is not sexy, inspiring, or even well thought out. I am young, strong, energetic, a borderline insomniac, and have an abundance of free time; hence, I run.

With that, I am off.

Lucky man

After a lifetime of unreturned phone calls, forgotten birthdays, and missed moments, I struggled to quell my constant fear of abandonment. When I sensed it rising to the surface, eagerly anticipating yet another destroyed day, I brushed it off with a joke and a smile, but I knew I was fucked; for no matter how bad I wanted them – anyone really – to reach out an comfort me, it never seemed to occur (at least not in my mind), and my sense of self-worth and confidence died just a little more.

Nowadays, however, I understand that I need them less than they need me, which, as you can imagine, is not much. I am not going to spend the rest of my days wondering how long it would take for someone to find my body in the event something ever happens to me (a real life long fear). After spending a weekend surrounded by those that truly seem to love and support me, it is clear that everything is going to be okay, and that I have no reason to allow the failings of others to consume my everyday.