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.

Darkness is not my friend

My entire building has been without power since Sunday. I thought it was because of the storms – which have been violent here for the past couple of days – but grew suspicious when I noticed others in the surrounding buildings enjoying their gloriously illuminated apartments. I attempted to corner a building security guard in an effort to question him about the problem, but he proved to be more evasive than I had assumed a man of his size could be. Finally, yesterday evening at 9:15p.m., a handwritten sign appeared at the buildings entrance which states the following:

An electric break down in the primary cable to the main switch of the condominium has left us without electricity until at least April 30.

Mr. X electric expert is current absent, but will be working on the repairs upon his return.

Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.

I am not feeling confident that our power will be back on by the 30^th, are you? Besides my uneasiness about this explanation, there are a number of things that are bothering me: (1) what the hell is a “break down in the primary cable”, is that a fancy way of saying the damn cable broke? Don’t sugarcoat it, if it broke it broke; (2) is Mr. X seriously the only man of the whole fucking island who can fix the “break down”? I know it is a small place, but this if absurd; and (3) I love how they assume this whole incident may or may not be an inconvenience – sure, besides the fact that everything in my freezer has now spoiled (my fridge stopped working long ago, so no need to fret about that), I can not cook, have no hot water, can not see a damn thing, and am now living in a hot box, everything is peachy, no problems here!

All that being said, I realize that the building is not trying to be without power, so I am not blaming them per se, but still, this is ridiculous for so many reasons.

Tic-Toc

He can taste freedom in the salt laden air, but remains bound by obligation. Each and every weekday he pulls his exertion ready body out of bed only to plant it firmly behind a sea of paper and computers. He watches the hours tick by, and wonders -- often aloud -- how it came to this. How does a man who spends every waking hour contemplating different ways to physically exert himself end up motionlessly locked behind a desk? The simple act of rising for coffee is an exciting experience – at least movement is a component. It kills him to wish his days away, but Monday through Friday is a chore, and he wants nothing more than to see them pass. To most, a year consists of 365 days; he sees only 104 – the days he can break free and enjoy life the only way he knows how.

What more can you ask for?

I strongly question my ability to be unhappy, angry, depressed, or lonely when I can wake up, walk onto my patio and meet this sight head on. This right here is all I ever dreamed about as a child, yet I let it go largely unnoticed. Having spent the last two days hunkered down out here, just watching and listening, I have resolved to not let this be another thing I sought, but failed to appreciate once obtained.

Now if I could only convince my wife, the girls, best friend and a few other hanger-ons to move here, life would be perfect.

One bite at a time...

While not sexy, I thought I would share with you my food consumption between Saturday morning at 3:45 a.m. and Sunday night at 9:23 p.m. – the official start and end to my weekend.

Before launching in, I believe a foundation is necessary (otherwise the below just seems weird). I run a lot. For example, I have run roughly 840 miles so far this year – not an incredible amount, but enough to keep me hungry. More specifically, this weekend, between my Saturday and Sunday morning runs, I logged 55 miles; as you can imagine, I am a walking stomach. Now that you understand where I am coming from, below is what I can remember from my eating frenzy:

4 – pieces of cinnamon raisin toast (“CRT”);

5 – peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches on CRT;

1 – medium size-jar of crunchy peanut butter (this includes the PBJ’s, but finished the remaining off with a spoon);

2 – packages of swiss-cheese eaten with multigrain crackers;

9 – Quaker chewy granola bars (6 of which were eaten while running);

3 – power-gels (all of which were taken while running);

3 – Annie’s vegetarian burritos (rice and beans; rice, beans, and cheese; beans and vegetable);

1 – three servings of rice, one bunch of bok choy and a block of extra firm tofu;

1 – brunch buffet consisting of two helping of scrambled eggs, toast with nutella, three fruit bowls, third of a ring of brie, a cup of three-bean medley, and four glasses of orange juice;

1 – bowl of ice cream;

1 – can of tomato soup with spaghetti noodles and grilled cheese sandwich;

1 – Snickers bar;

1 – dove dark chocolate bar;

1 – bag of pretzel ropes;

1 – bag of sugar-coated vanilla wafers;

1 – bag trail mix;

1 – Nestle chocolate milk;

1 – trip to Costco during sample hour;

2 – protein drinks;

4 – Gatorades;

4 – Vitamin Waters;

1 – 20oz Pepsi (drank while running);

2 – beers;

? – cups of coffee;

? – gallons of water.

Notwithstanding, I am two pound lighter today that I was on Saturday morning.

Hi mom!

The communications have once again ceased. Last time, I actually questioned the reason for the silence, and racked my brain for anything I may have said or done that would have offended them into muteness. This time, however, I can safely aver that they are just too lazy to pick up the phone and check on their son.

I am all blocked up

I have a vicious case of writer’s block, so am going to just scribble a few things out, sorry.

Yesterday, as I crested a tortuous hill during the first half of my run, I came face to face with a sunrise that was just beginning to peak through the clouds, and over an old military fort on the Island. That sight, coupled with the song The End from the Man on Fire soundtrack, brought me to tears. It was the closest thing to a spiritual moment I have had in years; I hope that moment never leaves me.

She is forty, but is a social child. Every time I talk with her, I regret it. Either she makes a sexually suggestive comment about me in front of others, or questions my every word. If it were socially acceptable, I would tie her to a pole and throw tacks at her throughout the day.

We added two new members to our family this weekend – the boys (http://aloneontheisle.blogspot.com/2008/01/confessions.html), as you can imagine, are beside themselves with excitement.

My fateful bowl of Raisin Bran Crunch (see post below) not only cost me $700 in dental bills, but will rob me of two hours of my life ever Friday for the next three weeks. That being said, I feel compelled to admit that I have forgiven RBC – and am once again enjoying its crunchy, yet sweet, delightfulness.

I find that I am an “honest” writer when I am too tired to self-edit – If I am cognizant of my words, I fear that I will hurt others, and therefore refrain. Is there a fix, or am I doomed to sleepless nights?

10 a.m. dentist appointment, a fucked up way to start a Friday

My tooth broke today. It snapped in half while I was eating a cup of Raisin Bran Crunch. It is my favorite cereal. I said yesterday that my age had not yet caught up with me. This was not the confirmation I was looking for.

Just curious

I wonder if your daily mishaps -- despite your Ivy League education -- are as frustrating to you as they are humorous to me.

Random thoughts

Here are a few things I have been thinking about over the past few weeks. As you can tell, there is neither rhyme nor reason to the following, simply things I have been thinking about.

I am afraid that the two best political candidates we have seen in many years are going to so damage each other that neither will recover. I hope I am wrong.

I do not miss drinking, but I crave socializing with people my age, and cannot figure out how to do that outside of bars (and I am not a look but don’t touch kind of guy).

I look ridiculous in short running shorts. Some people can pull is off – I am not one of them. I am tall, hairy, and nearly transparent in the high thigh area – the public should be spared.

As important as I would like to think I am at my job, I could be replaced within 48 hours, and my office would not skip a beat.

Sometime I wish they would test my 48 hour theory.

I am where cell phones go to die.

In my opinion, the Supreme Court is moving scarily to the right; if something doesn’t change, and quick, drastic changes are on the horizon.

I question seriously the level of drivers training on this island.

The daily loving touch of another human being is grossly underrated. I know, I long for it constantly (and I am not talking about sex).

Does it look like John McCain has aged dramatically since the start of the Presidential campaign? In all honesty, if he dropped dead tomorrow I would not be shocked.

On April 13th, you will spend your 30th birthday in a foreign land, I will not be there, and it is killing me.

Toenails serve no good purpose; as I have proven repeatedly, you can function normally without them.

I try not to admit it – because there is no real end in sight – but I am tired of running, and just want to take one full week off.

And finally, while I have not written part III to The Devil yet, I have been thinking about it constantly.

Worth the read

I have previously directed readers to different blogs – and whether you read them or not is up to you (there is no reason to take my word as what you should and should not do in your free time) – but if you have not read those blogs/sites, please, if you do nothing else, read the site I am attaching below.

It was a blog written by Andrew Olmstead, an active duty soldier who was recently killed in Iraq. It is one of the most incredible things I have ever read, especially the final posthumous entry – It brought me to tears, and made me rethink my own existence. I wish I had something more to say, but I don’t, so here it is.

http://www.andrewolmsted.com/

You may be confused

“It’s nice to finally meet a respectfully, well rounded man” she said. I just smiled, wondering silently how she got that impression.

The Devil pt. 2

Our second year “together” began promisingly enough. For the first few weeks, it appeared as though she was ready and willing to dedicate herself to me. We spent quality time with each other, I met her family, interacted with her high school friends, and, for the first time, was introduced as her boyfriend. I was in heaven. It was not to last.

As the herd from the previous summer slowly crept back into the picture, I was again the odd man out. She began to spend an obnoxious amount of time with individuals I had once counted as my best friends; punctuated by an awkward moment spent between my girlfriend and my former comrade in a bathroom. To this day, the true happenings of that evening remain a mystery.

As I fought to maintain my foothold in her life, the summer came crashing to an end, capped by her departure to a foreign land on my nineteenth birthday.

I would like to say I was able to regain my confidence in her absence – but it would be a lie. From the moment she stepped on that plane, until the time she finally broke my heart beyond the point of repair, I pined for her, eagerly counting down the minutes until I could once again hold her in my arms.

Led by my blind faith, I purchased a ticket to visit her abroad. My only free time was during the Christmas and New Years break of 1998 – I packed my bags, kissed the family goodbye, and disappeared. It was my brother’s last holiday.

While the trip had its ups, I remember it more for the downs. She was moody, indecisive, and generally annoyed by my presence. Regardless, I left very much in love.

After my turbulent visit, I returned to the states as determined as ever to prove my worthiness. I spent hours in the gym in a pathetic attempt to impress her with a muscular transformation. I wrote letter, made phone calls, and drove myself deeper into debt. There was no limit to my love.

My brother passed away within months of my visit. In my time of need, I turned to her for support. She returned that gesture by cheating on me, justifying it by explaining that I had failed to give her the support she needed. I was despondent. Thankfully, but regrettably, my female friend from high school stepped up to save me (http://aloneontheisle.blogspot.com/2007/09/another-in-long-line.html). I swore, right then and there, that I would never let her back into my life. I would, as always, falter.

The Devil Pt. 1

To say I was smitten at first sight would be an understatement. She was everything I thought I wanted – confident, sexy, and experienced. I had no clue at that moment of the destructive effect she would have on my life.

We worked together at a large retail store; she was a receptionist, I was a cart attendant. My friends saw her first, and immediately set out to gain her attention. I should have backed off – they were my best friends. But regardless of the possible ramifications, I could not control myself. For the first time in my life, I saw something I was willing to mortgage my future to obtain. Once she figured this out, I was a goner, and I didn’t even realize it. Over the following months, she masterfully played my friends and I off each other, slowly destroying the relationships we had spent a life time constructing. From this experience, we would never recover, but that is for another time.

Once friendless, I was completely beholden to her. Forced to befriend her clan, I came to rely on her for everything but the air I breathed.

During the first year we were “together”, she hooked up with no less than seven men in front of me; each time blaming me for not being enough of a man to keep her happy. I dutifully responded each and every time by spending more money, time and effort to meet each and every one of her needs and desires. Sinking so low as slink out of her bedroom when other men would come calling. I was ashamed of myself for devolving into a helpless puppy, but believed her with every ounce of my being when she said she was trying to figure things out.

When others would get wise, and cast her aside, I was the one she called to comfort her. This cycle repeated itself at an alarming rate. Shockingly, and to my great surprise, as our first year at college came to an end, and the steady stream of men had dried to a trickle -- either sick of her childish games, or gone for summer -- she informed me that she would let me be her “exclusive” boyfriend until she boarded a plane for a foreign land the following fall. I thought my perseverance had finally paid off. As time would tell, I was horribly wrong.

Fuck them for making you worry like this.

It will work out, you will come out of this on your feet, and you will continue to be a ray of sunlight in our lives.