"Go head girl, (go head be gone wit it) , come to the back (go head be gone wit it), VIP (go head be gone wit it) drinks on me..."
-Justin Timberlake - Sexyback
Yesterday's goal met?: Yes. According to my brand spankin' new structured schedule, I rest every other day. Yesterday was rest and reflection. I needed it.
This blog was a damn good idea. I'm so happy I stole it!
With that said, I need to thank a few people.
First, PF Esso for stopping through ("your...unce...tice...fee times a maday " (as Buckwheat once sang.) OK one more, because we don't know when to quit... "Ya gotta dema diba..emeina bye she got..bette dabee eye...) PF Demps for giving some tough Yoda love (Do or do not. There is no try.) And finally, PF Sonya "Backcracka Chiropraka" for the INCREDIBLY inspiring and moving story she just sent me. (Not to mention your text pages. Did you ever know that you're my heeeeroooo?)
I shaved it down but please read this. Please.
"When I read about you running in the race, I thought about some of my patients who are wonderful Survivors, I was also reminded of my friend who did not survive and I wanted to talk to you about her and what life has been like since her death. Shonda Pauling (dear God I haven't written her entire name in years) and I met in a summer program back in 1981.
I was living in St. Louis in 1997 when Shonda called to talk to me about her diagnosis of Breast Cancer. Don't matter what the textbooks say, she wasn't in the correct age range and didn't have a family history of CANCER but Damnit, she had it at 28 years of age. She went through chemo & radiation and had a full mastectomy in a matter of months. Shonda's conversation with me was like girl this thing isn't going to get me, I'm going to do what I have to because I am going to live (we had a saying back then....." ain't nothin' to it but to do it!!!").
2000 was the year that a lot of BS went down. Shonda & I met at Applebee's for drinks during the summer and she told me that she had gone to the doctor and they found a hot spot on her spine at L5 (I think it was). Again my damn schooling kicked in and said to myself, that's TERMINAL!!! Cancer of the spine= 0% survival rate. Shonda said it just like, "girl it's raining outside!!!" and sipped her drink.
She started with her Chemotherapy which was kicking her ass this time but she was fighting hard. She wanted to go out with me and one of the boy's one night and we planned to go to the movies and have a few drinks. She let me know that for her to drink, she wasn't going to take her medicine that day because she would get sicker. We went out saw some movie, had a few drinks, laughed it up and went home for the night.
A few weeks went by and I picked up the phone to check on Shonda since I hadn't heard from her. Her mom answered and I heard her mom asking her if she could come to the phone, I didn't hear her respond but her mom just said she will call you back... a few hours later, as Shonda got dressed to go to the hospital, she dropped dead. At 31 years of age, she was GONE.
It is still hard for us to talk about Shonda without....... but you Nyree, made me think about her this month A LOT!!!!! So when you are thinking of all the things in the world better that you could be doing instead of training for this run, or running this race think of SHONDA Pauling cause she would tell you "Ain't Nothin' To It But To Do It" and ball her fist up to tap the top and bottom of your balled up fist."
...So I had no choice but wipe the tears, give Shonda a pound...
...and run 3 miles.
I didn't tell Myke I needed help, I just told him about the race. He came over to me, checked my treadmill stats...nodded, and walk away.
Then I kicked out 16 push-ups and 80 crunches.
This thing is getting so much bigger than me.
I'm learning a lot about myself and all of you and I thank you for sharing...
Shonda ... this one was for you.
-Nye
Hot Beat For Tonight's Training Montage: Sexy Back - Justin Timberlake
A big ass shout out to Justin Timberlake. (Who is lookin kinda OLD these days, huh?)
Anyway...right around mile 2.3, I started running out of steam. BIG TIME. Then...he kicked in.
Or rather...my ego, in conjunction with the lyrics..."I'm bringin sexyback..."
Ya damn right I am.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
Ugly Excuses
"It wasn't not funny."
-Jesse James Outlaw
This morning's goal met?: No. Not even close. Sorry. No sugar coating that.
As you know, I am generally an optimistic person.
I always have been. I can turn pretty much any frown into, at least, a unwilling grimace.
Sure, Bambi's mother died, but at least his father wasn't a deadbeat. He stuck around, didn't he?
And though Bambi had a total bitch name, he grew up to be big and strong.
And yeah, the Lion King bit off of Bambi so hard...(Simba...Bambi. Am I the only one who thinks this deeply about Disney?) but hey. Simba grew up, he kicked his uncle's ass...saved the Pride Lands, knocked up Nayla, thus continuing the Circle of Life(a).
So it does pain me to say, with all my sunshine-like optimism, that there very well may be a chance that I will not finish the race.
(This is the part of the training montage where the boxer breaks his wrist/singer catches a cold /breakdancer runs out of cardboard boxes/rollerskater can't master the one-legged jump/quarterback gets paralyzed from the neck down/Prince's father off's himself...etc.)
Why?
Well, I said I was taking Friday off, right? And I did.
And Saturday.
Why? (To fully skip my bullshit excuse, look for this symbol *&* It will begin where I take responsibility.)
Well...because I didn't want to run. I knew I had to ...but it seemed like a great idea to just...walk to Dunkin Donuts, get the biggest coffee I could find, come back home, thoroughly clean my apartment, and the next thing I knew...it was six PM and my carriage would be downstairs. With a pet in it.
Long story. My S.O. got a pet. The pet was in the car, and I needed to see this ...pet. Nothing says, "Let's not argue" than a new pet. Or a positive pregnancy test....OK. Maybe just the pet.
Anyhoo... I'm all for pets. They make me feel really girly and touch that "unlimited affection" button that I only reserve for things that can't say "get off me..."...like furry animals and babies.
This was a combination. A four week old rescue animal...named Miles. (I'm not saying what kind of pet it is on purpose. Whatever your preference, I want you to go there and feel the affection towards whatever kind of baby animal you prefer. It's easier to get where I am if you do that.)
Like I said, I'm all for pets, I just don't want one. I'm fine being "Aunt Nyree".
(Don't worry...I'll get back to why I don't think I can run this thing in a second.)
"Aunt Nyree" is the best job. All the rewards, none of the bullshit. In the end...you go HOME.
Like for instance, take PF Lito's "Nyde"...the BEST pet in the WORLD.
I love him! I'll play with him! Will even walk him!... Gladly!!! He's soooo cute!!!
(....Just don't bring him to my apartment son. That's my word.)
*&* So I know I should have run. But I didn't. And I figured I'd make it up on the back end. Meaning Sunday.
Sunday.
Fuck. It's raining. Sure, I've run in the rain before. But not today. I want to sleep in. I want brunch. I want quality time. I want to play Aunt Nyree with Miles. I want to watch gangsta movies. I want to eat pasta and meatballs. And I'm going to do what I want. Damn it.
Sunday night (during the Emmy's. Particularly the part when Bob Newhart is told he's only got three hours to live.)
... OH SHIT. I've only got two weeks and I can't run three miles!!! I'm waking up tomorrow morning and kicking out at least three miles. At least. Well, you can do some push ups. Three sets of 8. Goodnight.
This morning?
A miserable failure.
Oh, I got up. Oh, I ran....on a track this time, not a treadmill. A wet gravel track. (Caution. Bullshit excuse alert...add your own whining...) it felt like sand. Pavement running was much easier...*&*but in total, I was able to kick out 1.25 miles and walked the remaining .75 mile. ..to give me a grand total of 2 miles.
Pathetic.
...A man with a prosthetic leg passed me. Seriously.
Tomorrow is another day and I am committed. I was gonna bag the whole idea and just walk it. I mean, it is a walk/run, but nah-uh. I gotta run this. So I'm gonna train a little harder. And I now realize, I can't do it alone.
It's gonna get ugly the next few days guys. I'm calling in the big guns.
I'm calling in ...MYKE...from the fitness center. God help me.
(This is the part of the movie where the mysterious, Clint Eastwood coach type/Kill Bill-esque Tao-Lin Master comes from out of a cloud of dry-ice and shadow...and whips our hero into one-armed push up shape...)
To be continued...
-Nye
Tomorrow's goal: 3.5 miles on the treadmill...while Myke sets my pace. I respect the track vs. pavement and I need to kick it up. God help me.
Hot beat to train to: Lose My Breath - Destiny's Child
PS. I have a really tough memorial to attend tomorrow. You don't know the family, but pray for them anyway...K? They'll need it.
-Jesse James Outlaw
This morning's goal met?: No. Not even close. Sorry. No sugar coating that.
As you know, I am generally an optimistic person.
I always have been. I can turn pretty much any frown into, at least, a unwilling grimace.
Sure, Bambi's mother died, but at least his father wasn't a deadbeat. He stuck around, didn't he?
And though Bambi had a total bitch name, he grew up to be big and strong.
And yeah, the Lion King bit off of Bambi so hard...(Simba...Bambi. Am I the only one who thinks this deeply about Disney?) but hey. Simba grew up, he kicked his uncle's ass...saved the Pride Lands, knocked up Nayla, thus continuing the Circle of Life(a).
So it does pain me to say, with all my sunshine-like optimism, that there very well may be a chance that I will not finish the race.
(This is the part of the training montage where the boxer breaks his wrist/singer catches a cold /breakdancer runs out of cardboard boxes/rollerskater can't master the one-legged jump/quarterback gets paralyzed from the neck down/Prince's father off's himself...etc.)
Why?
Well, I said I was taking Friday off, right? And I did.
And Saturday.
Why? (To fully skip my bullshit excuse, look for this symbol *&* It will begin where I take responsibility.)
Well...because I didn't want to run. I knew I had to ...but it seemed like a great idea to just...walk to Dunkin Donuts, get the biggest coffee I could find, come back home, thoroughly clean my apartment, and the next thing I knew...it was six PM and my carriage would be downstairs. With a pet in it.
Long story. My S.O. got a pet. The pet was in the car, and I needed to see this ...pet. Nothing says, "Let's not argue" than a new pet. Or a positive pregnancy test....OK. Maybe just the pet.
Anyhoo... I'm all for pets. They make me feel really girly and touch that "unlimited affection" button that I only reserve for things that can't say "get off me..."...like furry animals and babies.
This was a combination. A four week old rescue animal...named Miles. (I'm not saying what kind of pet it is on purpose. Whatever your preference, I want you to go there and feel the affection towards whatever kind of baby animal you prefer. It's easier to get where I am if you do that.)
Like I said, I'm all for pets, I just don't want one. I'm fine being "Aunt Nyree".
(Don't worry...I'll get back to why I don't think I can run this thing in a second.)
"Aunt Nyree" is the best job. All the rewards, none of the bullshit. In the end...you go HOME.
Like for instance, take PF Lito's "Nyde"...the BEST pet in the WORLD.
I love him! I'll play with him! Will even walk him!... Gladly!!! He's soooo cute!!!
(....Just don't bring him to my apartment son. That's my word.)
*&* So I know I should have run. But I didn't. And I figured I'd make it up on the back end. Meaning Sunday.
Sunday.
Fuck. It's raining. Sure, I've run in the rain before. But not today. I want to sleep in. I want brunch. I want quality time. I want to play Aunt Nyree with Miles. I want to watch gangsta movies. I want to eat pasta and meatballs. And I'm going to do what I want. Damn it.
Sunday night (during the Emmy's. Particularly the part when Bob Newhart is told he's only got three hours to live.)
... OH SHIT. I've only got two weeks and I can't run three miles!!! I'm waking up tomorrow morning and kicking out at least three miles. At least. Well, you can do some push ups. Three sets of 8. Goodnight.
This morning?
A miserable failure.
Oh, I got up. Oh, I ran....on a track this time, not a treadmill. A wet gravel track. (Caution. Bullshit excuse alert...add your own whining...) it felt like sand. Pavement running was much easier...*&*but in total, I was able to kick out 1.25 miles and walked the remaining .75 mile. ..to give me a grand total of 2 miles.
Pathetic.
...A man with a prosthetic leg passed me. Seriously.
Tomorrow is another day and I am committed. I was gonna bag the whole idea and just walk it. I mean, it is a walk/run, but nah-uh. I gotta run this. So I'm gonna train a little harder. And I now realize, I can't do it alone.
It's gonna get ugly the next few days guys. I'm calling in the big guns.
I'm calling in ...MYKE...from the fitness center. God help me.
(This is the part of the movie where the mysterious, Clint Eastwood coach type/Kill Bill-esque Tao-Lin Master comes from out of a cloud of dry-ice and shadow...and whips our hero into one-armed push up shape...)
To be continued...
-Nye
Tomorrow's goal: 3.5 miles on the treadmill...while Myke sets my pace. I respect the track vs. pavement and I need to kick it up. God help me.
Hot beat to train to: Lose My Breath - Destiny's Child
PS. I have a really tough memorial to attend tomorrow. You don't know the family, but pray for them anyway...K? They'll need it.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Color Me Responsible
"...I'm sorry Miss. Your card has been denied."
-Disapproving lady in the nail salon
Yesterday's Goal Met?: Sorta. Let's just say man can't run off anger alone.
My toes are pink.
I hate pink.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
After my 2.5 mile run yesterday, I decide to begin my upper body circuit. So I head to the free weight area (which is completely empty) and I stare at myself in the mirror. And I have a cold kind of horror grow inside of me. Sorta like living alone, and realizing you left your apartment keys in the office. (This has happened to me...twice.)
The first thing I notice is my sweat stained grey gym pants. Well..these are actually yoga pants and not made to absorb sweat. So when they do absorb sweat, it's noticeable.
Very noticeable.
Especially when the sweat pools in your crotch area forming a dark grey V between your legs.
I quickly and quietly ...START BOOKIN' to the locker room. And instead of instantly removing the yoga pants, I keep em on..and stare at myself in the mirror.
...In total disbelief of how fucking nasty this is.
How in the hell did this happen? I wonder.
I then notice the trail of sweat down my stomach. Bingo. It flowed down my hunter's line* like a fucking river...and since yoga pants have no elastic waistline to catch this...it pooled in my crotch. ILLG.
So I have a choice. Change and get back out there... or call it a night.
I change (because the gym has unlimited gym clothes and I'm gangsta) and head back out there....but I've taken too much of a break. Because now I'm tired. VERY tired.
However, I still pick up 10lb weights and do some military shoulder raises, side lateral raises, bicep and tricep curls. But only one set. I ran out of steam.
So I figure I'll end by making up those pushups I didn't do yesterday...and I get into position.
On my first set of push-ups...I realize...I'm sore. My chest. My arms. My back. Ay.
On my second set of push ups, I realize, I'm really tired. REALLY tired. If I try to do the third set, I'll never make it. Bad form. There's nothing worse.
Listen to your body Nye. Call it a night. Get some dinner and finish working.
Fine.
Not a salad from Chipotle again. A grilled chicken sandwich from McDonalds. Yeah.
(Though I always feel weird about walking down the street with a Micky-D bag. As if the health police will assault me, and I'll have to prove to them I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich, no mayo and water.)
Just then, a close talkin' homeless guy approaches me.
"Excuse me Miss..."
"Yes?"
"I haven't eaten in days and I was wondering..."
"Would you like something?"
He blinks. I blink.
Offering the homeless food in New York is sorta like calling their bluff.
Let's be honest here. Either you want food or drugs. Be real with me, or you get nothing.
(Or perform...but that's another blog.)
"Are you serious?" He says in disbelief of his luck. Wow. He was telling the truth.
"Sure, come on."
He's stunned. And I'm pissed. Because I know I wasn't the first person he approached. You mean nobody could buy this man anything? I hate this fucking city sometimes.
He modestly asks for a hamburger, and after a bit of prodding on my part (I understand the unspoken "beggars can't be choosers" rule, as does he)...we upgrade to a Big Mac value meal.
He's a nice man. Sometimes, you can just tell these things.
We say goodbye, I wish him luck, and head back to work (feeling like my karma went up a notch or two.) But also wondering just...what happened?
Why is he homeless, in Micky-D's, hoping somebody will provide his next meal?
"You're only one paycheck away from homelessness..." my mother once told me. Hmm.
Maybe not one...maybe three. Speaking of which, I'd better set up my bill payment for tomorrow.
I return to the office...log into Chase and pay every bill I can think of.
Whew. That's done. Homelessness averted for one more month! Yay responsibility!
10pm. Phone call. The peace talks begin...and this takes the rest of my energy from me.
Time to call it a night.
*****
I wasn't paying attention. I was watching "Monster-In-Law" with
J. Lo...again.
(How is it possible that I see this movie twice in the same month... against my will?)
She picked up the wrong nailpolish. My brown polish was next to my neighbors.
Pink.
If her leg massage wasn't so gangsta, I would have asked her to begin again. But she was so nice, and hey. Maybe I'm meant to have pink toes this week. Maybe it's a lesson I have to learn.
Here's my debit card...just put it on here.
(See above quote.)
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"Huh? What? It...but that's impossible. " ...I just got paid yesterday and... OH SNAP!
In my effort to be responsible and remain non-homeless with good credit, I forgot to check my account balance.
Way to go Ms. Responsible. "May I use your phone?"
Chase's new automated phone system is THE SHITTIEST ONE EVER... requiring codes and fingerprints in order to get into your account. UGGGH...Ms. Really Nice Representative Lady, all I want to do is just transfer.... You know what.. nevermind. I'll just go to the ATM.
No. It's not your fault. Thanks though, and have a great weekend.
(heavy sigh...) ...here. Put it on the Visa.
Pink toes will keep me humble. They will serve as a week long reminder that I need to be more responsible and stop fighting things that haven't even fucking happened (...and if they do...it's probably going to be beyond my control anyway.)
...either that, or it simply means that J.Lo is evil and must be banned.
Which is what I've always suspected anyway.
...have a great weekend.
-Nye
Goal: Taking the day off. I know when the universe gives me pink toes, it's time to sit down somewhere and be quiet. Bad week. Meditate on that.
Hot beat to chill to while I edit training montage: Like A Star - Corinne Bailey Rae
*The line in the middle of your abs that separate the "six pack".
-Disapproving lady in the nail salon
Yesterday's Goal Met?: Sorta. Let's just say man can't run off anger alone.
My toes are pink.
I hate pink.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
After my 2.5 mile run yesterday, I decide to begin my upper body circuit. So I head to the free weight area (which is completely empty) and I stare at myself in the mirror. And I have a cold kind of horror grow inside of me. Sorta like living alone, and realizing you left your apartment keys in the office. (This has happened to me...twice.)
The first thing I notice is my sweat stained grey gym pants. Well..these are actually yoga pants and not made to absorb sweat. So when they do absorb sweat, it's noticeable.
Very noticeable.
Especially when the sweat pools in your crotch area forming a dark grey V between your legs.
I quickly and quietly ...START BOOKIN' to the locker room. And instead of instantly removing the yoga pants, I keep em on..and stare at myself in the mirror.
...In total disbelief of how fucking nasty this is.
How in the hell did this happen? I wonder.
I then notice the trail of sweat down my stomach. Bingo. It flowed down my hunter's line* like a fucking river...and since yoga pants have no elastic waistline to catch this...it pooled in my crotch. ILLG.
So I have a choice. Change and get back out there... or call it a night.
I change (because the gym has unlimited gym clothes and I'm gangsta) and head back out there....but I've taken too much of a break. Because now I'm tired. VERY tired.
However, I still pick up 10lb weights and do some military shoulder raises, side lateral raises, bicep and tricep curls. But only one set. I ran out of steam.
So I figure I'll end by making up those pushups I didn't do yesterday...and I get into position.
On my first set of push-ups...I realize...I'm sore. My chest. My arms. My back. Ay.
On my second set of push ups, I realize, I'm really tired. REALLY tired. If I try to do the third set, I'll never make it. Bad form. There's nothing worse.
Listen to your body Nye. Call it a night. Get some dinner and finish working.
Fine.
Not a salad from Chipotle again. A grilled chicken sandwich from McDonalds. Yeah.
(Though I always feel weird about walking down the street with a Micky-D bag. As if the health police will assault me, and I'll have to prove to them I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich, no mayo and water.)
Just then, a close talkin' homeless guy approaches me.
"Excuse me Miss..."
"Yes?"
"I haven't eaten in days and I was wondering..."
"Would you like something?"
He blinks. I blink.
Offering the homeless food in New York is sorta like calling their bluff.
Let's be honest here. Either you want food or drugs. Be real with me, or you get nothing.
(Or perform...but that's another blog.)
"Are you serious?" He says in disbelief of his luck. Wow. He was telling the truth.
"Sure, come on."
He's stunned. And I'm pissed. Because I know I wasn't the first person he approached. You mean nobody could buy this man anything? I hate this fucking city sometimes.
He modestly asks for a hamburger, and after a bit of prodding on my part (I understand the unspoken "beggars can't be choosers" rule, as does he)...we upgrade to a Big Mac value meal.
He's a nice man. Sometimes, you can just tell these things.
We say goodbye, I wish him luck, and head back to work (feeling like my karma went up a notch or two.) But also wondering just...what happened?
Why is he homeless, in Micky-D's, hoping somebody will provide his next meal?
"You're only one paycheck away from homelessness..." my mother once told me. Hmm.
Maybe not one...maybe three. Speaking of which, I'd better set up my bill payment for tomorrow.
I return to the office...log into Chase and pay every bill I can think of.
Whew. That's done. Homelessness averted for one more month! Yay responsibility!
10pm. Phone call. The peace talks begin...and this takes the rest of my energy from me.
Time to call it a night.
*****
I wasn't paying attention. I was watching "Monster-In-Law" with
J. Lo...again.
(How is it possible that I see this movie twice in the same month... against my will?)
She picked up the wrong nailpolish. My brown polish was next to my neighbors.
Pink.
If her leg massage wasn't so gangsta, I would have asked her to begin again. But she was so nice, and hey. Maybe I'm meant to have pink toes this week. Maybe it's a lesson I have to learn.
Here's my debit card...just put it on here.
(See above quote.)
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"Huh? What? It...but that's impossible. " ...I just got paid yesterday and... OH SNAP!
In my effort to be responsible and remain non-homeless with good credit, I forgot to check my account balance.
Way to go Ms. Responsible. "May I use your phone?"
Chase's new automated phone system is THE SHITTIEST ONE EVER... requiring codes and fingerprints in order to get into your account. UGGGH...Ms. Really Nice Representative Lady, all I want to do is just transfer.... You know what.. nevermind. I'll just go to the ATM.
No. It's not your fault. Thanks though, and have a great weekend.
(heavy sigh...) ...here. Put it on the Visa.
Pink toes will keep me humble. They will serve as a week long reminder that I need to be more responsible and stop fighting things that haven't even fucking happened (...and if they do...it's probably going to be beyond my control anyway.)
...either that, or it simply means that J.Lo is evil and must be banned.
Which is what I've always suspected anyway.
...have a great weekend.
-Nye
Goal: Taking the day off. I know when the universe gives me pink toes, it's time to sit down somewhere and be quiet. Bad week. Meditate on that.
Hot beat to chill to while I edit training montage: Like A Star - Corinne Bailey Rae
*The line in the middle of your abs that separate the "six pack".
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Bad Timing
"Engine, Engine number 9, on the New York transit line...if my train goes off the track...pick it up..pick it up...pick it up!!"
-Black Sheep's "Dres" from "This Or That"
Yesterday's Goal Met?: Whoops. I dropped one of my ice-cream scoops on the floor.
First off...happy birthday to PF Dawn!! You wear it well baby.
Last night, after a spectacular argument in the middle of Times Square (How's THAT for scaring the tourists?) I head to Bryant Park to sit and calm by the fountain....for exactly 12 minutes. Because that's when the bus back to Riverdale would arrive.
I'm rocking an amazing soundtrack in my head, since my iPod is on the blink AGAIN (I still love you Mr. Jobs, but I'm gonna tell all my friends to switch back to PC if you don't get the bugs out of these expensive ass MP3 players Son.). And I'm texting. Furiously.
Ever text so fast you keep effn' up the letters, which does nothing but make you angrier?
Yeah..that's where I was. And after a minute...I just gave up. (If you can't say anything nice...)
And I stared at the water.
Yeah. I need some water.
Jesus turned water to wine.
I need some wine.
I need to go home.
I checked my watch again...six minutes to go.
Head down to the actual stop and pull out my phone and start texting again. Cuz...fuck that.
A dude on the phone with manilla envelopes pulls out a flyer and smiles. He's nice.
He doesn't deserve my 42nd Street bullshit vapors, so I smile back. Damn he looks familiar...
I check it. Black Sheep is trying to make a comeback. They're filming a video on Saturday...CLICK. "Dres...D-R-E-S... yes, guess I can start. If it's alright with you, I'll rip this here joint apart..."
"I remember you. Dres...right?"
"Aight..."
Dres goes about his way... and the Bronx Chicken inside me starts cluckin. Who would understand this moment?
So I call PF Shaniqua (known as ESSO)....who starts Bronx cluckin' on the other line. This is great. We're excited. We're 19 again. Native tongue...Tribe, Latifah, De La...
Dres returns and we spark up a convo...and I find it so funny that I'm so...SO not affected anymore. He's just a dude, trying to do his thing. I fully overstand. However, if this shit would have happened when I was 19...
And that's when I think...timing is everything. How you feel about something, or someone...timing has a hell of a lot to do with it.
I could have chose to hold my tongue and not flame-on in the middle of Times Square. Save it for another time. But I wouldn't have meant it then.
I could have chose not to make live adustments to free up more time on the back end, trying to fix the problem at hand.
Hell...I could have chose to do the second half of my workout...
I walked into the gym hours earlier...kicked out one and a half miles, at a 10 minute mile pace. (Hey...since I'm not running long, might as well run hard.)
I checked the clock and I was running out of time. If I did my circuit, I'd be late...disrespecting time...and that's something I'm trying to improve. So I got through 90 crunches and bitched out on the pushups. I can make excuses, but no. I didn't do them. Should have...but didn't.
On the bus ride home...PF ESSO clucked with me and made me feel a hell of a lot better. Sure, I could have called a male friend, but they would have grounded me....but I needed to bitch. I NEEDED a woman from the Bronx on the other line. I need to be fully understood, from the significance of your knees killin' you on the "Engine Engine" part (see above quote) to my Hulk-Like-Bronx-Girl-Inside-The-Bougie transformation.( "I'm a grown ass woman son!")
And MANY giggles. Like girls. When shit was simple. Kna mean son? I'm EARTH. DON'T BE DISREPECTIN' EARTH SON..THAT'S MY WORD.
At home, I finish the two-buck Chuck from Trader Joes. One glass worth.
I need more. I finish the last Heini Light.
I need more. I find...an old pack of Newport Lights.
I light up. I feel better. But worse. Damn it, it was worth it. Trash the rest.
But that was yesterday. No need to beat myself up about it.
This is today. (Insert the cast of RENT singing..."NO DAY BUT TO-DAY....")
-Nye
Goal: 2.5 Miles
Upper body circuit
Hot beats for today's training montage: So Have I For You - Nikka Costa
Post workout thought: Doing something good for somebody else will ALWAYS...ALWAYS make you feel better. So in a way...a selfless act is actually a selfish one.
But in a good way.
-Black Sheep's "Dres" from "This Or That"
Yesterday's Goal Met?: Whoops. I dropped one of my ice-cream scoops on the floor.
First off...happy birthday to PF Dawn!! You wear it well baby.
Last night, after a spectacular argument in the middle of Times Square (How's THAT for scaring the tourists?) I head to Bryant Park to sit and calm by the fountain....for exactly 12 minutes. Because that's when the bus back to Riverdale would arrive.
I'm rocking an amazing soundtrack in my head, since my iPod is on the blink AGAIN (I still love you Mr. Jobs, but I'm gonna tell all my friends to switch back to PC if you don't get the bugs out of these expensive ass MP3 players Son.). And I'm texting. Furiously.
Ever text so fast you keep effn' up the letters, which does nothing but make you angrier?
Yeah..that's where I was. And after a minute...I just gave up. (If you can't say anything nice...)
And I stared at the water.
Yeah. I need some water.
Jesus turned water to wine.
I need some wine.
I need to go home.
I checked my watch again...six minutes to go.
Head down to the actual stop and pull out my phone and start texting again. Cuz...fuck that.
A dude on the phone with manilla envelopes pulls out a flyer and smiles. He's nice.
He doesn't deserve my 42nd Street bullshit vapors, so I smile back. Damn he looks familiar...
I check it. Black Sheep is trying to make a comeback. They're filming a video on Saturday...CLICK. "Dres...D-R-E-S... yes, guess I can start. If it's alright with you, I'll rip this here joint apart..."
"I remember you. Dres...right?"
"Aight..."
Dres goes about his way... and the Bronx Chicken inside me starts cluckin. Who would understand this moment?
So I call PF Shaniqua (known as ESSO)....who starts Bronx cluckin' on the other line. This is great. We're excited. We're 19 again. Native tongue...Tribe, Latifah, De La...
Dres returns and we spark up a convo...and I find it so funny that I'm so...SO not affected anymore. He's just a dude, trying to do his thing. I fully overstand. However, if this shit would have happened when I was 19...
And that's when I think...timing is everything. How you feel about something, or someone...timing has a hell of a lot to do with it.
I could have chose to hold my tongue and not flame-on in the middle of Times Square. Save it for another time. But I wouldn't have meant it then.
I could have chose not to make live adustments to free up more time on the back end, trying to fix the problem at hand.
Hell...I could have chose to do the second half of my workout...
I walked into the gym hours earlier...kicked out one and a half miles, at a 10 minute mile pace. (Hey...since I'm not running long, might as well run hard.)
I checked the clock and I was running out of time. If I did my circuit, I'd be late...disrespecting time...and that's something I'm trying to improve. So I got through 90 crunches and bitched out on the pushups. I can make excuses, but no. I didn't do them. Should have...but didn't.
On the bus ride home...PF ESSO clucked with me and made me feel a hell of a lot better. Sure, I could have called a male friend, but they would have grounded me....but I needed to bitch. I NEEDED a woman from the Bronx on the other line. I need to be fully understood, from the significance of your knees killin' you on the "Engine Engine" part (see above quote) to my Hulk-Like-Bronx-Girl-Inside-The-Bougie transformation.( "I'm a grown ass woman son!")
And MANY giggles. Like girls. When shit was simple. Kna mean son? I'm EARTH. DON'T BE DISREPECTIN' EARTH SON..THAT'S MY WORD.
At home, I finish the two-buck Chuck from Trader Joes. One glass worth.
I need more. I finish the last Heini Light.
I need more. I find...an old pack of Newport Lights.
I light up. I feel better. But worse. Damn it, it was worth it. Trash the rest.
But that was yesterday. No need to beat myself up about it.
This is today. (Insert the cast of RENT singing..."NO DAY BUT TO-DAY....")
-Nye
Goal: 2.5 Miles
Upper body circuit
Hot beats for today's training montage: So Have I For You - Nikka Costa
Post workout thought: Doing something good for somebody else will ALWAYS...ALWAYS make you feel better. So in a way...a selfless act is actually a selfish one.
But in a good way.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
I Am Not My Hair
"..A woman of your caliber shouldn't be entering in metadata."
-Courtesy of Big Whig in Marketing
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POST GETS REALLY GIRLY AT TIMES, SO FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS ONE IF YOU FEEL YOUR MANHOOD IS AT RISK.
YESTERDAY'S GOAL MET?: HULK SMASHED!!
So some of you have no doubt that I'm going to get this done, and I appreciate that.
Really. Because you very well may be right. And it's not that I can't do it...it's that I get distracted. Easily. That's always been my problem. But I'll get into that later.
Here's how yesterday went down.
I walk into the gym, dreading that "NORM!" from Cheers greeting I usually get,
because I wasn't in the mood for it. I officially bummed myself out with all the Levee talk,
and I needed some quiet in conjunction with some mood altering endorphines.
I forgot my locker combo. Nothing new. However, the chick behind the desk makes a production about getting the KEY to my combination locker (????) ....which gives the staff enough time to notice I'm there.
"OH... YOU MUST BE TRAINING FOR SOMETHING ..." says Delores. (Not to be confused with PF Delores.) And immediately, all eyes on me.
So now, I'm feeling like a bit of a jerk because she's right, which prompts me to tell her about the race, then answer questions about the cause ...and the entire gym is watching. (It's not a big gym.) If I can't kick out these 2 puny wittle bitty miles, I've let down the Levee victims, breast cancer patients and the company whole gym.
No pressure.
I kick out 2.4 miles. This gives me hope. I can do this. I can officially stop panicking.
So I get cocky, and decide to do some pushups. (Real ones. Not those pansy "on the knee girlshups")
..and I get kick out 26. (Actually going for three sets of eight, but felt a little strong and kicked out two at the end.)
Now, I'm pumped. So I start with crunches...and I kick out 80.
The water is gone, I'm sweaty and feeling strong and just...great. Good job Nye.
Back in the locker room, I jump in the shower, and emerge to the horrorifying realization that...I don't have a ponytail holder.
So I stand there and blink. And blink. Because I know what this means.
I'm going to look like one of those furry topped pencils if I don't do something quick.
Nope. No gel in the bag. Next to me, some random co-worker takes the blow-dryer and blows her hair out to perfection. I feel the fur forming and I run back to my office before the carriage turns into a pumpkin.
This gets me to thinking about the whole "hair" thing. This is what started the whole "sit on my ass" thing in the first place.
I'd had unrelaxed curly locks for about ten years, and thanks to a few press and curls, the texture changed. Long story short, I got it relaxed straight.
Got a cut.
Got cute.
Damn cute.
Too damn cute to get it all sweated out in the gym.
So it was toss up between the hair and the body. In the winter, the hair means more. And most women have the same issue. Because getting your hair done every week is time consuming...and costly. So I opted for cute. And pushed my size 6 to the back of the closet.
I'm so vain, I probably think this blog is about me. Don't I? Don't I? Don't I?
So anyway...I finish my work out and return to an email from my HR department.
I requested a sit-down chat, just to see where I am career-wise, what my options are...you know, check in. I'm scheduled for Friday. I'm psyched because I know I'm doing much more than I'm compensated for and I'm worth more than they realize. And I don't know many people who don't feel the same way about themselves...but the squeaky wheel...blah..blah.
So after I say Friday at 11am will be swell Matt, thanks!... I notice my message light is on...and I hear a very excited voice asking me to return the call. I don't know what it is, but my father's voice ...especially when he's excited, makes you want to return the call with the speed you only have when you want to hear juicy gossip.
So I return Charles Emory Jr.'s call (there was no gossip. He wanted to talk about the "Levees" documentary...which is SICK by the way. ) . I tell him about the upcoming meeting.
To which he said, "When you get there, ask for a million dollars."
I laughed.
He said, "I'm serious. When you ask for a million, and they only give you ten thousand, they'll feel like they got off easy. AND DON'T TELL THEM NOTHIN' ABOUT WHAT YOU DO. CONFUSE EM!!"
Gotta love him.
Thing is, I'm not asking for more. I just want to know where I am. I tread lightly around this place. There's a battle for the ring (precious) every single day...and I'm just Frodo tryin' to throw it in the volcano...and not get sucked up by that big eye thing. Besides. Be careful what you wish for right? It's lonely at the top and money can't buy happiness...("though it can help pay for the search" a wise musician once said.) And no matter how much smoke marketing execs blow up my Beyonce, (see the above quote)...I'd rather be happy.
So with that said, I'm getting out at a decent hour today. Gonna have some pasta and wine and spend some much needed quality time without all the hostility.
...But not before I get today's workout. (Told you, I get distracted.)
In other news...I just want to say a emo-filled goodbye to my good friend "Hanna". There's too much to say about her (hee-hee)...but all things considered, I love her. And nothing sums her up better than this statement.
"Oh..You'll see me. I'm only going to Africa..." Yes I will. Next year, in Lagos, Nigeria.
WHO'S COMING WITH ME?
But this year, it's (drum roll please...) Spain!!!! Coming In December.
PF Lito set the bait and I'm biting. It'll keep me running till December.
(But I'm serious about this blog ending in September. Tu sabe?)
-Nye
Goal: 1 Mile
Upper body free weight cardio circuit
Hot beat for today's training montage: You Say You Want It All - Amel Larrieux*
*This is the music most of you hear on my cell phone. It's on the "Bravebird" album.
Cop that.
-Courtesy of Big Whig in Marketing
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POST GETS REALLY GIRLY AT TIMES, SO FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS ONE IF YOU FEEL YOUR MANHOOD IS AT RISK.
YESTERDAY'S GOAL MET?: HULK SMASHED!!
So some of you have no doubt that I'm going to get this done, and I appreciate that.
Really. Because you very well may be right. And it's not that I can't do it...it's that I get distracted. Easily. That's always been my problem. But I'll get into that later.
Here's how yesterday went down.
I walk into the gym, dreading that "NORM!" from Cheers greeting I usually get,
because I wasn't in the mood for it. I officially bummed myself out with all the Levee talk,
and I needed some quiet in conjunction with some mood altering endorphines.
I forgot my locker combo. Nothing new. However, the chick behind the desk makes a production about getting the KEY to my combination locker (????) ....which gives the staff enough time to notice I'm there.
"OH... YOU MUST BE TRAINING FOR SOMETHING ..." says Delores. (Not to be confused with PF Delores.) And immediately, all eyes on me.
So now, I'm feeling like a bit of a jerk because she's right, which prompts me to tell her about the race, then answer questions about the cause ...and the entire gym is watching. (It's not a big gym.) If I can't kick out these 2 puny wittle bitty miles, I've let down the Levee victims, breast cancer patients and the company whole gym.
No pressure.
I kick out 2.4 miles. This gives me hope. I can do this. I can officially stop panicking.
So I get cocky, and decide to do some pushups. (Real ones. Not those pansy "on the knee girlshups")
..and I get kick out 26. (Actually going for three sets of eight, but felt a little strong and kicked out two at the end.)
Now, I'm pumped. So I start with crunches...and I kick out 80.
The water is gone, I'm sweaty and feeling strong and just...great. Good job Nye.
Back in the locker room, I jump in the shower, and emerge to the horrorifying realization that...I don't have a ponytail holder.
So I stand there and blink. And blink. Because I know what this means.
I'm going to look like one of those furry topped pencils if I don't do something quick.
Nope. No gel in the bag. Next to me, some random co-worker takes the blow-dryer and blows her hair out to perfection. I feel the fur forming and I run back to my office before the carriage turns into a pumpkin.
This gets me to thinking about the whole "hair" thing. This is what started the whole "sit on my ass" thing in the first place.
I'd had unrelaxed curly locks for about ten years, and thanks to a few press and curls, the texture changed. Long story short, I got it relaxed straight.
Got a cut.
Got cute.
Damn cute.
Too damn cute to get it all sweated out in the gym.
So it was toss up between the hair and the body. In the winter, the hair means more. And most women have the same issue. Because getting your hair done every week is time consuming...and costly. So I opted for cute. And pushed my size 6 to the back of the closet.
I'm so vain, I probably think this blog is about me. Don't I? Don't I? Don't I?
So anyway...I finish my work out and return to an email from my HR department.
I requested a sit-down chat, just to see where I am career-wise, what my options are...you know, check in. I'm scheduled for Friday. I'm psyched because I know I'm doing much more than I'm compensated for and I'm worth more than they realize. And I don't know many people who don't feel the same way about themselves...but the squeaky wheel...blah..blah.
So after I say Friday at 11am will be swell Matt, thanks!... I notice my message light is on...and I hear a very excited voice asking me to return the call. I don't know what it is, but my father's voice ...especially when he's excited, makes you want to return the call with the speed you only have when you want to hear juicy gossip.
So I return Charles Emory Jr.'s call (there was no gossip. He wanted to talk about the "Levees" documentary...which is SICK by the way. ) . I tell him about the upcoming meeting.
To which he said, "When you get there, ask for a million dollars."
I laughed.
He said, "I'm serious. When you ask for a million, and they only give you ten thousand, they'll feel like they got off easy. AND DON'T TELL THEM NOTHIN' ABOUT WHAT YOU DO. CONFUSE EM!!"
Gotta love him.
Thing is, I'm not asking for more. I just want to know where I am. I tread lightly around this place. There's a battle for the ring (precious) every single day...and I'm just Frodo tryin' to throw it in the volcano...and not get sucked up by that big eye thing. Besides. Be careful what you wish for right? It's lonely at the top and money can't buy happiness...("though it can help pay for the search" a wise musician once said.) And no matter how much smoke marketing execs blow up my Beyonce, (see the above quote)...I'd rather be happy.
So with that said, I'm getting out at a decent hour today. Gonna have some pasta and wine and spend some much needed quality time without all the hostility.
...But not before I get today's workout. (Told you, I get distracted.)
In other news...I just want to say a emo-filled goodbye to my good friend "Hanna". There's too much to say about her (hee-hee)...but all things considered, I love her. And nothing sums her up better than this statement.
"Oh..You'll see me. I'm only going to Africa..." Yes I will. Next year, in Lagos, Nigeria.
WHO'S COMING WITH ME?
But this year, it's (drum roll please...) Spain!!!! Coming In December.
PF Lito set the bait and I'm biting. It'll keep me running till December.
(But I'm serious about this blog ending in September. Tu sabe?)
-Nye
Goal: 1 Mile
Upper body free weight cardio circuit
Hot beat for today's training montage: You Say You Want It All - Amel Larrieux*
*This is the music most of you hear on my cell phone. It's on the "Bravebird" album.
Cop that.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Water Water Everywhere...
"...The water thing is fucking ridiculous."
- Mumbled in line at Cafe Duke
Welcome to For A Limited Time Only: Nyree's 3 Week Blog. I'll get back to the water thing in a minute. Let me just start by telling you what you're getting yourself into.
Well, actually...let me start by telling you that I am not an original person. Anyone who really knows me...knows this. At any given moment, I'll use a quote from a movie, song, book(1), or anything else I think should be included into my own life. So with that said, I stole this "blog my progress" idea from a friend/co-worker who's running a marathon (2).
I tune in every day to see if he actually ran. And I'll be damn...he did. And I'm pretty sure keeping in the moment...logging his progress, has something to do with it.
So I figure, if I put my potential failure out there for everyone to see...I'd be less likely to fail, because I don't like people laughing and pointing at me. Nope. Not at all.
So if you DON'T know, at the time of this post, I'm only THREE WEEKS away from my very first 5K race. If you want to know more about it...here's the page link. http://www.komennyc.org/site/TR?px=1278907&pg=personal&fr_id=1130&s_tafId=8732
But this blog has nothing to do with the fundraising efforts. This blog is straight up about me trying to be able to kick out 3.5 miles with no problem.
And I've done ...pretty much jacksquat to prepare for this. Sure, I can run a mile and a half...maybe kick out two. And I'm sure everyone will appreciate this...but no.
I need to finish this race. I need the "I DID IT!" moment. However, before I can get to the "I DID IT!" moment...I need to suffer through The "training" montage.(3)
So yes, this is my training montage. And at the end, I expect some sort of glorious "I DID IT!" moment when I see my coach(4) cheering beside his wife ...who left him at the start of this three weeks... but she came back...forgiving him (straight up off the euphoric strength of my victory). My deaf(5) friend Mo-Mo can suddenly hear again! "Sam the Cat" (we learn) is still alive (6) , and jumps out of a tree, landing in my arms as I cross the finish. (A mended realtionship, a handicapped person and an animal. You'll need all three for a tear jerker finish.)
But I can't get to that moment if I can't kick out more than a mile and a half.
So I've been running, but not how I want to.
Day one of my wack-ass training, I could barely make it a mile before my lungs called it quits (7). Day three or something, my co-workers son died in a tragic drowning accident, and while mid-stride, I got the news. Messed me up something awful. Calling my Mom to say "I love you" seemed so much more important.
And then beer, hanging out, catching up, work, relationship beef...it all went apeshit at the same time and calling my Mom to say "I love you" seemed much more important.
But now I'm back. Focused. Ready. And today, I head down to my company's gym to kick out no less than two miles. The workers there will heckle me...but this is bigger than them.
Cuz I just bought some water. (Told you I'd get back to it. )
Smart Water. Made from clouds where actual angels chill and strum harps (8), which must explain why this shit costs $3 per bottle. 50 Cent owns this company, if you didn't know. And I buy it, because why knock his hustle? Unlike Kool G. Rap and Dana Dane, 50 knows his hip-hop hustle only lasts as long as his people can stand the bass and child support payments aren't real. He's gonna need a side hustle. Introducing: Vitamin Water and Smart Water. Don't believe me? Read the bottle to "Formula 50" and then thank me for the useless info.
So anyway, I'm mumbling/bitching about the price of water, when somebody behind me starts talking about Katrina(9).
It's the one year anniversary of the levee's breaking (10). I'm working on a project about the levees...so I'm familiar. Very familiar. And I start going through something on the inside. Finally. Though I should have gone through this already.
While floating down the Shenandoah River in a inner tube this past weekend with 10 other phenomenal folk (I'll just call them PF from now on...) , we float right past a river camp...with a huge...HUGE confederate flag flapping in the wind. One of the PF's said, "Bet he'd rather see us floating in the river...than on it." And our silence co-signed.
Now here's the crazy thing. Last year, we WERE floating in the river.
For days.
Four days.
...without help. No food for man, woman or child. No water, no sanitation...
I was in my office crying. Angry. Really fucking angry. Partially because though so much has changed, nothing has. I went broke last August giving away my rent to anyone who needed it. Fuck it. I can do some overtime and be late on a bill this month. At least I have a place to live.
I'm not going to preach about Katrina or the levees...but this is giving me my motivation today.
I'm working for that moment of silence. A two mile moment of silence for all the lives lost...their only crime being that they weren't economically stable enough(11) to get out alive. They died for being poor.
http://www.katrinapictures.blogspot.com/
And on that note...I gotta go run.
Goal: 2 miles
Hot beat for today's training montage: Inner City Blues - (Make Me Wanna Holler) - Marvin Gaye
-Nye
1.These references are harder to catch. For instance, I just stole...I mean, borrowed this bit from
Chuck Klosterman's "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa-Puffs". Read his book. You'll be convinced I'm a sham.
2. And he stole it from his friend who's running the marathon with him. Circle of life.(a)
3. Netflix (new way of saying "rent". Renting is so late 90's...) the following bad/good movies to get an idea of a "training montage": G.I. Jane, Rocky, The Karate Kid, Million Dollar Baby, Remember The Titans, Breakin' (they trained too...), Sister Act (Them nuns couldn't sing in the beginning. 'Cept the little skinny one who whispered and then turned in to Tina Marie at the end.) Roll Bounce, Drumline...you get the point.
4. I don't really have a coach. So this is really a fantasy sequence.
5.I know that seems cruel, but she's cool with me calling her deaf. She just hates when I say she sounds like "Chewbacca", because she's never actually heard "Chewbacca", so she doesn't know what that means. However, I'm sure if she ever heard "Chewbacca", she'd be pissed. But then again, if she could hear, I guess there wouldn't be a joke in the first place.
6. I accidentally pushed Sam the Cat out of the window when I was five. I'm over it. Sam, however...
7. I'd quit smoking and now I fully understand why smoking is BAD.
8. Not to be confused with those clouds the cartoon ladies make toilet paper out of.
9. The hurricane has hit "Luther" status. No label needed. You know what I mean when I say "Katrina" , don't you?
10. Katrina actually didn't touch New Orleans. It was the levees breaking that caused the destruction.
That's why I'm not marking the anniversary of the hurricane. A level 2 is what breached the levees...not the full fledged power of Katrina.
11. Yes, predominately black. Sure. However, let's not forget there were others that were killed as well. The government didn't come and get the poor white and latinos on day two and come back two days later for the blacks. They left poor people to die. Poor has no color.
a. From "The Lion King." See my point?
Post workout comment: The hair thing. Yeah. It's going to be a problem.
- Mumbled in line at Cafe Duke
Welcome to For A Limited Time Only: Nyree's 3 Week Blog. I'll get back to the water thing in a minute. Let me just start by telling you what you're getting yourself into.
Well, actually...let me start by telling you that I am not an original person. Anyone who really knows me...knows this. At any given moment, I'll use a quote from a movie, song, book(1), or anything else I think should be included into my own life. So with that said, I stole this "blog my progress" idea from a friend/co-worker who's running a marathon (2).
I tune in every day to see if he actually ran. And I'll be damn...he did. And I'm pretty sure keeping in the moment...logging his progress, has something to do with it.
So I figure, if I put my potential failure out there for everyone to see...I'd be less likely to fail, because I don't like people laughing and pointing at me. Nope. Not at all.
So if you DON'T know, at the time of this post, I'm only THREE WEEKS away from my very first 5K race. If you want to know more about it...here's the page link. http://www.komennyc.org/site/TR?px=1278907&pg=personal&fr_id=1130&s_tafId=8732
But this blog has nothing to do with the fundraising efforts. This blog is straight up about me trying to be able to kick out 3.5 miles with no problem.
And I've done ...pretty much jacksquat to prepare for this. Sure, I can run a mile and a half...maybe kick out two. And I'm sure everyone will appreciate this...but no.
I need to finish this race. I need the "I DID IT!" moment. However, before I can get to the "I DID IT!" moment...I need to suffer through The "training" montage.(3)
So yes, this is my training montage. And at the end, I expect some sort of glorious "I DID IT!" moment when I see my coach(4) cheering beside his wife ...who left him at the start of this three weeks... but she came back...forgiving him (straight up off the euphoric strength of my victory). My deaf(5) friend Mo-Mo can suddenly hear again! "Sam the Cat" (we learn) is still alive (6) , and jumps out of a tree, landing in my arms as I cross the finish. (A mended realtionship, a handicapped person and an animal. You'll need all three for a tear jerker finish.)
But I can't get to that moment if I can't kick out more than a mile and a half.
So I've been running, but not how I want to.
Day one of my wack-ass training, I could barely make it a mile before my lungs called it quits (7). Day three or something, my co-workers son died in a tragic drowning accident, and while mid-stride, I got the news. Messed me up something awful. Calling my Mom to say "I love you" seemed so much more important.
And then beer, hanging out, catching up, work, relationship beef...it all went apeshit at the same time and calling my Mom to say "I love you" seemed much more important.
But now I'm back. Focused. Ready. And today, I head down to my company's gym to kick out no less than two miles. The workers there will heckle me...but this is bigger than them.
Cuz I just bought some water. (Told you I'd get back to it. )
Smart Water. Made from clouds where actual angels chill and strum harps (8), which must explain why this shit costs $3 per bottle. 50 Cent owns this company, if you didn't know. And I buy it, because why knock his hustle? Unlike Kool G. Rap and Dana Dane, 50 knows his hip-hop hustle only lasts as long as his people can stand the bass and child support payments aren't real. He's gonna need a side hustle. Introducing: Vitamin Water and Smart Water. Don't believe me? Read the bottle to "Formula 50" and then thank me for the useless info.
So anyway, I'm mumbling/bitching about the price of water, when somebody behind me starts talking about Katrina(9).
It's the one year anniversary of the levee's breaking (10). I'm working on a project about the levees...so I'm familiar. Very familiar. And I start going through something on the inside. Finally. Though I should have gone through this already.
While floating down the Shenandoah River in a inner tube this past weekend with 10 other phenomenal folk (I'll just call them PF from now on...) , we float right past a river camp...with a huge...HUGE confederate flag flapping in the wind. One of the PF's said, "Bet he'd rather see us floating in the river...than on it." And our silence co-signed.
Now here's the crazy thing. Last year, we WERE floating in the river.
For days.
Four days.
...without help. No food for man, woman or child. No water, no sanitation...
I was in my office crying. Angry. Really fucking angry. Partially because though so much has changed, nothing has. I went broke last August giving away my rent to anyone who needed it. Fuck it. I can do some overtime and be late on a bill this month. At least I have a place to live.
I'm not going to preach about Katrina or the levees...but this is giving me my motivation today.
I'm working for that moment of silence. A two mile moment of silence for all the lives lost...their only crime being that they weren't economically stable enough(11) to get out alive. They died for being poor.
http://www.katrinapictures.blogspot.com/
And on that note...I gotta go run.
Goal: 2 miles
Hot beat for today's training montage: Inner City Blues - (Make Me Wanna Holler) - Marvin Gaye
-Nye
1.These references are harder to catch. For instance, I just stole...I mean, borrowed this bit from
Chuck Klosterman's "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa-Puffs". Read his book. You'll be convinced I'm a sham.
2. And he stole it from his friend who's running the marathon with him. Circle of life.(a)
3. Netflix (new way of saying "rent". Renting is so late 90's...) the following bad/good movies to get an idea of a "training montage": G.I. Jane, Rocky, The Karate Kid, Million Dollar Baby, Remember The Titans, Breakin' (they trained too...), Sister Act (Them nuns couldn't sing in the beginning. 'Cept the little skinny one who whispered and then turned in to Tina Marie at the end.) Roll Bounce, Drumline...you get the point.
4. I don't really have a coach. So this is really a fantasy sequence.
5.I know that seems cruel, but she's cool with me calling her deaf. She just hates when I say she sounds like "Chewbacca", because she's never actually heard "Chewbacca", so she doesn't know what that means. However, I'm sure if she ever heard "Chewbacca", she'd be pissed. But then again, if she could hear, I guess there wouldn't be a joke in the first place.
6. I accidentally pushed Sam the Cat out of the window when I was five. I'm over it. Sam, however...
7. I'd quit smoking and now I fully understand why smoking is BAD.
8. Not to be confused with those clouds the cartoon ladies make toilet paper out of.
9. The hurricane has hit "Luther" status. No label needed. You know what I mean when I say "Katrina" , don't you?
10. Katrina actually didn't touch New Orleans. It was the levees breaking that caused the destruction.
That's why I'm not marking the anniversary of the hurricane. A level 2 is what breached the levees...not the full fledged power of Katrina.
11. Yes, predominately black. Sure. However, let's not forget there were others that were killed as well. The government didn't come and get the poor white and latinos on day two and come back two days later for the blacks. They left poor people to die. Poor has no color.
a. From "The Lion King." See my point?
Post workout comment: The hair thing. Yeah. It's going to be a problem.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)