Laziness pt. 4

The Esteemed Probate Judge and one of her favorite constituents, the one and only Suge. Bonus points for guessing who's who.

Beware of imitators

A throwback of sorts to my high school weekends this weekend. I sat at home. Alone. Listening to music that pretty much guarantees solitude. It's not my fault that the unwashed masses amongst can't appreciate the subtle differences in Thurston Moore beating his guitar against his amp and merely beating his guitar on the floor. Cretins.

I digress. Already.

This time, however, my solitude was self imposed. Thanks to a cyst, bump, boil or something equally grotesque and yuckily named that picked last week to form and Saturday night to burst.

That night of nights when I would normally be out with the beautiful people doing beautiful people things like scoffing at those not in the know and, um, going to Target, was spent on the sofa with a hot rag on my ever expanding forehead. Marisol, trooper that she is, did an admirable job of making me feel like she actually did want to be stuck at home cleaning house on a Saturday night rather than doing something slightly more fun if less productive.

Like go to Target. Ah, the joys of early middle age.

Anyway, leaving out the gory details (you're welcome) things are getting better now and hopefully I'm on the mend. Special thanks to Cybil and her awesome nursing skills. Weep not for Marisol, she did get some flowers out of the deal.

Herewith a brief comment on words and context.

"Look out, that pot is about to boil. Better pour some down the drain. Please hand me my lance."

Three perfectly innocent sentences that describe rather mundane activities. Assuming, of course, there be dragons or whales about and one uses one's lance in one's everyday comings and goings. Nevertheless, dear reader, allow me to presume there was no cringing involved reading the previous example.

So why then does "I need to lance that boil so it can drain" cause even the steeliest of resolves to shudder? I have no point nor anything remotely clever (what's new) to add. It's like an Arsenio Hall "Things That Make You Go Hmm."* Which I suppose never had points or were remotely clever either, so...

The major drawback of all this unpleasantness was that my training was interrupted. No long run Saturday and no running at all since last Wednesday. I did get some great glute work in on the sofa and got pretty swift at going to and fro without my spectacles. Unfortunately, I suspect these skills will be of little use to when it all goes down.

Things should get back to normal tomorrow.

*Arsenio Hall was a syndicated late night chat show in the early 90's. A crony of the equally outdated Eddie Murphy, for a brief moment he made flat tops and moustaches da bomb and being a black chat show host the dream of hundreds of white youth. Mr. Hall was also skilled at making white people feel black and proud by using such urban slang as "posse" (group) "fly" (cool) "homey" (acquaintance) and encouraging us to bark like dogs whilst pumping our fist. It was all very "hood" and made us feel progressive, hip even, while still being something we could enjoy with a cold Snapple and some Ben & Jerry's, lounging in our PJs.

In addition to the above, his "Things That Make You Go Hmm" segment was always a crowd pleaser. Wherein Mr. Hall would do what George Costanza would a few years later call "observational humor", i.e. Why is Greenland called this when it's really all ice and Iceland called that when it has green? Ho, ho. The shelf life of such humor is about what one would figure. This is probably why by the time Monica Lewinsky blew up, so to speak, Arsenio was as dated as that Lewinsky joke.

P.S. My close personal friend Bonnie has got herself a blog tackling AFI's 100 Best Movies. It would go a long way towards helping receive a Christmas gift from me if you, dear reader, would make it a regular stop. Which is not to say a gift shall be forthcoming of course.

P.P.S. The irony of referencing Seinfeld in a snarky post about Arsenio/white people was not lost on me.

To someone, wherever you are

Many times I've told to those listening and those who weren't that for such a boring life, I sure do have an interesting life. That's not to say I possess the ability to fly or stop ne'er do wells from their daring do. Nope. My excitements are somewhat more mundane than those of various pajama clad superheroes. Like their escapades, stuff just seems to find me through no fault of my own.

In the past few years at my job alone, I've taken a 4-figure check from an internationally known, if not personally loved, movie star as a traffic fine. His love for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ matched only by his need to drive 130+mph in his $100K+ Bentley on our roads. A copy of his check hangs in our office along with a signed photo of said star thanking us and asking God to bless us, presumably for not sending him to jail.

A highlight of slightly less luminescence came from a gal who could best be described as always in search of the nearest all-you-can-eat buffet. Unable to come up with the needed funds to pay for her citations she managed to find the lone naked plus size gal with money in our area and sold her clothes to her. Still somewhat short of the necessary bread, Ms. Chocolate Thunder offered to sell me the one thing she had remaining.

Ahem.

I declined.

That was three years ago. I'm just now getting my sight back.

The drollness of The Lockhorns

Camille is as good as her word. In the comments section of my "dogs suck" post she promised to bring me some form of repellent. By gum, she did. So now in addition to the Halt pictured previously, I've now got a bitchin canister of Sabre self-defense spray. I certainly hope I don't have to use either of them, but mongrels of the world please realize I have these at my disposal and I'm not afraid to use them. Bravado comes all too easy from the comfort of my padded chair in my air-conditioned office, natch.

Speaking of whom, Camille and Cybil both are pleased with their noms du blog. Cybil did think, mistakenly and worryingly, she was so named as a reference to our favorite Sally Field character not named Gidget or The Flying Nun. I assured her Ms. Field's Sybil was with an 'S' and that I was unaware of any similarities our Cybil may/may not have with any form of personality disorder, multiple or otherwise. Toilet talk to the contrary, of course.

Onward...

I got my first long run (read: double digits) out of the way on Saturday, a 12-miler. Thankfully, no mongrels made themselves known and the pending rain held off long enough for me to finish. Sometimes God smiles. The actual run went a little smoother than I had been expecting. A satisfactory, if not great, time (1:55). I felt the energy rapidly leaving my body somewhere during the last mile and was spent for the rest of the day. I suspect that the further along I get in my training the less these long runs will zap me. Which is not to say they get easier, it's just that one gets more conditioned to it. And this was the longest run I've done by about 4 miles since the marathon last January.

I get asked pretty frequently how I can go so far when he/she can barely go __ mile(s). Two quick answers: dedication and enjoyment. Yes, I actually enjoy running. This is a statement that even 5 years ago I would never have made. I am most definitely a super person (ahem), but a super athlete, not so much. A cursory glance at my times, and even personal best, will prove me correct.

Furthermore, while I'm in excellent physical shape, my physique is more akin to the average schmo than the average Olympian. One would be hard-pressed to confuse me with Usain "Lightning" Bolt and not just because I'm not Jamaican or black. In fact, aside from our love of nicknames and all around awesomeness, I suppose we have very little in common.

I digress.

But back to the enjoyment. It's an aspect I fully admit that non-runners likely find dubious at best and I've never been able to fully comprehend myself. I do know, however, that when running I generally don't think about distance. I'll set out with a specific mileage in mind and be aware where I am, but it's never an attitude of "Wow, only 13 more miles to go. This is positively stupid." At some point, I just get in the mindset of running and know that I'll be going until I finish, whether it's 1 mile more or 24. It's not really the so called "zone" people refer to when the difficult becomes simple--if only for a brief moment. Make no mistake, even as much as I run, it's never easy and the temptation is always there to convince myself to put it off until tomorrow, which is where dedication comes in.

It's just that at some point on these runs, I sort of zone out and lose track of everything. In a good way, that is. I don't really notice the scenery or that I've been in motion for longer than most humans would want to be. After a while, I don't even pay much attention to the music from the mp3 player; it just becomes an ambient soundtrack, i.e. Opeth might as well be Abba might as well be Sabbath might as well be The Shins. Not sure if that's just me or how other long distance runners cope as well, but when I'm able to almost remove myself from everything then I know I'm doing OK.

I would like to point out that though training will be part of the blog through the marathon, that's not all I'll write about. Who knows what other fun stuff/people will appear? Believe me, I've no interest in reading daily recaps of my runs so I can't imagine why anyone else would. If this is by chance the case for some, however, then allow me to suggest deconstructing Joyce instead. His references are far more erudite, convoluted and cryptic than mine. Or better yet, like me, just pretend to understand.

That is, after all, the American way.

Laziness pt. 3

Attention mongrels! Consider yourself warned.

P.S. No, I didn't test it out on Patty Hearst.

P.P.S. Read the previous post if this one makes no sense.

When 2 + 2 = 5

Life continues to settle back to something approaching normal. As I had presumed, the return jet lag was hardly existent so aside from the general fatigue associated with long trips, my biorhythms remained on their regular schedule. I'm sure someone somewhere could explain and if I were really motivated I'd look it up myself (I'm not), but in terms of time zones I would figure adding hours is less taxing than subtracting hours. Fascinating though this opening paragraph is, I believe it is best to move on...

I've had several comments from various friends/relatives saying they enjoyed my daily roundups on all things trip related. It just seems that if one's got the technology available one might as well use it. Plus, it was great fun to haul the heaviest laptop ever created across the ocean and two countries just so people known/unknown could live vicariously through my bemused world view. A few have indicated that they were disappointed to not receive an alias. It's nothing personal, it's just that they're not that important to me.

I keed.

Actually, Cybil (the potty-mouthed, hip hop loving mother of 4) and Camille (Disney mom of 2, Tech graduate/fan and all around swell gal) are two of my closest, dearest friends. I probably should write down who's who to keep it straight. And so should you. Right now.

Anyway, in the run-up to everything for the trip, I sort of let my time slip up on me and kinda, sorta forgot to really start the real training for the marathon. I'd been thinking the week we were gone would be the 2nd of the 18-week schedule.

It was actually the 4th.

Instead of thinking, I probably should have actually counted. So in place of doing the massive 6 miler I was expected tomorrow, I will jump all the way to 12. Huzzah. Since the 8 miles I did on Wednesday didn't cause any trouble, I figure I should be able to stumble through this first really long run.

That is as long as I don't get attacked by dogs.

Running out in the country as I do is generally the way to go. Far less traffic and it's much easier for me to get into a running mindset. The only drawback being that any car I do meet tends to be "openin' her up" since the likelihood of any local constable is somewhat less than doubtful.

And then there's when the dogs come out.

On my route, there's only one area dogs are known to roam. I'm not sure if they're overprotective pets or strays agitated at the fact that in some parts of the world their kin are considered a delicacy, but every now and then I can hear them bark off in the distance as I wheeze by. Yesterday, they decided it was time for action. Action, I hasten to add, that I was not consulted on nor found particularly necessary.

Just settling in to my run (3 miles) with the mighty King Crimson on the mp3, I got to the danger zone and heard the barking. This time I thought I saw some movement.

Uh oh.

Sure enough out come two mongrels of multiple breeds snarling, growling and open for bidness. Being a reasonably bright fellow, I did what most would do: made for the other side of the road with some haste. About halfway across the yellow line, it occurred to me that I had failed to make sure there wasn't some someone attempting to set a land speed record in my path. Thankfully, there wasn't. To me, it's somewhat of a tossup on being ripped to shreds by mongrels of indeterminate breed or being the latest snazzy accessory now that spinners are a bit played out, even in the middle of nowhere. I can just hear some dude on MTV Cribs bragging about how he got the most tricked out ride of all with a dead honky hood ornament.

Some great reward.

Nevertheless, fate was with me in that regard though it did little to stop the progress of my new friends.

Herewith evasive action phase 2: run faster.

Unfortunately, I had little time to be amazed at my heretofore unknown speed since dogs have this uncanny ability to mirror their prey's action. Gulp.

Herewith evasive action phase 3: run onto porch of nearby house.

I'm not entirely sure what I expected this to accomplish since no one was home. I guess I thought it would be better to have my bloody carcass safely out of the road and easier for cleanup. There were some plastic chairs that would have made a decent enough barrier in a lion tamer sort of way but thankfully I didn't have to find out. As soon as I entered the yard, the dogs backed off and calmed down. Phew.

Aside from using up most of my remaining energy in the dead sprint to get away from the mongrels and the general not-too-good feeling of staring snarling death in the face, there were no repercussions. Actually, it merely has expedited my purchase/carrying of pepper spray on these runs. Something, I fully admit, I should have long ago done.

That, and confirming my belief that all dogs should be chained up in a windowless, dark basement. Or shot.

Cats are where its at.

Epilogue -- We come France

It seems that the much promised post mortem has arrived slightly later than expected. Of course, since there was a day by day report, I'm not really sure what there is left to say. Besides the three of us all made it home safe and sound. We got back to Atlanta about 3:30 Friday afternoon. However, thanks to Meena's volleyball game on Saturday morning and the mandatory attendance of the Tech game Saturday afternoon, I didn't actually make it back to my corner of the world until late Saturday evening. Once there I paused long enough to throw my bags in the house and take a quick shower before heading out to pick up Marisol for our usual Saturday night thing. And then Sunday was church, unpacking and washing clothes since unlike Andy I chose not to do my laundry in the hotel sink. Basically, I came back to work on Monday for no other reason than to get a bit of rest. And to resume driving the EPJ insane. A short drive I hasten to add.

Things around the office stayed more or less the same and nothing major happened which was nice. I left the EPJ our phone number in case she had a problem that needed a bit of that Jeremy magic. A good thing she didn't call however, as I purposefully left her the wrong number.

I keed.

As probably was obvious last week, the trip was a great time from start to finish. The overall highlight was definitely our day in Normandy, but I can honestly say there wasn't anything that I didn't enjoy. Even sitting in a gift shop in Battle had it's moments since sometimes, probably more often than I should be, I'm perfectly content to listen to music and read.

I was talking to MB last night about how everything went and told her that I could imagine living in England. I did not get this feeling the last time we went, in fact, I had the total opposite reaction. I fully realize that it's never going to happen, particularly at this point in my life, but like Boston a few weeks ago, I really felt comfortable there.

As for France, I know it has a bad reputation, especially among Americans. Nevertheless, I found the peoples to be perfectly friendly and normal folk almost to a person. It's nice to experience another culture rather than merely read/see someone else's observations on it. Ahem. I'm sure there's plenty of A-holes there, but that's true anywhere I suppose. If my only knowledge of the U.S. came from the media and the pop culture we export, I probably wouldn't have that high of an opinion of the average American. Present company excluded, of course.

But this trip was special and not just because we all had such a great time. It was nice to be able to go off with my Dad and Andy and enjoy being together. Something that, for various reasons, we haven't been able to do a lot of the past few years. There's so much going on in our lives these days, good and bad, that having all the various schedules, plans and intangibles work out was no small feat and something I do not take for granted. Perhaps they will again in the near future.