So in the vast craziness that is getting ready to take a few days off and visit the fam, I was stressed.
It means getting ahead on my work, so that nothing implodes while I’m gone.
It means talking to clients so that they know I still love them and will be dealing with their problems upon my return.
It means finishing the extra project that I stupidly picked up early because I won’t be in the office the day it is due.
It means doing laundry, packing a suitcase, packing a car with things to take home, and getting enough caffeinated beverages to keep me from falling asleep while driving home.
Glorious.
So I got home at nearly 8pm, after a 13 hour day and started working. I looked at the clock twice and was sad that I didn’t have any time to run. So I packed, and I shuffled things around, and then it hit me:
“I really need a run.”
So off I went, and the second my feet hit the pavement I felt better. The sun was down, the heat was drifting away, the air was getting all sweet (this “sweet evening air” I speak so much about is apparently due to night blooming jasmine, I am told, at least I’m not about to have a seizure). And I felt better. I came home, ate the leftover food from my roommate’s date (He’s cooking for her now! Quite the big step!) and settled in for a night of packing.
My neighbor swung by shortly thereafter so she could get my help with a moving project of her own, and said to me “Everytime I see you you’re doing something, you have such a wild, interesting life.” And you know what? My life is great. Even when the job is tedious, I love it. I love my job and my coworkers and doing what I do every day. I love the social aspects of my life here, be it beer with the guys or soccer with the team from work. Even on the long days, the 13 hour days that have me dragging ass back home and looking longfully at my bed, I love what I do.
So, the other good part about my impending return to New England, is that I can watch the Red Sox play (haven’t worked out how to do this in Virginia yet). So in honor of my getting to watch the Sox, I’m reposting a poem written in the Sporting News on September 21, 1911, two weeks before the last game of Cy Young’s career:
HE’LL BE PITCHING STILL
On the morning of the Judgment, when friend Gabriel calls the game,
He’ll be somewhat disappointed when he cries one famous name;
For in all those countless legions who will answer to the roll,
There will be one fellow missing and may peace be on his soul.
There will be one man too busy to come in and learn his fate;
He’ll be working while the others try to horn in past the gate;
For when Gabriel toots his trumpet and we all rise from the hay,
Old Cy Young will not be present – he’ll be pitching ball that day.
(Yeah, I have issues with the baseball craziness, at least I’m not one of those murderous yankees fans).
“When I burp it tastes like beer.”
Those words actually came out of my mouth this morning. I’m a classy guy.
Last night? Based on a very questionable ruling on what counts as Lent I had a beer (in my defense, I haven’t cheated on Sundays like I am allowed to). A large beer. That hit me pretty hard. Not only did I do my normal thing after drinking where I can barely sleep, but I got up for my 5 mile run at 5am. Had it not been pouring rain (LOVE running in the rain) I think I would have been sweating off the beer. My tolerance is apparently gone.
The NCAA tournament starts today. I dutifully filled out two brackets last night. Given y past performance, you can be certain of one thing: neither UCLA nor Kansas will win this year. Put money on it, I picked them, so they will lose.
I’m going to try to go stop the party (not the good kind of party) currently happening in my tummy. Send help.
I always feel like crap at the beginning. I wonder what possesses me to get up at the crack of dawn to run. I feel slow, I feel out of shape, I feel awful. By the end? I feel great. And I continue feeling great all day. It seems like a fair trade.
Last night? I got 8 1/2 hours of sleep! I feel great, it’s the first decent night of sleep I’ve gotten all week, and today will be much better for it.
Also (and I can’t believe I forgot to mention this yesterday): yesterday morning brought a monsoon to Rhode Island. It was pouring rain. The wind was whipping, it was crazy. By 10am the sun was shining and the sky was clear. So far today has the same beautiful weather. I’m loving it.
And of course, I am happy because tomorrow (!!!) I get to see La. And I cannot wait. Best weekend ever (part III).
Ok, I’m running late and need to get going, I’ll try to get a post up later with a childhood story.
Yesterday afternoon was rough. I screwed up a project, which in hindsight isn’t a big deal (at all), but I hate feeling unprepared and at the time I was in an awful mood. I believe my text message to a certain someone said “worst afternoon ever” (a little dramatic, yes?). And what happened? Well, she called to see if I was ok, and we talked about it, and then I felt just so much better. I’m a lucky guy, and I have to get better at not sweating the small stuff.
So last night I bit the bullet and put down the deposit on what will hopefully be a $166 payment to the New York Marathon, set for November 2nd. I’m still thinking about doing two marathons on consecutive weekends this fall (I’m stupid, I know) but this is the one I’m more excited for so I hope I get in! Then I woke up to run this morning (5 miles, before the sun comes up, I don’t know why I do this) and had the worst run ever. I felt slow and weak, my muscles were tight, it was awful. So less than 12 hours after I sign up to run a marathon I feel like the worst runner ever. How’s that for being born under a bad sign?
As for reasons to be happy, one week from tomorrow I will be off to see the lovely La for the weekend. And I? Could not be more excited. I am going to avoid going three weeks between visits in the future, because it’s far too long.
Three albums I’m listening to this week:
Gomez: In Our Gun
Ben Folds: Rockin’ the Suburbs
Wilco: Kicking Television: Live in Chicago
I hope everyone has a great day!
