I fell today

I fell today, not philosophically, or metaphorically, I fell down, on the ground. Yeah, good times. I'm a marathon runner, something less than 1% of the world's population can boast of, and probably less than 1/2 of 1 percent of the world even care, but that's okay. I've run 2 full marathons,(26.2 miles), 3 or 4 half marathons, (13.1 miles) numerous 5k's, and logged countless hours on the road, on the trails, on indoor tracks, and on treadmills. But I fell down today, for the first time while running, and for the first time in years. I was about a mile from home, having been out for an hour and a half run, making good time, but it was getting dark, and I wanted to get back home before I became invisible to the cars on the road. I was running along the edge of a yard that ends abruptly, then becomes street, then grass, then sidewalk. I tripped on a root or something, and began the stumble that goes from, panic, to slight recovery, to panic, to more stumbling, to almost recovery, to the final fall to the ground, except in this case I instantly remembered the very first thing they teach you in the martial arts. How to fall. And as I neared the "terra firma", I tucked my shoulder and rolled, and like a scene from a jet li movie, (well not exactly, but almost) I rolled, hopped up, and kept right on going. It was not bad, I scraped my palms a little, but didn't even collect any weird debris. Now, I've fallen emotionally, spiritually, and mentally quite a few times over the last couple of years, but this time I came out on top and kept on running. It was an awesome run! I'm gonna rest tomorrow, and enjoy the day with my little angel, then I'm gonna run again on Monday, and I think it's gonna be another great run, the start of another great year.

Party like it's 1999

I'm going to a party. I'm not really a "go to a party" kinda guy usually, but it's New Year's Eve, and a good friend of mine called to invite me. It's at a nice house in the burbs' of Memphis, with a live band, and about a 150 people. A small "get together" he called it. I coulda stayed home and done some things I really needed to do all week, but didn't cause I was on "Be-cation", as my little girl used to call it. but I thought it would be good to get out for a change. I've already figured out my contingency plan in case I run into an old flame with her new sparkler. I'll pick out a pretty gal to engage in conversation in the event that I need to avoid the stigma of being there "stag", I'll keep just enough food on my snack plate to look interested, but not so much that I look like I saved up my appetite for a week. I've already taken my company lapel pin off my suit jacket that I don't look like a geek, and of course I'll get there about an hour after the 9pm start time, so I look like I came from another party. I'll start by chatting with the few people I'll know, then I'm thinking I may bust out and work the room a little. I'm craving chocolate, so I'll score a couple of pieces of something chocolatey, to insure my blood sugar doesn't dip, and I don't go nuts and starting throwing food and adult beverages at the hosts and guests like some overwrought orangutan throws his poop at the people that come to see him at the zoo. I'll talk about my music, and about my CD project, and then feign interest when others talk about sports and finance, but will perk up when they mention a gal at the office that they'd love to fix me up with. But deep inside, it doesn't matter what we talk about, or whether the food or the band are any good, I just don't feel like being home alone on New Years' Rockin' Eve this year.

The bully

When I was a kid, there was a mean kid that lived down the street from us. His name was Nicky, and he was older and bigger than the rest of us. He had a slight speech impediment, but no one ever mentioned it because he was bigger and mean. He had an awesome bike with a rear tire that was a little bigger than the front one, and a sissy bar that made it look like a chopper bike. None of use could outrun him, on foot or bike, so we just headed inside when he popped up around the neighborhood. Nicky's mom was an alcoholic, and when she stumbled outside to call for him, he ran like crazy to get home, cause he knew she was gonna start screaming if he wasn't there pretty quick. She screamed at him a lot, and we could hear her from outside on the sidewalk, but again, we never mentioned it to him. I remember a couple of times he and I actually just kinda hung out for a while over in his yard, just talking. He even let me ride his cool bike, till his mom made him come in. Over time we saw less and less of Nicky, till one day an ambulance came to take an old man away from his house, and we never saw Nicky again. We found out later that it was his dad they had taken away, and that he had died of Cancer there in the house. When I heard about his dad and remembered how old and small he looked as they carried him out of the house on the stretcher, a lot of things suddenly made sense to me, even at that young age. I felt really sad for Nicky, and wished I could have been better friends with him. I don't think he was really such a bad kid, probably just scared.

Guitars are our friends!

I love guitars! I always have. As a matter of fact, I've always wanted to be a lead guitar player, even when I was a little kid. I even stood in front of the full length mirror in the hallway and played air guitar, much like I do now with my little girl, who plays an awesome air guitar, tongue-wag and all! She's way better than I was at 8, I didn't start singing on a regular basis until I was in my early 30's, but daydreamed about being a lead guitar player forever, and still do. At one time I owned about 9 guitars, now I have 6. 2 acoustic, 4 electric, and 1 bass. All of them are special for different reasons. 1 acoustic I got from a friend up in Tacoma Washington back in 83' is special because it was the first guitar I ever wrote a song on . It has seen many, many tears over the years, plays great, but is not one that I ever play in public with. I bought a great acoustic from a guy on ebay, that sounds great, looks good, and plays well. I have 1 electric that an ex-girlfriend gave me. It plays wonderfully, but it hurts to play, because the friendship ended on a very sad note. I have a Paul Reed Smith electric, plays great, sounds great, feels great, looks great, a real classy American-made guitar, but I'm scared to take it out, because I paid alot of money for it, and I don't wanna scratch it. I know, that's goofy, but that's me. When I had a band a few years ago, I used to love to line up several guitars behind where I stood to sing, not because I used them that often, but I just thought it looked more rock n roll to have them up there. I'm going to sell a couple that I don't use anymore, 1 I bought cause it was old and quirky, and the other I bought cause it looked good, but sounds like a shoe box with strings on it.

Will the real blog please stand up?

This is just one of about 3 blogs I have set up. One of the others has about 3 entries, and 1 other one that I can't remember has 1 entry. I hope this one will be different. No one knows about the others, and I haven't told this blog about the others. When I'm reading other people's blogs I get super inspired, especially when I'm reading my friend Shawn's blog. Hers is the best I've ever read, and as I read hers, I start thinking of all kinds of cool stuff I could write about in my own blog. But now that I'm here, the thoughts in my head all seem really irrelevant. My baby sister has a great blog too, she has pix of her new baby, and writes cute stuff about her life. Maybe I'll start by telling a little about myself in the next entry. Maybe I'll be into this for today, and forget about it tomorrow. Or maybe I'll post some stuff, but won't tell anybody about it, cause I'll feel weird if I write a bunch of stuff, and nobody comes by to check it out. Great, now I'm feeling all sorts of goofy childhood rejection baggage come up. What was the number for the therapist from church? Maybe I should set up an appointment to talk about my feelings of inadequacy. I never knew blogging would be so revealing. Don't look at me, I'm embarrassed now. Just kidding! Or am I?