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But everything looks perfect from far away...  This won't be long because the battery on my laptop is about to die. I'll probably come back and add more tomorrow. But I just want to get something down while I'm still 'in the moment' or whatever. Fuck this fucking shit. I've been thinking some variation on that theme for a good long while tonight. I went out to Chapel Hill and spent an hourish just walking around. By myself. Almost always by myself. It reminds me of some entry I wrote back when I was attending UD and I went to a football game and looked around and saw that I was absolutely the only person who was there completely alone. Everyone else there was with at least one other person. It's a regular occurrence for me, being by myself, at home, out in public, running, drinking, whatever. I should have gone to sleep at 11:30 like I almost did instead. The universe likes to give me that big middle finger when I try to do things like actually have a life and be social. Fuck it. I get it. Stay home, be boring, be lonely, be miserable, run a lot and in the process maybe do one goddamn thing that is better than mediocre. Of course, half the motivation for running is because I still stupidly believe if I get good enough, it won't come off quite as creepy if I try to talk to cute runner ladies at races or group runs or whatever. Hilarious. Pathetic. Ok, maybe not half. Maybe not even that much. I DO run partly in an attempt at social interaction. I figure with other runners at least I have that in common with them, it's a springboard. I guess it's worked to some extent, but not on a local level so much. Maybe if I stop cancelling plans with people in order to go run for 3 hours, I'll actually HAVE more friends. Or closer acquaintances at least. But I probably won't change much about much. I'm not exactly stuck in a rut. A rut implies a temporary derailment from the norm, something went awry unexpectedly. This isn't a rut, it's the status quo for me. Fucking fuck. I need a beer. Mark, out. (11 kinds of crazy craps | All kinds of crazy crap) It is 11:30. I’m sitting here, two beers deep, two GOOD beers deep (Dogfish Head Raison D’Etre if you’re wondering), and I have been thinking about writing something for over a week. I think. On Monday I wanted to write about my run. I came home from work around 4. By 4:30 I was out the door and on the greenway headed for Umstead. I knew I was going to run longish so I took a handheld and some Honey Stinger chews. The original plan was to do a course loop and then come back, which would give me roughly 18 miles. Somewhere before that loop was over, I decided 20 would be a better way to start the week. Somewhere on my little extension, I decided 22 was even better. So I went further. Just as I was about to turn off the greenway for home I decided 23 appealed to me more. I just didn’t want to stop running; it was dark, I had a headlamp, the weather was still pleasant (January 30th and I was in shorts and a t-shirt), and my legs felt good. So I turned over the bridge and climbed the hill into North Cary Park before coming home. I am pretty sure it was the most miles I’ve ever run on a Monday, for what that’s worth (not a whole lot). I got in the door, it was just about 8pm. I made myself some dinner and I thought to myself (apologies to Facebook friends as this is basically a repeat of that status) that it is so awesome sometimes to think that I am an adult, I’m single, and I live by myself and because of all that I am capable of coming home from work on a beautiful afternoon and deciding to run for 3+ hours. I can do that and not have to worry about anyone waiting for me to come home, anyone annoyed that I should have been spending time with them, or worrying about what’s for dinner, or any shit like that. Absolute me time. Not beholden to anyone or any damn thing other than how many miles I want to cover with my two feet. It’s something I had found after Jess moved out in June back in Baltimore. It kicked off an epic summer of running for me, one where I averaged 97 miles per week for 19 weeks (granted that lasted through October but it started in June right around the time I was once again living by myself). I enjoyed living with Jess, she was a good roommate and a great friend (I was a crappy roommate and a horrible boyfriend) and there are aspects that I definitely enjoyed about living with her, but right now I think this is the best situation for me. Puck doesn’t mind when I come home from work, spend a few minutes with her, make sure her food dish has food in it, and then bolt for another couple hours to go do the thing I love the most. Being in my mid-20s, with a job that covers the few expenses I have, not having much else in the way of responsibilities once my workday ends, all that – it’s great. I know it won’t last forever. I know eventually I will find a lady who for whatever reason thinks I’m pretty great and I will have to become a better juggler but for RIGHT NOW, I’m living the dream. Not a particularly good or interesting dream for most people (actually I think it would probably qualify as a nightmare for most) but it’s my dream. Sort of. And as Katie mentioned on Facebook, being able to have ice cream and beer for dinner when I get home is pretty awesome too (although Monday night I had soup for dinner #1 and eggs for dinner #2, yes there were two dinners about two hours apart). I’m rambling. Last weekend I went to my cousin Zach’s 6th birthday party. Six is a birthday that has always stuck out for me. When I turned six, I got a Nintendo. The original one that came with Super Mario Bros and Duck Hunt. I remember wanting it sooooo badly and then I came into the kitchen and there was a box sitting on the table and I knew EXACTLY what it was. I can’t believe my Nintendo is older than college freshman now. Wow. Back to Sunday. Zach’s party was at some bowling alley near Brenda and Bryan’s (Brenda’s my cousin, Bryan’s her husband, they also have a 3 year old named Greg who will someday be an NFL linebacker, I’m sure of it). I went and of course I was the only person there who was not married. As is often the case when I hang out with my cousin. Her and her friends are all at least in their mid-30s/early-40s, married, kids, the “real” adult thing. Being at that birthday party made me sad for all the people, their lives so wrapped up in this mindless bullshit kid stuff. I love children, I work with them every day, someday I would like to have one or two or so of my own, but holy shit. I understand having a family takes up a good chunk of time but with the exception of one or two (my cousin and her husband included in that exception) everyone was horribly out of shape. I guess that’s America in general, children or not. But it was sad to me. People not taking the time to do even the bare minimum. I never want to have a stomach that protrudes so far that I can’t see my dick. Never. It’s horrifying. I don’t think that was where I was originally planning on going with that story. I think I wanted to talk more about not feeling like a “real” adult. About the fact that everyone has started talking in earnest about how my brother and I are the last of the cousin’s to not be married. For a while it had been that all the female cousins were married (and now all the female cousins have at least one kid). But now the other male cousins are all very close or already there. Granted, my brother and I are the youngest of the cousins (excepting Andrea, who I’m older than – she’s been married for a few years and has two kids now, Catholics! And Maria is only half a year older than I am, she just had a baby, nine months after getting married), but the jokes are starting to become more frequent. I would like to give my parents grandchildren before they die. I think dad would be the best grandpa in the world. The one that they almost had would be about to turn four right now. Holy shit. That’s CRAZYYYYY to think. But for the time being, Puck is the grandkitty and that’s as close as it gets. Still don’t know if I got to where I wanted to go there. Whatever. It’s now after midnight and I’m three beers deep. I figured if I drank all the beers that I’m not saving for Katie when she comes down for Umstead, I won’t have any beers to drink and be a piece of shit this weekend or beyond. Last week I had a nice evening hanging out at Tyler’s (finally) with unlikelyathlete. I don’t know where I’m going with that. I guess it’s important to remember that when I feel so alone sometimes 1- mostly it’s by my own choosing and 2- I’m not. In the six months I’ve been down here I’ve managed to make some really good friends. And meet some people that would probably be very good friends if I invested some more time in it. On a similar note, last night I ran 15 miles around downtown Raleigh with a girl named Jessalyn who is a few months older than I am. She’s on the Bull City Track Club email list too and was looking for someone to join her for her midweek long run last night. Considering 15 miles is not an uncommon or extreme distance for me and I wanted to do something in that realm yesterday anyway, I decided some company would be nice. It was a lovely run; we averaged about 8:00 even with a slight negative split. What I learned was she’s running Boston; she qualified with a 3:19 last year and ran 3:23 at NYC last fall. She seemed pretty interesting; I think we’ll definitely be doing more runs in the future. How many fucking semi-colons can I fit in one paragraph?I have often observed that when my personal life goes to shit, the one thing that benefits is my running. So I guess it’s a blessing that I seem to have hit a bit of a low point in the social/personal department. Two weeks ago, I embarrassed myself on a Saturday night and I’ve carried on since then as if everything was fine but everything is not entirely fine, everything sort of sucks still, and I can’t foresee it improving in the near future (or ever). But that’s ok. Because I have goals to focus on, very big goals. I told the three ladies at the Market Run on Saturday that one of my goals was to run enough at one of the 24 hour races I’m doing this year to put myself in position to be selected for a spot on the US 24 Hour World Championships team. I’d need to run somewhere over 145 miles in 24 hours to do that, probably closer to 150. That is a lot of miles. But now that I have said it “out loud” I have to nut up and actually do it. Or at least try. And because my goals are so outlandish and lofty and probably a bit foolish, the lack of distractions is definitely a good thing. Umstead is in eight weeks. EIGHT! That’s it. In less than two months I will be running 100 miles. At least it will be on my home turf. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care about being competitive. I just want to give up. I’m so torn between actually trying to maintain something of a social life and just acknowledging to myself that I don’t have one and, what’s more, don’t REALLY care that I don’t have one. Sure, I seem to care when it’s late on a weekend night and I’m home alone and getting drunk and feeling shitty, but maybe (hopefully) it will be worth it later this year when I do something I can be proud of in some race. Maybe. Of course, I need to drop about 10-15 pounds and stop being a fatty with no self-control first. It’s not like a lot of people are beating down my door right now. No one actually asked about me Wednesday night when I wasn’t at the Fullsteam run. I got back to my car around 7:30 and not a single text or missed call. I am not indispensable. I am not particularly important or needed or cherished. I am, as I have often been, on my own. Me against the world. And part of me misses living in Baltimore because there I had at least one person (Johnny) who I considered a close friend; more than just a running friend. It’s hard to describe why exactly, but it’s how it turned out. Which is why I’m so excited to go up there the end of February for Club Challenge. I don’t know where I’m going with this. I am kicking the motherfucking shit out of some things. Mostly running. I have run 76 miles so far this week. I am going to set a lifetime weekly mileage PR by the end of the week (as long as I am not a lazy piece of shit Saturday morning). I am almost at the point where I am comfortable saying I’m in racing shape. I am optimistic that I will better last year’s Club Challenge performance and maybe even break an hour. I am doing well in some areas. One area. And in every other area, I am not particularly pleased or happy. But I have long since accepted that. I tried. I failed. I’ll probably try again. And fail again. And again. Blah blah fucking blah. No advice needed, no pick-me-ups being solicited about how I have sooooo much going for me and soooooo many people all over the fucking place who care about me or any of that. I know it. I get it. I get that I am focusing on the wrong things most of the time. I get that yes, I AM looking at the small parts of my life, most of which I cannot control, that kinda sorta really suck. I get that historically I've spent a lot of time focusing on the awful shit I couldn't do anything about because maybe it was safer to look at things that I knew wouldn't improve ever and point to that as a reason why I'm not even going to bother trying. For someone who considers himself so tough, and who proves it on occasion, that's pretty fucking gutless. I should feel blessed or something. I do, sometimes. Other times I feel cursed. Haunted. Star-crossed. If I can win another growler of beer this year, I suppose it might even be worth it. Trying to swim. Even if it's against that current of misanthropy and self-destruction. Not much has changed since my last post. Not much has improved. The best thing I can say is I’m getting by. I'm still moving, forward is a relative term. I’m on my own and I haven’t managed to starve to death or go to jail or kill anyone. I guess the small victories are something. I guess I shouldn’t dwell on the negatives, it’s never done me any good. I guess I’m the worst at taking my own advice. No, I KNOW that. Relentless forward progress, right? I had a dream last night And when I opened my eyes Your shoulder blade your spine Were shorelines in the moon light New worlds for the weary New lands for the living I could make it if I tried I closed my eyes I kept on swimming Mark, out (adrift) Current mood: dwelling. (12 kinds of crazy craps | All kinds of crazy crap) I really should have updated right after last weekend. Should have stopped at Panera or something after dropping Scott and Pete off at the airport Monday evening and wrote about the awesome weekend I just had. I should have known from experience that if I don’t remember to write down the high points, I too easily let the lows overshadow them. And it seems the lows always have a way of returning. I think that’s called Life. I’m just really good at focusing and dwelling on the lows. I will attempt to be objective here, but it’s me and I make no guarantees. I have to admit that by any measure, I DID have a most excellent and fun long weekend. Thursday Ashley, Scott, and Pete got here and I met one of the best ultrarunners on the planet and one that I particularly admire (and not just because of the sweet beard), Anton Krupicka. Friday was a pretty chill day with the crew that involved getting Scott running shoes finally and showing them all just how awesome Bella Mia is. Saturday’s race went even better than I could have hoped for. If you’re actually curious in the details, check out the running blog. For here, it will suffice to say I ran 9:05:27 for 2nd place in the 100k, which is 62.5 miles. I would have been happy with anything right around 10 hours. Turns out it was the 4th fastest time ever run at the race. And only 8 minutes slower than the time run by Mike Morton, who only a few months ago almost set the American Record for 24 hours. Talk about a confidence boost. As I see it, I probably have at least another five or so years where I can realistically expect to improve as a runner, and then maybe another 5-10 before I start declining. In a way it’s a good thing I’m coming to the sport later in life, I have all that time that I can still put on my legs before starting to break down. Digression over, I managed to finish with time enough to get to Brenda’s in-laws in time to catch the end of the Saints-49ers game. Wow. And then Sunday football ended with the best possible result: the Ravens and Giants both winning, the Giants impressively so. It feels really good to have become such an accepted part of the family down here, fitting in very well with Brenda and Bryan and their friends. Ashley had to leave crazy early Sunday morning, shame, so it was just the three of us guys and we stayed way later than we should have considering we had to get up early, but it was totally worth it. Monday came and while it was a holiday, I had two options – take the holiday and only have 8 hours of “floating holiday time” for the rest of the year, or go volunteer at this place that helps people with mental conditions find jobs and whatnot. It was a 9a-2p deal and in doing so I would have an extra 8 hours to use whenever, so of course I sucked it up and went. It was pretty fun, we did a lot of gardening. Scott laughed that he did all the things mom yells at him for not doing at home – weeding, organizing stuff, cleaning. We got pizza and beer at Brixx and then I took them to the airport. And that was the end of a very good weekend. And that’s where that entry should have and could have ended. Upbeat, positive, accomplishments, fun, excitement, good times with good people. And yet, here I am continuing to write. Because it’s Friday, not Monday and I still had a life to live after the fun stopped. It didn’t go downhill right away. But there were cracks. For one, I thought I really fucked up my foot at the race. Sunday I absolutely could not walk without a limp. My left Achilles which had cooperated for an entire year felt kind of shredded, my little toe was a giant blister under a giant callous, my big toe tendon hurt again. Monday I was walking a little more normally but still facing what seemed like the prospect of at least a week or two lost. Monday night I really needed sleep but ended up only getting about four hours, probably less. I will not, however, complain about that because it was a conscious choice to get to bed much later than I ought to have and if faced with the exact same choice in the future, for the same reasons, I would absolutely do it again. And again. I guess really things were pretty great until I had to get to work Tuesday morning. The other side of that though was how much I was dragging ass on Tuesday. Back to school. Back to work. Back to the grind. I mentioned to Katie how tough it feels returning to work and life as usual after a weekend that involved an ultra. I think part of it is because of how much of a time commitment you have to make for a race like that. Saturday’s was nine hours. That’s a full day of work. That’s a full day in general. A day that I didn’t really get, by choice sure but still. And it was such a high (NOT a runner’s high, I’ve never had that) and to come back to reality where what I do is not my entire life and not very important to most of the people I interact. Hell, most people I interact with every day don’t really know how much I run or how important it is to me, let alone that I ran more on Saturday than I ever have in my life. I was walking pretty normally by then anyway so it wouldn’t have been obvious. Tuesday night was another late, but not quite AS late night. But it helped make Tuesday break even, as far as positives/negatives go, and that is saying a lot. Wednesday I woke up less tired and even considered that I might be ready to go, running-wise. At the very least, I figured it would be good to get to the gym and do SOMETHING physical. I didn’t even want to think about how much I probably put on in my binge of cookies and beer since the race. Actually, can I consider something a binge if it’s just my typical dietary habits? Meh. But then I got home from work and watched Moneyball instead, mostly because I had fallen asleep while watching it Tuesday night. Aside: Monday I redboxed Midnight in Paris. It was excellent. Moneyball was pretty good too. Yesterday I saw Ides of March, that was great, but I am biased toward Ryan Gosling. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Instead of going to the Fullsteam run and being social, I came home and watched a movie and drank beer and passed out. Yesterday I stopped being a lazy sack of shit and went to the gym. I had originally planned on running around Bond Lake but decided the treadmill would be a safer call, at least at this point. So I rode the recumbent bike for 45 minutes. I realize the recumbent bike is a good cross-training alternative because it’s no impact and low-stress and all that but my ass always falls asleep after like twenty minutes. And then I get pins and needles in my feet. Annoying. Of course, the resolutionists were still out in full force when I wanted a treadmill. I figure things will calm down in another week or two, hopefully. Jumped on one and just cruised through four miles, feeling much much better than I anticipated. Success! Double success: while I am still very much a fat ass, I have somehow not GAINED any weight since last week. I guess a 9 hour run helps to that end. The most important thing is that my foot, ankle, etc all felt and feel just fine post-run. Which means it’s time to start working again. Which also brings me to the rest of things, because I’m realizing right now it seems like nothing particularly world ending and more like just a general malaise kind of week. But it certainly did not feel that way yesterday. For one, I managed to once again prove to Jess that she absolutely made the right decision in getting the fuck out of Dodge. She’s got a great new guy who is responsible and considerate and all those good qualities at lack. Two years ago she got me used her credit card to get me a AAA membership when I brilliantly locked myself out of my car in mid-January in just shorts and a t-shirt while running around Patterson Park. Last year I forgot to transfer the credit card to MY card so she wouldn’t be billed when it automatically renewed. I didn’t. She was pissed. I told her I’d take care of it. Apparently (but not surprisingly), I didn’t. Again. So a few days ago she angrily reminded me of that. And instead of confronting it and apologizing and correcting things as soon as I discovered her million messages, I avoided. Because that’s what I’ve always done when mom gets irate. Or when anyone gets irate with me really. I realize that I’ve fucked up and disappointed someone I care about and they are pissed and an apology is useless because it doesn’t fix anything so I go the other way and make everything worse by essentially saying, “Fuck it, you were right about me, I am a fuck up and it will probably not change.” And try as I might, and I have tried for sure, I will probably always be some level of fuck up. And that reminder was a nice punch right to my gut. Of course, scattered all along the way have been the typical frustration and annoyances that are so much easier to focus on – work (like the fact that Tuesday was a 12+ hour day, one I did not really have the energy or enthusiasm for), bills, stupid annoying people, reminders that I am a lonely foolish dreamer, a mess who does NOT, and probably should not, get what I want because if I did 1- nothing would ever be as good as I make it in my head to be and 2- even if it WERE as good, which is possible, it would probably eventually end disastrously like everything else and I’d be worse off than I started. I guess I should thank Life for telling me again to go fuck myself. I’m reminded of that stand-up bit that Louis CK does about how everything good eventually ends in misery because even if you meet the absolute perfect person for you, the best you can hope for is you both live for a long time because eventually one of you is going to die and the other is going to be devastated. When framed like that, how can I NOT be a pessimist? Why the anger Mark? Life isn’t THAT bad. You even admitted it earlier. And this week wasn’t even THAT bad. I’ve got a lot to look forward to in the coming weeks and months. I am considering pulling my name off the waiting list for Massanutten this year in favor of doing the 12 hour race as 3 Days at the Fair in NJ in mid-May. That seems like it’d be a better option for my lead-up to Philly. I’ve got Umstead sooner than that. I’ve got Spring Break in April. THAT presents an interesting opportunity. Last year for Spring Break I escaped five hours away to NC and fell in love. This year I LIVE where I vacationed. Now that I seem to be over my debilitating fear of air travel (or at least am able to detach from it temporarily), I’ve been considering going somewhere further than a drive. Of course, my first thought is mountains. It would be super awesome to fly somewhere like Colorado and spend a week just hiking and running in the mountains and sampling the local craft beers and nightlife. I’ll only be a week done with Umstead so the mountains would serve to slow me down but I’m sure I’ll be up for hikes at the least; would do me some good. It’s what I’m leaning toward at least. Plus, if the pattern holds true, I wouldn’t complain about somehow living in Boulder next year. That sounded kind of optimistic again. I hit a really rough patch, mentally yesterday. I have some hard decisions to make, about the direction I want to go in for a number of things, about how I choose to spend the free time I have, about the kind of person I want to be. A lot of negative happenings and thoughts kind of capsized me yesterday. And they still linger. But in keeping with the whole kicking ass and taking names path I’ve tried to set for myself this year, I press on on my quixotic quest for happiness and fulfillment and all that sappy crap. Mark, out (for the weekend). Current mood: sinusoidal. (10 kinds of crazy craps | All kinds of crazy crap) I admit, and it has been obvious even without an admission, that I am and have been for some long while now more of a pessimist, a defeatist, and a cynic than the happier opposite conditions. I like to fret and brood and bitch and belabor and otherwise feel bad about things that are in the past, things beyond my control, things in the far distance future, hypotheticals, and other nonsensical things to waste one's time over. I am not, nor would I be accused of being, a particularly happy person. I haven't been one since as long as I've been sentient. As Hemingway once said, "Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know." I've probably used that line in this journal before. It continues to be true. I also alluded to the idea that 2012 will be the year I give up any pretenses of making progress. Give up the idea that I can actually change significantly and become a happy, outgoing, fun-to-be-around, likable, upbeat, optimistic sort of guy. 2012 is to be the year I accept who I am and deal with it and whatever consequences that entails. Thing is, part of me really doesn't WANT to be the way I am. There is a reason a good percentage of this journal since its inception has been discontentment, dissatisfaction, discouragement, and defeatism. It's be a good percentage of the time, that's how I feel, or view my life and the world at large. And it sucks. I will be the first to say that it sucks, that going through life the way I do and pretty much always have sucks. I've expressed displeasure at this and a desire to be different and it has not worked particularly well. As good as I am at being being a miserable misanthrope, I am even better at sabotaging myself when it seems like I will finally pull out from the morass of all my demons. It happened in high school, freshman year of college, with Bridgette, with graduate school, with the park, with JV, and so on and so on. Add to that my chicken-shit-edness. One need only go back and read most of the vague and waaaaay too long entries from about the time Bridgette and I broke up through my senior year at UD to understand this. It hasn't changed much. I haven't changed much. And that kills me. I am a bigger version of the shy toddler who could barely stand to look at the cashier who was complimenting him on how cute he was. It's all influenced my outlook on stuff like love and relationships and friendships. I'm so used to friends being transient, to just waiting for a relationship, no matter how good it is currently, to end in abject soul-crushing failure, I'm so used to being alone that that just seems the normal condition; something pointless to even attempt to change. Where am I going with this? I had an idea and as usual it's much easier to talk about what's wrong and what I've fucked up than anything else. Ah yes. I read something that diesel9 posted on facebook earlier and it struck me. And by struck me, I mean took me out back and ran over me with a fucking freight train. This is what I read. It was like the part of me that has been constantly trapped inside and held hostage by all the negatives was actually getting a voice. You get to define the terms of your life. And that's true. And I've known it's true but I have been living based on terms that I've felt trapped within, on terms I feel were the only ones I was allowed, terms put there by expectations, not MY terms. The best thing you can possibly do with your life is tackle the motherfucking shit out of it I don't think truer words were ever spoken, at least not to me. Another something I've probably known to some extent, but never accepted for myself. For someone who enjoys adventure and does things that could very easily get himself killed, for someone who aspires to run over mountains and through deserts and across the goddamn United States, I have lived a pretty timid life. I have not taken many risks. I have not gone far out of my comfort zone for very long. I have hedged bets and taken the gutless easy way out more times than I want to think about. Pathetic. Weak. Even with running, which is something I feel somewhat positively about, I have often raced timidly. It wasn't until last year that I actually found some nerve when I raced, found some hunger and passion and guts. I have a long way to go just specifically in running. And even farther to go in life. I want to tackle the motherfucking shit out of my life. I need to do more things akin to running through a brick wall without hesitation, with the faith in myself that my head is thick enough to get the hell through. I will forever wonder and never how that situation with Miss Azure Eyes & Curly Brown Hair & Wry Smile would have turned out if I had just once had the courage to tell HER how I felt instead of writing about it for months in cryptic words on here. There are dozens of situations just like that one that I will never know and will have to live with. And I really would like not to have too many more from here on. I've got a few situations right now that I can foresee turning into something like that if I keep on like I usually do. I went on another date with that grad student last night, for one. Saying it out loud makes me accountable. One of my goals this year for my running is to finish ever single race with the certainty that whatever I ran was the absolute best I could possibly have done on that day. It sounds like a pretty good idea to apply that to my life too. This year I want to tackle the motherfucking shit out of my life and do so on my own motherfucking terms. We’re all going to die... Hit the iron bell like it’s dinnertime. Mark, out (for blood). Current mood:  determined.
(9 kinds of crazy craps | All kinds of crazy crap) It is almost one o'clock in the morning. I am sitting in my boxer briefs in Katie's kitchen in Gloucester, MA eating some pretty fucking tasty quesadillas. I am borderline drunk. I have imbibed a not-insignificant amount of quality (read: fucking strong) beers this evening, starting with a barleywine at the Cape Ann Brewing Company restaurant with my haddock sliders for dinner. Between then and now there were some Dogfish Head offerings (Fort. Oh. My. God.), some Belgians, even a saison I found tolerable, and lastly a dunkelweizen. I came up to Boston for New Year's because it seems a good percentage of my best friends live in the area. Ashley. Katie. I was going to kill Scott Tuesday night. It was kind of a disaster. I won't get into it. But I took the megabus up here Wednesday morning. And once I got to Boston, it was like the Three Amigos for a time; me, Ashley, and Tyler. Team Awesome. Unfortunately Ashley doesn't want to date or fuck Tyler, and this was made abundantly clear last night/this morning and now he is back in Buffalo. Things that are kind of sad. Tonight Ashley is at the Celtics game with some tall, skinny guy named Gus who she works with. I was unimpressed by him. So was Katie. And Scott, even though he didn't meet him, WOULD have been unimpressed too. But whatever, rebounds don't need to be winners. Scott, Katie, and I are in Gloucester. I am somewhat inebriated. Again. Last night was... interesting. I had pancakes and eggs and bacon at IHOP. I had four shots of tequila before that. I met Ashley's college friend with my pants around my ankles. Aside from the fact that I didn't get laid, it was a pretty goddamn good night. And even that fact is just a small blip, because I don't NEED to get laid for it to be a good night. In fact, getting laid last night would have probably cheapened things, not to mention that it was totally unfeasible. 2011 ends tomorrow. We will be back at Ashley's place, sans Tyler, plus Scott. Maybe plus another bottle of tequila. I have a bunch of resolutions I'd like to see fulfilled in the next calendar year. Some of them are considerably superficial. Most of them relate somehow to running. I want to be a better runner, that can sum up most of them. I also want to be more badass, and less pathetic. I have my work cut out for me. I just ate some moderately tasty frozen quesadillas. I'm eating a lot of nachos. I should go to bed. Katie and Scott think I should at least. I'm sober enough to type this with limited typographical or grammatical errors. But I have no reason to stay awake any longer. It's been an interesting and mostly positive stretch since Thanksgiving. And despite that, I will find a way to start this new year as melancholy and pessimistic as every other year. Maybe some day I will pull myself completely clear of the mess I created for myself in my head. Maybe 2012 will be that year. I wouldn't bet on it though. I have a ways to go. At least I can get there faster. Mark, out (of things to say, and beers to drink) (5 kinds of crazy craps | All kinds of crazy crap) In about 8 and a half hours I should be touching down at JFK. The first time I'll be back on LI since my move in August. I can't believe it's already been that long, but it has. For once, I'm more concerned about my safety GETTING to the airport than actually flying. Because I'll be starting my two week vacation in true Mark Manz style: walking to the airport with all my luggage at 3am. Most of the trip will be on sidewalks but there are a few harrowing sidewalk/shoulder-less stretches along Aviation Parkway and in the actual RDU airport complex itself. Fortunately, by the time anyone who cares is reading this, I'll either be 1- hit by a car or 2- safely at the airport/en route to NY/actually IN NY. Either way, no sense fretting if you're reading this. I'm really looking forward to what comes AFTER this first adventure. So far, things I have to look forward to -- birthday run redux Friday (this time with Scott and possibly others), Goldschläger at the Loevens Christmas eve, epic run to Christmas dinner, and then Boston for New Year's with Team Awesome! And more running than I've done in the past six weeks combined on top of all that. It's gonna be a good vacation. Mark, out ETA:I wrote that last night around 11pm. Then my computer died so I didn't get to actually post it. Good thing nothing happened to me. I ended up trudging about six or seven miles from my apartment to RDU. Down Cary Parkway, up Evans Rd. From the apartment to Weston Parkway & Evans was totally uneventful as I had the sidewalk the whole way. But then things got... interesting. I had to get on the Lake Crabtree trail, the one I've run quite a few times and thoroughly enjoy, when I'm running. Not quite as fun at 3am in the dark while it's been raining all day so the trail is muddy and covered in leaves and I'm carrying my suitcase (which has wheels and a handle), a duffel bag, and my laptop bag. It must have looked hilarious. Then Aviation parkway didn't have a sidewalk, or a shoulder in spots. Made it to the Sheetz off the 40 exit and people were giving me funny looks. Another half hour or so and I made it to Terminal 2 around 4:15am. First leg of my journey done. Then a (thankfully) uneventful flight, a train to Mineola, breakfast with Mom, and a drive to Wantagh and now I'm home. And now it's time for pancakes and french toast for dinner, courtesy of Dad. Baller. Mark, out (for real this time) Current mood:  excited.
(2 kinds of crazy craps | All kinds of crazy crap) In following up my previous post (mostly for people who read this but don't follow ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=92.1){kind=small} runners or regularly check my running blog -- I ran the race. I won by eight minutes. It was equal parts awesome and awful. If you want the details you can find them here on my running blog.Mark, out. Current mood: OMG SORE. (1 kinds of crazy crap | All kinds of crazy crap) It's been almost two whole years since Jess and I woke up crazy early in Leah's parents basement somewhere in DC and trekked to some house near the National Zoo where I proceeded to get myself ready and eventually run for exactly 5 hours, covering something near 50k on trails in and around the district and northern Virginia. That was the first time in my life I'd ever run a race longer than a marathon. That was the first time in my life I'd EVER run further than a marathon, period. It was difficult, at times my quads seized and I thought I wouldn't be able to finish. I got finished and I was basically useless for the rest of the day. But it was also one of the most fun things I've ever done. Last year the longest race I did was a half marathon, in Richmond about a year ago. At the end I was hurting in a completely different way than I had at the 50k, but despite running for almost three hours and forty minutes less, it still hurt in it's own different way. The longest RUN of any sort I did last year was 19 miles, on a lovely rail trail on a pretty warm afternoon in centralish Michigan. It felt extremely long at the time. I was pretty tired when it was done. Back then I had decided that I wasn't going to even run a marathon for a while, focusing on getting faster at shorter distances. That was still the plan going into this year. And then something happened. I think part of it was that I ran quite a few shorter races this spring. I PRed at basically every distance despite dealing with some constant nagging pains that made training less than ideal. My life started undergoing some abrupt and not altogether pleasant changes too. Everything sort of culminated in Philadelphia, at Broad Street where I ran what I think might have been the best race of my life (or at least very close second to the 3 mile race in Baltimore two weeks ago). I was sort of burned out on that feeling, that short distance race intensity burning misery. It had been so long since I experienced the other sort of misery, the kind that comes from draining yourself so completely that you begin to run on fumes, and when the fumes run out you're just running on momentum or something. The float-y head, out-of-body, completely drained feeling you can only get from running long. Really long. So in June, partly because I was tired and partly because I was frustrated trying to get workouts in and constantly being various degrees of injured because of it, I just started going long. I stopped worrying about being anything approaching fast, I started calling most of my runs jogs, I just wanted to move through space as much as I could manage. It worked better than I imagined. I managed to get a little faster anyway. I set a PR for the MILE in the midst of a 99 mile week, one that came after a 102 mile week. At some point I realized that it would cost the same amount of money to register for the Stone Cat 50 mile race as it would for the Philadelphia half marathon. Running t the Finger Lakes races with Ashley in July cemented my fate. Two years after running my first ultra, I would be doing my second. Except it isn't going to work out quite that way anymore. In a little less than 9 hours I will be in my car driving northwest to Greensboro, NC. It will likely be sort of chilly and hopefully I will be pretty well rest even considering the early hour. When I get there, the park should just about be opening. I'll go get my race number, go back to my car, get my stuff together, maybe nap a bit. At 7:30ish I'll start loosening up. At 8 am I'll be running a race. If everything goes well, I'll finish this race around 1:30 pm, five and a half hours later. 40 miles along the watershed trails of Greensboro. This will be my second ultramarathon ever, though I am no longer a stranger to the distances. Since June I have run 30 or more miles five times, including 46 on my birthday. Some of those 30+ runs have been faster than my first marathon was. I am not worried about completing the distance. And yet, I'm here on the eve of my re-entry into the world of ultramarathons and I don't FEEL like an ultrarunner. I am lightyears beyond where I was two years ago. I will NOT be caring all manner of stuff in a clunky backpack the entire race tomorrow. Instead I've got a handheld water bottle and some gels and that's it. I'll be fine re-fueling at the aid stations otherwise. I just feel like... an outsider. I think part of it is that even though I've met so many really interesting and really awesome people at the running store and the Fullsteam running group, it is quite rare to meet someone with running goals similar to mine, even among the people who at or beyond my ability level. My aspirations are not modest, I want to be GOOD at this ultrarunning thing. I'm not going to show up tomorrow and be content running 40 miles and enjoying the scenery and chatting away with people along the course. I'm going to have my head down (so as to watch for the many roots apparently strewn about the course) and I'm going to run hard; not all-out, as this is ultimately a test run and my last long run before Stone Cat. But even still, I want to do well. I have a time goal in mind, one I feel is realistic given the way I've trained this year and the way my longer long runs have gone and what the weather is supposed to be like tomorrow and etc. Mom is worried that I'm going and doing this by myself. "What happens if you get tired after? 40 miles is a long way." She needn't be worried, I'll be fine. I'll have plenty of time to hang around after the race, nap, enjoy the beautiful day and scenery, explore some of Greensboro. But tomorrow does highlight something about being down here -- I am still quite alone. I have no support crew, no support person coming out with me. Admittedly it WOULD be a pretty hard sell -- "Hey, so I'll pick you up at 5am and we're gonna drive out to Greensboro where I'll go running for five and a half hours while you sit around and.... hang out? Or maybe drive around to the access points on the course to say hi for about ten seconds and maybe hand me a gel. Afterward I'm gonna be kind of out of it and probably not much in the way of company. But maybe we'll grab some burgers and beers. Sound like something you want to do?" Didn't think so. It takes a special breed of person, a special breed of RUNNER even to have that scenario appeal to them. I would do it for any of my friends if they were nearby and I'm sure some people I know would come out if it were geographically and logistically feasible, but it's not. So I'm solo unsupported. And that's ok because I guess it helps me downplay the race, I don't want to make too much of a big deal of it because I don't want to run it too too hard. It's a weird conundrum in my brain, the thought that it'd be nice to have at least someone coming with me tomorrow, even if they were running the half or the full or the 40 miler too, just someone to share the drive and the pre-race down time and the post-race festivities with. And at the same time, it feels nice to be striking out on my own, going it alone and being solely responsible for everything involved. I'm sure I'll meet a bunch of people there and I'm sure I'll leave feeling significantly less on my own, the ultra community is quite friendly and welcoming. At any rate, it's going to be a very interesting Saturday. Mark, out. Current mood: excited.
(8 kinds of crazy craps | All kinds of crazy crap) Jeez I haven't posted in a while. Again. I guess that's what happens when you still don't have internet at your apartment and rely on sitting outside Starbucks or Panera or, in the case right now, Bull City Forward, using borrowed internet as usual and all the while delaying going home and taking a much needed shower and getting some much needed sleep. Which is why this isn't the post I want to write right now. That post might come later. Or never. I had a good day. I've had a pretty good run of life lately I have to say. After work today I went and ran 19 miles on my own and then ran another 4 with the Fullsteam running group. And for the second week in a row I made some friends. Both during and after the run. In the past few weeks there has finally been an influx of people who run my pace so I'm not forced to either run too slow or run by myself on what is supposed to be a group run. Today I met Zane and Leah, both runners in college, both really interesting people. Zane moved here in August too, from Ohio, and he's studying Arabic and we really hit it off and that makes me happy. After the run, I ran into a girl I met last week who was astounded by my upcoming ultras and she told me she's been telling her friends about me. Ha! I got a lot of questions about ultras, how to train for them, how to get through them, stuff like that. It made me laugh to myself a bit because I will be the first to admit I really don't have much of a fucking clue. Essentially my plan has been to run more. Run a lot. And do it consistently. Occasionally I will run a little faster than normal. That's seemed to work reasonably well for the past few months but the real test is in five and a half weeks in Massachusetts. And the REAL real test is March 31st, about two miles from me in Umstead State Park when I run twice as much as I'll be running at Stone Cat. But it's cool and nice to finally have some people down here that I can see and hang out with, if only right now on Wednesday (and I suppose the occasional Thursday evening show in Raleigh). It's kinda bad timing that I was gone last weekend and will be gone again this weekend because it'd be nice to hang out with some of these people outside of Wednesday night running club. I guess that's what October will be for. Maybe someone will want to take a trip out to Greensboro for the Triple Lakes trail races in two weeks. Either way, despite existing mostly on my own still, I feel like I'm beginning to carve the ever-so-slightest of niches down here. The pizza truck lady remembered my name this week (I joked with her about that last week, it helps that I get pizza from her every Wednesday and my beard has gotten to memorable proportions), people remember me at the running group, people seem genuinely interested in talking to me there and I haven't eaten by myself in a few weeks now. But I joked with some of them tonight that the only committed relationships I am in currently and for the foreseeable future are with my cat and my beard. And for now, that's just the way I want it. Well, sex would be nice of course, but aside from that... Also, katie_keysburg and diesel9 and I need to figure out what's going on Stone Cat weekend but I'll make a post specifically for us to discuss that.Now I need to go home. And maybe crack open one of the twenty-four 90 minute IPAs I picked up last weekend and play with Puck a little bit and watch the Red Sox hopefully end up having to play a play-in game tomorrow and eat some oreos and PTFO. Definitely more later. Like tomorrow. Mark, out. Current mood: sweaty. (3 kinds of crazy craps | All kinds of crazy crap) It's September 11th again. Ten years later. Ten years is a nice round number. A decade. We segment centuries into decades. The roaring Twenties. The hippie dippie Sixties. And so on. A decade is a convenient length of time, short enough that things at the start can still be remembered without too much difficulty while at the same time it's long enough that looking back will actually yield some results, some noticeable changes. And so it was that as I stirred from bed this morning around 8am I knew that exactly ten years ago I was meandering sleepily, begrudgingly into Spanish with Senora Reardon. Not my favorite class. And a half hour later, as I was eating my oatmeal I paused at around the same moment, ten years ago, when our principal came on the PA and told us that the twin towers had been hit by planes. What. The. Fuck. It didn't seem real. It didn't seem... possible. It still doesn't. Despite the video evidence of planes doing just that; flying right into the twin fucking towers. In my mind it like a scene from your typical summer Michael Bay blockbuster. I remember a while later sitting in English and Carl telling everyone that the towers FELL DOWN. FUCKING CRUMBLED RIGHT TO THE FUCKING GROUND! No. Ten years later and it is still very difficult for my brain to process that. I've said it before. On here too probably. The vivid vision of me in a school bus driving down to the Battery to take the ferry to Ellis Island. Driving past the World Trade Center. Looking up out the window at the towers, stretching so high into the sky as to appear, from my vantage point, to curve in on each other. My brain couldn't process their enormity. They were giant pillars, as much as symbol of NYC as the Empire State Building or the Statue of Liberty. And I grew up and lived a short train ride from there. It was my home. And then they were gone. I remember my first worry, being a 16 year old with raging hormones and a typical self-centered view of the world, was how was Joanne, followed by mom and dad. I remember going home with Scott and just being so... bewildered. It was a dream. A bad dream. I remember the vigil at St. Frances that night. It was comforting to be around a good number of the youth groupers. To be in a group of any sort, to feel safe even if just for a second. I remember the smell and the smoke that eventually made it's way to Wantagh and lingered for way too long. A smell I've never smelled before or since and I'd like to keep it that way thankyouverymuch. That's what will stay with me longest. The smell. Oppressive, permeating everywhere, inescapable. It made what happened really real to me. I was no longer an observer from afar who fortunately had no family member or friend counted as a victim, who was only indirectly affected (a classmate's father, a biology teacher's father, stuff like that). Now I was part of it too, made to face the fallout, and I didn't like it one bit. It was a scary time, for me and for everyone. And ten years later, sure things have changed quite a bit. And things aren't as directly scary but there's still a lot of stuff that can give me the shivers. Iran, the national debt, North Korea, the Tea Party taking over Washington, Congress' ineptitude, etc etc etc. But for all of that I'm once again an observer at least one degree removed. Ten years ago today I was forced to live through one of the worst days in history. Watching the television coverage this morning I lost it when I saw and heard Ray Downey's name read. He was the fire captain, the father of my 9th grade biology teacher. It sucks. It all sucks. And I thought to myself how I hope I never ever have to live through a day like that again. Mark, out. Current mood:  melancholy.
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