A colleague of mine began a blog that chronicled his impending father/family-hood, and it made me think/ponder and question some ideas and non sequiturs brought to light by his wordpress domain.
The nerve, SS.
So I wanted to address the mentality of people who have children and how it affects those who want nothing to do with tiny progeny (*points to self*) and started to do such last night, but it came off as so selfish and somewhat unnecessary that I ceased typing. His space on the internet didn’t really feel like the public arena in which I wanted to launch such a set of personal thoughts. So I, for the 17th time, dust off my blank corner of the www and attempt to start afresh. I removed the last posts I had, circa Jan. 2008 as they serve little purpose, and perhaps may be counter-productive to my current attempt at this.
I think my main purpose at returning to an open forum of zoethought is really to create a sense of accountability for something. I want to be held to task, if such is possible and if there is any interest in my actions, what better means to obtain this than to put to word document….
Back to this need for accountability. An aside…
As a senior in high school, I had a sense of identity. I = runner. Very simple, clear cut, nothing blurred or complicated. My day was defined by whatever in regards to running/competing. This was only heightened by college coaches at the DI level telling me I should run for them. Too bad I didn’t run for any of them.
Anyway, after finishing 10th at my cross country regional, I made a bet with myself. If I could finish in the top 10 at the sectional in Skokie the following weekend, I would dye my hair pink.
But not just any pink. Flamingo pink. I had dyed my coif a multitude of colors throughout the latter half of my high school career (dark blue, purple, green, red, blue again, orange) but never pink. Pink was the unattainable unicorn; I never had reason to go full out for what I wanted. Never felt deserving of an achievement to dye my hair pink.
I guess in a foolish 17-year old self way, I vocalized this to my teammates the morning of the sectional.
So when I finished 8th in my sectional (a race that I could describe to you in such obscene, prideful detail some nine years later you would instantaneously qualify me in the same breath as a former HS football player recanting his Friday night glory days), a finish that not only stamped my teams ticket to state (which we/I laid a fat egg at), but if my teammates didn’t come through, I would have qualified as an individual. That was an accomplishment. And I vocalized my bet, so I had to go through with it (and was given parental clearance upon having already taken my senior pictures a few weeks prior). With the assistance of my mother, I bleached my hair white-blond and bought my jar of Flamingo pink.
It’s now 2010, and after cleaning and organizing some things from my past in the early stages of this month of March, I recalled that memory in full for the first time in a very long while. I know I dyed my hair pink because I made it to state, but to know that I did it because I actually set my mind on something seemingly unreachable was honestly depressing. Now please do not mistake this as a reward: I honestly did not feel that it was remotely approachable a goal given the caliber of talent against me at the regional.
So I asked myself honestly and truthfully when was the last time I did something for me on that great a scale? Something drastically spiteful to myself.
I couldn’t tell you. And I was in college for five years!
That thought ate at me for a few weeks, badly. How can this be? What can I do to gain that sense of identity and self accountability back?
And in a hotel room in Tucson at 12:30 in the morning following a mercy-ruled softball loss against second-ranked Arizona (a team so frigging focused on being nothing but a perennial champion it’s disgusting; a disgust I used to crave), I committed to myself for at least the next 199 days (at the time of this entry). Might not seem like a big deal to some, but for me, this is. Holding myself to something is a big deal, I swear.
Less than two weeks before the capacity was reached, I registered for and will race the Chicago Marathon on 10/10/10; a distance that I still think is beyond boring.
By no means will it be easy, and this is thought beyond the scope that I will be traversing 1.008 miles for every year I’ve existed.
My headaches have had a nice stranglehold on my overall well-being and have a direct hand in creating my blob-like level of fitness for over three+ years now.
Being in the middle of a run and feeling like I do (I’m sure I will shine more light on this eventually, now isn’t the time) is not fun. In fact, it’s the exact opposite end of the spectrum. But in spite of that, I will trek on.
This will be only part running log ( I gotta web site for that), thought point-of-entry and other means of communicating (I will also be honing my CSS craft in going beyond the scope of generic blog templates).
Because if I don’t do this now, will I ever really be able to hold myself to task ever again?