Recollections of a Memoir, Simple--A Poem

Small spans of minutes measuring inches within eternity,
Worlds unfolding between two earlobes round,
Shaping time that eventually became destiny,
Searching each sequence for comfort and sound,
All fades and comes back into the arms of an afternoon swing.

All these are recollections from a memoir, simple,
Of a life not wholly lived yet,
Still in the outer grasp of bittersweet youth and beauty’s sweat,
Sits a boy not fully manly,
In a pile of years measured wealthy in circumstance.

Sirens warble honeyed serenades to,
Settled eyelids reliving the present past,
With pen strokes recording in black ink spread,
Wide and deep of memories sweet and sad,
Into expressions lined with radiant catastrophe.

Haunting lines of earth made visibly linear,
Onto lineages showing laughter learned,
Motions made immortal,
Words graphed from pieces of sweat, blood, tears,
Joy springs acquiesce.

Just What I Have Been Up To

So, it has been more than 10 days since I last wrote...Sorry. It is the holidays and time was spent elsewhere. Hopefully, you will forgive. So, here is what I have been up to in no order of importance, sequence, or significance:

1. On Sunday, December 19, I woke up at 6 am and drove to a local Chic-fil-a and met the Reeder's and two of my XC runners and we drove to Helen, Ga and participated in the annual Brasstown Bald Buster 5K. It took us three hours to get there and we got to registration and were welcomed with snow flurries and sub-30 degree temps. We weren't allowed (thankfully) to run to the summit because it was iced over. We did run a 1.5 mile course up and down. It is by far the hardest race I have ever run. It took me 23 minutes to run the 1.5 miles up and 5 minutes 50 seconds to run back down! It was terrifying. I would have finished about a minute faster, but spent some time trying to stop and then had to tie my shoes. The fastest I have ever run a mile was when I was 19 and I did it in 5 flat. On that day, running down Brasstown Bald (the highest point in the state of Georgia) I ran a 4:48. My shins still hurt!

2. Left Macon at 2:00 am on Monday the 20th and drove to Fitzgerald. I started the drive, but only lasted 20 miles. Mel drove the rest proving again that she is the best co-pilot and late-night driver. We arrived at 3:30 am. We will NEVER do that again, but you do what you got to do. (In less that a 24 hour period, I was running a race in the mountains of N. Georgia and driving a car in S. Georgia. Mel sewed a Christmas present and did two weeks of baking in a day. Watch out Ricky Martin...we are still living La Vida Loca!)

3. Spent 3 great days in the Fitz. Worked 1.5 days for my father in law. Went out to dinner with Nana at the Flying Cowboy in Douglas. Had snack supper and there were many pigs in a blanket to be had and they were had! Celebrated an early Christmas and received more generous gifts that I deserved. I will not say all I got, but if you see me, I will look nice courtesy of Mark, Pam, and Nana and will come home to a 32'' flat screen t.v. courtesy of Jonathon. I will feel like I am watching SVU on someone else's t.v. Also, ran three nights under an awesome full moon, but didn't hear my alarm to wake up to see the eclipse. I know. I know. It was only something like a 100 year mistake.

4. Left the Colony City on Wednesday and drove to Sunny FLAUSA. I have forgotten to tell you that, Jack and Lady have been along for the ride. There is nothing quite like riding in a packed station wagon and watching people drive by smiling. I just hope Jack and Lady were only making funny faces at them and not mooning them or worse, but I think we know where and what Jack thinks is funny and Lady isn't exactly family friendly at times. I will only say that they should now better, but neither of them will say the Sinner's Prayer and believe you me...Mel and I have tried, cried, yelled, prayed, punished, bribed, etc, but nothing seems to work.

5. Checked , The Christmas Carol, out from the FPD library and finished it the day after Christmas. I had seen many different versions of it on t.v. (none of them beat The Muppet version though, sorry.). It was very good and Tiny Tim gets to live because of four very good Ghosts. I really liked the book and am amazed that Dickens could think of all of that in the 1800's. I am amazed and in awe.

6. Took Jack and Lady to a dog beach. They lived it up for about 2 hours. Jack swam. Lady ran. I got wet. Lady almost caught a Sandpiper. Lady licked a dead jellyfish. Jack saw two dolphins. Lady played chase with Winston (Sarah's dog). Jack used the restroom on the boardwalk. Lady bit an armadillo. A good time was had by all. Mel took some awesome pictures and will include some of them in days to come.

7. Spent a day at Disney with my Mel, my mom, Sarah, Matt, Amy, and Forrest. Had an awesome time. There isn't any place quite like Disney. Yes, it is crowded. Yes, it was expensive. However, it was awesome. Rode Space Mountain until I was sick. Ate some delicious food. Rode Peter Pan, my favorite ride since I was old enough to be cognisant. Saw snow over Main Street. It was so cold the whole day, but we had an incredible time.

8. Played catch with Forrest (who gives great Christmas gifts!) until my right arm hurt.

9. Went four-wheeling.

10. Acquired a desk for our house that used to be mine. I did most of middle school and high school work on this desk. It is like getting an old friend back.

11. Reread, The Red Pony, by Steinbeck. I forgot the pony dies. Very good. Better the second time. Made me think of Beau.

12. Took some great walks in the woods with my wife and dogs at the house of my youth. Everything seems so much smaller, but is just as good. Few things are prettier to me than a Live Oak with Spanish Moss hanging in it. It speaks of mystery never to be known, but always shown. I grew up in an awesome house and had a wonderful time in those woods.

13. Spent some quality time with my mom's new dog, Cooper. He is a great pup.

14. Ran 5 miles on the Florida Trail with Jack and Lady in the Seminole State Forest. It was beautiful. We had the whole forest to ourselves. A serene run. A run I will miss.

15. Got back to Macon at about 9:15 last night. Felt so good to be home. Slept in my own bed. Sat on my own couch. Have a lot to do, but have spent the morning getting Mel ready, going through 10 days of mail, trying to wake Jack up (he needs a vacation from his vacation), and typing this post.

Hope you had a great Christmas and thanks for reading this blog,
  David

The Brasstown Bald Buster 5K

   In two days, I will be heading up to North Georgia (weather permitting) to run the featured race. Until yesterday at lunch, I was pretty excited about it. Now, I just feel a little sick to my stomach about it. I know, I know, why do this? Aren't all 5K's the same? If you've run one, you've run them all? I know, I know, couldn't you find a better hobby? Couldn't you spend your money more wisely? Couldn't you be satisfied with the races you have already gotten to do this year? Why do you run,? Aren't you just out there running? No, these aren't questions from my wife. Mel is my number one supporter. She never complains. She only demands warmth and a hot beverage, which isn't much considering that spectating ain't for everyone, especially if your person is slow and smelly.

  And no, I can't give you good answers to those questions. I could answer them all well and we could all be satisfied for a time, but then I would have this weird nagging going on inside me that unless you are a runner then you will never understand. I try to explain it sometimes to Mel in crafting or sewing terms and she tries to understand. (I think this would go better if I paid better attention while I was in Michael's or Jo Ann's, or as Mark calls it "Fabric World".) Runners are weird people. Some are weird from the top down and others hide it pretty well. Some will tell you all about their running exploits and others are content to know they have done them. I am not sure where I fit in. I guess in the former, since I am write about it and 7 very faithful followers read about them! (Well, really 5 since Mel is following me twice to show her support for Hines Terrace Herald.)

   There is a certain runner that I like a lot, his name is Ryan Hall. I am not sure why I like him so much. I guess the main reason is his belief that he can be better and that he can be faster. (On a side note, I once ran the same race as he did, a 15K, and when I was on mile 4 of the race, he was on mile 9!) I think this is the same belief that every runner feels or thinks. No, I will never make it to the Olympics and no, Nike will never knock on my front door and beg me to wear their products, but every time I lace up my shoes or don't, I feel like I must run. I must train for the next race. Signing up for a race becomes not something I need to do or want to do, but something I must do in order to have something to push myself out the door and onto the streets or trails. There is this nagging inside my head that tells me that if I just suffer for a couple more minutes now that I can earn several seconds in the next race or make my year-end total of miles grow a little bigger. I know this is silly. I know it is weird. I am not in denial.

  So, why do this race? The answer is simple: to know I can do it. Sometimes, I look through race calendars and see races that would be fun and I still do this. Other times, I look through and question which races could I do or handle. This race is one of those. And we will see. Brasstown Bald is the highest mountain in Georgia. The race goes right to the top from the bottom. I have heard it is gut-wrenching. I have heard it was near impossible. I have heard that I will walk. I have heard I will be passed my military guys wearing backpacks and gear. We will see. I am sure it will be all those things. I just want to make it across the finish line and to know that I can do it and that I did do it.
  
   David

The Shopkeeper--Snippet 2

"You got any shoes made out a' alligator skin or snake skin?"
"What was that? I didn't quite catch that last bit." the shopkeeper said coming back to his shop from his head.
"Boy, something like that would make a yella' suit pop! Gosh'd almighty it would."
"Can't say that we do. Wouldn't you be interested in any of our patent leather options. They'd be bright and shiny for ya'."
"Naw, patent leather'd make this whole get up look a little cheap. I guess I'll leave the suit here and go and see if I can get the shoes first. Shoes make the man, they say..." he trailed off.
"Sounds like a plan for sure. I'll hold the suit for ya' for up to a week. And if ya' will call me before you come by, I could have the suit pressed and ..." the shopkeeper stopped himself because the customer had quit listening and was staring at the wall behind him.

   The oddly-shaped man smiled and nodded and then left. The shopkeeper was again left with nothing except the ugly, yellow pants and jacket and empty shop. It looked like a life size banana peel for the 800 lb. gorilla that everyone was always talking about. He laid the suit down on the counter gently in order to make sure no wrinkles would arrive and then slowly made his way outside, knowing full well that he had plenty of time to put the suit up before he closed for the day. He was in no hurry; Thursdays were always long, slow days. He hated them more than Mondays. Thursdays used to mean something, but now like everything else in Ider, they didn't mean a damn thing. It used to be the day men came in to find something nice to wear for meetings and out of town engagements, but you didn't need a suit in a factory. The company gave you your clothes and washed them too.
   He pushed open the heavy glass door and propped it open and then instantly regretted it. He hated what had sprung up around his shop, but it didn't surprise him.  Businesses these days were just like those birds that followed trash trucks to the dump. They would pick at the trash until nothing was left and then close down and move to the next load. They called it capitalism, but he thought it looked more like parasitism; living off of something else until it died. He wished they would all die, but then felt bad for thinking so. He was no different, he thought. He just called his store something that sounded more upscale. He had been forced to become like them, but he knew that he had once been an eagle and now threw up the trash he now had to eat. Everyone got hungry, didn't they. Even eagles were forced occasionally to eat a scrap, weren't they?

"You open or are you getting ready to go to supper?"
"Yes, sir, we're open for business. What can I do ya' for?"
"I was hoping you could help a man out. I need me a pair of them dark, denim jeans for the weekend. The missus has put her foot down about this party we're going to."
"I'm afraid we don't carry the kind of denim that you're into, but we could get you into a nice pair of slacks that would make you and the missus happy."
"Well....that's the last thing I want to do, show up at some party looking like I think I'm better than everybody in some fancy pair of slacks. You got any other ideas?"
"I'm afraid not. I was just trying to make you look nice."....

Keep writing? Or shut it down?
  David

Weird Things My Dogs Do

This is Lady:

And this is Jack:

  They are both my mine. I have had Lady since 2003. I needed a friend and found myself at the pound. She looks a lot like a border collie, but isn't. She has purple spots on her tongue, so I know she has some chow in her. And by the looks of it, it seems Chow Chow owners in America need to keep better track of their dogs; a lot of stray dogs with purple -spotted tongues. Lady is a sweet dog and has been a great friend to me in some very lonely times. She is also very smart and deceitful. She doesn't do any tricks because she thinks they are stupid and for the stupid. She only plays one game and that is this really funny game of chase and you are always it. I still play it with her and end up looking like a big weirdo in our front yard. On one of the loneliest days in my life, she hugged me. I could retell the story, but most of you would think I was making it up, but you can't mistake a hug. It either is one or it isn't. Lady and I have lived in 4 very different places: Sorrento, Fl, Mentone, Al, Dothan, Al, and Macon, Ga. I had Lady before I was married and Lady didn't like Mel for the first year or so of our marriage, but they get along cozy now...well...cozy for Lady. Lady is not exactly the person you would assign any greeting duties to.

  Jack is a different story in about every way that can be looked at. He is a chocolate lab. Mel and I got him after we were married. We wanted a puppy. We looked into it. They are expensive. We canceled the want. We heard a sob story from a church member about having to put down a year old lab for doing some bad things: eating a glass bottle of Tabasco sauce, chewing a hole through a propane tank, ripping a faucet out of a brick wall, etc etc etc. Mel and I are suckers for the sob story. He pulled us in hook, line, and sinker. We drove over to their house. Picked him up, but not before he could knock Mel down a couple of times in their back yard. Lady has hated this moment in time even more than when I said "I Do". (Nobody puts Lady in the corner!) Jack is now 3 and is still very much a puppy. They say at 3 labs are suppose to settle down and mature. I guess we will have to wait till Jack turns 4 and has his Batman party likes he keeps begging for. (He loves trying to mimic Christian Bale's voice in the newest movies, he is forever saying little things like, "give me the bone!", or "drop the ball!") Anyway, Jack is always up to something and he is very good at getting my goat. He has chewed up about 12 grill covers, eaten numerous plants, two bicycle helmets, and loves to nibble on a good pair of wool socks. What can I say, he is a texture eater.

  This post is really just to let you in on a couple of weird things they both do. I love them both, but they are by far the weirdest dogs I have ever known or dealt with. Here are some of the weird things:

  * Jack turns every object into something to fetch: water bottles, socks, underwear, sticks, pine cones, apple cores, etc.

  * Lady will not eat out of a bowl, she just gets about 3-5 morsels and takes them elsewhere to eat.

  * Both Jack and Lady are terrified of the floor vent of our downstairs ac unit. This can be used or counted on as the only safe place in the house.

  * When Jack rides in a car, he always stairs out of the back window. Lady ducks when we go under bridges and refuses to sit down and not stare at the road ahead. She has fallen asleep in this position on several car trips.

  * Jack is a big dog, but loves getting in small places. Lady is a small dog, but only feels comfortable in wide open spaces and for this I blame the Dixie Chicks.

  * Lady has only been hurt twice in the seven years I have owned her. Once she sliced her paw on piece of glass while running with me and once she got hit by a car who drove out of control into our front yard. Jack gets hurt about once a week and I have a running tab at our local vet. He has gotten a piece of his ear removed by a raccoon, hit by a car, gotten kennel cough, has allergies, had an allergic reaction to something and his left eye got so swollen it almost shut completely, run into an electric fence that burnt a line into his forehead, etc. etc. etc. He is probably getting injured as I write this.

Well, as you can see these are all pretty weird and not all of the weird things about them. I love these dogs, but like I said, I am a sucker for the sob story and they both know that.

Until next time,
    David

Running Economy--An Economic Theory

(Caution: the person who wrote this post has only had two economic classes in his life and still has problems managing his own money....so Economists beware!)

Running is a sport that has been a sport since the Greeks. It dates back to thousands of years. However, in America, the sport is relatively new. Our oldest races, Dipsea Trail Race dates back to 1904 or the heralded Boston Marathon dates back to 1896, are only 100+ years old. So, we do not have a long history of running in the USA because we do not have a long history. I say this because having a 100+ year old history is nothing compared to having a 1000+ year history.

   I say all of this because running is a sport that goes in cycles. And I believe these cycles can be traced to the current economy of the country. The term, "running economy", simply means the amount of fitness/running an individual has or is able to endure. However, that is not what this post is about. This is about how running and the economy go hand in hand. I also know I am not the first person to think of this. I haven't read about it anywhere, but I am sure its out there. I am not usually the guy who is ahead of the curve.

   To me, economics can be boiled down to one word: control. Each person wants complete control over every facet of their lives. In order to have control over every facet, a person must control or have control over the basic necessities of life: food, clothing, shelter. I know economics is much more complicated than that, but for me it doesn't seem to be. Economics will always be about control for me. And this is where economics meets running. Running is all about control as well: how far, how fast, where you run, how long, what you wear, against whom, etc.

  America has an economy that runs in cycles. It is always the same cycle because Americans, like all other peoples and countries, do not learn from past mistakes. We have periods of great wealth and the generation that works for it, saves it, but then after about two or three generations the wealth has been wasted and lost and then they have nothing. In recent times, America has had three or four bad cases of the latter bit. The 30's, the late 70's and early 80's, and now. The cycles appear to be happening in less and less amounts of time, which could mean that every generation is becoming worse at teaching the latter generations about saving. Each time Americans lose control of their pocketbooks, they reach for something to control. In the 30's and 40' they reached out to their automobiles and the size of their families, but mostly the automobiles: they could drive wherever, with whomever, and at whatever speeds they wanted. (Some of this still sits in the American psyche.)

   However, in the 70's, 80's, and now there is not much control to be had when it comes to automobiles or most anything else in our lives. If you don't think this, then why are the best-selling material goods in America or even the world all labeled with the first word "i"? It is all about control and people are scrambling for it. Americans reached out to the things that they could control and one of those things happened to be running. Running in America during the 70's and 80's mushroomed into Prefontaine, Frank Shorter, Jeff Galloway, Carl Lewis, Bill Bowerman, the creation of Nike, etc. etc. etc. It seemed everyone was running. It is called America's first running boom. And it stayed that way until Reagan and the growth of the American economy. Running started to trickle away. The runners began to reclaim their control on other parts of their lives. Then came the 90's and about ten years of pretty great economic news. American running, especially distance running, almost disappeared.

  Then enter the years from 2001-2010. The American economy went in the tank and has spent 9 years getting better and then a lot worse. Americans appear to be losing control over or handing over control to every facet of their lives. The amount of choices one has left the population with seemingly no choice. (Example: I hear most of my students tell me nothing is on tv when they have 500-1000 channels. When I was young and allowed to watch t.v. there were only about 10-30 stations and something was always on!) Enter the second America running boom, which may be actually much larger than the first. It seems everyone is running. 5K's are like pennies, everyone has run or walked one and they are everywhere. Everyone is training for half marathons like they just doing some other menial task. The marathon is growing so big that it is hard not to come into contact with at least one person who has run one. When I first started running, I didn't know anyone who ran longer than 3-6 miles. There are more than 2 running magazines! American runners, especially distance runners, have reemerged from a national hibernation and are a force to be reckoned with on the world stages of running. We have Ryan Hall, Dathan Ritzenhein, Deana Kastor, Kara Goucher, Meb, Shalane Flanagan, Chris Solinsky etc, etc, etc. Registration for places like NYC and Boston are filling up in a day or even just 8 hours. Distances like the 50K, the 50 mi, the 100 mi are all being quietly considered when just a handful of years ago, they were considered the stuff of lunatics. Running is becoming so common it even makes its way onto ESPN at times. Americans are losing control of most things, but are latching onto running as if it were their only hope.
    I ran my first non-collegiate race in 2002. It was a 5K. After I finished the race, I had the hardest time telling people what I had spent my morning doing and a common response was, "what did you do that for?". I can imagine the response would be much different now. In college, I tried my hand at the sport of cross country and had an even harder time explaining that. This was in 1998-1999. People now know exactly what that is. I will use this statistic to prove my point and then I will close: In 1999, there were 3-5, 5K's in the city I live in. In 2010, there were somewhere between 20-30, 5K races held in Macon alone. The economy of 1999 has unemployment was 4.2 percent. The current unemployment rate is somewhere between 9.3 and 10 percent. So what do you think? Am I on to something? Let me know.

Running because I'm too poor to golf (JK),
   David

Where Men Win Glory-A Book Review and Some Thoughts

   Let me begin this post by saying this: I really like Jon Krakauer. I think he is a great writer. One of his books made my prestigious Top Ten List. He has written 5 books and I have read them. They are each great books and are all hard to put down. I have read two of his books in a day in a half and if you ask Melissa, she will let you know that I am a slow reader. I say all of this because I was greatly disappointed in this book. I am in now way saying that this is not a good book, but for me the tone was completely different and I was disappointed with the tone.

   As a reader, one of my favorite things about Krakauer is that that he writes about disturbing events that he has experienced and have changed his life and the lives of the other people involved or he writes about these iconoclasts that have done what a large amount of regular people yearn to do, but never do. He is able to do so as few other are. He gives you all the facts, emotions, and events, but leaves all judgement to you. What you think of the climbers, even Krakauer himself, is left up to you. What you think about Chris McCandless is left up to you. What you think about Mormons, the murders, etc. is left all up to you. However, what you think about Pat Tillman and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq is not left up to you. Krakauer serves judgement on all sides. I really disliked this. I did not pick us this book to hear someone bash the Bush administration, the military, war, waste, or Pat Tillman, but to me, that is what I got. It actually saddened me.

    To be honest, I have read some reviews of the book and watched several videos of Krakauer and understand why the change of writing style. This book was written and published on much different premise than his other works. The story goes that this book was suppose to be published once, but then Krakauer withdrew it because he just wasn't ready. He took up to four years to write this book. He went to Afghanistan to study. He lived with the military as an embedded journalist. It is just sad, as a reader, to see an author/journalist allow themselves to become so emotionally involved in a story that they lose part of themselves.

    After finishing this book, I am not real sure what to think. What exactly does Krakauer think of Tillman because he writes about him as a kind of strong-willed, selfish, talented, juvenile who wasted his life by joining the military to fight W's worthless war, but at same the time writes about this iconoclast, patriot who both hated war, but was weighted down by obligation. But we also see a Tillman who couldn't wait to get into combat. I almost feel that Krakauer feels that going to war was just one more mistake in a long line of them for a Tillman, who is a jock and pretends to like academic discussion.  I am confused about when Krakauer would approve of a war or if war is ever justified. I do not know if Krakauer had lived during WWII if he would have thought it "unjust" to go to war against Germany because they never attacked us. I wonder if Krakauer would write this same account if it had been Obama, Biden, and Secretary Gates at the helm instead of Bush, Cheney, and Rumsfield. I wonder if Krakauer sees that a writer in neither Iraq or Afghanistan could write such a searing and critical account of the government, military, etc and still be walking around in total freedom and making large sums of prophet. Maybe he sees all of these things. Maybe he is himself confused about who Pat Tillman really was. Maybe he is a overwhelmed by the high price of freedom and what war is really like.

  Krakauer ends the book with the discussion of Nietzsche's concept of the Ubermensch, or "the last man". He attempts to paint Tillman in this light for at least the ending. This Ubermensch, is a person who is "virtuous, loyal, ambitious, suspicious of received wisdom, disdainful of religious dogma....a connoisseur of the highest highs and...the deepest of sorrows. Tillman was a lot of these, but I wonder why Krakauer ends with this. Was he trying to convince himself that some good was accomplished by a life ended by friendly fire? I am not sure.

   If this post feels a little disconnected is because it is. I finished this book a couple weeks ago and have tried writing about it several times. Nothing sounds right. I like Krakauer. I will anxiously await his next book. I hate the Pat Tillman cover-up. I do not understand why it happened, but I do understand. I am saddened by it. I know government and those who serve in it are corrupt and self-seeking. I know the military makes mistakes and at times they are big. It is too big not to. I do not like war. I hate that people have to sacrifice their lives so that I don't have to look over my shoulder or worry if my wife will die of a bombing at the grocery store today. I hate that 6000+ soldiers have died in Iraq and Afghanistan, but know that WWII claimed sometimes 50,000 in a single day. I also feel that had 9/11 never occurred, then we would have never gone to Iraq or Afghanistan. I do not really know what to think. I do hope that I can filter it all down into what the key points are. I hope that Krakauer will know that there are patriots in the military who are not wasting their talents there. I think he already knows this.

  What did you think of this book? Let me know,
      David

The Magic of Night Running

   I want each of you to try something I have enjoyed for quite a while. Drop what you are doing for about 15-30 minutes tonight and wait till the hour strikes 7 or later and then go running or even walking. Yes, I know it will be cold. Yes, I know it will be dark. Yes, I know it will seem eerie. The cold will seem to disappear in a little while. The dark will stay, but it will become easier on your eyes and it will transform your walk or run into something magical. The eeriness will also fade as you become comfortable with the night.

  The reason I want all of you to try this is because running at night will transform your experience. You will be almost completely alone and will be able to focus on your run and on your surroundings like you have not been able to do in a very long time. You will have time and the quiet needed to truly digest what you did that day and plan for the next. You will see or notice things in your own neighborhood that you have never seen. You will (if you are lucky) see a tremendous falling star like the ones you see only on t.v. You will burn more calories as you body maintains homeostasis. You will feel as if you are flying through the silent city streets and won't know if you aren't because it will be too dark to look at your watch. You can see the Christmas lights in the dark as opposed to wishing you could turn off your headlights. You will skip getting chased by dogs because they are too interested in sleeping close to something warm. You will have to fight almost 85% less vehicle traffic. And for those who feel a little defeated after a bad day, like mine yesterday, then you will end the day accomplishing something good instead of going to bed feeling as if you have spent the whole day spinning your wheels and then going nowhere.

   However, please be smart. It is dark. It is cold. Watch your step. Dress warmly. Wear clothes that can be seen at night. Get a wife like Mel who makes me wear this:

Which makes you look like this:

Except you will hopefully be wearing a shirt and will skip the tiara and the medal. (Sorry, for this pic. I ran a half marathon this summer called, Make It Before Midnight, in which you had to start as close to midnight as possible and try to finish before you turned into a pumpkin. I stayed a princess and got my tiara. It was 100 degrees outside and the humidity was at 99%. I should have brought more than one shirt. Hopefully, you weren't mid-bite as the pic popped up. If so, there will always be other meals. Right?)

  Anyway, run smart. Make sure cars, people, etc. can see you. Have a great run or walk tonight. I will because I will be going at night.

    David

How to Read and Why-A Book Review and Some Thoughts

"Reading well is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you, because it is, at least in my experience, the most healing of all pleasures. It returns you to otherness, whether in yourself or in friends, or in those who may become friends. Imaginative literature is otherness, and as such alleviates loneliness. We read not only because we cannot know enough people, but because friendship is so vulnerable, so likely to diminish or disappear, overcome by space, time, imperfect sympathies, and all the sorrows of familial and passional life."   Harold Bloom

    Harold Bloom needs no introduction unless you are like me and have been either living under a rock or teaching science all day to middle and high schoolers. Harold Bloom has been called many things, but we will limit them to the nice things. He has been called and is thought by most to be,  "THE literary critic of our time". He has been called the, "world's most valuable literary critic". He has written over 23+ volumes of literary criticism and has written specific literary criticism for most of the authors who wrote most anything of note during the last two centuries. He is thought by many to be the number one, living authority on Shakespeare, this is a very important one if you dare to read this book. I did not know any of this before I read this book. I read a book about Flannery O'Connor written by Harold Bloom, but I didn't take notice of that.

    This book is really good, but it is very tedious. He divides all of literature into four (4) main categories:

                    1. Short Stories
                    2. Poetry
                    3. Novels
                    4. Plays

The item that makes this book tedious is that Harold Bloom's measuring stick for every piece of written work by any author since the 1600's is that of Shakespeare. To Mr. Bloom, there is no higher standard or more talented artist. In Mr. Bloom's eyes, Shakespeare created or improved most every genre or topic that is written upon. (He once wrote a book titled, Shakespeare: The Inventor of the Human) To be honest, I have only read two Shakespeare works. Several years ago, I tried to read more of them, but just couldn't seem to do it. I know what this makes me and I have come to terms with that. So, maybe if you are well-acquainted with Bill Shakespeare then the tediousness of this book would disappear, but for me it remained.

  However, with the negative things said, there are many, many good things about this book. Even though, Mr. Bloom writes that this shouldn't be used as a list of "what to read", it could very well be. The authors that he uses to prove his points are the authors who defined literature as we know it; it could really be a, "Who's Who" list if you needed it to be.

   Another great thing about this book, is that Mr. Bloom highlights that like most things that are worth anything, reading and writing are costly and have to be worked at and are hard. He is not saying that all things written and published can be categorized as "good writing", but only a select few authors and even a fewer number of what they have written. I am sure if Mr. Bloom were to write a sequel about modern literature, the volume would be very slim. His standard of Shakespeare would be far too high for most of what is published today. As an amateur writer, I would hate to think about what Mr. Bloom would say about the small volume of work I have produced. I think I know what he would say.

    I liked that Mr. Bloom thinks that reading and writing are hard. Yes, there are many books that read easily and there are times when writing comes easy, but more times than not, there are books that I have read that I have had to wade through and even then, it was not till the third, fourth, even fifth read until I saw what true joy there was to be found within the pages that I had read. There have also been and are numerous stories that either took me a year or more to finish or are still waiting to be finished. Mr. Bloom thinks this is as it should be. Real art takes work. Reading and writing both require what Mr. Bloom calls, "implicit discipline." I hope one day to accomplish a piece of real art.


  My favorite thing about this book is that Mr. Bloom highlights five (5) points of why we as humans must read and how we should do so. Each of these points does not try to separate the "how" and "why" because to Mr. Bloom they are the same. I have done my best to follow these five points in the books I have read since I finished this book. I will not try to fully explain the points. Mr. Bloom does a much better job doing that than I could ever do and all you would really have to do is read the Prologue. Here are the five (5) points:

    1. One of the uses of reading is to prepare us for change, and the final change is universal. We read to strengthen ourselves, and to learn its authentic interests.

              "Read not to contradict and confute, nor believe and take for granted, nor find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider."  Sir Francis Bacon

    2.    While reading or before reading we must clear our minds of cant. We must rid ourselves of all that is known or represented as being politically correct. Mr. Bloom refers to this as "academic cant". Mr. Bloom points to that fact that over the last several decades we have become so engrossed in the author's life, habits, bias, etc that we forget to read that author's written piece as a work of art that has forever changed or added to the whole of literature.


   3. Do not attempt to improve your neighbor or your neighborhood by what or how we read. This could be a post or even a book by itself. It seems that most of certain circles in the world read and write only for this and to this end. And as Mr. Bloom says so well, "self-improvement is a large enough project for the mind and spirit", by itself.


  4. A scholar is a candle which love and desire of all men will light. I admit this sounds not just a little strange, but very, but looked at just a little deeper, it makes perfect sense. This point has much to do with the last. A scholar is one who has become or is trying to become an "authentic reader". ( A term that is quickly becoming something I am trying to become. I am trying to move away from my claim as a fully amateur reader...Sorry J.D. Salinger. Maybe I could become an authentically amateur reader.) Anyway, this point can be thought of like this: as an authentic reader betters himself through good reading, then in turn he betters society because societies are shaped by individuals, not by movements. (I know many will disagree, but every movement has a leader.)


 5. One must be an inventor to read well. This point leads us to what Mr. Bloom and R.W. Emerson refer to as "creative reading." This is where the reader becomes lost in the book only to find the author, and more importantly, the author's voice. And when the reader is able to find the author's true voice, not the voice of his teacher, his social norms, the voice of political connectedness, then he in turn will find his own. And if thought about, this may be the most important one. In an age defined by egocentricism and GPS devices, do we not hear far too often that no one feels that they have a voice and that they feel so very lost? Is this because we have forgotten where to look or even how to go about doing so? And Mr. Bloom believes, like Emerson, that this will make the reader develop what they call "self-trust" and this development leads to the a, "Second Birth of mind, which cannot come without years of deep reading...".


 As you can see, this book is a work of the highest level of thought. It took me two months to weed through it. I am glad my school's library lets teachers escape those pesky late fees. I would need a third job. I will honestly say that I still haven't truly finished it. I didn't make it through the plays and I may not. Mel is teaching me that. I am a slow learner. I am also continuing to learn that books aren't always easy or fun. They are hard. They are tedious. They are rewarding.

  Trying to learn to become an "authentic reader",
      David

"Literature is a form of the good." -Harold Bloom

Brooks Running Shoes and Two Other Missteps

   So, I own these shoes. At times they are an embarrassment to me. It's not the shoes, but the fact that I bought them. It is also not that they are necessarily bad shoes, but something different. It is really strike two, but maybe more like three. I like to think of myself as ahead of the curve or at least someone who doesn't follow the crowd. However, these shoes and two other pairs seems to tell a different story. So, if you see me trying to hide them from you, maybe this post will help you understand. Please do know that the above shoes are easier to hide than these:

   These were a purchase in the month of May. I am going to blame the coming Summer holidays. It's also not that these are bad shoes, but something else. The same thing that caused me to buy the Brooks shoes that are at the top of this post. And that thing is a very ugly fact: I may just be the guy who believes the hype. I am the guy that companies love and advertise for. They do it and I rush to buy. I never think things are too good to be true. I always read the adds or reviews with glee and dream of how things will be. I am one of the boys from the Sandlot movie that ohs and awe's over the new box of PF Flyers; knowing that they will make you faster. I am the little boy who runs around the front yard trying to prove to anyone who will watch at just how fast my new shoes make me.

  I say all of this, I guess to let you know. I guess we'll call it a confession. I believe in the hype. I pretend that I don't. I pretend to be my own man. I wear the running shoes that are best for me; not like all those cowardly hordes who read the running magazines and all of their shoe reviews and then they rush to the nearest running store to buy whatever everyone else is wearing or whatever the magazines said to buy. I am not like them. I run my own race. I do my own reviews. I listen to my own voice. I do all these things before I wake up and rush to do what the hype says to do. I have two pairs of shoes to prove that. They sit in my closet and I put miles on them as quickly as possible so that I can go back to what works; not what was hyped! I think I may be slowly learning my lesson, but I know who I am. I am a hype guy. I love the advertisements; especially if the ad is funny. I know this because I own both pairs of shoes. They both have great reviews on the Internet. They both won awards. The Brooks made my feet hurt so bad between miles 24-26 of my marathon that I almost begin walking. The Nike's made my feet hurt so bad after the Peachtree Road Race that I could barely walk for three days without a lot of pain.

  I know some of you will not like this post. It is easy to find people who will think I am complaining or just unhappy that the shoes didn't make me run faster, or those that will think I am trying to blame my shoes, but I am doing none of this. I am just simply letting you know something about me; when it comes to running shoes, I believe the hype. It is just that simple and that sad. To prove that, here is another pair I bought last year:

 These are the Somnio Runnaissance. Trust me, they came with a lot of hype. They were suppose to change the way people ran; especially over long distances. And they were great, but they were so heavy. I did all of my long runs in them while training for a marathon before I got taken down by two ferocious girls during a too intense ultimate frisbee game that resulted in a rolled ankle that ended my bid to run a first marathon until recently. (A Hint Here: Watch out for 6th Grade Girls who are willing to sacrifice bodies too win a carefree frisbee game.)

  I know this post has gone on longer than you wanted. I just felt like I needed the world to know. There are trends in running shoes. Yours truly reads about them for some strange reason. I study them. I used to scoff at them, but I seem to be buying into them now. I need for it to end. When I started running, everyone got on the Adidas train, then came a small resurgences of Nike, but then Asics roared onto the scene and will not seem to go away, then Brooks roared back in the last year or so. If you want to know the latest trend, all you have to do is go to a local 5K, 10k, or some other distance and see what the competitive-looking people in the front are wearing on their feet. They are like me. They buy the hype. They are all wearing Brooks, and like me, are trying to pretend that they are so happy with them, but really biding their time till their kicks hit 350-400 miles, so they can either buy the next, big, hyped shoe or the one their feet wish they would buy.

  As a running friend of mine says everytime he sees me at work: see you out there! (I have only seen him "out there" once.),
      David



The Shopkeeper--A Story Snippet

The Shopkeeper

"What can I do ya' for?"
"I need me a full suit and some shiny shoes for starters."
"Well, ya' came to the best place in town." he stopped short of saying the only place in town. They both knew that.
"That's what I've heard, that's what I've heard..." repeating himself for lack of other thoughts.
"I'll let ya' look, but you just let me know if ya' need a thing."
"I thank ya', the fellers at the mill said you'd be helpful."
"I'll always do what I can to...." he stopped himself again because he knew the man had quit listening. He knew their type. They didn't converse or listen. They only spoke. The customer didn't notice the end of conversation. He had moved on.

  The shopkeeper wandered back over to his little stool and stared at an old t.v. that hadn't been turned on in years; well, not since all of them started shopping there. He didn't know where they all came from, but didn't rightly care as long as they would agree to go back, but knew they wouldn't. They were here to stay and he hated it. They didn't give a damn about what he did or where he'd come from. And to top it off, none of them gave a damn about looking nice.

  He watched the man wander around the little store. The man's reflection could be seen on the dusty screen of the old television set. He used to watch basketball on it all the time, but they'd taken that from him as well. Now, he could only watch their reflection as they made their way through the shop; touching all the clothing and shoes that he'd been forced to sell. If it was tacky, flashy, or ill-tailored they'd pick it up and rush to buy it. He could barely think about it. It took everything in him to look at what his shop was full of now. Trash buying trash and he was selling it to them. He wasn't a shopkeeper. He was a trash man.

"Ya' got these in a 42?" the man motioned to a pair of banana yellow slacks.
"If ya' dig further back into the rack there should be a pair." the shopkeeper replied wondering how someone could look over a whole rack of proper slacks and find the only yellow ones in the store. He wondered what mindset one would have to be in to do something like that, but then gave up because he knew. It wasn't a mindset or an emotion. It was them part and parcel. It was in their every bone and fiber. You couldn't change them. It was as if they had been formed from some uncarvable stone. They did not change. They carved paths through everything they passed through. He would never change them. They were changing him. Carving deep rifts through him that he would never get back.

"These sure would pop with a purple blazer, wouldn't they?"
"Excuse me, sir? I didn't quite catch that." the shopkeeper was forced back into the moment.
"I was just asking ya' if ya' had a purple blazer to go with these yella' pants."
"No sir, sold my last one yesterday about this same time of day and I just sent the new order out this a.m."

  The customer didn't reply, but just kept digging through the coats. The shopkeeper couldn't even stand to look at him anymore. He thought he looked like a pig rooting around for the last acorn of fall. The shopkeeper grew sick just looking at him; it was what his life had become. He used to dress gentlemen. He could walk down the street with his head held high and all he had to do was look around in order to see all the men wearing his clothes. They looked like men, real men, and it was because of him. They looked like gentlemen because they had been outfitted by a gentlemen.
 
   His mind wandered and he forgot about the swine that was busy rooting through all of his scraps. He only saw the men who walked tall because they knew that doors were open and closed for them because of their clothes. They met other gentlemen who reached out their hands and greeted them because they too looked well and spoke well, but these new types were far from that: shuffling through the front door, nervous, beady eyes scanning the room for a discount rack, trying to find something that would do, something that was a disguise. They didn't trust your advice or ask for help. They all came in with mental pictures of what they dreamed of looking like. He could see the way they looked at themselves in his mirrors. They did not see themselves for what they were. They only saw those mental pictures and he hated the reality and their dreams......

Should I Keep Writing? Let me know.
   David

Why Billie Holiday is Better than Ella Fitzgerald.

  Because when she sings "Good Morning, Heartache", you can feel her crying through the microphone.

  Because you can feel the sweat pouring out of her as she sings deep inside of Harlem.


  Because she sang as Louis Armstrong sang and played, but better.
 
  Because you can smell the smoke drifting through your speakers as it sits in her fingers.

  Because you can hear the little girl named Eleanora singing along to the records at the whore house she
  cleaned at, but then began working at.

  Because the words she is singing feel like they are not just lyrics; they are what she is living.

  Because you can imagine her running to the things she is trying to flee from.

  Because you can see her chasing after all the things you know will kill her and you know she knows as well.

  Because her voice cracks and wanes into rustic, rhythmic imperfection.

  Because the abuse and destruction she sang of were her own.


  Because her soul was empty and longed to be filled, but never would be no matter what she tried        to crowd into it.

  Because when she sings. "Let's Call a Heart a Heart", you can imagine her singing with her head titled back and trying to give her heart to anyone who would truly care for it, but no one ever did.

  Because even at her lowest, she could still melt all who sat before her inside the hallowed walls of Carnegie Hall.


  Because there will only be and there always be only one Lady Day singing of her troubled life with a gardenia guarding her fragile heart with delicate efflorescence.

Wishing Billie would have lived much, much longer,

      David

24 Hours a Moment-A Poem

24 Hours a Moment 

Trading hours for mere moments, 

Till all of life has been reduced,

Not singularly, but exponentially,

To rabid time so obligatory,

Always moving, clock hands working,

Ticking forward, never backwards,

Washing each day away,

Like castles on a deserted beach,

Nothing left except mounded remnants,

Sweet and sad,

Tired, but accomplished.

Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon

   At 11:21 am on Saturday morning, I crossed the finish line of the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon. It is a moment in time during my 31 years of life that I had been working towards since July 27th of this year, but really something I had been plodding along and contemplating for many, many years. It is a moment in time that I will not soon forget or replace.

  A marathon is not something that one plans to do the week before, or at least it is not something that most plan to do the week before. I hope not. If you look on the internet, in libraries, in bookstores, in magazines, or talk to runners or coaches, they will point you towards 20, 18, or 16 week training plans. So, in the smallest amount of time, you are talking about 4 months of one's life in order to train for this ultimate race for mere mortals. Yes, I know that here are 31 mile races, 50 mile races, 62 mile races, and the infamous 100 mile races, but I am not talking about those. I do not know for sure the percentage of the population that makes up these "ultrarunners", but I can only assume it is more than small; especially since only 0.1% of the population has completed a marathon.

   So, going back to the moment that I began with: me crossing the finish line. It was a moment that I had spent 4 months preparing for. I had run in the intense heat, in the rain, in the early morning hours, in the late night hours, in the cold, etc. I had charted my way through a 16 week, 112 day training calendar. No, I did not complete every run. No, every run was not my best, but I did complete 98% of the runs and what was required of me. I wrote down the details. I went through two pairs of shoes. I drank countless amounts of water and gatorade. I fretted over each run. Frowned at my watch after running intervals on a track. Celebrated two more miles added to my long run. Worried about a short run gone bad. Smirked over the seemingly lightness I felt after what I thought would be a rough run. In short, I was filled with what is known as the, Spirit of the Marathon, for four months. I know this sounds a little excessive or even cultish, but if you have trained for it and run it, then it may not.

   They say running a marathon will change your life and I am not ready to say that or not. I still feel I have so much to process about what exactly happened a couple of days ago. There were miles I hated it. There were miles that I enjoyed. There were moments when I was completely lost in the facts of motion, moment, and time all surrounded by the beauty of the battlefield. It is these moments that I will treasure the most. I lost count of what mile I was on and thought only of falling leaves (I caught two that day!) and how blessed I was to have people praying for my every step, and a beautiful wife to cheer me on in the cold, and a God who created such a magnificient world for me to enjoy, and this same God who would care about something so simple as a run and a short, balding guy trying to complete it.

  And complete it I did. Ordered the sticker today in order to quietly brag on my car. I am now a 0.1 percenter, or that is what Paula Radcliffe called me when I plugged up my Nike+ SportBand after the race. However, crossing the finish line was nothing like I thought it was going to be. It was more like I hoped it would be. It was exactly like finishing every run that I had completed since I got back into running when I was in my mid-twenties. They had all led to this. It was like a parable coming to life. It was the journey of a million steps finally arriving at the destination. It was a journey that had begun as an effort to make it around the block, through a 5K, through the mountains of N. Alabama, through the streets of Dothan, several 10K's and 15K's around the streets of Macon, and even some half marathons. They had all led me to this place: the finish line.

  I cannot tell you how nervous about the race I actually was. But I know God was out there with me because from the moment I stepped into the crowd of racers before the cannon went off until I crossed the finish line I felt so calm. I felt this voice inside of me telling me that there is nothing to be afraid of today because today I will finish what I had set out to do. I will say that for 23 miles it was almost the easiest run I had done in all of my training or maybe ever. I did not care about passing or being passed. I would slow my breathing and speed up and it felt like nothing was taxing. Miles 23-26 were painful. My mind kept saying what I had left in small increments and my legs and lungs kept telling me it would be okay to go home now, but I slowly prodded along. When I came into sight of the finish line, I took off. It was there to be had. There is a popular t-shirt that they sell at XC meets that says, "The faster you run, the sooner you're done." That became a little mantra of mine. However, 26.2 miles gave me a lot of time to think about all the little things I tell my runners. Some of them I will never say again. Some I will say even more now. And the one that comes to mind is, I tell them to never, never get back into the bus/car/suv, etc and know deep inside that they still had some to give out there. It will haunt them. I know from experience. I tried my very best to live by this for 26.2 miles. And when I crossed that finish line and hugged my wonderful wife. I knew that there was nothing left. I had given my all. It was wonderful. It gave a the smallest glimpse of heaven. I hope I will have done the same. I want to have nothing left.

  Trying to decide if I am hooked or not,
     David

The Spirit of the Marathon

   I know this is my 5th post about running. I apologize, but you have to understand that it is on the brain as of late. It is almost all I can think about or pretend to not think about. I will write about some other topics, I promise. I know the 5 people (or really three people, since 2 of my followers are Mel and her best friend, Mel or really the same person!) who read this thing are probably tired of the running posts. I will move on, but moving on will have to wait until next week. This week is dedicated to the Spirit of the Marathon. I hope you understand.  

   I haven't told many people about my running of the marathon because I am worried enough for the most of us. It sounded like such a better idea 25 weeks ago when I signed up for this thing. I saw visions of myself running through the finish line chute under a clock that read 3:30 and still having the energy to smile for the picture. Now that the race is tomorrow, those visions have long faded. I now see me crawling to the place where the finish line had been set up hours before. I hope by tomorrow at 7:30 am that I can talk both sides of my self into some more moderate visions. We will see.

  To be perfectly honest, I am only running the marathon for two reasons. And those two things are: a sticker and a little thing called pride. I know, I know. Pretty lame, but the sticker is pretty cool. It looks like this:

      I am sure it will look neat on the old Forester, but that is what I am banking on. It will also help with the second reason.  I have been running since I was 19. I am 31. I have run a lot of races. I have coached XC for 5 years. I have run 800-1300 miles a year for the last 5 years. This year, I may make it 1500 this year.  However, when someone finds out that I run, it seems that they immediately ask me if I've ever run a marathon and then I have to look at the ground, shuffle my feet, and tell them no. And then they move on, but I am left there hating my answer. I do not want to do that anymore. That is part of the reason I am running 26.2 miles tomorrow. I want to be able to answer yes. Then they will ask about the time I am sure or did I qualify for Boston and I will say no and I will not care. I will have run a marathon. 25 miles more than most humans. 6.2 miles farther than I have ever run!

    When I think about the marathon, I think about the history. I think about Phidippides running to Athens with an urgent message and then dying; leaving behind this legacy where weird people by the thousands run the same distance and try not to die. I think about the recent NYC marathon where many of the top elites gave out before the finish line. I think about the movie that bears the same title of this post and how I got misty-eyed. I am not sure if Mel understood. I think she did. When we lived in Dothan, we used to watch the Ironman Competition in Kona and we would get pretty torn up about it all. I know we are the lamest. Glad no one is reading this.

    Anyway, my marathon is tomorrow. I am excited and terrified. I hope that the Spirit of the Marathon will find me out there running my two loops of 13.1 miles. I hope I can make it. I hope that 16 weeks of training will produce a good race. I hope to finish and be able to tell people that I have indeed run a marathon. I hope all of these things and more. And hope they are more than just hope. We will see.

    Running 42, 195 meters tomorrow,

         David

Wired Running 2 and a Personal History of Running ( A Short Version)

      So, I came into some money lately. No, not a large sum, but a small sum. I could use a large sum, but a small sum felt just as good almost. But if you have a large sum to donate to the David Dark Educational & Philantrophic Trust Fund, I will promise to you personally that it will be spent wisely on things to be used for the Future and it will help children. (Hint: It is always good to help the children of the future. They will decide things for you and me.) And I promise to be as transparent or more transparent that the current administration who promised to be the most transparent in our country's history. They even have a committee. I will one up that, I will personally oversee the use and spending of this money and will even send you the receipts.


      Anyway, I came into some money that was given to me for my birthday. I looked at my money and looked at my wish list and saw a couple possibilities; most of them had to do with running. Weird. So, I did some research on several of the items on my list and found one that really stuck out. After letting it sit in my mind, I realized that not only did I want it....but needed it. And this is what I needed:

     

        Yes, it is just a watch, but it is also not JUST a watch. It is the Garmin 110. Yes, I already have something that looks similar to this. Yes, I already have my Nike + SportBand that does many of the same things. But, this does it with accuracy! I needed that in my running life. If you don't understand this, talk with my wife. She will give you the details.

        When I first got back into running, I lived at home after college and used to run around this half mile loop until I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't wear a watch, but only counted the number of times that I went around the loop and divided by two. (Oh, the easy days!) I entered my first post-collegiate race and came in second in my age group. Began wearing a watch around the loop. Got faster, but only a little bit. Got a new job in N. Alabama.

        Moved to N. Alabama and ran to measured landmarks from the all boys camp that I worked at. I quit looking at my watch. Running in the mountains is so much different that in the Sunshine State. My only measuring tool where sore legs and the goal of, "Don't come in last because high school boys are not kind". 22 years old is ancient. I succeeded some times. Got a little faster, but only a little bit more. Got a new job in S. Alabama.

      I moved to S. Alabama, quit running for a year. Decided that the bike was for me. I bought a $25 dollar road bike that weighed 1000 lbs. or felt like it. Road a lot. Loved it. Pretend I was on the USPS team and then Team Discovery. Entered a race. Died at mile 50 of a 62 mile ride. Rode harder. Went to the library and made some copies of training plans. Entered another race. Did better. Died at mile 60. Began reading bike magazines, watching the TdF, set my sights on a Trek, contemplated spandex.

     Started my second year of teaching, got handed the reins of a varsity cross country team. Gave up the bike. Went back to the library, read all I could about coaching running. I ran in college, but coaching is not like getting coached. Started running again and realized that I had lost most of what I had gained. Put back on the watch and began training again. Set the same goal as I had at the boy's camp, "Don't come in last". I succeeded sometimes. Entered some more races. Did okay. My XC team did better. They made it to Region twice in two years and to State twice in two years. Got married, gained 30 lbs., slowed down a lot! Started running more and longer. Needed to. Had to. Stopped passing the Little Debbie aisle at the store.

    Began a ritual that I brought my wife into. I would run all around Dothan and then get home and get my keys and my wife. We would drive down all the streets and places that I had run with the odometer on Trip B.  It is also when Mel would kindly tell me that I really didn't need to be running down a certain street or in a certain area because I did not want to be selfish. I would change my route. I would take members of my XC team with me. They would let me know that we were running in the ghetto, but then I would let them know that we were on the street that I lived on. When we got back home from riding in the Jeep,  I would measure this distance against my watch. Sometimes, I would be pleased and other times not. Did this for two years. Entered some more races. Did better, but still slower than I had when I lived in the Sunshine State and much slower than when I was at Mercer. Entered my first half marathon, finished, but got passed by an elderly man who passed me while jumping cones. I was just trying to not throw up. I made it to the car until that happened. Got very tired of Dothan and God graciously moved us somewhere else.

    Moved to Macon. Began coaching JV XC and continued my own running. Got better. Saw glimpses of my own running self. Bought the Nike+ SportBand. Took my running to the Web. Entered more races. Did better. In May of this year, I beat my timed 5K race that I entered several months after I had graduated from college. Read more about running. Kept coaching. Runners took me to State three times in three years. Got up earlier and joined a running club and ran around the historic Triangle in Macon. Entered more races. Did a little better. Became obsessed about it all. Began caring about the difference between 3.10 miles and 3.11 miles.

    Broke down and used my birthday money on a satellite that fits on my wrist. Hooked the GPS watch up to the computer and started a 4th place to log and track my runs and results. It looks like this and is awesome:

   Found myself 6 days away from running my first marathon with so much anxiety that I could hardly run three miles without having a mental/physical/emotional breakdown. That was three days ago. Ran four the next day. It didn't get better. Ran 5 last night. Got a little better. Made myself a promise. After Saturday, I am taking off these gadgets at least once a week and just running like I used to in college and around the loop, but maybe more like I used to run around in elementary school around the playground. I ran because I loved it and because it felt good. Not because it was a goal or made my pants feel loose. I ran to feel free. That is the game plan after this Saturday and I guess I will still go with the same goal: Don't come in last!

   Will tell you more about the awesome Garmin 110 later, didn't plan on this becoming a confessional, but I am sure Mel knew it would be!

      David

3 Days Till Chickamauga!

A Pet Peeve

  

   Everyone has their certain pet peeves. Right? Am I alone? My lovely wife, does tell me that at times I am. At least, I am, in my pet peeves. To be honest, the reason for this is that I have a lot of little pet peeves. So, here is my pet peeve, or at least one of them:

                  This (fill in the blank) is the best (fill in the blank) of the month/year/decade/ever.

      I am not real sure that many people can or will agree with me, but statements like the one above get the best of me. Here is an example:

"Once a Runner"--The best book about running EVER written. What does this say about books written about running? What does this say about the other books? I am a book snob. I will not deny this, but how can a book (a rambling one) about a runner who at times seems unintelligible is the best book about running. There are times when the book is good. Times when the writing is good. Times when the writing makes you want to run, but the BEST book ever written about running? How can one say that? Better than the book about Bowerman and his Men from Oregon? Better than Bart Yasso's account of his life on the run? Better than Christopher McDougall's account of barefoot tribes that can run hundreds of miles at a time? It just makes me wonder. How can someone say this? I hope that I am not alone in this, but will be okay if I am.

Having the best day ever! (Just playing)

   David

A Longing for Home

      I am a very blessed person. I say this because I all too often look around and feel the opposite. They should tell you when you are very small to never look around. You will always see what is beyond and what is below and then you will quickly forget the below and yearn for the beyond. I do this and should not. I have always done this and should have never. I know better and still do. I hope that will go with age.

     This post is not about being content it is about longing. It is about longing for a place and that place is home. Home can be a lot of things and there are many things that it can't be. I am so blessed because I do not have much, but I do have a home; not a house, but a home. I have a wonderful place to come home to everyday after work. I have a place that I can take refuge in. I have a place I can come to and hide. I have a place to rest. This post ia about having a place to come to.

     This place is an old home; over a 100 years old to be honest. The paint is long overdue for a new coat. The shingles need to be replaced. Some of the tile in the kitchen is cracked. The stairway needs to be sanded down and refurnished. The list of what needs to be done at my home is far too long for this little post, but this has nothing to do with my Home. All of these things are merely accessories to my Home. I did not say that my Home is nice, palatial, large, luxurious, etc. My home is restful and peaceful. I wouldn't trade that for anything. Anything. Not even new paint, a new roof, a flat screen t.v., a yard makeover, etc.

     Home is something you long for. What I mean by this is that when you are away or sick, you have some place that you long to be; somewhere you would rather be. Home is the place you long for. I know whenever I was sick or something was going really badly in college all I wanted to do was lay in my bed at home and have everything taken care of. That is what home is to me: a place where everything is okay, no matter what. It is a place where the whole world is fallen down around you and you can rush into your home and it is a refuge. Home is that. Home is a refuge from the whole world and everyone in it.

    Home used to be in Sorrento, Florida. I longed for this place on six continents. I longed for this place through 4.5 good, but rough years in college. I longed for this place for a couple good, but rough years after college, but then in 2006 my home became a person.The person that painted the picture that starts this post. I am not saying that this place was perfect in high school, college, after college, etc. That is not what home is. Home is far from perfect. Home is broken like everywhere and everything else, but it is different. No matter how bad things are at home, it is so much better (to me) than anywhere else. Home is not easy. Home is home. Home is a refuge, not a fantasy place of tranquility.

   I am in no way trying to say that my life is perfect. All I am trying to say is that I have always had a home. When I was pretty young, it was a a brick home on a canal with a small room that I shared with my older brother. When I was a littler older and up until I got married, it was an old house surrounded by woods that made me who I am. And now it is old house that sits on a hill, but mostly it is a girl with curly hair and a smile that lets me know that no matter how crazy things get, how thin the money needs to be spread this month, no matter how long my to-do list is, no matter how much hair I lose, weight I gain, etc. that all is well and that I am home and all is well.

   Sitting at work and looking forward to going home,
       David