A Trail of Regression?

For most of my life I have felt stuck at the age of 17, roughly. Before I was teenager, I often acted far more mature than my age, yet with a mix of childlike enthusiasm, optimism, and naivety. Once I passed the actual age of 17, I was still mature, maybe, but also still mixed with enthusiasm, optimism, and naivety. In my 30s I seemed to have begun to age and lose some of those qualities. I am probably more like a 23 year old just out of college. In recent years, I've found myself thinking a little too much. Especially things like: can I jump across those rocks? should I climb that? What is my point? This weekend I may have regressed a bit, thankfully. I had almost a perfect day Saturday. I won't bore you with the details of the entire day, just the most significant, my regression.

After pacing one of my high school girls to big personal best in a 5k that morning, I got back into my “Wild Specialist” truck and headed to the mountains for a run. A quick detour on the way turned into my unexpected regression. I stopped at Rob and Stacey's house to drop some things off for Stacey. Stacey and I talked a bit which is always good, but... As I was really preparing to head off for my mountain run, their kids, Harper and Isaac, asked me to come down into the woods to see the fort they were building. Fortunately, I had learned long ago to not hastily overlook the invitations of kids just to get on with our overly important tasks. They had already gone down as I finished talking to Stacey. I could tell they were surprised that I showed up as I had told them I'd come down before I left. They had piled sticks and hunks of bark around an old fallen tree. There was a wind flag up as the 20 mph winds kept it flapping. An old tire found in the woods was hang overhead in a tree along with a piece of concrete tile. Isaac had hidden light sabers in notches along the old stump. It was quite the fort. I began helping gather sticks and adding them to the fort. I helped pack leaves in between the sticks to insulate, then adding more sticks. We worked out a piece of the stump and dug out more to increase the room inside. Isaac wanted to show me an old airplane he had found in the woods. As he showed me the pieces and described how they would have fit together, he said it probably wasn't a real airplane. I said that didn't matter, it's good to see more than what is actually there sometimes.

We returned to the house briefly and I went to my truck to add a hat and gloves. Stacey had sent her kids out to play in the woods in 30 degree weather with a howling wind. Sounds like good parenting to me. I had also gotten an old blanket with a couple of mouse chewed holes which worked perfectly to hang it as the door. We each took a turn inside, it's a one person fort, and talked of more building ideas. I had probably been fort building for an hour, an hour and a half. I don't know as I never looked at my watch. Finally, Stacey came down to inspect the fort additions and announce it was time for lunch. Stacey asked if I wanted a sandwich too. Of course my answer was yes. Somewhere in here I must have totally forgotten my age, as I asked Stacey if I could have some hot chocolate too. Soon after eating Rob returned and asked Stacey if she had fed the kids. Then looked at me, but asked her, “All of them?” I told Rob, “I consider that a compliment.” I'm glad I have friends who appreciate a 39 year old playing with their kids in the woods. All three of us turn 40 this year, at least in human time.

I soon left and ran the 6 miles through Stone Mountain Park to the top of the mountain where it was 20s and 30 mph winds with a little snow. Then the 6 mile tumble back down. It was a great day. That is one of the things I love about trail running. The opportunity to still play as an adult. Jumping rocks, logs, and stumps, then sometimes jump on and off them as well. Splashing through cold creeks, sliding through snow. Playing a game of king of the mountain, only 6 mile style. I hope the trails continue to keep me young of mind and body for many more years. In the woods, I told Harper, who is 10, “Don't ever grow up too much, so you no longer build forts in the woods.” She gave me a strange face that said what a silly comment. Which if you know Harper, you know which face I'm talking of. Then still with that bewildered look, she said, “I won't.”

As I told Alison later, “Sometimes I forget that I'm not 39.” My tendency to misspeak things was probably more accurate than if I'd said it right.

Called Unto the Mountain

Flat Rock Ridge - 3 Miles Up

I was summoned to the mountain today. I hadn't really planned on going out there today, nor really planned anything too specific for my run. Something between 8 and 18 miles, which Alison thought was quite a range. Any mountain run is at least 20-30 minutes away. But Flat Rock Ridge Trail was calling to me. This trail, and the others it links to, is about 28.5 miles away in the middle of nowhere and therefore more than a 30 minute drive. I listened to Mumford and Sons on the drive and by the time I got there, I was bursting from my cage. The air was damp and clouds hung on the mountainside in layers as I ascended through them. I was where I belonged. A changing combination of dirt, leaves, rocks, roots, logs, grass, and ice under foot, all often off camber. Trail runner is probably one of the better descriptors of me. Add in mountain and harsh and you are really starting to have me pegged.

I could probably stop there, but most may not understand what I am saying. I'd consider myself an odd mixture of homo sapien. I don't see it as either positive or negative, it just is. To expand, I once thought I was road runner. I was a runner. I ran quite a few road races. Most of my training was on the road. A road has rather straight lines. When there are curves, they are generally smooth arcs. A hard, stable surface is the norm. Conformity, predictability are the standard. My friends are already thinking that's not him. Nothing against road running, it's just not for me if I have a different choice. Of course sometimes things necessitate road running, but even then I'll sneak of the edge at almost every chance. Deep inside or on the surface, I'm a trail runner, mountainous and harsh.

But aren't trails more forgiving to us? I'd like to think so. I believe trails are gentler on the body. Though, I also believe trails make us stronger. Steep climbs and descents leave legs weary. I like it that way. Weary legs one day will be stronger for a future day. Treacherous footing works our entire bodies and mind. One must always be paying attention on a challenging trail. I like switchbacks, up or down. But I do appreciate a trail straight up or straight down a steep grade, harsh. A good mountain trail can look much different depending on your projection up or down. Those switchbacks can turn into never ending upward turns one after another. Or a punishing acceleration/deceleration recitation on a downward plunge. Eighteen percent grades don't look kind in either direction to most, though I'd beg to differ. A hard, strenuous trail to some is a challenging playground to another.

I think a good mountain trail describes me as a person quite well. I'm not for everyone. I'm not easily definable with clear lines, nor smooth arcs. I think of myself as meek, forgiving, though some would say harsh. I'd say harsh, but in a good way. I'll call it blunt, direct. Don't ask for an answer you may not want, cause I may give it. A good trail does that to me. If I complement or praise, I meant it and it was deserved, earned. I don't throw many things about freely, though hopefully grace like a rain shower. I'm probably full of treacherous footing of pointy thoughts, slippery slopes, hard realities. I contain many a switchback, which may look completely different depend on the direction and speed you come at me. As a trail is not always neatly ordered, I am a mixture of grades and footing, unpredictable. I've come to like these qualities about myself, but like them or not, they are what I am. I am a “good” and “bad” Christian all in the same switchback. I could no more pretend that I'm a road runner than a straight and narrow Christian. Maybe I'm a trail Christian. My path is crooked, more like a good mountain trail. Maybe that's why the mountain was beckoning me today.

Sorting through My Life's Debris

Mt. Mitchell Challenge 2010 - Summit

Merry Christmas to all, and sort through all your accumulated rubbish. Well that is what I have been doing. My work is mostly all manual labor that really requires two arms, or at least I'm not good at doing it single handedly yet. So sorting through my rubbish seems like a good thing to do with one arm. I would definitely be considered a pack rat. I have kept remnants of my life from early childhood until present. I can't help thinking that I'll want to look the items again someday. Sorting through this has rather confirmed that assumption. So below is some of what I have learned in my perusing my life mementos.

I've forgotten a lot of my life. I found ticket stubs of concerts, sporting events, trips, etc. that I barely remember or don't remember at all. Plus photos and news clips of events I'd long misplaced in my mind. These items would bring a nearly dead neuron back to life with the a unique memory of that time, or at least some false memory I like better. So maybe I'll keep most of these bits of neuron reviving hardware.

If it's still useful, but you're not using it, maybe give it away. Someone might really appreciate my junk. Give to Goodwill, Salvation Army, friends, kids of your friends, kids you coach, whoever. I'm not the best at gift giving, or receiving. I just don't really need much, I definitely don't need more junk. I also don't see the point in getting some random thing for someone. I prefer to get or give something useful or meaningful or nothing. So this week I gave Cory some of my junk for Christmas, here's the list:

1. A semi-dirt covered can of beer I found in the woods while running earlier this week. Comedy for us.
2. A single sock of his from a year and half ago I acquired while we were "water tower adventuring." Another good memory, plus don't know if Cory still has the match, but if not it'll unite with another unmatched sock.
3. A recycled Christmas card. I don't often do real cards, but I do sometimes give someone a card someone else gave me. Just mark through their name and add mine. It's alway better if something good was written in the card.
4. A pair of La Sportiva Raceblade shoes. I took them off and gave them to Cory after the run we just did on some muddy trails. I wasn't sure when I'd ever make good use of them and they only had 12 miles on them including that day's run.
5. A pair of Terramar gloves. I actually bought these as Cory had borrowed a pair of mine for a run and really liked them, but is too cheap or anti-gear to buy any for himself.

Cory is strange, kind of like me. You wouldn't know he is just meeting him or being around him sometimes, but if you get to know him, he's strange. Cory doesn't care for gifts much, he said these were spot on gifts for him. Additional Cory info, he basically said recently that his gift to me was running with me and give me his time. I really appreciated that, but both of us agreed that most people would not like hearing him say that to them. For those of you who don't know, Cory is a 22 year old former high school runner that I coached. So lesson two for me was give it away.

My final lesson that I'll share is random mementos reminded my why I live like I do and what I

enjoy about running. Almost all good memories are connected to people for me. Notes, cards, and news clips from or about the kids I've coached remind me of the impact coaching has on

them. Running and racing with friends is one thing I love about my sport. Yesterday, I went to a road 5K to watch a friend and her daughter run. I was watching Stacey race when a guy asked if I had run Salem Lake 30K. At first I didn't remember. He said you let me beat you at the end, you ended up pacing me, and he ran his 30K personal best. I did remember then. I was running it as workout wanting to click off steady 6:10 to 6:15 miles. This guy was running hard going for a best time. It didn't make sense to run with him for 3/4th of the race comfortable and then sprint away from him at the end when he was laying down a max effort. I did remember rather enjoying pacing him. It was good to know that he had remembered that as a good memory too. By the way, Anthony Famiglietti, a two time Olympian and six time US Champion, was there. It was cool to meet him, plus see him interacting and encouraging the runners of all ages.

I enjoyed looking through memories of my running life, seeing things I'd kept from big races and travels. On the personal level, running is about being free, exploring my world far and near, exploring my body's possibilities and limitations, and just being several notches off the normal(see my dumb bio in newspaper clipping). I need to be reminded of my joys while waiting on the arm to heal. Plus after a couple of years of pushing my body in training and racing, I probably needed the break mentally and to renew that internal fire.

Other tidbits:

Alison's quote out of context, said to me: "At least you don't give me any gifts."

A Cory quote out of context: "I've experience about everything." Already at 22.

Arm update: Still broken ;) Last doctor's visit showed that the bone has not healed any yet. Kind of a bummer. Doc said it was not surprising with the severity of the injury. The range of motion is still rather limited as well. I'll try to post soon about what happened and my lessons learned. Thanks for the comments and encouragement on the last posting.

Local Legend???

Running makes life interesting or maybe how I run makes life interesting. I think most people who run have more interesting lives. I did my second run last night after 11:00 pm in sleet and freezing rain. Yesterday's schedule got out of whack a little, but I wasn't going to miss my runs. I'm already known as the crazy guy who runs all the time. My family has been asked if I work, since I am seen running so often. Yes I work, I work for myself, so I run whenever, and wherever, it is convenient. So my running times vary, even late at night. It is kind of fun to be asked, "Was that you running at 1:00 am last week?" Yes. Well that story is from about 10 years ago. Hopefully I am working on the local legend that will be "that guy who has been running around here forever." Since my area is small and rural, there are not a lot of runners in the area. Plus most any guy seen running is assumed to be me. I seem to stand out though, bolstered by the fact that I run at odd times, in any weather, half naked, and all around the area. Also showing up in the local newspapers from time to time, the guy who runs absurdly difficult and long races, probably makes me a little more known.

I'm always hearing, "I saw you out..." or "Was that you...?" "Was that you running up Fancy Gap mountain? Or Oklahoma road?" Yes, both are about 20 miles from home. I should tell people I ran there and back, but I want the legend to be somewhat accurate. Of course if folks alter the story over time, I don't have to correct it. I am well known at Pilot Mountain State Park. I do call Pilot Mountain, My Mountain. I think all the rangers know me for running up the road to the top. I know I'm not the only person who does that, but probably the most regular. There are endless remarks about the conditions I'm seen running in or questions if I run in whatever the recent weather was. Yes, I run in any conditions, some I probably shouldn't. I'm a little extra crazy in that department. If it's time for my run, I go most of the time. Example from a couple of years ago when I ran through a massive storm. It was March 4, my sisters birthday, and I had a busy work day. So the run was at night after cake with family, just as a thunderstorm was said to be coming. At 4 miles it started to rain, then a flood hit with absurd wind. The rain and wind were so hard that I could not see both sides of the road, even with my strong headlamp. It was hard enough that the rain hurt significantly. This route is a loop where in the day I can see the road loop back by at the 6 mile point on the other side of a farm. (I'm known at the farm as it a summer water stop of mine.) When I got to 6 miles, there was debris all in the road and trees were down. The wind had torn 200' off a chicken house. I heard later that the chicken house was scattered over 60 acres. I also once tried to ride my bike through a storm that turned into tornado warning. I had to hitch a ride home for that one as I literally could not keep the bike on my side of the road, 60+ mph winds. These experiences make the comments about cold and heat downright laughable.

My experience back in November was one of the best, it was 60 degrees and a light rain was falling. I had run a few miles out from Dobson to do 1 mile hill repeats on Turkey Ford road. As I was running back down after the first repeat. I was stopped by a sheriffs deputy. Yes, pulled over while running. He asked who I was (how could he have not known?) and what I was doing. He seemed to ask expecting me not to answer. "I'm Jason Bryant and I'm running hill repeats." Someone had called about a guy in his underwear down by the bridge on Turkey Ford. Yep, that was me. I was shirtless in short running short. I have often heard that I was seen out in my underwear, many locals seem to think my shorts are underwear. Getting pulled by a deputy was a new one though. The deputy just laughed and said be careful. Hopefully, someday I will be the really old guy out in his underwear. Maybe when I'm old I will literally run in my underwear. And the legend grows.

Addition:

This week a couple of students in Alison's class at the community college told her a story about me from high school. Before I had my own car I borrowed my moms. I would sometimes need it on a work day, but she'd need it after work. Mom would get a ride to work with someone. I would then drive the car to her work, leave it there for her, and run home. It was just somewhere over 10 miles, so no big deal. But I guess another "crazy runner" story about me.

The Gypsy Moth Hunter

I've been asked what it's like to have such a fringe, semi-secretive job. A restricted few can handle the pressure of the hunt. You may spend days alone in the woods tracking a single moth. Sometimes you think that you've finally got a male lured in, when he suddenly flutters away with shocking speed. You made the mistake of lock eyes. A secret of some of great gypsy moth hunters, such as Martin Killingsbeeworthsome, is the female pheromone carefully dabbed behind the left ear. But one must be careful in using the correct amount when employing this dangerous tactic. One unfortunate hunter was found without pants, reciting Mont Phyton's Swallow Debate, after a pack of males had severely molested both his kneecaps. But it is worth any peril to finally capture an elusive alpha male that you've stalked with out food for 2 to 72 hours. To say my job is dangerous is an overstatement... sometimes.

So on with the real story. I basically hang cardboard boxes in trees with a female gypsy moth pheromone scent and sticky goo inside. Mostly the traps are spread 2 kilometers(~1 1/4 miles) apart along longitude and latitude lines. I had 2000 to hang this year, which is a lot. Some of the work is dull, some not as much. Most traps are hung along roadways in DOT right of way, some are not. I try to contact landowners or at least leave an information card with note for the off road traps. Sometimes I say that I am a professional trespasser. I've gotten good at not getting into trouble with landowners or at least talking my way out of trouble. Actually, I've worked most of the areas for several years so many recognize me and call me the "moth man." Leaving the road though is where work does often get interesting.

First, driving off-road can be interesting. Heck, driving on some roads can be interesting. I drive a small 4 wheel drive SUV for the hunt. I have been on state maintained, or not-maintained, roads that required putting my vehicle in 4 wheel drive. There were ruts knee deep in one road and when I got to the end, there was a stop sign. I've driven up absurd mountain driveways to find a beautiful house out of nowhere. But 4 wheel drive was required to get there and there was no way they went anywhere when winter weather came. In fact, one lady said she went to town only once a month. I drove one road or private road, if you could call it a road, that topped them all this year. It was absurdly rocky, rutted, and steep in places. I got out of the vehicle a couple of time to scout my way through a section. I felt like I was canoeing. One of those places I stopped because it dropped off so steeply I could not see the road over the hood. I could see the stream I was going to drive through 20 yards down but not the road to it. My under frame got stuck on a rock at one point, forcing me to back up and reroute. I did meet another 4 wheel truck creeping up this road. Some of the off, off-road driving is even more treacherous. I was driving up a mountain on an old wood road that got so steep my vehicle would no longer go. That got my heart rate up, but I told myself getting excited was not an option. It was so steep that if would have gotten sideways, my SUV would have rolled over. I had to back down to straddle a small drainage cut that keeps the path from washing out. I knew I had one shot to back it in right or be stuck, or turned over. I got it in right, then out of the vehicle to hike on to hang the trap and get my heartbeat to slow down.

I hike or run to the traps that can't be driven to. I get to see many remote and interesting places doing this, especially in the mountain areas that I work. I see lots of rock outcroppings, streams, unique trees, and other plants. I saw a tree in middle of woods a couple of years ago that with two 12" diameter trunks that joined back to one trunk 20' up to make an unique loop. I was hiking over a steep ridge in a state park this year to come up on a 50'+ waterfall that virtually no one ever sees. There is always wildlife. Deer are just common, but I did get to pet a probably day old fawn in the wild this year. I came up on a doe and fawn, so they both start to run. The fawn was too small and wobbly, stumbling only 10' or so, then lying flat in the weeds. I had never seen a fawn that small. Lying flat on it's stomach it was only 3-4 inches off the ground. If I had not seen where it went, I would have never seen it when I walked by. I squatted by it and it never moved. I stroked its back twice and not a twitch. I was running straight off the side of mountain this year as the last sunlight was vanishing. I spooked three bears who hauled ass straight up another ridge. I wish I ran uphill as fast. There are also plenty of turkey. I nearly stepped on a turkey nesting in the grass a few years ago. I've jumped a hen and her diddles as they run and disappear in the grass. They hide well, too. This year I jumped over a rattlesnake running up a deer trail. I get warned about them often as well as bear and coyote, but that was my first rattlesnake encounter. I had been told you won't see them until you are on top of them. I found that to be true as I saw the rattlesnake as my next step would have been on it. I leapt up and over. The snake never moved. Most of the snakes I encounter do move. In fact, I think that has kind of become one of my skills. Identify critters by the sounds they make moving in the woods. That's a snake, a lizard, a squirrel, a rabbit, a deer, a bear, bird in the leaves, a turkey. I also do that with the insects that crawl on me constantly. I feel something crawling and know if it's tick, spider, granddaddy, or inch worm. Oh the skills of the Gypsy Moth Hunter.

Then there are the people. Go to unique places and you'll meet some unique people. The "ordinary" unique folk are common at this point. This Memorial weekend I was looking for a way to get to an off road trap. I pull up to a short driveway up a mountainside. There is older car parked there. I get out and see a path up the hill. A roughly dressed guy walks down to meet me. I try explain what I'm doing and he says to come up, sit, and we'll talk about. I walk up the path to fully landscaped hillside under the trees. It is mulched with various shrubs and perennial plants. There is a deck with a small fish pond on the side of this very steep hill. He has a small flattened out area with a canvas shelter and a couple of chairs. There are two calico cats lounging. He talks about area as he turns on a fountain in the pond that shoot water 15' in the air. He has tapped into a spring far up the hill, piped it down to create the pressure for his high spouting fountain. We sit and he offers me a beer to join in his lounging. I am fairly sure he is also smoking marijuana. They're hand rolled and their scent gives them away. We talk a little about what I'm doing, but he talks mostly about other random stuff. I finally say that I need to be going, but he invites me back later in evening to sit a while if I'm interested. There is no house anywhere around. Not sure if he lived there or not, but it was obvious he is there often. The whole thing was just really random. I do see many unique living situations. I pass one guy's place every year that is really just a shed/shack. Not sure if he has electricity or not.

I am often warned of landowners, as I inquire how to get to some remote place. Often the warning is of a landowner carrying a gun. Rarely do I have a problem, though it is not uncommon to meet someone with a gun on their hip. This year's gun story was funny to me. I'm hanging a trap at the end of this dirt road off in the mountains. A older guy, 60+, comes walking down out of the woods with an old western style holster and revolver. I explain what I'm doing back here and he says no problem. He's just out for hike. He's say that he is getting some exercise, trying to stay fit. Maybe I'll show up to a race later this summer with a revolver on my hip. I can say that I'm just trying to stay fit... with a revolver. Might encourage some of the competition not to pass me.

Well that's enough stories for now from this gypsy moth hunter. August is coming and I'll back in the woods stalking the elusive brown and white tree killer.

A Male and Female "Playing"

Fireflies, Lightning, and Water Towers

Dancing with Fire Flys

went walking nude tonight

an inadequacy of enough drink

watching fire flys in the night

this provocation to reflect and think

life is complex and confused

it’s good i got a clear head.

you know, i sure wish my ass glowed

I have a group of poems that I call 7 Lines of Foolishness, maybe that's what I should call my blog sometimes. Anyway, guess what, this is one of those poems. I have thought of the poem several times over past month as summer and fireflies have returned. I say the last line to Alison periodically and to myself or God often. Depending on your perspective, it's either a good thing or bad thing that God does not answer this prayer. Some of you must admit it would be pretty cool though. I would be the King of mooning. One other firefly story from a couple of years ago. I was on a night run up and back on Twin Oaks road, when I pass through a drove of fireflies. I had never seen that many fireflies at one time in one place before, nor have I since. There literally had to be tens of thousands fireflies. It was a truly remarkable sight. Just another reason to do things differently from most people, such as running at night.

Which speaking of doing different things. I climbed a water tower again this week. Someone asked if I wanted to join them and I couldn't resist. I had been thinking of climbing one somewhere again as it had been quite a few years since I had done that. The conditions might not have been best, or could have been considered perfect, as there were thunderstorms in the area. As we met for our middle of the night excursion, we quickly decided lightning was a minor and worthwhile risk. We got some popsicles and headed for the tower. No better place to eat popsicles. This was first time I had ever climbed with someone. As he said, you need to choose the right person for such an activity or you're better off alone. Viewing the distant lightning from the high vantage point was quite a show. I plan to still sneak skyward periodically when I'm 80 or 90. There is just something exciting about being so high above everything around and being unrestrained. I don't think it is for everyone. But as my friend and I discussed, we enjoy the sensation of our hearts pounding and gripping things more tightly than normal. Furthermore, maybe I get a different view of my world from this rarely seen viewpoint, literally and metaphorically. It's good to survey our surroundings from an unique perspective sometimes.

Maybe someday my ass will begin to flicker in the night. I'll keep asking.

WARNING: You may not want to read this, Crystal.

For those of you like my friend, Crystal, this may be one of those blogs you will want to skip.  She has said that she can only handle me in small doses.  Thankfully, Alison can handle a large, continuous dose.  Though I may leave some of you wondering how.  This blog actually came about from my recent thinking on how good life is for me right now and thinking more about the Bel Monte race.  I guess I could have written a nice, overly romanticized blog about a seemingly perfect life.  Problem is that is not real, for me anyways.  I doubt I would see life as so wonderful without the un-wonderful portions.  My life has had the surviving sections, just the same way Bel Monte had a tough surviving section.  That is one of the great things about ultras, many times the races will have ups and downs, literally, and emotionally, and physically.  One of the biggest impacts on my life was going through divorce.

Going through divorce changed me and changed me more than any other life event I can think of.  I use the phrase "going through divorce" because just the fact I was once married and got divorced isn't the key factor.  It was all that I had to deal with personally, how I view life, and how I had dealt with life previously.  It would be a book to write all of it so I'll just hit the high points.  One, I wasn't ready to be divorced.  I was a Christian, in some ways strict.  I'd only be married once, only know one woman, love forever.  I still love Kathy, my ex-wife.  Personally, I don't understand how you once really love someone and stop.  I do believe in God's love, the agape love, and in living it.  Most people only seem to apply this to children.  Kathy and I are still friends and talk regularly.  Some people don't understand this.  I don't understand any other way and haven't lost a rational discussion on the subject.  The love has changed.  It's not romantic or sexual.  I love my sisters, I don't need to say more.  But part of my dogma is once I care about someone, I don't stop regardless of the situation.  Some folks have said they couldn't deal with my views toward Kathy.  I guess that is one reason in a list of why I'm not married to them.  I couldn't deal with someone who doesn't get my point of view, cause all they could offer me was a temporary love or concern.  The point is that changing that type of love with Kathy was tough and rocked me to the core.  What did it say about me that I would say I want out?

I also kept myself neatly packed inside in my younger years, before 26.  My internal life was like a post office mail box.  Everything was tidily categorized and ordered.  Some boxes were locked shut.  Things went in and disappeared from my mind.  My divorce dumped everything back out on the floor for me to sort through again.  I spent years sorting back through my past life, some parts I'd seemed to have forgotten.  I'm not sure what I've done with all that crap now.  I've written quite a few poems and some journals.  To be honest, I drank some on nights I felt too overwhelmed.  But one description of me now is that I am not afraid to be naked.  If something about me is good, bad, indifferent, it is what it is.  I'm not ashamed of any of it.  I struggled with being a "perfect" Christian before.  I'll just say that I don't now.  I know that bothers some people, especially when I say exactly what that means.  If I did it, I'll tell you.  I might say it was or is bad, but I did it and in some instances will probably do it again.  To use Christian terms, I sin, I know that I will repeat some sins.  I'll try to sin less, but I sin as a willful act, a choice.  I don't believe in the "it's not my fault, I couldn't resist."  I'd rather own my actions.  I might not be a perfect person, don't even want to be, but I'll be honest with you.

Somewhere in that rambling is how divorce upset my previously perfect, and falsely, balanced life.  Divorce was a hard process for me that brought out some good things in me, some bad.  It definitely changed me for better, and worse.  I do like that I am more like I was as a kid.  I wish I could recover the naivety I had as kid(that will be a good blog sometime), but I won't.  One of my best lessons was that life, time, the movement of the sun and moon stops for no one.  We each have a limited amount of time and I plan on living mine up.  I don't want a gravestone when I die(don't believe in that, for me), but if I did I would want it to say, "He did too much," or "He did too much living."  The second sounds a little arrogant, but I can live with that.  I also have much greater appreciation of life after divorce.  I am much more thankful for anything, even some of the "bad" and "difficult."

Below is a poem that I wrote this weekend.  It's a first draft, which I seldom like.  I like some of what this poem says, but not exactly how it says it.  It was brewing in my head for years and finally fell out.  Anyway, I thought I'd toss it out there.  So the point of all my rambling is that some parts of life must just be survived.  During my process of divorce, I made some different choices from before.  I didn't try to be perfect.  I shouted at God, cussed God, questioned my belief in God, but I talked to him and I talked honest.  I was merely surviving for a year or more, and not doing that well.  Just as I had to survive a large section of Bel Monte 50 Mile.  You force yourself to put one foot in front of the other, whether it is fast or slow, running or walking.  When you can, you make yourself run and good things can happen.  If you walk when you could be running, you'll miss an opportunity.  Other people can judge whether I'm good or bad, better or worse.  You can judge.  I'm not sure how much sense this blog makes, but who cares.  It's me.  I'm definitely different and not afraid to be judged or disliked or liked.  But I plan on using my time up and I'm not afraid to be naked.

Drunk and Naked on the Floor

Looking back,

it was just a night 

alone in the sea. 

At the time, 

it was night after night, 

drunk and naked, 

alone on the floor. 

Where was my God? 

Though I've asked, 

he hasn't spoken. 

Too many nights, 

I couldn't sleep 

and the Comforter 

never came, 

maybe my hard words 

kept him away. 

No one wants to see 

a bare soul on the floor, 

naked and drunk. 

Someone came and walked away, 

a man stripped a little too much. 

They'd worry in silence. 

I'd suffer alone. 

Sometimes you have to 

swim on your own 

or drink 

yourself naked and drunk 

on the cold soil.

It seemed like years, 

it seemed like a night or two, 

maybe there's little difference. 

A bad mind lost time, 

a day, a year, 

I remember little of either. 

So looking back, 

maybe just one night,

maybe four years, 

a minor detail 

of a corrupted mind. 

Not sure who rescued me, 

or if I swam the ocean alone 

and found the shore. 

God hadn't walked away 

having seen me stripped bare 

ranting in my nakedness.

Shrivel feet on course soil, 

clothed once more 

suddenly appropriate again, 

but not underneath. 

Though, the Comforter 

could cover 

a multitude of nakedness. 

She'd say I still wasn't right, 

though she found me 

far from removed 

from the shore 

only sometimes 

naked and bare.

Just a single night 

alone in the sea 

left me different and bare. 

Maybe God needed 

a man, 

naked and bare.

I'm Sexy

I am sexy.  At least, that is what I heard, again, one Friday night back in February.  I was running by a house when a girl hollers, "Woooowho, Heeey Sexy."  This just confirmed the extraordinary amount of sexiness I must now possess.  My sexiness had to burst through the abundance of clothes I wore; tights, shorts, shirt, jacket, 2 gloves, beanie, hat, and headlamp.  I was running in the middle of the road as a heavy snow was falling with 4-5 inches newly on the ground.  I'll admit that the headlamp probably helped her see my sexiness in the heavy snowfall.

I believe my first discovery of this odd sexiness was more of a conveyance of another's more established sexy power.  It was in May, 1989 and I was only 16, an awkward, some might say puny and thin, young runner.  Some might say I have maintained the puny and thin build.  I had only been running for 6 months, but that strange power had begun to take hold.  There was a group of us Dobson boys out on a midnight run in the nearby town of Elkin.  A car passed and someone hollered, "Hey, it's Sexy Rexy's boys."  That's when I first heard of this sexiness in running.  Rex Mitchell was our Surry Central High School track and cross country coach.  He not only coached, but he ran, all 6'5" in running shorts and shirtless in summer.  He'd become known to some as Sexy Rexy and we were his runners.  

I'm not sure what it is about this sexy mystic that running christens us with.  But with many miles logged on these legs, some just can't resist calling out, "Hey Sexy."  I'm sure many of you running infatuated have experienced the same.  It seems strange that a lean, underfed looking, half-naked person quickly chasing one foot after another could emit such a strong sexiness.  I have even found that some males, who'd swear they're straight, will whistle or holler the "Hey Sexy."  A few years ago, I had a situation where a 73 year old woman commented on my lean body.  She said she was not hitting on me, she was just admiring.  I told her I was dating someone.   Though I've come to understand the overpowering nature of this running sexiness.

I help Sexy Rexy coach at the same high school where he has been passing along this power for more than 30 years.  Now I run with our guys on the local roads.  I must apologize to the new kids each year and tell them they will get used to all the hollering when they run with me.  I also tell them that if they too log many miles, someday people will be unable to control the proclamation of their sexiness.

Our Sexy Cartel

From left to right, Me-jb, Jason Key-JK, Kenny Koves, Joseph Gonzales-JG, Jason Lawrence-JL

All photos are from my senior yearbook.  Even the one of me looking goofy, or maybe SEXY.