Empire State Marathon (Almost Killed Me)

Today was all about my brother Alex. He trained hard, following a plan I wrote him (with some help from Geoffrey). He ran smart and he pushed hard and he had an amazing marathon, despite the challenging conditions. And.... that's it.

I quizzed him in the car. I was like, this is going to make a really boring post. Tell me what you experienced in the marathon. He was like, I followed the plan, and I had a good race! I frowned.

"Well I don't want the post to be about ME. All my posts are about me. This race was all about you!" I whined. My body was in a devastating amount of pain, so everything I said came out whiny.

"It doesn't matter. Just do it," he shrugged.

"I suppose I could write about how I almost died, but, like, in a funny way."

"Yeah!"

Yeah!

Last week at Wineglass I had an amazing race with Carrie. But she broke me! Before today's race she told me to run like I was being chased by two-headed space crocodiles. If that had been true, I would have been eaten. Oooh, and how amazing it would have been to stew in the digestive juices of that voracious crocodile. Because then I wouldn't have been running anymore.

Somewhere in the vicinity of the 20's today - I can't remember, I was stumbling and saw three of everything I looked at - I TXTed Lois. Lois, whose banister I broke last week. Oh, I didn't mention that in my last post. I break her things all the time and then I message her with the following.

"This is an epic torture fest. Never again back to back marathons and never again Empire State"

"Whyyyyy do I keep waving the golf carts past?!"

"I seriously feel worse right now than I did at the end of Mont Tremblant"

I sent those three things in a row. And instantly she was extremely concerned for my safety. We messaged a bit. At some point she asked, "Are you OK?"

"Lol nope"

"Not. At. All."

You know why I said that? Because I'm a douchebag, that's why. I wanted to have a pity party and she was my hapless victim. I mean, yeah, I was in a gargantuan amount of pain. And I felt just how I felt at Musselman before I passed out on a park bench. Usually I just grin and pretend the world is amazing. But I wasn't going to finish the race without distracting myself with TXTing and venting some of that agony.

We messaged a bit more, her panic growing. And then suddenly I.... stopped. Of course she assumed I had finally passed into the great beyond.

That wasn't it though. I ended up walking with a runner named Rachael, and she freakin' saved my a$$. As I did hers apparently. We were both in a mega pain fest. But we kept each other company for the last mile and a half (which still took like 20 minutes to finish). And somehow, I don't know how, we ran the last mile. I was pumping my fist and screaming my head off. She was like, "omg, you're so positive!"

You saved my butt Rachael!

It's a lie. It's a bold-faced lie. Grin for the cameras. Pump my fist for the guy in the golf cart when he asks if I'm OK. Explode into a goopy pile of joy when I encounter other humans. Life is fantastic! I suppose I should be "thankful" for my bizarre habits. They're the reason I've never DNF'd a marathon. And ooooooh how I've wanted to, especially today. I was at mile 24 and still begging the cart to pass me again. I was like, "it's Alex's day; it doesn't matter if I finish. F*ck that medal."

Oh, right, my brother. Who I should be writing this post about. We ran together for the first almost 18 miles. Unlike Carrie, I didn't regale him with stories. I was breathing too hard. My ears did that obnoxious thing where they feel like they want to pop but don't. It hurt to talk. He entertained me, in fact, upbeat and jovial and all those characteristics we share. At some point my laces came undone and I said, "just go!" I never saw him again.

I knew he would finish strong though, and he did it with aplomb! One of my coworkers once asked what aplomb means; she didn't know. Apparently I use the word a lot. It's apt here. We maintained about an 8:50 pace for the first 12 miles. Then we hit the West side of Onondaga lake and our pace went to trash. Well, if you call 9:20ish trash. He told me that our GPS must have gone wonky. I just agreed, because if he had tried to speed up, I would have literally died.

We both survived!
Photo cr. Audrey

I didn't want to hold him up though, so at 18 I let him go. And I walked most of the rest. I used to hate myself for walking, but I've had so many awful races it doesn't even phase me anymore. I debated reading in my Kindle app on my phone to at least keep me occupied. Eventually I settled on terrifying my friends with TXTs.

An attractive lass I met yesterday asked me to tell her how my race was going. I said, "I feel TERRIBLE lol."

I suck at flirting. Seriously, look at this sh*t:

"Are you excited about tomorrow?" She TXTed yesterday.

"Haha I'm kinda blasé about it. After the Ironman, marathons are like.... shrug." I replied. I seriously said that. It was the most awful thing I've ever said. I hastily added, "Geezis that was the worst humblebrag ever. Sorry." Also, I spelled it blazé. I always thought it had a Z in it!

I am never talking to another woman again.

Alex's girlfriend Audrey came with us. She got up at 5am and went with us and hung out in the NBT Bank Statium parking lot for like 7 hours. My ex went to one of my half-marathons - once - and hated me the whole time. Audrey was amazing! She even tried to send me inspirational messages while I struggled. I'm blessed though. Despite my rampant awkwardness I have a lot of amazing people in my life.

Lovies.

That's why I finished Empire State today. Because the more pain I experience, the more joy floods into my life. It's some kind of bizarre karma. But I'm not going to question my good fate. I have more love in my life than I deserve, and I will literally die for these astonishingly beautiful people.

If you read my last race report, you'll know that in Corning last week, I was just obscenely over-the-top. One of my friends messaged me in the middle of the week, wanting to talk on the phone when I was available. I was like, "uh-oh, here it comes. I've earned this." You know what he said to me? He said, "keep being you. Don't change a thing."

I was thunderstruck. After a lifetime of battling insecurities and judging myself too harshly, I've found people who not only tolerate me, but appreciate me. I knew my friends were amazing, but that moment made me realize how amazing. And I want to give that appreciation and love back ten-fold.

My brother Alex did an amazing thing today.

I would've suffered the pain today ten times over to be a part of it.

Oh! I have to give a shout out to my dear friend Cynthia for feeding two stinky starving runners after the marathon. Her two small dogs were wrestling with each other the entire time and it was heavenly.

That is baked veggie pizza with fresh arugula on top!!

Napoleon's Dick and Napoleon Dynamite: Wineglass 2017 Report

If the title is any indication, the past four days were not an urbane or low-key affair. There was no sipping of tea while discussing retirement plans. The people - my unbio family - laughed uproariously as we exchanged possibly the most terrible jokes a group of humans has ever exchanged. You expect me to say that we cuddled and glowed in shared affection. Yes, we did that. But we also talked extensively about jars of dicks.

Jars of dicks is now a permanent inside joke.

Some of my extended LUNAR family may be reading this and thinking, "why wasn't I invited to that? How did I miss those shenanigans?" It's because only with extreme levels of comfort can I let loose with labia jokes. Oh, you meant labrum. Sorry Jenn.

Labias are now a permanent inside joke.

Bart Yasso came to our LUNAR meet-and-greet on Saturday. That was a fairly urbane and low-key event. Then I came over to talk to Bart while he chatted with Shawn. I stuck my dumb kilted behind between the two of them and told him a story. I told him that the day before we saw him walking across from us on Market Street. Sue looked over and said, "It's Bart F*cking Yasso!"

Bart F*cking Yasso is now a permanent inside joke.

I don't go to Corning to run a marathon. Or at least, not to just run a marathon. Carrie said to me, "it must be painful for an IRONMAN to be slumming it in a measly marathon." I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly. "I know right? I'll probably have to go on a 100 mile bike ride after this." Sidetracked.

I don't go to Corning just to run a marathon. I go there to have an obscene amount of fun with some of the people I love most in the world. The jokes we made were awful. Really awful. And that's the special thing about our bizarre little clique. We destroy ourselves every day, and we let loose the most terrible things lurking in our psyches without any fear whatsoever of judgment.

Lots of love. No judgment.

That's really f*cking hard to find in life. The whole world right now seems to be awash in judgment and anger and fear and hatred. That sh*t has been building up in me for months. And this past half-week it all boiled up and came out. It came out transformed into something we could all laugh at. That laughter was a release, a way for all of us to cleanse our souls, leaving nothing behind except happiness and love.

Those jokes weren't at the expense of anyone else. They didn't hurt anyone. They weren't an expression of bias or rage. But only with people that I deeply trust could I let loose, knowing that all that grunge would be turned into joy. When I flashed the underside of my kilt at Mike Hammond while he facetimed with Martha on her phone, it was just a very weird way of saying, "I love you." I also used to throw rocks at girls when I was 6. Apparently my methods these days are no less crude.

Chocolate covered peanut butter pretzels
also cleanse the soul

I don't know if this is coming across right. Maybe you have someone in your life who you can say absolutely anything to without fear of misunderstanding or retribution. If you do, you understand. You also understand how critical it is to have those people in your life. If you hold all of your demons in and never let them out, you will die.

Lois, my secret doggy lover, welcomed us into our home, knowing full well that we would destroy it. She gave us a - what do the millennials call it? A safe space. She's a type A and an errant fleck of dust will normally drive her nuts. She has a beautiful new kitchen, pristine in its perfection. Every inch of that house got covered in sweaty socks, Chris's coffee cups, and general refuse. She didn't bat an eyelash. Perhaps it was a release for her too. The time we were there was a time beyond reality.

Millenials? Safe spaces? When we went to school,
we had to go up hill. Both ways. In a hurricane. With sharks.

Lois had asked me to wake her kids up at 6:30am for school. I was only too happy to oblige. I ran up there in the dark in my underwear and jumped up and down on her bed. All of the other beds in the house were taken up by manic runners, so her kids slept in her bedroom. "Fee fi fo fum, Lois' kids have to get out of bed." When that failed, I pretended her son was a burrito and tried to eat him. He's an angsty preteen, but even he couldn't help but laugh. They got up in time.

While I was getting my race bib at the expo, I was engaged by a woman I didn't know. She recognized me by my kilt, which seems to happen to me a lot. She turned out to be Theresa, the expo manager. Lois came over and said, "hi Theresa, this is my Peter." I didn't miss any words there; that's what she said. Theresa was dumbfounded. Then I mashed salaciously against Lois and Theresa's jaw dropped to the floor. It took her 30 seconds to recover.

Curt, if you're reading this, one, I love you. Two, you don't have to worry. I'm obnoxious, as you well know, but mostly harmless.

Mostly harmless

I met some new people. Martha stayed at Lois'; she turned out to be shorter than we expected. We met Jenn's husband Michael, who melded seamlessly with our ridiculous bunch. At the races and the Meet-and-greet, I met Craig, Harold, Lori, Don, Tami, Kristi, Annette and her son Joe, and countless others (I'm sorry I didn't mention you by name!). I got reacquainted with Jack, Mark, Charlie, John, Todd, and many more. My brain is terrible for remembering everyone.

Martha: Shorter than expected.

Friday night we broke into the Information Center to help Sheila load up some stuff for the Corelle 5k. Wait, is that illegal? I meant we came in through an unlocked door by invitation. Cough. We went to bed at an almost decent time that night. Chris stayed out all night partying. He insists he came home at midnight. Michael and I were pretty sure we heard him stomping around at 3am.

Michael really f*cking loves apples

Chris, Sue, Lois and I volunteered to bike marshal the 5k. It was brutally cold. And raining. And cold. On the plus side, I didn't fall off my bike a single time. Although one of the runners did throw a cup of water directly at me without ever looking. The cup bounced off the frame, spraying water everywhere. I was already wet and miserable, so I just laughed. He never even knew. I may have also come perilously close to running over a child. I maybe was looking at a TXT from Sue that said, "I'm f*cking frozen." I'm not sure.

It feels a bit cold out. Nah, we'll be fine.

I do know I almost froze my labia off.

The meet-and-greet was at the Radisson. Nothing too stupid happened, beside me telling Bart Yasso that he was "Bart F*cking Yasso". He remembered me from last year's Wineglass. Can you guess why? Here's a hint: It's plaid. I went outside a lot to vape. I tell people I'm an introvert but I don't think they believe me. Random people stopped to talk to me outside the hotel. You're not even in LUNAR, I don't have to talk to you! But I swallowed my sociopathy and was polite. My mind was overloaded with social interaction and I couldn't wait to rush home and get naked on Lois' couch.

Me, Shawn, and Bart F*cking Yasso

At some point I ran into Aria on the street but I have absolutely zero recollection when. She came to the meet-and-greet with Geoffrey and Meghan. Even though it had only been a couple days, I'd felt like I hadn't seen them in a lifetime. They were there to support Aria in her first ever marathon!! But also to babysit her and make sure she went to bed at a reasonable time. It's a good thing he's sober now. Before Geoffrey and I quit drinking, we would snuggle in hotel rooms until 2am the eve of a mrathon drinking beer and wine, eating bags and bags of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (registered trademark symbol here).

We had a super massive potluck dinner Saturday night. I made curried pumpkin soup. I spent all day tasting and seasoning that soup in the slow-cooker. That soup was my baby. It had Lois' homegrown pumpkin, cauliflower, veggie stock, onions, coconut milk, curry spice, basil, cinnamon, salt and pepper. And when I decided it was the worst thing ever, I added honey. It turned out alright! Of course there were a thousand other delicious things there. But Jeff Holbrook went f*cking wild for my stew. Hashtag win!

I was really excited about those pumpkins...
Photo Cr. Sue

Against all odds, we went to bed at a reasonable time Saturday.

*        *        *        *        *        *        *

Elros sat at the table, his eyes glued covetously to the pack he knew held the One Ring. The Black Numenorean had already tried to steal it once, but was foiled when a rock slide nearly took his life. He'd manage to fast talk away the suspicions of his party that time. They were taking it to the icy North, with the hope that the fire of a red dragon could destroy it, taking it out of Sauron's clutches forever. Elros intended the ring to never reach its destination.

He'd already planned his second attempt. This time he would not fail. Once his associates were asleep, he would slip out through the stables with the ring in his possession. He would travel to Rohan, and make those weaklings tremble beneath his new found might. He clenched his bandaged fist in anticipation.

Too bad for Elros, the ring was fake.

I told Carrie a lot of stories Sunday. As her pacer in the Wineglass marathon, it was my duty to have nearly (but not quite!) four hours of material. When Carrie crossed the finish line at Musselman 70.3, her first words were, "did Peter make it?" She had passed me on the run course right before I fell over unconscious on a park bench. So when Lois asked if I wanted to help her achieve her goal of a sub-4 hour marathon, I jumped at the chance.

Before the race

It was a brutally cold Sunday morning. There was a frost warning, which is a warning for plants to go inside and sit by a fire with hot cocoa. Lois lent me her son's robe, and that thing saved my life. Carrie had a robe too, but that's because she's a cassowary. All dinosaur-shark-birds have robes. It hides them from their prey until the moment they're ready to pounce with their vicious beaks.

The three force adepts sat in a dingy cantina in the bowels of Coruscant, nursing their injuries. The Renan Irongut barely took the edge off the pain. The two-headed space alligator had very nearly gotten them, and only a lucky swing from a lightsaber had prevented their demise. They stared dimly through the haze of tabac smoke as the Holoscreen blared over the bar.

"Once we find the Century Pufferpig, we can get out of this Sarlacc pit. Pick a point among the stars and never come back," mumbled Dak Erso, trying to figure out which glass in front of him wasn't empty. He missed his ship. Just then the Holoscreen flared with a cacophony of noise and color.

"Prepare to have your weekend ANNIHILATED by the Mega Monster Ship Rally! Featuring all your favorite ships: The Angry Cosmonaut, The Wookie Ragemachine, The Asteroid Grinder, and brand new this Carnival Week, The Century Pufferpig! Don't miss this chance to experience enough metallic slaughter and debris to fill a lifetime!"

Dak sat bolt upright, his eyes wide, "my ship!!"

We met at the buses at about 6:30am and rode with Michael and Chris, who were also doing the full. The rest of the gang were doing the half. Aria just barely missed me, but quickly caught up with us in Bath, NY. I think Carrie was nervous, but I was talking nonstop trying to drown it out. "Tina you fat lard, come get some food! Tina, eat the FOOD." We sat in the slightly warm garage for an hour.

Really wanted to be doing this instead.

At some point, I took my seventh poop. You almost skipped right over that sentence. Yes, that's right, I had SIX poops at Lois' house. Mike Hammond, eat your heart out. Lois, I'm sorry! I txted Carrie from the Port-O-Pottie. It felt super good.

You may not know this about Jenn, but she has a thing where the cold can literally kill her. She had the worst half marathon ever. It was really super horrible for her. I'm saying that because I want you to really get the feel for the arctic conditions we were dealing with. Remember, it had been 90 degrees just two days prior. I waited till literally the last minute before throwing my robe into the UPS truck. We barely made it into the starting corral before the race started.

Matt crouched next to the burnt out army jeep, his shaking hands clutching a baseball bat. He really needed another hit. He warily eyed the writhing black mass of chaos as it slithered around the encampment, searching for him. Once Matt had been a Minor League Baseball Player, a pretty good one. Then drugs had ruined his life. He thought that was bad, until the Great Old Ones arrived, bringing with them horrors from his worst nightmares. Now him and a small handful of survivors struggled to avoid having their faces ripped off by a mound of gibbering terror. He really needed another hit.

Just then motion erupted in his peripheral vision. The headless body of a soldier slammed into the window of the jeep, inky tentacles stretching from the neck stump, pushing through cracks, reaching for him. The sharp smell of gasoline reached his nostrils and he suddenly had an idea. Just then the dark tree-shaped creature in the middle of the camp zeroed in on him and rushed forward. He only had a few seconds.

This would all be so much easier to deal with if Matt was high.

Sheila had made the announcements at the start, and as we ran past her, I yelled, "see you at the finish line Sheila!" She replied, over the megaphone, "see you there Peter!" That was supremely awesome. I'm glad I'd had the chance to volunteer and help out throughout the weekend. Wineglass is the best event of the year.

I told Sheila to look tough and important in
this pic. Instead she smiled :)

I can't give you a blow-by-blow of the 26 miles with Carrie, because it went by blazingly fast. She was breathing hard and couldn't say much, so I just talked the entire time. I told her about the many roleplaying games I've run for my friends. I told her about Mont Tremblant. I told her about my trip to St. Petersburg, Russia. I told her about my first marathon with my brother Alex in Lake Placid and my many subsequent races. I talked for over three hours straight.

We played marathon hockey with Aria for about the first 10 miles before she got ahead of us. We ran with Chris for a bit. Carrie's husband and kids appeared at various points along the course, serenading her with glorious trumpets. I danced in my kilt. Geoffrey and Meghan appeared many times as well, screaming their heads off. And the other spectators were all amazing as well.

Quin Deleaux stood before the wrought iron gate, its black patterns outlined in rust. The pavement below his feet passed through the gate and stretched over a tree lined yard before ending at a massive Victorian mansion. The building was on a hill, so it had survived the flooding form Hurrican Katrina. Quin wasn't a superstitious person, but he could feel ancient energy oozing out of the house like an old ghost. The night darkness only deepened the mansion's foreboding look.

Quin moved up to the gate, his footsteps instinctively quiet. He admired his earlier handiwork. He had rigged the gate mechanism to fail the next time it had opened. He couldn't simply climb the gate or the stone walls on either side as the tops were lined with motion detectors. But the gate now stood slightly open, allowing him to quietly slip through.

Luckily the owner of the home didn't have any dogs or security guards: An eccentric recluse through-and-through. Quin's holstered pistol chafed the inside of his arm as he sidled towards the house. He had a conceal carry permit but had never shot the gun outside of a range. He hoped that fact would never change, but he had chosen a dangerous pasttime.

Quin carefully popped off the front off the keypad on the door to the garage with a small screwdriver and examined the exposed circuit board. Suddenly a light turned red. "Shit," he breathed. That meant he had 30 seconds to disarm the alarm...

At mile 23 I finally ran out of material. We had run past the horses. We had run past the donuts. We had long since crossed the halfway point. The miles had flown by so fast, we often missed flags and found ourselves farther along than we'd realized. There had been several points that Carrie was worried about, parts that were challenging for her. Parts that had nearly broken her in previous years. I jammed her brain full of stories and pushed her right through those parts.

But now my brain was empty. So I yelled at her. "Come on you slimy barnacle, hurry up before I kick you in the spine!" I'd make a terrible drill sergeant. But I managed to be inspirational? I think? She told me I was the best iron unicorn dragon ever, that without me she couldn't have done it. I had gotten so wrapped up in my chatter, I'd forgotten that we were running a marathon! Marathons are hard! But Carrie was supremely strong, and I had no doubt she was going to crush her goal.

Iron unicorn dragon?

Somewhere around this time the 4 hour pace group caught up with us. Ooooh heyll no, we said. Carrie yelled, don't let them pass us! I kept yelling epic motivational sh*t. Purely by accident, I helped push the runners in the 4 hour group as well. One of them even thanked me after the race, and the 4 hour pacer told me I should be a pacer.

"Kingsbury Ave! We are running over a street in which KINGS are buried. We are crossing the tombs of royalty!"

"Thanks random lady! We do indeed GOT THIS. We are disintegrating so much concrete right now!!"

"Stop.... if you're slow! Which you're not! So freakin' keep running!"

And sometimes Carrie told me exactly what she needed to hear.

"Tell me I'll never have to run again!"

"What? Like... after?"

"Tell me after I crossed the finish line I'll never have to run again."

"After you finish you will NEVER HAVE TO RUN AGAIN. So f*cking go go go. And then you'll be done. FOREVER."

This finish line?

"Tell me I'll finish in under four hours."

"Well I've been watching your pace and I'm pretty sure that as long...."

"Just tell me I'll finish in under four hours!"

"You're totally going to crush the sh*t out of this race in under four hours! Easy!"

Spoiler alert: We made it!

Finally, after what felt like 2 seconds of epic running (but was actually several hours), we hit the bridge. We could see Wegmans! I was manic. The energy levels were insane. I was yelling nearly incomprehensibly. She was going to get across that finish line if I had to throw her.

There was no need. We turned on Market St. and she shot up the street like a bazooka. I could barely keep up with her. She was a gazelle, a cheetah, a motherf*cking cassowary. She left broken stones and flying detritus in her wake as she smashed the earth out of its orbit with her feet.

She crossed, I crossed. She had done it. I knew she would have. And now she knew it too. Carrie had finished Wineglass marathon in under 4 hours. Her net time? 3 hours, 58 minutes, and 44 seconds.

No sweat.

No sweat for a woman who
can hold up the world.

Tears and hugs were exchanged. Personal space and stinky runner sweat became irrelevant. We were a whirlwind of joy and emotion. I felt high. Drunk. It was the most awesome marathon I'd ever run. It was FUN. And I was so g0ddamn proud of Carrie. She blew my mind with her sheer will.

She wasn't the only one. Aria had finished about 15 seconds before us. In her very first marathon, she ran sub 4 hours too! She had worked her butt of all summer with singular dedication, and it had paid off. Every time we saw her on the course, Aria looked strong. And she finished strong!

There were many other runners who did amazingly as well, and a handful who had bad days. All of them though amazed me with their strength and pursuit of their goals, no matter how hard those goals are or how much they cost. I wish I could name each one of them. If you ran Wineglass and you're reading this, you're f*cking amazing. Thank you to the volunteers, spectators, police, and the many many runners and friends who make Wineglass unbelievable. And thank-you Carrie for letting me run with you. It was an honor and a pleasure.

You earned ALL of the medals.

*        *        *        *        *        *        *

Jenn and Michael's obscene "oatmeal" recipe.

• One packet of oatmeal
• One scoop peanut butter. "Scoop" is loosely defined.
• Handful of chocolate chunks "to taste". Apply liberally.
• Optional: several crumbled up chocolate chip cookies
• Water
• Do NOT add cacao powder to your oatmeal. Do NOT continue adding peanut butter and sugar to try to "correct" the bitter flavor. Do NOT force yourself to eat a Himalayan sized bowl of oatmeal that's still totally inedible. And whatever you do, do NOT send the following TXT to your husband at work with no other commentary:
  
  
  

This post is not about Bananas

I don't know what to write. I have no clue. I asked Geoffrey what I should write about and he said, "bananas."

Bananas.

We were talking in the kitchen. I was whining about the awful ride I had today and he was telling me about his super hard run. We've both been suffering in our own ways. So sometimes we just have a whine-fest and we.... feel better? It's reassuring to know that I'm not the only one who struggles.

I was in my underwear. I had sneaked down to steal a diet soda. He doesn't care. But I always feel like I'm sneaking. I'm the Russian uncle in the attic who occasionally stumbles out in the dark, unshaven beard bushy, underwear torn nearly to the point of indecency. When someone witnesses my wooly-chinned criminality, I stop with a deer-in-headlights look.

His back was turned to me. I debated heading back upstairs. Then I realized what a ludicrous impulse that was. So I just said, "hey stud." That may sound like an awkward way to start a conversation between two nearly naked men. But I guess it's our thing. I don't remember what he was doing. He was in front of the cutting board. But anytime I see Geoffrey, my eyes are invariably drawn to his massive calves, and I just zone out.

OK, that last paragraph made it sound extra awkward. I'm pretty sure this is how every bit of erotica starts. "Then he turned around and our eyes locked and there was this moment...."

Avoid eye contact, avoid eye contact, avoid eye contact....

Nothing happened. I'm sorry to disappoint you. Actually, far more likely you're relieved. I eventually took the diet soda from the fridge. My stomach's been bothering me, which is part of the reason the bike ride was awful. I ate way too much fiber this past week. Last night I ate an absurd amount of almonds. That was a bad idea. I can't eat any more food, even though my body definitely needs it. Also, the only food I have available is.... almonds.

So I grabbed a soda.

I'm drinking it now, listening to Amanda Palmer. Fun fact, I like "angry chick music". I put that in quotes, because that's what I've heard somewhere. I just think it's good music. I like Ani DiFranco too. I used to listen to a lot of Alanis Morissete, Hole, No Doubt, and so on. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because they don't give a sh*t and sing what they want. I used to listen to the Police. Then one day I actually looked at the lyrics and realized they're creepy as f*ck, so I stopped listening to them.

I've been living in Geoffrey's house for ... 21 months I think. I didn't think I'd be here that long, but it's worked out. We've had our ups and down. But we're both deeply introspective, and when we get to talking, just everything comes out. It's hard to be mad at someone when you understand the utter depths of their personal demons. The reasons why they do whatever they do that they're not happy about.

That's why he's one of my best friends. People aren't honest with each other these days. Not even couples. With this generation of rampant social media, everything we put out to the world is a facade. Two women I've known have committed suicide.

Two.

When I knew them, they seemed full of life. I had no clue. And what happened wasn't my fault. But I still felt a massive amount of guilt. I think that's how a lot of people react. They should have known. They should have done something.

There was one person, and exactly one person I could cry with. Other than the Lion King, nothing ever makes me cry. But when I told Geoffrey about how I felt, I did. He knew one of the women, and her death hit him just as hard. We men, we tend to swallow that sort of thing down, hold it inside ourselves. With Geoffrey I don't have to.

I've known him for over ten years. I don't know exactly. I looked back through my Facebook pics and this is the earliest pic I have of him from November 2007 (almost ten years ago).

Not exactly flattering, but I have some much worse pics of him, so be glad I'm not sharing those!

Many times friends - even best friends - drift apart. Their lives change and they can't relate to one another anymore. But my life and Geoffrey's life (since I've known him) have followed almost the same trajectory. That's super rare, by the way.

When I met him, we were both drunken party animals. He would play music at dingy house parties and I would feed him 40's of OE. By the end of the night he could barely stand. Our peals of laughter would reverberate off the walls. We didn't give a f*ck what other people thought. We had obscene amounts of fun.

We both had stupid dating lives. Because we were both damaged. At one point I even judged him for his choices, but really I was judging myself, and I feel embarrassed that I didn't recognize that at the time and took it out on him. But even then we were honest with each other, and over many beers and glasses of whisky, we would spill out all of our hurts and weaknesses.

We both made massive mistakes. We've both paid the price for those mistakes in different ways, and still do sometimes. I'm a better liar than he is, so people generally only perceive my flamboyant exterior. But he knows, he knows all my sh*t. Sometimes he smacks me in the face with my hypocrisy, and I'm deeply appreciative of that.

I got him into Running. He got me into Triathlons. We both quit drinking on the same day. These are changes that many many people try to make and almost always fail. Against all odds, we changed not only at the same time, but we both stuck with it. We both pursued a direction of growth and positivity at the same time.

Here's a more flattering pic I took
in October 2009

I don't think that's a coincidence.

I've hurt a lot of people, and have been hurt in return. So has he. I moved out of my ex's place in a rush, and he was amazing enough to let me live here. Since then I've stopped dating, using my training as an excuse. He's in a strong and healthy relationship with an amazing woman, Meghan. So I think he's farther ahead on the whole growth and self-forgiveness thing. Apparently I'm not ready to forgive myself yet, despite all the pretty words I write in this blog ("self absolving blog posts" as Geoffrey called them once).

Thank God for his honesty and directness, and his willingness to share the depths of his soul and allow me to share mine in return. And we inspire and motivate one another to push ourselves harder. I wouldn't have signed up for an Ironman if it wasn't for him and Meghan. Many people inspire me - and I them in return - but it's different when you share a space together. I'll come home from work and see that his bicycle is gone. Any thoughts I had of taking an evening off vanish in that moment.

This is what happens when I write a stream-of-consciousness post. I hope Geoffrey isn't too embarrassed by it. It's been a long time and we've shared a lot of stuff together, some of it very good and some of it very bad. I hope we continue to do so for a long time. The good stuff is that much better when you can share it with someone, and the bad stuff is easier to handle when you don't have to bottle it up.

Here's to you Geoffrey. Thank-you.

It's Easy to get Stuck

It's easy to get stuck in your own head. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe everyone else lives moment to moment, rejoicing in the vast beauty of existence. At least their social media makes it seem that way. But then, everything I post makes it look like I'm an overflowing fountain of adventure and giggles.

In between those "look at me! Life is a never-ending fountain of unfiltered joy!" selfies, my brain is a churning cauldron of harsh self-awareness and judgment. The problem is that I'm always thinking, every minute, every hour, every day. But growth, success, and any goal you wish to achieve takes time.

A lot of time.

"I don't care how long it takes.
I'm going to eat all of this grass.
Then they'll have to feed me cookies."

And if you're analyzing and over-analyzing every minuscule step of the way, it's going to feel like you're making no progress, or even that you're getting worse. If my weight yesterday was 175 pounds, and my weight today is 180, I'm going to think, "holy sh*t! I just gained 5 pounds!" Nevermind that I weighed myself yesterday after a sweat-tastic workout. And I weighed myself today after I ate enough mac and cheese last night to fill a pool.

Yesterday I did the United Way for Cortland sprint tri. It was awesome! For the first time ever, my swim speed was under 2 minutes per 100yd (1:53). My bike was just shy of 20mph. Both those things were the fastest they've ever been! I've been doing tris for over a year now. And in that time I've had a thousand critical thoughts.

I compared my performance in the five sprint tris I've done since I started 15 months ago. My swim has gotten faster every time, starting at about 2:48 per 100 to yesterday's 1:53. My slowest bike was 16.8mph versus yesterday's 19.7. My run has been pretty flat.

I always smile after the swim, but this time I meant it!
Photo cr. Geoffrey

That's months in between each tri though. On a day to day basis, there's no measurable progress, and it's easy to get fixated on that. There were some periods when I thought I was getting consistently worse. I swam this morning and it was slow. The pool was super warm and I was still tired from yesterday. I had to force myself not to think, "oh no, yesterday was the highlight of my swimming and it's all gone now!"

I think a lot of athletes can get trapped in this. Sickness, injuries, and overtraining make it even worse. And if those athletes are anything like me, they push themselves too hard. They try to compensate for their perceived weakness with even more training, which only makes things worse. If you've followed my blog, you know how much I hate resting.

This past week though, I took 3 days off of cardio. Three!! That's unheard of for me. But I had fallen into my typical trap. After Ironman Mont Tremblant, I jumped right back into training. I wanted to - really wanted to - try to qualify for Boston at Wineglass. That was ridiculous. My marathon PR is a little under 3:15. Assuming my running fitness is the same, I'd have to shave 5 minutes off to qualify. Of course with my shift to triathlons, it's not the same.

Awesome, sure, but not helping my running any!

I rode the edge of injury and exhaustion for the past few weeks. I finally realized that I was being stupid and that my goal was obscene. All that would happen is that I would blow up at Wineglass and end up super disappointment. I've had that happen a lot. Against all odds, I've learned my lesson! I took a much-needed break.

When you train, you have to look at the big picture. That's really hard to do. But progress happens over months and years, not days. When you lose sight of that, you do things that actually hamper your progress. I've seen people injure themselves so badly from overtraining that they've essentially had to quit altogether.

That would kill me.

I have to remember that. My training is my identity. If I lost it, I would lose myself. And the fact that I'm able to do it is truly a gift. Some of my best workouts weren't fast. But they were joyful. They were workouts were I didn't look at the watch and just enjoyed the breeze. Enjoyed the cool rush of the water. Enjoyed coasting down a big hill. Workouts were I could close my eyes (for a couple seconds) and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and the wind in my face. Workouts were I just felt alive.

Also, this happened:

I really shouldn't put this in a place
where it's publicly accessible...

Don't Quit

I'm training for Wineglass marathon. After I finished Ironman Mont Tremblant, I had about six weeks. I gave myself one rest day, and then started running. With the taper before Wineglass, I only really had 4 weeks to build up some speed. I hoped to qualify for Boston at Wineglass. That means I'd have to run it in under 3:10.

It's not going to happen.

I should have rested after the Ironman. I pushed myself to the brink of injury by running right afterward. And even though I had some decent runs, they mostly told me that I wasn't fast enough to meet my goal. Today (as I write this), I ran 17 miles. I had originally planned to do a hard workout. But my legs have been trash and I decided to just do a long run.

I ran Boston earlier this year, as a guide for a blind runner. I'd still like to be able to qualify for it though. That just seems like the hallmark of any "real runner." I put that in quotes on purpose. I've often beat myself up, telling myself I'm not a real runner, that I'm just faking it. But I am. I'm a runner. But I'm also a lifter, and now a triathlete.

Post-Boston!

I realized a while ago that being "well rounded" meant I was never going to be super great at any one thing. I was never too concerned with qualifying, but two years ago at Wineglass, I ran under 3:15. I thought, that's really close! I could get it with just a little more work! When I tried at Run for the Red the following spring though, I only beat my PR by 3 seconds. And my running went downhill after that. Yes that's a pun; deal with it.

So while I was running today, I had a lot on my mind. And I had plenty of time to think about it.

When I got home, I saw that I had a text from a friend. She signed up for Wineglass too. She's messaged me before, asking for running advice and the like. This text said that she wasn't sure if she should still run it, that her training hasn't been where it should be. She said she doesn't want to make a fool of herself.

I get that. I really do. I often - very often - tell myself I'm just making a fool of myself. I was telling that to myself during the 15+ hours of the Ironman. Telling myself that I'm just embarrassing myself. That I should quit. That I'm stupid for even trying. I've very familiar with those doubts. This is what I told her.

"You won't make a fool of yourself. Just crossing the finish line is an amazing achievement. I was brutally unprepared for my first marathon. It took me and Alex almost 6 hours to finish. And I was underprepared for my first Ironman, and that was brutally hard. The first time often sucks. Be ok with that and be ok with sucking. Get that first one out of the way. Learn from it. HAVE FUN. And then you'll know exactly what you need to do for next time. This is a lifelong journey. The first few steps are hard. But you will get stronger. And you will discover things within yourself that will amaze you."

That first marathon was definitely slow

She appreciated what I said, but was still worried about finishing before the cut-off and having everyone "scoff" at her. I said,

"Last year at Baltimore, I paced my friend with stage 4 lung disease. It took us 6.5 hours to finish, but we did, and we got our medals. You will finish with time to spare, and in the extremely unlikely event you don't, I will talk to the race director and get you a medal. You WILL have it around your neck.

"Your friends, your family... "everyone"... is wrong. Every. Single. One. Is wrong. They will NEVER understand why you punish yourself. None of them knows what it's like to push themselves beyond their limits. You are NOT satisfied with "good enough." You don't want to go through life wandering what you "could have" achieved. You are empowering your mind, body, and spirit to do something that - frankly - scares most people. But you do not succumb to fear. You want to live life knowing that you never surrendered, that you never gave up without trying. That is incredible. Everyone else may doubt you. But never, NEVER, doubt yourself. You are an inspiration."

And I meant it. I meant all of it. But more importantly, writing that made me realize the significance of it for myself. It's easy to get so focused on training that you forget to enjoy it. Today though I just ran. I accepted that I won't qualify, and that pushing my pace at Wineglass will just cause me to bomb out and get upset at myself. It's not worth it. I'm going to run Wineglass because I love Wineglass. And I'm going to be surrounded by the most amazing people in my life that whole weekend.

Surrounded by amazing.... people

And Sheila, if you're reading this, don't worry. I know you're awesome, but I'm not going to be pestering you to give my friend a medal if she has a bad day. I'll just give her my medal. I already have two. A pink one and a blue one. And that pink one is so nice.

I'm really blessed. I finished an IRONMAN. I was able to afford it. Life sucks for a lot of people and they don't even have that freedom. I had the time and opportunity to train. A lot of people struggle with that. Real life is a b*tch. I got to do it with Meghan and Geoffrey, and was supported the whole time by many truly amazing friends and athletes. And I crossed the finish line. I suffered for a long time. But I didn't quit. And I accomplished something I once thought impossible.

Most people will never know what that's like. Only 2% of Americans have run a marathon. Only .05% have finished an Ironman (that's 1 in 2000). Some simply don't have the opportunity, because real life. Some people can't stay motivated (although I've written my opinion on motivation a lot). And many many are just too afraid. They'd never admit that. They have lots of excuses for not pushing themselves. But it all comes down to fear.

Before you get cranky, running and triathlons aren't the only big things you can accomplish in life. That's not my point. Many folks though don't really try to accomplish anything great. I have a few friends who are amazingly successful businessmen. The hours and dedication they put into their businesses are unbelievable. It's a huge sacrifice. Still others are amazing musicians. In case you don't know, surviving as a musician is very hard. Talk about sacrifice.

A sacrifice.... of bricks.

Sacrifice. That's what it is. Nobody likes sacrifice. Humans are selfish creatures. We want all the good things in life without working for them. We want food, love, and success for free. I don't. I want food because I worked my a$$ off and earned those calories. I want love because I have so much love to give. I give love without expectation. When it's returned to me, it's a gift. I want success as recognition for something I've sacrificed myself for.

When I see someone taking those first few steps on that path, I want them to succeed. I want that more than anything. My friend doesn't know it, but I will give f@#king anything for her to make it. I would run 20 miles with her if she asked. I would hunt down someone who made her feel ashamed for what she's struggling to accomplish and hurt them. I would sit in a jail cell with a smile on my face. I would give her my medal and never let her know that it was mine.

I'm pretty crazy...

Judge me if you will. This world is full of anger and hatred and violence. If one person - ONE PERSON - rises above that to make themselves a better person, that amazes me. That f*#king amazes me. I love it. I take myself for granted. I'm crazy. Everyone knows I'm crazy. I'm not worried about losing my craziness. I may doubt myself, but that's not going to make me stop. It's only going to drive me further. But for many people, doubts can and do make them quit.

Don't quit.

No matter the challenge.

No matter the naysayers.

No matter the pain.

Don't quit.

Life is Weird

We know the good things in life. Doing things that fill us with joy and a feeling of accomplishment, surrounding ourselves with people we love, eating tasty things that fill us with profound delight. It seems simple, right?

But life is weird.

We nag ourselves over things we can't change. We argue with the people we love over trivialities. We know the things we want to do, or "should do", but don't, because of reasons. We want happiness, and we think we know what that means, but most of us claw at it blindly and never quite reach it.

What gives?

I don't know the answer for this. I do a lot of awesome things. And I've done still more that I don't do anymore. I shot photos for years, but I rarely pick up a camera anymore. I don't know why. I just don't. I studied languages for a long time. Japanese, Italian, Spanish. It was super cool. And I don't anymore. I don't know why. I spent a week in Quebec, and I tried to communicate in French once. I was.... ashamed. Because I didn't speak it well enough. Like I should be perfect at something I've literally never done.

What is this weird thing??

It's self-judgment. Just constant, unabating, self-judgment. I just recently finished an Ironman. An Ironman. I crossed the finish line. If I write a list of things I've done, I can put "Ironman" on that list, fair and square. So why don't I feel, just... epic? I'm wearing the shirts - pretty much every day - but I don't feel any different. I don't feel any better. My main thought, really, is, "why didn't I do better?"

And I didn't rest. At all. Well, one day. And then I ran. With my broken legs. I ran the next day after that. And the next. And the next. I'm training now for Wineglass Marathon. I have maybe 5 weeks between the Ironman and Wineglass. And I committed myself to beating the sh*t out of my body during that time. I pushed my body to the very limit that my injured muscles and tendons could handle.

And despite all that, my main thought in the past few days is, "I'm too slow. Why am I so slow? I need to be faster. I'm going to bomb at Wineglass. I suck."

Why is this so weird?!

You're reading this, dear delightful reader. Does this seem incredibly stupid to you? Like, this guy did something awesome. Why isn't he basking in a sense of profound satisfaction? I honestly don't know. There's some evolutionary reason for it, no doubt. Something that makes us always push to be better, to never be satisfied with what we have. I get that part.

But it's so d@mn frustrating.

For once I want to do something and feel good about it for more than five minutes. For once I want to spend time with people I love and not immediately think, "f%ck, I'm so alone." For once I want to actually acknowledge what I've accomplished, rather than thinking that I didn't accomplish it well enough.

But you know what the weirdest thing is? I don't want to change all that.

I'm defined by all the crazy stupid sh*t I do. Training every day. Breaking myself. Never being satisfied with what I have. Fighting, fighting, fighting for more. Whatever evolutionary goo is hardwired into my cells that makes me crazy, I'm glad for it. Because as nice as it would be to sit back and say, "whelp, I'm good, I've done enough awesome. it's time to chill out," that sounds just.... awful.

Why is it so weird out here?

Because my life isn't about pursuing one thing, and doing that thing, and then being done. My life is ABOUT the pursuit. That drive. There's never one thing. Because if I do something, then that must mean that there's something else that's even harder to do. And suddenly that becomes a thing I have to do. And I'm glad I'm insane. I want that drive.

This applies to love. No, not that there are "better" people to love. Not at all. The people in my life are freakin' amazing. But that I can be better at it. More loving. Less obsessed with myself (except for in the recesses of my mind that I keep to myself). I used to be very selfish. And the time I spent with the beautiful people I encountered were superficial. I squandered a lot of love and joy. And I don't want to do that anymore.

The stuff I do - all of that crazy stuff - isn't just about me. It makes me a better person. But being a good person in a vacuum is meaningless. It makes me a better person.... towards the people I give a sh*t about. To be an inspiration. To be more patient. To be more understanding. More compassionate. More full of love.

This is cute.... but also weird

Because the more I hurt myself, the less others are capable of hurting me. The less I take accidental hurts personally. The more hours I spend by myself, on the pavement, the more patient I am when a friend wants to tell me about whatever it is that's important to them. The harder I train, and the more suffering I go through, the more I can appreciate the pains and difficulties that everyone goes through.

I don't want life to be easy. Easy is boring. I don't want to take anything for granted. I don't want to be given something I don't deserve. I don't want people to love me for a facade. Everything I have, I have it because I deserve it. The people I love, I love selflessly. I have nothing to prove, nothing to gain.

I want to make what I am more - infinitely more - and then take all of that and put it out into the world. And make the world better for it. I want to take all of that pain, suffering, anger, self-judgment... put it through a furnace of focused determination.... and take that sword, that diamond, that gleaming product, and have it shine upon, protect, embolden those around me.

So bring it, life. Do your worst. You think you're weird? I'M WEIRD. I like your weird sh*t.  You want to beat me up? Stomp all over my thoughts and emotions? Throw a bizarre surprise at when everything seems to be going well? I'M INTO IT. I'm here to fight. So bring your A-game, life, because I ain't going down easy.

What's your problem with weird anyway?