I was hyper this evening, knew it, enjoyed it but didn't like it, and have no idea why it happens. It's not with frequency that I get hyper, but when it happens it just doesn't feel right.
That's all. I think I have underlying issues with control, and not liking that uncontrollable hyperness bugs me a lot. I usually end the period with a little self-hate. Tonight I haven't, so that's nice.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Winning Winsdays 3
a r t i c l e s
Twenty-five-year-old Zach Miller won the JFK50 several days ago, coming out of nowhere. I read his lengthy interview and it was pretty entertaining and interesting. And lengthy. He seems to like to answer questions. (via irunfar)
I came across the little girl growing up in parliament again. What a neat little photo project to keep tabs on as the years go by. Such grace and power. Love it. (via Reuters)
i P h o n e 5 s
Thanks to the parents, we kids have new phones. I just—not half an hour ago—finally got on the screen protector and new case. Until now I've been leaving it in my room or gingerly transporting it in the safest pocket of my jacket if I had to. I had it with me a couple days ago when it started to snow (wait, yesterday??) and tried out the slo-mo feature. Man, so cool. Hopefully this clip turns out after Blogger processes it....
m u s i c
Maybe I first heard this last week? Don't care. Have been enjoying some Tycho this evening. Especially the song Awake.
v i d e o s
Cat videos are overrated, which is why I surprised myself by really getting into this one. (Via the helloyoucreatives tumblr, which is another win, btw.)
Twenty-five-year-old Zach Miller won the JFK50 several days ago, coming out of nowhere. I read his lengthy interview and it was pretty entertaining and interesting. And lengthy. He seems to like to answer questions. (via irunfar)
I came across the little girl growing up in parliament again. What a neat little photo project to keep tabs on as the years go by. Such grace and power. Love it. (via Reuters)
i P h o n e 5 s
Thanks to the parents, we kids have new phones. I just—not half an hour ago—finally got on the screen protector and new case. Until now I've been leaving it in my room or gingerly transporting it in the safest pocket of my jacket if I had to. I had it with me a couple days ago when it started to snow (wait, yesterday??) and tried out the slo-mo feature. Man, so cool. Hopefully this clip turns out after Blogger processes it....
m u s i c
Maybe I first heard this last week? Don't care. Have been enjoying some Tycho this evening. Especially the song Awake.
v i d e o s
Cat videos are overrated, which is why I surprised myself by really getting into this one. (Via the helloyoucreatives tumblr, which is another win, btw.)
It's How We Win
We watched Ender's Game tonight. It was one of the most immersive movie experience I've ever had. Ever.
That is all to be said, really.
But I'll expand for my own sake, for later. Spoiler alert? Doubtful, but there it is just in case you really care, Reader.
For several weeks I'd toyed with the idea of being excited about this movie. No, let's be honest, I did get excited. I loved the book. But not like the anticipation for The Hobbit, or Thor. A different kind. Maybe more of a curios excitement. I wondered whether it would satisfy, pass. Or like I learned from my grandpa, in response to a question like is the food good, you can say, Se deja. It works. It's allowable. Something like that. But I also knew it was a hollywood version, acted out by kids, produced and directed by I-didn't-check, and therefore, could very easily go down the road of overkill-poor-child-acting-ridiculous.
But for me at least, it totally worked.
I think a big part of that was having read the book. (I believe, if I remember correctly, I have Jeremy Weaver and a conversation in Bjorn's apartment several years ago to thank for that.) As we discussed the movie afterward, those of us who hadn't read it kind of felt like there were some emptier sections that could've used more filler. And for me, similarly, I could tell there was a lot of summarizing done to fit it into a couple hours or whatever it was (time was lost, I was transported). But that's just fine, normal—book and film are completely different mediums of storytelling. And so, it sucked me in. I was there!
Because knowing (okay, yes, here is a spoiler, sort of) what Ender was really doing as he played those final training games, knowing the cost, knowing how pure of heart he was, and yet how brilliant—knowing all those things tore me up. I'm a little upset by the fact that I was so moved by a sci-fi story, but at the same time I am completely okay with it because this story is brilliant. It's not human like the kids with cancer at the hospital or the drug addicts fighting for their lives and family, but it's almost more human at a deeper level, at a level that we can't reach in our little spheres of life. We will never command a fleet, especially one that whips past planets in the passing lane, especially as a kid, especially as a kid being played.
I wish I could remember their quotes better (or anything better, if I may), when they're talking on the raft on the lake. Stuff about knowing the enemy, and then loving them. And in that moment destroying them. Such a price, such a soulless price. And, too, such loyalty and faith in their commander. Such absolute commitment to the orders of their leader. And, further too, such a fascinating connection between the minds of two great leaders, such an incomprehensible understanding. So freaking good.
There were so many feels at that point onward. Like I said, I was torn up.
And I loved it. Thank you, Gavin Hood, for directing what I consider to be a great film. Thank you, Asa Butterfield, for portraying for me a believable Ender. Thank you especially, Orson Scott Card, for dreaming a brilliant child, a backward story, and three sequential books of redemption. I am a fan.
That is all to be said, really.
But I'll expand for my own sake, for later. Spoiler alert? Doubtful, but there it is just in case you really care, Reader.
For several weeks I'd toyed with the idea of being excited about this movie. No, let's be honest, I did get excited. I loved the book. But not like the anticipation for The Hobbit, or Thor. A different kind. Maybe more of a curios excitement. I wondered whether it would satisfy, pass. Or like I learned from my grandpa, in response to a question like is the food good, you can say, Se deja. It works. It's allowable. Something like that. But I also knew it was a hollywood version, acted out by kids, produced and directed by I-didn't-check, and therefore, could very easily go down the road of overkill-poor-child-acting-ridiculous.
But for me at least, it totally worked.
I think a big part of that was having read the book. (I believe, if I remember correctly, I have Jeremy Weaver and a conversation in Bjorn's apartment several years ago to thank for that.) As we discussed the movie afterward, those of us who hadn't read it kind of felt like there were some emptier sections that could've used more filler. And for me, similarly, I could tell there was a lot of summarizing done to fit it into a couple hours or whatever it was (time was lost, I was transported). But that's just fine, normal—book and film are completely different mediums of storytelling. And so, it sucked me in. I was there!
Because knowing (okay, yes, here is a spoiler, sort of) what Ender was really doing as he played those final training games, knowing the cost, knowing how pure of heart he was, and yet how brilliant—knowing all those things tore me up. I'm a little upset by the fact that I was so moved by a sci-fi story, but at the same time I am completely okay with it because this story is brilliant. It's not human like the kids with cancer at the hospital or the drug addicts fighting for their lives and family, but it's almost more human at a deeper level, at a level that we can't reach in our little spheres of life. We will never command a fleet, especially one that whips past planets in the passing lane, especially as a kid, especially as a kid being played.
I wish I could remember their quotes better (or anything better, if I may), when they're talking on the raft on the lake. Stuff about knowing the enemy, and then loving them. And in that moment destroying them. Such a price, such a soulless price. And, too, such loyalty and faith in their commander. Such absolute commitment to the orders of their leader. And, further too, such a fascinating connection between the minds of two great leaders, such an incomprehensible understanding. So freaking good.
There were so many feels at that point onward. Like I said, I was torn up.
And I loved it. Thank you, Gavin Hood, for directing what I consider to be a great film. Thank you, Asa Butterfield, for portraying for me a believable Ender. Thank you especially, Orson Scott Card, for dreaming a brilliant child, a backward story, and three sequential books of redemption. I am a fan.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Winning Winsdays 2
v i d e o s
I'm going to copy Sonya here, but this Mr. Rogers video is worth it and I want to remember it. What a guy. This other one she posted was touching, too. Super freaking trooper.
b l o g s
Siren Voices is a blog I ran into several years ago and decided to read again this past week. The gentleman who writes there works on an ambulance, and what I love about it is his writing itself. It's clean, concise. It's descriptive and well-balanced. And the posts are merely a couple minutes of reading—and always interesting little anecdotes. Fantastic writing.
m u s i c
This evening a song was playing in the living room while folks were watching a video. "What song is that!?" I yelled. It was a wimp video.... (I will continue to believe not everything good I come across will be on that site.) Anyway, it turned out to be the band U137, song Dreamer On The Run. Another post-rock band, it turns out. I'm beginning to really be a fan of this genre.
i n s t a g r a m m e r o f t h e w e e k
[Where I'll post one of my favorite instagrammers, not necessarily one I just started following.]
Bradley Castaneda seems to always be climbing mountains, especially Rainier, and I'm the happier for it. I love his winter pictures of snow-laden trees and rich vistas. A few weeks ago I commented on a photo of his that I was excited his winter pictures were coming back, and he said thanks. Made my day.
Saw it on Wimp first.... Cool video portrait of George and his boot shop. These kinds of videos are the best. Well done, lads. Well done, George.
I'm going to copy Sonya here, but this Mr. Rogers video is worth it and I want to remember it. What a guy. This other one she posted was touching, too. Super freaking trooper.
b l o g s
Siren Voices is a blog I ran into several years ago and decided to read again this past week. The gentleman who writes there works on an ambulance, and what I love about it is his writing itself. It's clean, concise. It's descriptive and well-balanced. And the posts are merely a couple minutes of reading—and always interesting little anecdotes. Fantastic writing.
m u s i c
This evening a song was playing in the living room while folks were watching a video. "What song is that!?" I yelled. It was a wimp video.... (I will continue to believe not everything good I come across will be on that site.) Anyway, it turned out to be the band U137, song Dreamer On The Run. Another post-rock band, it turns out. I'm beginning to really be a fan of this genre.
i n s t a g r a m m e r o f t h e w e e k
[Where I'll post one of my favorite instagrammers, not necessarily one I just started following.]
Bradley Castaneda seems to always be climbing mountains, especially Rainier, and I'm the happier for it. I love his winter pictures of snow-laden trees and rich vistas. A few weeks ago I commented on a photo of his that I was excited his winter pictures were coming back, and he said thanks. Made my day.
 |
| THIS IS BRADLEY CASTANEDA'S PHOTO. |
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Melancholy Mondays 2: Oh, the things I could do
I kind of suck at being an introvert. I don't think I'd ever argue that that's how I'm wired, but I'd definitely argue that I suck at being one. There's so much potential during solitude, and I squander most of that time. And ironically, that's how I spend most of my time. Sort of.
Anthony says coming to our house here at camp is like basically coming to an empty house. It's often true. When you're around us, you're essentially just around your phone, or the book you brought, or with the cats. Or we all might be staring at a screen together if we're feeling really sociable. We don't get over-excited to see you and immediately offer you tea and what game should we play and what should we do tomorrow. So you might see us—me, since that's who I'm always talking about here—and think I must be excellent at spending my time entertaining myself.
And I suppose if that's what you think, you'd be pretty right. I'm good at entertaining myself, I guess. On my phone I play my word games over and over (this is a knock on how I spend my time, but... if you ever want to play Scramble with Friends or Words with Friends, I'm totally down...); I check Instagram over and over and over; I edit pictures sometimes when I'm done with the other two; and then, when it's time to close my eyes, or go do work, or get off the toilet, I'll just check my email, then the weather, and maybe even the news. Then probably a game of Solitaire to round things out.
And if I'm on my computer it's one of these sites, essentially:
And usually only the first half of those. I rarely dabble in the latter half. And the rest of my bookmarks—hundreds: proof I peruse then don't use—I rarely ever look at again. So it's just about half a dozen sites on repeat and refresh, until my neck hurts, or my legs fall asleep, or I'm too fed up with my sloth to continue.
Instead. Instead, I should be taking walks outside. I should be learning about ants and stars. I should be reading in Spanish and trying to learn Norwegian. I should be calling Grandma (Kika, cuando lees esto, espero que ya te habia llamado por lo menos una vez... recibí tu email esta tarde y te debo una conversación! Pero mas que eso, sinceramente me gustaría oír tu voz.). I should be learning to tie knots. I should be cleaning my room. I should be finishing the three books I'm currently "reading." I should be devouring good articles online, or in the magazine I splurged on 10 weeks ago at the store in Ned. I should be trimming my beard, or doing my laundry, or washing the dishes. I should be checking the headlight in my car to see what kind it is and then I should be ordering a new one to replace it. I should be running. I should be taking pictures. I should be writing a poem. I should be reading a poem. I should be memorizing scripture. I should be writing letters to my future wife. I should be making tons of rules for my kids. I should be journaling, or crocheting, or humming. I should be applying for a freaking job.
So, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not so much an introvert as a shouldbe. They are not the same. I'd really like to be an introvert. I mean, after all, I really should be.
PS: Yes, Sonya, like Mr. Rogers. I wish I could be like Mr. Rogers, too.
Anthony says coming to our house here at camp is like basically coming to an empty house. It's often true. When you're around us, you're essentially just around your phone, or the book you brought, or with the cats. Or we all might be staring at a screen together if we're feeling really sociable. We don't get over-excited to see you and immediately offer you tea and what game should we play and what should we do tomorrow. So you might see us—me, since that's who I'm always talking about here—and think I must be excellent at spending my time entertaining myself.
And I suppose if that's what you think, you'd be pretty right. I'm good at entertaining myself, I guess. On my phone I play my word games over and over (this is a knock on how I spend my time, but... if you ever want to play Scramble with Friends or Words with Friends, I'm totally down...); I check Instagram over and over and over; I edit pictures sometimes when I'm done with the other two; and then, when it's time to close my eyes, or go do work, or get off the toilet, I'll just check my email, then the weather, and maybe even the news. Then probably a game of Solitaire to round things out.
And if I'm on my computer it's one of these sites, essentially:
And usually only the first half of those. I rarely dabble in the latter half. And the rest of my bookmarks—hundreds: proof I peruse then don't use—I rarely ever look at again. So it's just about half a dozen sites on repeat and refresh, until my neck hurts, or my legs fall asleep, or I'm too fed up with my sloth to continue.
Instead. Instead, I should be taking walks outside. I should be learning about ants and stars. I should be reading in Spanish and trying to learn Norwegian. I should be calling Grandma (Kika, cuando lees esto, espero que ya te habia llamado por lo menos una vez... recibí tu email esta tarde y te debo una conversación! Pero mas que eso, sinceramente me gustaría oír tu voz.). I should be learning to tie knots. I should be cleaning my room. I should be finishing the three books I'm currently "reading." I should be devouring good articles online, or in the magazine I splurged on 10 weeks ago at the store in Ned. I should be trimming my beard, or doing my laundry, or washing the dishes. I should be checking the headlight in my car to see what kind it is and then I should be ordering a new one to replace it. I should be running. I should be taking pictures. I should be writing a poem. I should be reading a poem. I should be memorizing scripture. I should be writing letters to my future wife. I should be making tons of rules for my kids. I should be journaling, or crocheting, or humming. I should be applying for a freaking job.
So, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not so much an introvert as a shouldbe. They are not the same. I'd really like to be an introvert. I mean, after all, I really should be.
PS: Yes, Sonya, like Mr. Rogers. I wish I could be like Mr. Rogers, too.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Upon Reflection
I'm turning 26.75 tomorrow. I've thought about that for the past couple weeks and it actually feels kind of like a milestone. There is potential in this time. What could I look back on? These months could change my life. Come birth day, I could turn around and marvel. Or go fetal in dismay. Or just a sweet mix of both—looking back on the disappointments, but allowing them to stand me up out of bed and dream at the day ahead.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Winning Winsday 1
I see Winning Winsdays as my chance to keep record of the things that stuck out to me most throughout the past week. It'll be fun to look back on, I imagine, and hopefully fun for you to share with me. Welcome to Winning Winsdays.
articles
"Inside the World of the Double-Crossing Fake Hitman"articles
by Jeanne Marie Laskas, GQ
via Instapaper
A fascinating glimpse into the life of a "hitman" who works covertly for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. He is a man who looks like death, but saves people from it instead.
“Tell me what you want done,” the hit man says. “Do you want something done?”“Oh, I want something done. I want that bitch's face cut.”...The hit man has ice blue eyes that don't wander, don't shift or pierce with disdain. “So you don't want her dead, you want her scarred up?”
videos
The wimp.com video posted the other day ago about what it's like to have a mustache, by some Argentines for a Buenos Aires Festival, I found to be very entertaining. I think in part simply because they were Argentine. And just for the record, I spent what I felt was a fair amount of time searching for the original posting of said video and could not locate it. So... wimp it is. (And a version from YouTube.)
Another wimp video... Called "3 Queens" by Matt Bieler
This one was from today and based on the stats shown on its original vimeo page, today was the day it shot through the roof (or the start of it, at least). I like the simplicity of it, and the editing seems well-done and the music well-chosen. Go moms.
3 Queens from Matt Bieler on Vimeo.
Bernd Heinrich talks about why he runs. And he says it so well.
"I get broken up when I even think about it." "I'm moved by others' dreams; by their devotion and courage—pursuit of this excellence." "Of course, I'd... I'd really like to be a bird, but uh, running is a close second."
Monday, November 18, 2013
Melancholy Monday 1: The Grisly Mop
I've grown my hair out pretty long several times in the past, and for about 5-8 months of that time I wake up every morning bemoaning my existence.
"Woe is me," I say when my eyes open. "My life is but a sludge. A mire, a muck, a morbid mud to be revolted by. Woe is me."
Then I get out of bed and try to go the rest of the day without ever catching my reflection in a mirror, or a dark glass, or the eye of my beholder. It is the least I can do for my own sanity, my own safety.
Unfortunately, those others with whom I share my daily repertoire of duties are not so lucky as I. For they, try as they might, cannot but help their misfortune. For to their eyes, I am not merely a mirror to avoid, but an ever-present source of misery.
I'm sorry, world. I'm so terribly sorry. I wish that there were in this universe the button to press that might speed along our mutual misery. But there is not! No, not! There's nought but to suffer through, to persevere—to defy the torturous blend of hellions and imps before us.
Truly, for 5-8 months I am nothing but a grisly mop of unkept crazy hair. Woe, woe is me.
"Woe is me," I say when my eyes open. "My life is but a sludge. A mire, a muck, a morbid mud to be revolted by. Woe is me."
Then I get out of bed and try to go the rest of the day without ever catching my reflection in a mirror, or a dark glass, or the eye of my beholder. It is the least I can do for my own sanity, my own safety.
Unfortunately, those others with whom I share my daily repertoire of duties are not so lucky as I. For they, try as they might, cannot but help their misfortune. For to their eyes, I am not merely a mirror to avoid, but an ever-present source of misery.
I'm sorry, world. I'm so terribly sorry. I wish that there were in this universe the button to press that might speed along our mutual misery. But there is not! No, not! There's nought but to suffer through, to persevere—to defy the torturous blend of hellions and imps before us.
Truly, for 5-8 months I am nothing but a grisly mop of unkept crazy hair. Woe, woe is me.
Something's Building
It kind of hurts my pride a bit to be happy and have a good day after a day of self-belittling. But such is my life. Today was a happy and good day, and I felt things building again inside. I rambled on and on to a couple co-workers this evening about things I'd come across today or things I've liked recently. Then I started teaching one of them to crochet. Three of us had tea, shared songs and Instagrams, and laughed at the cats.
Maybe I'll start some regulars on this ole blog here of mine. I was thinking Melancholy Mondays, followed by Winning Winsdays. That way I can get all the sourness from the last week out, tastefully, of course, and then follow it up with a varied collection of things I thought were cool from the past week. I don't know, we'll see. Likely it will end up like all my other ideas: idon'tas.
I'm sleeping in the living room tonight by the fire. But I see the cats have tried to lay claim to my bed. Time to go take back what's mine. Good night.
Maybe I'll start some regulars on this ole blog here of mine. I was thinking Melancholy Mondays, followed by Winning Winsdays. That way I can get all the sourness from the last week out, tastefully, of course, and then follow it up with a varied collection of things I thought were cool from the past week. I don't know, we'll see. Likely it will end up like all my other ideas: idon'tas.
I'm sleeping in the living room tonight by the fire. But I see the cats have tried to lay claim to my bed. Time to go take back what's mine. Good night.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Invincible
Is it okay to feel invincible every once in a while?
We watch the teens and tell them to be wary. Slow down, don't be stupid, watch out, that's cray. You just feel invincible, don't you? That's all. But you're not. Remember that I told you that later, when you've broken your arm or gotten 16 stitches in your forehead. Silly kids, they'll learn.
Thus I stifle those feelings sometimes, telling myself I shouldn't feel that way. It's a knock-on-wood moment. What if I jinx myself and then ruin it all? What then? I'll feel dumb, that's for sure. Who feels invincible anyway, it's for the kids. It's for the immature and inexperienced. The naive.
But I felt invincible for a moment today and I'm going to tell you about it. It's another running story.
***
I needed to mail something from Nederlands, so I figured I'd just run while I was there and get to experience a new place. I did some recon, driving around for a few miles on a route I suspected might be good. It would do. Finished with the little shopping I wanted to do (Ramen, popcorn, frosted shredded wheat, you know, the essentials), I drove back and parked the jeep beside the road.
It's windy here in the Colorado mountains. I daresay more so than in Spangle, Washington, which seems crazy. Perhaps not so constant, but the gusts pack a punch and gather en force every couple days for a power struggle between air and legs. Such was the case today here on camp and in Nederlands as well.
The first ten minutes was just the softest incline, an introduction to the surrounding area and road surface. Then I hit the goal: a two-mile uphill stretch to the entrance of the El Dora ski resort with an average pitch of just over 7%. Nothing crazy, but enough to require some effort.
After the first quarter mile, icy snow patches began to swath the road, able to exist due to their proximity to the cliff on my left which blocked the sun most of the day. Temperatures were probably in the 40s, wind chill much lower. Elevation around 8,500 feet. Snowflakes whipped about. Little bursts of wind speckled my way, making me lean in and slow down. Bring it.
Okay.
I noticed the gusts picking up as I ascended. Stride shortened, body felt heavier. Breath mechanical, saliva accumulated faster, beard getting crispy with freezing condensation. Bring it.
Okay. Try this one.
I was momentarily stalled, both feet planted, leaning far in just to stay upright. Whoa. But was that it?
Gazing out to my right, the valley was dropping steadily below me. A moody sky in front of me, sunlight still coming through, illuminated everything behind with a dull fade. The snowflakes were flying through the mountains from the sky a few miles ahead, finally reaching me after their long journey, and biting me in the face. The ears were feeling hollow, the pressure changes and crispness of the air factors in spite of my hat. Arms hung low, just like coach taught me to do when ascending. Feet churned steady, now and then the rhythm disturbed by Wind. Head bent determinedly, as if to drive through the thick air regardless.
I thought of the cold, windy runs I'd had in Washington. When my wrists froze up and it took several minutes for my fingers to thaw enough to be usable again. When the constant whooshing past my ears made me sick for silence and the occasional lull of the wind suddenly sprung me ahead with a new stride. I knew how it went.
Up, up I went. Another minute, another minute. Another curve, another gust, another bite. Not enough to stop Chris Clouzet.
Then came the crest.
After one last curve, there was a small lake on the left, and the road leveled out for about a quarter mile. The lake ran nearly parallel to the road, but just diagonal enough so that when I turned my head to about 11 o'clock I was looking down its length. It had choppy little waves and constant rippling sheets that were evidence of fast-moving gusts exploring its surface. Toward me.
Here, the noise of the wind is constant and strong. The swirls of snow dust tornado quickly across the road, flying under my feet. I am thankful for the sunglasses I am wearing, better for wind-blocking than visibility in this already-low-light environment. I sense the big hit is coming. The open space of the lake a meeting ground for winds from all four corners of the earth to congregate and join forces and gain momentum and rush into whatever is in their way. We're coming. I could see them, the winds, laughing fiercely, aiming for the kill. You've made it this far, but from here, You Shall Not Pass. Nearer, nearer. Now, the leap...
Impact.
The hit. The blow. The rip. The roar. The bite. the chew, the swallow.
But also...
The doubling over. The digging in. The slow motion. The crooked smile.
Then two fingers of defiance up in the air. Head raised, turned to 11 o'clock. Eyes steely. And the loudest yell of profanity this runner could muster.
Is that all you got? I whisper with a mighty sprint.
We watch the teens and tell them to be wary. Slow down, don't be stupid, watch out, that's cray. You just feel invincible, don't you? That's all. But you're not. Remember that I told you that later, when you've broken your arm or gotten 16 stitches in your forehead. Silly kids, they'll learn.
Thus I stifle those feelings sometimes, telling myself I shouldn't feel that way. It's a knock-on-wood moment. What if I jinx myself and then ruin it all? What then? I'll feel dumb, that's for sure. Who feels invincible anyway, it's for the kids. It's for the immature and inexperienced. The naive.
But I felt invincible for a moment today and I'm going to tell you about it. It's another running story.
***
I needed to mail something from Nederlands, so I figured I'd just run while I was there and get to experience a new place. I did some recon, driving around for a few miles on a route I suspected might be good. It would do. Finished with the little shopping I wanted to do (Ramen, popcorn, frosted shredded wheat, you know, the essentials), I drove back and parked the jeep beside the road.
It's windy here in the Colorado mountains. I daresay more so than in Spangle, Washington, which seems crazy. Perhaps not so constant, but the gusts pack a punch and gather en force every couple days for a power struggle between air and legs. Such was the case today here on camp and in Nederlands as well.
The first ten minutes was just the softest incline, an introduction to the surrounding area and road surface. Then I hit the goal: a two-mile uphill stretch to the entrance of the El Dora ski resort with an average pitch of just over 7%. Nothing crazy, but enough to require some effort.
After the first quarter mile, icy snow patches began to swath the road, able to exist due to their proximity to the cliff on my left which blocked the sun most of the day. Temperatures were probably in the 40s, wind chill much lower. Elevation around 8,500 feet. Snowflakes whipped about. Little bursts of wind speckled my way, making me lean in and slow down. Bring it.
Okay.
I noticed the gusts picking up as I ascended. Stride shortened, body felt heavier. Breath mechanical, saliva accumulated faster, beard getting crispy with freezing condensation. Bring it.
Okay. Try this one.
I was momentarily stalled, both feet planted, leaning far in just to stay upright. Whoa. But was that it?
Gazing out to my right, the valley was dropping steadily below me. A moody sky in front of me, sunlight still coming through, illuminated everything behind with a dull fade. The snowflakes were flying through the mountains from the sky a few miles ahead, finally reaching me after their long journey, and biting me in the face. The ears were feeling hollow, the pressure changes and crispness of the air factors in spite of my hat. Arms hung low, just like coach taught me to do when ascending. Feet churned steady, now and then the rhythm disturbed by Wind. Head bent determinedly, as if to drive through the thick air regardless.
I thought of the cold, windy runs I'd had in Washington. When my wrists froze up and it took several minutes for my fingers to thaw enough to be usable again. When the constant whooshing past my ears made me sick for silence and the occasional lull of the wind suddenly sprung me ahead with a new stride. I knew how it went.
Up, up I went. Another minute, another minute. Another curve, another gust, another bite. Not enough to stop Chris Clouzet.
Then came the crest.
After one last curve, there was a small lake on the left, and the road leveled out for about a quarter mile. The lake ran nearly parallel to the road, but just diagonal enough so that when I turned my head to about 11 o'clock I was looking down its length. It had choppy little waves and constant rippling sheets that were evidence of fast-moving gusts exploring its surface. Toward me.
Here, the noise of the wind is constant and strong. The swirls of snow dust tornado quickly across the road, flying under my feet. I am thankful for the sunglasses I am wearing, better for wind-blocking than visibility in this already-low-light environment. I sense the big hit is coming. The open space of the lake a meeting ground for winds from all four corners of the earth to congregate and join forces and gain momentum and rush into whatever is in their way. We're coming. I could see them, the winds, laughing fiercely, aiming for the kill. You've made it this far, but from here, You Shall Not Pass. Nearer, nearer. Now, the leap...
Impact.
The hit. The blow. The rip. The roar. The bite. the chew, the swallow.
But also...
The doubling over. The digging in. The slow motion. The crooked smile.
Then two fingers of defiance up in the air. Head raised, turned to 11 o'clock. Eyes steely. And the loudest yell of profanity this runner could muster.
Is that all you got? I whisper with a mighty sprint.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Updates Because I Can
Quick little update post because I was about to tell Krista she should blog so I can talk to her by reading what she says. I don't even read many blogs though, frankly, nor do I ever write. So who am I to say such things to Krista? Fortunately, I didn't.
The past couple weeks have been good. We're getting fewer groups here at camp, so we're having more time to work on projects we didn't have time for previously. I've tried to keep the Glacier View Ranch Facebook page going with pictures and some updates, and I started an Instagram account for the camp, too. I'm also going to reprint some pictures for the hallway outside of the cafeteria. One of them was of the hot tubs. Wow. So nice.
The yellow he-cat is kneading my belly right now. Oh, he's done. Just plopped down on my hands. Thanks cat.
Maybe I'll find something to study here at the University of Colorado. Running mecca. Plus, then I can say C U Later all the time and it'll be hilarious.
Or maybe I'll move to South America and visit Stephen sometime. There's a lot of good running down there. Plus the language is pretty and the people are pretty and the places are pretty. And it's cheap.
Or perhaps I'll go somewhere else and do something else. Maybe I'll be an astronaut with the now-defunct space program. Isn't it kind of shut down???
Mom is flying in to Denver tomorrow. We're going to trek up to Wyoming to see Great-Grandma. Then we'll drive back down and hang out until she leaves Thursday to see the brosef. She has a birthday soon. Then sister does, then brother does, and then a couple months later does I.
I asked a question tonight when I would rather have just kept staring at my phone. I read a blog post the other evening where a runner lamented our society's dependance on their little screens. As Eustace says, we ought to be living in a world of circles, not squares. Outside the box, in other words. Coffins are boxes. And I want to get out of that box. Paul (right?) said he stopped thinking like a child at some point. Will I ever?
Now the cat's in his favorite position: ultra comfortable.
Now I got cats, cats, cats, cats, cats, cats, cats.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Pulling Weeds
Defeated, escaping, hoping no one sees
Breathing short, heart on fire
Fists in my gut want to scream
and punch
and flail
and break
and kill
Blinded, rushing, roiling in the chest
Thinking thunder, Earth too small
Furious raging living tempest
it sears
it cuts
it shrieks
it claws
Heated, shuddering, falling to knees
Swelling eyes, hands are splayed
Whispering lethal obscenities
I'm done
I can't
I hate
I quit
Cheated, splintering, reeling toward the trees
Writhing hatred, mind entrenched
Soul fierce longing for peace
and quiet
and still
and pride
and me
And then.
Knowing it would come, it did. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Why not? Rage. But the sun, it's warm. The valley, it's rich. The mountains, they're bright. The stillness, it's here.
It's a rough cycle, though, getting beyond-frustrated at insignificant things of the day's small tasks, then loathing the self for allowing the fury to begin with. And on and on and on.
Am I such a simpleton that I can't brush it off before it explodes? Is there some monster inside me, growing how big who knows?
It hurts when you can't think much of yourself and if you ever do, you quiet those voices and knock on wood... as if they really knew. And now in reflection, it's always so silly. What a joke, what a funny, he just hiccuped today, that's all. But then really, really, really, is that all it is? Because you know it returns. You know it's not gone. You know you're just pulling weeds.
Breathing short, heart on fire
Fists in my gut want to scream
and punch
and flail
and break
and kill
Blinded, rushing, roiling in the chest
Thinking thunder, Earth too small
Furious raging living tempest
it sears
it cuts
it shrieks
it claws
Heated, shuddering, falling to knees
Swelling eyes, hands are splayed
Whispering lethal obscenities
I'm done
I can't
I hate
I quit
Cheated, splintering, reeling toward the trees
Writhing hatred, mind entrenched
Soul fierce longing for peace
and quiet
and still
and pride
and me
And then.
Knowing it would come, it did. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Why not? Rage. But the sun, it's warm. The valley, it's rich. The mountains, they're bright. The stillness, it's here.
It's a rough cycle, though, getting beyond-frustrated at insignificant things of the day's small tasks, then loathing the self for allowing the fury to begin with. And on and on and on.
Am I such a simpleton that I can't brush it off before it explodes? Is there some monster inside me, growing how big who knows?
It hurts when you can't think much of yourself and if you ever do, you quiet those voices and knock on wood... as if they really knew. And now in reflection, it's always so silly. What a joke, what a funny, he just hiccuped today, that's all. But then really, really, really, is that all it is? Because you know it returns. You know it's not gone. You know you're just pulling weeds.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Fine, I'll write something
This will just be updates.
I left UCA, storing my stuff at the dorm and flying directly to Denver, where Anthony picked me up. I've been working with him at Glacier View Ranch (I'd link it but the website is crap, something we'd like to improve before leaving) as an assistant everything, but mostly cleaner. Caught the tail-end of summer camp, and had a mad rush of trying to prepare for a visit from the Child Care Lisencing lady. We're still need to catch up on that. Since then we've basically just been caring for the user groups that come in. That means lots of cleaning in between groups and then lots of kitchen time during their visit. Some of those days get upwards of 12 hours. Good times.
I've tried to pick up the running, especially in this goldmine of mountains and trails and views and altitude. Bought a couple new pairs of shoes to experiment with. Been on a few Strava segments. And then... got to run at lower elevation in Washington.
A couple weekends ago there was a little gap between groups and I flew out to Walla Walla, ate lunch with the brother, drove to Seattle, visited Ryan, Tara, and Jessi, and ran on Tiger Mountain. Then I drove to UCA to pick up my stuff, running up and pounding down Mount Si on the way. I got to visit with the new RAs and with the deans, and happily discover that my stuff fit rather easily into my car, contrary to my expectations. I coffeed it down to the brother's apartment again and hung out with him for a day before the long haul back to Colorado. Which was quite the adventure....
It's Friday, I'm looking up races around my route to see if I could hit one on the way back to GVR. Not really any Sunday races, except for two in CO itself: Boulder and Vail. I thought, if I leave Sabbath afternoon and hightail it all night, I could hit one of those. By that night, though, I'd all but given up the idea as I figured I might as well not kill myself, save some money, and get to stay with Al a bit longer. (Plus, I had in mind a race in Utah or something, not right next to home....)
On Sabbath we had some of Al's friends over for lunch and then they all decided to go hiking at three. Oh reheheally. Well then I might as well leave, right? By 3:23 I was on the road and doing the math. I figured if I drove straight through and didn't dawdle on the stops, I could either nap for an hour or two on the way or get to Vail with that much time to spare before the race. Sounded good to me, why not?
A few hours into the drive I changed my clock to mountain time, and it dawned on me that I was, right then, losing a precious hour. Well... I just really can't dawdle. So I didn't. I ate a quick Subway sandwich, kept going. Pooped in my pants, kept going. Ordered a gas refill from that hose plane that refills jets, kept going. Swerved around the dead deer, kept going. Drank an industrial-size bottle of coffee, kept going. Took pictures of the sunrise in the mountains, kept going. Ate the second sandwich, kept going. Changed into my running gear, kept going. And made it to Vail Village at about 7:45 a.m. The last gondola ride up to make it on time was at 8:30. Boom.
But then I got lost in the village and swore that if I missed the race because of that... well... I'd be urinated. But I asked a friendly running-looking couple where I should go and made it to the registration table with time to spare. Wearing the flannel shirt I'd worn all night, I slipped the lady my $40, put the $1 of change back in my left breast pocket, buttoned my keys into the right breast pocket, and got in line for a groggy gondola ride up the hill.
After an 8-minute warmup and plenty of ogling at the rich-white-fit-decked-out-ski-in-the-winter-run-in-the-summer Coloradoans around me, the gun went off and I began my 10k shuffle. It was good. 10,000 feet is no joke, though, and we were all heaving.
I finally passed the 9-year-old girl in front of me right after we began the descent in the last two miles, only thanks to my longer legs. I'd heard of two young sisters who were long distance runners, and very good, so when I passed her I asked if she was famous and whether I should get her autograph when we finished. She may have smiled, but probably in confusion. It wasn't her after all. (Though it will be soon, she and her brother kicked butt: she got 3rd woman overall, less than a minute behind 2nd, and her brother, 11, tied for 1st place overall in the 5k run. You heard it from me first.)
My toe caught a rock on the lovely single-track descent and I ate it pretty good. Mopped up the blood and pushed on. Finished in under 50 minutes, which was my goal, so I was pleased. It was enough to have the story, the nice Columbia t-shirt, a cookie, and a cool mountain-race experience.
I tried napping as soon as I got to the car, but it was baking. Didn't last 10 minutes before my sweat woke me up and I decided I should plod on. Two or so more hours until camp. I got gas and hit it. Lots of traffic in those mountains. I had to stop for water and a bathroom break, and ended up zonking out for a while in the parking lot as soon as I turned off the car. I probably looked like I was the beginning of World War Z once I finally got out. Except not as aggressive. Maybe more the Zombieland type.
I finally made it back to camp and so have been here since. A couple days after arriving, I noticed a pain growing in the ball of my right foot. I don't know what it is, but I stopped running for a week and have only recently run a couple short ones to test it. Seems better, but still a little achy at times. I don't know if my hope of doing a trail marathon in Ft. Collins in a month will pan out, but it'd sure be nice.
Besides that, not much happening around here worth sharing. Life persists, and I go along with it. I suppose I'm still seeking purpose and self-confidence and all sorts of things like that. Just typing and thinking that elevates my little heart into limbo and I don't really want to breath. Time will slow down if I don't, right? The only thing I feel is maturing and growing is my beard and my body odor.
But enough of that. I was introduced to a really fun iPhone game where you try to kill the whole world in a plague, I ate pineapple tonight for supper, and the cats have only crapped on the floor twice, so life is really gotten good.
I left UCA, storing my stuff at the dorm and flying directly to Denver, where Anthony picked me up. I've been working with him at Glacier View Ranch (I'd link it but the website is crap, something we'd like to improve before leaving) as an assistant everything, but mostly cleaner. Caught the tail-end of summer camp, and had a mad rush of trying to prepare for a visit from the Child Care Lisencing lady. We're still need to catch up on that. Since then we've basically just been caring for the user groups that come in. That means lots of cleaning in between groups and then lots of kitchen time during their visit. Some of those days get upwards of 12 hours. Good times.
I've tried to pick up the running, especially in this goldmine of mountains and trails and views and altitude. Bought a couple new pairs of shoes to experiment with. Been on a few Strava segments. And then... got to run at lower elevation in Washington.
It's Friday, I'm looking up races around my route to see if I could hit one on the way back to GVR. Not really any Sunday races, except for two in CO itself: Boulder and Vail. I thought, if I leave Sabbath afternoon and hightail it all night, I could hit one of those. By that night, though, I'd all but given up the idea as I figured I might as well not kill myself, save some money, and get to stay with Al a bit longer. (Plus, I had in mind a race in Utah or something, not right next to home....)
On Sabbath we had some of Al's friends over for lunch and then they all decided to go hiking at three. Oh reheheally. Well then I might as well leave, right? By 3:23 I was on the road and doing the math. I figured if I drove straight through and didn't dawdle on the stops, I could either nap for an hour or two on the way or get to Vail with that much time to spare before the race. Sounded good to me, why not?
A few hours into the drive I changed my clock to mountain time, and it dawned on me that I was, right then, losing a precious hour. Well... I just really can't dawdle. So I didn't. I ate a quick Subway sandwich, kept going. Pooped in my pants, kept going. Ordered a gas refill from that hose plane that refills jets, kept going. Swerved around the dead deer, kept going. Drank an industrial-size bottle of coffee, kept going. Took pictures of the sunrise in the mountains, kept going. Ate the second sandwich, kept going. Changed into my running gear, kept going. And made it to Vail Village at about 7:45 a.m. The last gondola ride up to make it on time was at 8:30. Boom.
But then I got lost in the village and swore that if I missed the race because of that... well... I'd be urinated. But I asked a friendly running-looking couple where I should go and made it to the registration table with time to spare. Wearing the flannel shirt I'd worn all night, I slipped the lady my $40, put the $1 of change back in my left breast pocket, buttoned my keys into the right breast pocket, and got in line for a groggy gondola ride up the hill.
After an 8-minute warmup and plenty of ogling at the rich-white-fit-decked-out-ski-in-the-winter-run-in-the-summer Coloradoans around me, the gun went off and I began my 10k shuffle. It was good. 10,000 feet is no joke, though, and we were all heaving.
My toe caught a rock on the lovely single-track descent and I ate it pretty good. Mopped up the blood and pushed on. Finished in under 50 minutes, which was my goal, so I was pleased. It was enough to have the story, the nice Columbia t-shirt, a cookie, and a cool mountain-race experience.
I tried napping as soon as I got to the car, but it was baking. Didn't last 10 minutes before my sweat woke me up and I decided I should plod on. Two or so more hours until camp. I got gas and hit it. Lots of traffic in those mountains. I had to stop for water and a bathroom break, and ended up zonking out for a while in the parking lot as soon as I turned off the car. I probably looked like I was the beginning of World War Z once I finally got out. Except not as aggressive. Maybe more the Zombieland type.
I finally made it back to camp and so have been here since. A couple days after arriving, I noticed a pain growing in the ball of my right foot. I don't know what it is, but I stopped running for a week and have only recently run a couple short ones to test it. Seems better, but still a little achy at times. I don't know if my hope of doing a trail marathon in Ft. Collins in a month will pan out, but it'd sure be nice.
Besides that, not much happening around here worth sharing. Life persists, and I go along with it. I suppose I'm still seeking purpose and self-confidence and all sorts of things like that. Just typing and thinking that elevates my little heart into limbo and I don't really want to breath. Time will slow down if I don't, right? The only thing I feel is maturing and growing is my beard and my body odor.
But enough of that. I was introduced to a really fun iPhone game where you try to kill the whole world in a plague, I ate pineapple tonight for supper, and the cats have only crapped on the floor twice, so life is really gotten good.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
In my defense
Graduation was two days ago and I'm still here. Which means I made it through the whole year without packing up some night after the closing shift, stuffing my car, and disappearing into the hills. Laugh if you must, but it could happen someday.
I gave two kids my Instagram account and that might end up being my only legacy. But I'd like to think there's a little more of me left here than that. Jesus, the Spanish kid not the carpenter, said he'd miss me, and I think he meant it as genuinely as he could. Mostly though, in my excitement- and exhaustion-induced hyperness at moments the past week or so, the boys said I was weird. That's okay. I was asking for it. It's probably a defense mechanism of mine.
At the last little worship I gave a few days before graduation, I told them it was fun knowing them and I'd never see them again. Haha. But seriously. I then shared the verse in I Thessalonians about Jesus (the carpenter) coming and yelling and lifting people up and taking them home and then all of us being with the Lord forever. So maybe I won't never see them again, but maybe.
I'd say it's been a good year overall. I'm happy to be here even now. The graph of the year is one of those rising graphs of improvement, not a spiraling downward graph. That's a first in many years. There are still those little slumps downward on the line graph, but they're not as strong as they once were.
Now for a plan to get rich. I want to make a living now that I'm alive.
I gave two kids my Instagram account and that might end up being my only legacy. But I'd like to think there's a little more of me left here than that. Jesus, the Spanish kid not the carpenter, said he'd miss me, and I think he meant it as genuinely as he could. Mostly though, in my excitement- and exhaustion-induced hyperness at moments the past week or so, the boys said I was weird. That's okay. I was asking for it. It's probably a defense mechanism of mine.
At the last little worship I gave a few days before graduation, I told them it was fun knowing them and I'd never see them again. Haha. But seriously. I then shared the verse in I Thessalonians about Jesus (the carpenter) coming and yelling and lifting people up and taking them home and then all of us being with the Lord forever. So maybe I won't never see them again, but maybe.
I'd say it's been a good year overall. I'm happy to be here even now. The graph of the year is one of those rising graphs of improvement, not a spiraling downward graph. That's a first in many years. There are still those little slumps downward on the line graph, but they're not as strong as they once were.
Now for a plan to get rich. I want to make a living now that I'm alive.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
I'm kind of thirsty
He looked just the slightest bit uncomfortable in front of the coffee shop counter, looking up at the menu, fingering keys or something in his hand. He was good-looking, in my opinion. Blond, slender. He looked to me how I felt when it had been my turn in front of the counter. A pace or two back from where he "should've" been, standing there, barely, in a noncommittal fashion, kind of as though wishing he could look at a menu on his phone in the comfort of his car maybe, but still interested in the information. I turned back to my lists and didn't notice whether or not he ordered something. Later I glanced up and saw him in the book shop side of the room with his girlfriend, smiling, following.
I walked into the cafeteria and weaved through the crowded-tabled room toward the food lines. "Clouzet, Clouzet!" I heard. J caught my attention and then motioned and mouthed that I looked strange wearing jeans, that he wasn't used to it. "What a dork," I thought. I wear these all the time. After getting my food, he and I ended up exiting at the same time. "You look better in your normal pants," he told me. Okay, whatever. I think I smiled and said thanks. He's a good kid.
Yesterday morning I woke up to find an email that asked a couple questions which essentially called me out on an error I'd made while on duty the night before. I'd messed up, and for some reason didn't even realize it fully. I was embarrassed and ashamed, and of course later, when I talked with the email sender about it, he was gracious and kind and I felt really stupid. I'd also been asked to check in to whether or not I could have the cats in the apartment. That also made me feel dumb. I wasn't trying to hide them. Then later that afternoon, some of the staff were trying to locate a couple guys from the dorm. They called me a couple times—as I was on duty the day before—but I didn't notice the calls. Finally, a third person called me and I noticed. Oh, of course, those kids are here and there, gone for the day. I'd told one person the day before about why they were gone, but didn't think to inform the dean who'd be on duty the next day. That didn't feel good. A third screwup for the day. Sometimes I feel like a slow child.
The kittens start to congregate around my sleeping body, especially the sleeping head part of my body, in the morning when I'm trying to sleep in and they're trying to get fed. After plenty of that this morning, I finally rolled out of bed (literally, I don't have a bed frame), and went over and knelt down by their bowls to pour them their food. Suddenly, orange kitty leaped up in his excitement and clamped onto my naked torso with all four paws. I went rigid. "F***!" I blurted, stiffly pouring his dumb food and then unhooking him gingerly from my side. I could literally murder my boy right now. In a game of Wii sports. I love my boy.
Milling around with the dozen plus students waiting to run the UCA Track and Field Day 5k yesterday,
I shook my legs out and wondered who'd beat me and whether it'd be embarrassing or not. And I also wondered whether I might actually beat them instead. We started. It was a soft downhill at first and I took it easy while most of them shot ahead. But then came the long, gradual uphill to the turn around and I steadily passed them all with my shortened, quick strides. One of them willed himself to run beside me with loping hurts down the return hill for a while, but eventually succumbed to discomfort. In the end I told him experience had helped me "win", but I don't think he really heard me. It's interesting to realize I am "experienced" in something compared to someone else. That's another way of saying I'm old.
I feel too old, and not old enough. I'd like to have a day someone would make a movie about. Where everything's flat, then it goes down, then I go over something, then it goes up forever and I win. I'd like to see the whole shape of me. And for the blood in me to flow sharper. I'd like to dream on paper, and fall in love. I'd like to look into eyes, talk about someone other than myself, go to bed thinking about my day, wake up to the skip of a heartbeat.
Yes, I'm feeling tonight. No, I don't know what. Yes, I've enjoyed the past several weeks. No, that doesn't mean my life is making sense. Yes, of course it's okay.
I walked into the cafeteria and weaved through the crowded-tabled room toward the food lines. "Clouzet, Clouzet!" I heard. J caught my attention and then motioned and mouthed that I looked strange wearing jeans, that he wasn't used to it. "What a dork," I thought. I wear these all the time. After getting my food, he and I ended up exiting at the same time. "You look better in your normal pants," he told me. Okay, whatever. I think I smiled and said thanks. He's a good kid.
Yesterday morning I woke up to find an email that asked a couple questions which essentially called me out on an error I'd made while on duty the night before. I'd messed up, and for some reason didn't even realize it fully. I was embarrassed and ashamed, and of course later, when I talked with the email sender about it, he was gracious and kind and I felt really stupid. I'd also been asked to check in to whether or not I could have the cats in the apartment. That also made me feel dumb. I wasn't trying to hide them. Then later that afternoon, some of the staff were trying to locate a couple guys from the dorm. They called me a couple times—as I was on duty the day before—but I didn't notice the calls. Finally, a third person called me and I noticed. Oh, of course, those kids are here and there, gone for the day. I'd told one person the day before about why they were gone, but didn't think to inform the dean who'd be on duty the next day. That didn't feel good. A third screwup for the day. Sometimes I feel like a slow child.
The kittens start to congregate around my sleeping body, especially the sleeping head part of my body, in the morning when I'm trying to sleep in and they're trying to get fed. After plenty of that this morning, I finally rolled out of bed (literally, I don't have a bed frame), and went over and knelt down by their bowls to pour them their food. Suddenly, orange kitty leaped up in his excitement and clamped onto my naked torso with all four paws. I went rigid. "F***!" I blurted, stiffly pouring his dumb food and then unhooking him gingerly from my side. I could literally murder my boy right now. In a game of Wii sports. I love my boy.
Milling around with the dozen plus students waiting to run the UCA Track and Field Day 5k yesterday,
I shook my legs out and wondered who'd beat me and whether it'd be embarrassing or not. And I also wondered whether I might actually beat them instead. We started. It was a soft downhill at first and I took it easy while most of them shot ahead. But then came the long, gradual uphill to the turn around and I steadily passed them all with my shortened, quick strides. One of them willed himself to run beside me with loping hurts down the return hill for a while, but eventually succumbed to discomfort. In the end I told him experience had helped me "win", but I don't think he really heard me. It's interesting to realize I am "experienced" in something compared to someone else. That's another way of saying I'm old.
I feel too old, and not old enough. I'd like to have a day someone would make a movie about. Where everything's flat, then it goes down, then I go over something, then it goes up forever and I win. I'd like to see the whole shape of me. And for the blood in me to flow sharper. I'd like to dream on paper, and fall in love. I'd like to look into eyes, talk about someone other than myself, go to bed thinking about my day, wake up to the skip of a heartbeat.
Yes, I'm feeling tonight. No, I don't know what. Yes, I've enjoyed the past several weeks. No, that doesn't mean my life is making sense. Yes, of course it's okay.
Monday, May 13, 2013
It's raining, but I'm inside
A few months ago, Anthony and I decided we'd try and write at least once a week. I don't think either of us have adhered well to our informal challenge. Nevertheless, occasionally I find myself sitting in the big brown recliner stuffed into my room, fan blowing on my feet, The Brilliance worshipping from my laptop, and I figure I might as well write an update on the life of Christoffer. It is the title of this blog, after all.
On April 21 I ran a 50k trail race—my first—and it was hard. I got emotional a couple times, when the legs ached like slow death and wanted to stop but my heart soaked up the signal before it got to my brain; when I thought of Jesús, the kid who blessed me with "when you can't run with your heart, run with your legs" when I told him I knew it'd be tough and sorry for missing your soccer game; when the rain drizzled on my beat-up body and the river hardly noticed at my side, but I did.
And I got furious at the race organizers and the person who invented the mile and the crowds that weren't there to run me home when the last mile seemed to be three. I swear it was long. Though I did find out later that my phone's gps had jumped a bit during the race and logged an extra 1.3 miles during the race that I did not run, making me think that I was running significantly farther than the 31-mile limit my mind thought it could take.
But first, for the first 15 miles, I got blissed. That means that the fresh Spring flowers were tiny in their little colors dotting the forest. It means the weaving of the trails through the spindly pines and firs, the inclines that rendered the greens and shadow greens of forest views for miles to our side. Blissed means having the means to snap a photo of the gentlemen churning trail in front of me and post it to Instagram while on the run. It means running freely, happily, willingly, for miles and miles with people of a like mind and like goal. It even meant turning back around mile 18 to gaze in wonder at the sprinting high school kids coming up behind us, destroying their 10k course.
And then it was turning back to the trail and slogging through the second half of the course, finishing alone and furious, and five minutes later feeling on top of the world, shuffling from food to car to food to car, and finishing up my day by driving half an hour home with stiffening legs, showering, and going right to the office to start my 11-hour shift in the dorm. I was exhausted that night when I went to sleep, and maybe never so proud of myself as feeling then that I had earned that sleep.
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| Yes, I stole this from the race photographer... |
***
Two days later now and I'm back in that big recliner with the fan blowing on my feet. It's raining outside, for once in our lives. I was on duty this weekend, so it was quite a bit of go go go in the evenings at least. Yesterday I opened the gym and we played a lot of basketball. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I was playing 21 with a couple guys and I told them the story of when I was in high school and Andy and I played 21 and he beat me. 21 - 0. Close game. I didn't do so bad yesterday. Sometimes I even dribble now and it's interesting to experience because I'm better than I thought; I've never tried to dribble.
Went all nostalgic yesterday with some fun students who introduced me to Tim Hawkins. I proceded to introduce them to the gem that is Balloon Shop: Hey Ben. Take It to the Next Level. Jelly Beans. Mitten...
Baytowne Heights. Oh man. Those were good times.
Still slowly thinking and praying about what I'm doing when school's out. It's more of a fundamental issue, I think, this figuring out. I'm so average that it feels like there are so many things I could do that I would enjoy and that would be of service to those around me. Why can't we raise the life expectancy back up to 900 or so years so that I can enjoy them all? I'd vote for that. I'd like to live in a lot of places, too. I need more landscapes for Instagram. Just kidding. But seriously.
You know what's fun? Going to a book store while you wait for a student to get done with an appointment downtown, and buying a book that simply looked interesting to you, yes, based on the cover. It's exciting. Kind of risky. Will it totally suck? Will it be one I'll recommend? I don't know! So fun. I started reading it last week in the park. It's called The True Story of Hansel and Gretel. But it has a twist: they're aliens. Just kidding. They're Jews. And I was surprised how well I liked the style of writing. Made me kind of proud to have picked out that book, even though there's no reason for it.
I'm also reading through Acts and I'm afraid to say it out loud lest I stop. But it's good stuff. Feels more like reading history what with details like the group that hated on Stephen (the Synagogue of the Freedmen—I had to look it up again just now) and such. There is so much Bible to read I never know where to start and where to go next and why. Not to mention I haven't done much of it the past few years. But one chapter of Acts a day and a bit of journaling on it will get me pretty near the end of the school year. So that's the where and why this time.
I'm out.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Snippets
[I posted this last night real late. But then found it as a draft just now, an entire 24 hours later. Right now, Blogger and I are not talking. This is ridiculous. Without further ado, here's yester-freaking-days post:]
I just ate a mini-muffin that had been drying out in my room all day since breakfast and it was crumbly. When I finished, I glanced down at my shirt and laughed because there were muffin crumbs all over me, as though I'd just ground up the muffin in my hand and let it drop to my shirt instead of actually trying to eat it. I think I'm going to eat the second dry muffin. I don't even care.
One of the guys in the dorm pointed a finger at me and said, "I'm going to miss this guy next year" real quick and then kept talking. I think he meant it though, and I think I felt good about it. I do now, I know that.
For three days in a row this past week I found a tick on me. What can I say? They love me.
I brag about my running here a lot, slipping in how I'm tired "because I ran yesterday" so I can answer their question of how-far-did-you-run with "26 miles" or whatever. Like that. See what I did there? It's fun because the kids here are impressed with things like that in their own way, and as always, impressed people quench a thirsty ego. (I assume they're impressed, because I feel impressive.)
On Tuesday I went back for a re-run of the 25-mile trail at Riverside State Park. This time, though, I accidentally skipped a little section and then didn't get lost in the four places I got lost on during my first try. That meant that when I finished the loop and got back to where I started, I was still three miles away from my marathon-distance goal. And that meant I got to learn a lesson: passing your starting point is very demoralizing. Those last three miles were rough. I just wanted to be done.
I subbed some classes for a couple days this week. It was kind of fun, especially the first day when it was a novelty for all of us involved. It was fun to interact in a different setting than the dorm, fun to relax a bit, have an audience that laughed at me. Especially that one class, they were the best.
I want to be C.S. Lewis.
I've made some kind of connection with the dorm this week, I feel. I don't know if it will last, or what it is, really, but something's felt right for the past few days. So I'll probably get in trouble soon or something, but at least this will remind me that there were a few days that felt right. It's like when I've started reading a book and felt like there couldn't have been a more perfect time to have read it. Or when I'm on a run and suddenly, at some point several miles in, I realize that everything feels right. Or when I get to a point in a meal when I feel completely content to just stop eating, even if there are tasty things left to eat, even if I could keep going. Like when two blinking lights are off, then end up in sync for those two blinks, and then are off again. Kind of like a rhythm, kind of like a scenic view on the side of the road, kind of like a thrilling new song. It could always get better, and certainly will be worse, but right now it's the best thing ever. Kind of like all of that.
I just ate a mini-muffin that had been drying out in my room all day since breakfast and it was crumbly. When I finished, I glanced down at my shirt and laughed because there were muffin crumbs all over me, as though I'd just ground up the muffin in my hand and let it drop to my shirt instead of actually trying to eat it. I think I'm going to eat the second dry muffin. I don't even care.
One of the guys in the dorm pointed a finger at me and said, "I'm going to miss this guy next year" real quick and then kept talking. I think he meant it though, and I think I felt good about it. I do now, I know that.
For three days in a row this past week I found a tick on me. What can I say? They love me.
I brag about my running here a lot, slipping in how I'm tired "because I ran yesterday" so I can answer their question of how-far-did-you-run with "26 miles" or whatever. Like that. See what I did there? It's fun because the kids here are impressed with things like that in their own way, and as always, impressed people quench a thirsty ego. (I assume they're impressed, because I feel impressive.)
On Tuesday I went back for a re-run of the 25-mile trail at Riverside State Park. This time, though, I accidentally skipped a little section and then didn't get lost in the four places I got lost on during my first try. That meant that when I finished the loop and got back to where I started, I was still three miles away from my marathon-distance goal. And that meant I got to learn a lesson: passing your starting point is very demoralizing. Those last three miles were rough. I just wanted to be done.
I subbed some classes for a couple days this week. It was kind of fun, especially the first day when it was a novelty for all of us involved. It was fun to interact in a different setting than the dorm, fun to relax a bit, have an audience that laughed at me. Especially that one class, they were the best.
I want to be C.S. Lewis.
I've made some kind of connection with the dorm this week, I feel. I don't know if it will last, or what it is, really, but something's felt right for the past few days. So I'll probably get in trouble soon or something, but at least this will remind me that there were a few days that felt right. It's like when I've started reading a book and felt like there couldn't have been a more perfect time to have read it. Or when I'm on a run and suddenly, at some point several miles in, I realize that everything feels right. Or when I get to a point in a meal when I feel completely content to just stop eating, even if there are tasty things left to eat, even if I could keep going. Like when two blinking lights are off, then end up in sync for those two blinks, and then are off again. Kind of like a rhythm, kind of like a scenic view on the side of the road, kind of like a thrilling new song. It could always get better, and certainly will be worse, but right now it's the best thing ever. Kind of like all of that.
Friday, April 5, 2013
In Time
Whispering breezes hum a song
Asking the birds to sing along
Nodding, the trees take up the dance
Tipping far this way, oh, then that
Together they sing—the birds, the breeze
Only for me, sometimes it seems
Laughing, they know the song they sing
Is a tuneless tune, the sigh of Spring
Venturing its way from tree to tree
Echoing away, away from me
Monday, March 4, 2013
Who cares about wealthy and wise?
I lost that vague, invisible, unused security blanket I call health insurance a few days ago when I turned 26. Ironically, not two days later I felt like crap with a burning throat and nights of restlessness caused by pools of saliva accumulating in the back of my mouth forcing me to continuously swallow and spit. I go a little crazy on those nights and had many moments where I felt like punching through the back of the dresser on my left. I would get fed up and suddenly launch out of bed to spit in the sink and drink some water. Then later, on the third time waking up from what could hardly be called good sleep, I'd gather my pillow and sleeping bag in my arms, slink to the big reclining chair in the living room, and try to sleep more upright so the stupid saliva would leave me alone. It worked a little bit. What finally let me sleep was eating tons of Goldfish crackers and staying awake until 4 a.m., watching a movie one night (it's a superb movie, I totally recommend it), and finally being so drained I couldn't help but sleep.
Then, of course, comes the thick yellow snot on one of those mornings, and the subsequent "getting better" stage of eternal leakage from the nose. I've gone through a lot of toilet paper "kleenex" and my nose was pretty raw. Congestion set in and instead of tons of saliva all night it was absolutely none. Part of this may have been due to finally succumbing to the symptom-numbing effects of the off-brand Nyquil I took for a couple nights. I'd wake up much earlier than I wanted to with a completely dry and itchy throat and a great desire to relieve pressure in my face.
Saturday evening the pressure got the better of me and I enjoyed a fierce headache behind my right eye and all up in my cheekbones. Sunday I felt a little better and ventured out for a run. Then the same headache, except on my left side and it came later, waking me up in the middle of the night. More crackers, more water, more restless aching, and some Tylenol. Apparently it went away and I fell asleep because this morning I woke up and my face felt pretty normal.
Which was a surprise, a really good one. It brought back wonderful memories of ages ago when I was healthy and running and breathing fine on Tuesday. I literally thanked God for it, because I knew it was the best chance I get at really appreciating that which we call health. Soon enough that blessing will be forgotten and underwhelming as I concern myself with other things. But for now, this morning, it's really, really nice to have everything almost back to normal. It makes me wonder how I would take some kind of chronic pain, or some kind of handicap, or a bout with cancer, or a more serious illness than the common cold. And it makes me wonder how can I make my health more valuable? How can it mean more to me, and to others? I don't want to look smug or ungrateful for my [Update: This is where the paragraph suddenly ended and I'm not sure why. I realized it much later after publishing... I don't even remember what I said. I think I was having trouble with the internet while writing and it must not have saved properly so when I published it it just didn't have the entire thing. Oh well. The point is there, I think. I'll just leave it as is.]
I can even just breathe a bit out of my right nostril again.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Me. Now.
I am currently listening to Fjogur Piano by Sigur Ros. I love it.
Visited Al a while back. We fed the engineering club, I ripped my pants, we explored the fog, and ate a bunch of cheap Walmart pizzas. It's fun to see Brother, and to see him grow up.
I buzzed my hair and started a February beard.
A couple weeks ago I went to Seattle with Chelsea and enjoyed visiting Jessi, Tara, and Ryan. I took myself to Tiger Mountain for a solo adventure that included eight miles of walking and 1,600 feet of elevation gain, plus running in the snow with my barefoot shoes on, following some dog tracks that made me imagine a wolf was watching me, being frightened by a flock of crows taking off ahead of me on the trail, and making it down just as darkness began to settle and my hands began to freeze. It was the goodest of adventures. Later, Ryan and I ran and ran back in those woods on those steep forest roads and it was also very good.
We also looked at cats and sat on couches. And did many other fun things. Friends are good to have.
Anthony was just visiting this week and that made life more enjoyable. We celebrated his birthday and made muffins and went on walks and laughed a lot.
I learned recently about the Backroad Discovery Routes and now I'd very much like to run the Washington one. It looks gorgeous. It would take much logistical planning, I think, but probably be worth it. Anyone want to ride a motorcycle twenty or so miles a day and carry my stuff?
I can't stand how awesome this Valtari album is. It is making me cry dreams inside.
Three and a half more months here. I think I might finally manage to finish something, even though I tell people I'd be fine if they fired me any time. And sometimes while I'm driving into town or back from a break I imagine just passing the school and continuing on into anywhere. Maybe someday. Maybe June 9. Until then I'm here.
Visited Al a while back. We fed the engineering club, I ripped my pants, we explored the fog, and ate a bunch of cheap Walmart pizzas. It's fun to see Brother, and to see him grow up.
 |
| Quick pic for Sister. |
 |
| Al let me Instagram him. |
 |
| Cables above, cables below. |
I buzzed my hair and started a February beard.
 |
| From top of Tiger Mtn. |
 |
| Those are barefoot shoes. Contradictory, I know. |
We also looked at cats and sat on couches. And did many other fun things. Friends are good to have.
 |
| Our mugs. |
Anthony was just visiting this week and that made life more enjoyable. We celebrated his birthday and made muffins and went on walks and laughed a lot.
 |
| I'm blind now, didn't you know? |
I can't stand how awesome this Valtari album is. It is making me cry dreams inside.
Three and a half more months here. I think I might finally manage to finish something, even though I tell people I'd be fine if they fired me any time. And sometimes while I'm driving into town or back from a break I imagine just passing the school and continuing on into anywhere. Maybe someday. Maybe June 9. Until then I'm here.
 |
| On way back from driving Anthony toward WWU y'day. I love the snow still. |
Friday, January 4, 2013
Inescapable Wait
Sitting on the plane after the Chicago to Phoenix leg, we were stuck waiting for another plane to leave our gate so we could approach. It wasn't a bad thing, necessarily—we were early. But still, it's that mental thing about having to wait for something we didn't deserve.
Next to me was an elderly black gentleman, a very thin one who seemed to have some trouble with mobility. His son, I think, was sitting behind him and they'd share, literally, a word or two now and then. He had the sharpest, heaviest elbows I've ever witnessed. I know, because somehow they'd end up kind of on my arm, kind of in my side, heavier and heavier until I'd finally wriggle out of his hold.
He slept most of the way over, I think, though that's mostly speculation because I slept most of the way over, too. But now we were awake, frightfully bored, and more and more antsitated (antsy + agitated) with every passing minute. I was trying to pass my time with the on flight magazine, and he was putting me into another elbow hold.
And now and then, in between his sniffling and his stiff jacket-removal (with son's and my help), he'd sigh. A kind of weighted, weary sigh. But what I couldn't help but smile about was the choice expression with which he punctuated each heavy sigh.
Slow exhale, easy "Shiiit." Together. Organic. Completely natural.
Son from behind would kind of embarrassingly try to shush him a bit and patiently explain that we had to wait, that we were early. But he stood his ground. Said something about not being able to do anything else, so he'd just keep complaining.
We eventually made it off that plane and on to continue our own journeys, but the old man left me wondering if sometimes, there really isn't a better way of saying things.
Next to me was an elderly black gentleman, a very thin one who seemed to have some trouble with mobility. His son, I think, was sitting behind him and they'd share, literally, a word or two now and then. He had the sharpest, heaviest elbows I've ever witnessed. I know, because somehow they'd end up kind of on my arm, kind of in my side, heavier and heavier until I'd finally wriggle out of his hold.
He slept most of the way over, I think, though that's mostly speculation because I slept most of the way over, too. But now we were awake, frightfully bored, and more and more antsitated (antsy + agitated) with every passing minute. I was trying to pass my time with the on flight magazine, and he was putting me into another elbow hold.
And now and then, in between his sniffling and his stiff jacket-removal (with son's and my help), he'd sigh. A kind of weighted, weary sigh. But what I couldn't help but smile about was the choice expression with which he punctuated each heavy sigh.
Slow exhale, easy "Shiiit." Together. Organic. Completely natural.
Son from behind would kind of embarrassingly try to shush him a bit and patiently explain that we had to wait, that we were early. But he stood his ground. Said something about not being able to do anything else, so he'd just keep complaining.
We eventually made it off that plane and on to continue our own journeys, but the old man left me wondering if sometimes, there really isn't a better way of saying things.
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