look what you made me do

If I cared any less about the NFL, it would take effort. I get that it’s massively popular, and for some of its fans, “I like football” is their entire personality. Good for them. Sincerely. It’s just not my thing.

But! I love and admire Taylor Swift, which is the only reason I know that the Chiefs ~~had some kind of huge comeback against Detroit and the~~y are going to the Superb Owl against a team I can’t remember and don’t need you to identify. (EDIT: whoops. I mixed up the two playoff games. I still don’t care.)

I still don’t care about the NFL or the game, but oh my god do I love love love love love how outraged and furious and unhinged all these toxic right wing idiots are about Taylor Swift and her boyfriend the football guy. I love it so hard. I love how it’s waking them up at night, I love how they’re just so goddamn angry about it they feel sick. I love how self-inflicted it all is, and how they keep punching themselves in the dick about it, howling with what they think is righteous outrage, but sounds an awful lot like a toddler having a tantrum.

But the thing I love more than anything, the absolute best part of all of it, is watching a political party, under the complete control of the weakest, most pathetic, tiny little man, discover a new and novel way to alienate millions of voters they desperately need, while they push away countless voters who may have been open to their message, if only it wasn’t … this. LOL.

Republicans have already made it crystal clear that they hate women and want to have absolute control over every single thing a woman does. Voters have responded to that with record turnout to codify laws that protect women, and to replace as many misogynist lawmakers as they can.

So please join me in a robust round of mocking applause for whoever made the choice to attack and vilify and attempt to terrorize the most popular and influential woman of her generation, who polls more favorably than their entire party and all of their candidates.

Just a huge, roaring, standing ovation for whoever decided that the party of angry, toxic, predatory, authoritarian men will *absolutely* increase their support among a demographic they can’t afford to lose by picking a fight with their Joan of Arc.

Outstanding work, gentlemen. I have never seen a group of people slam their dicks in the door so beautifully and successfully. I wish you all the worst as you stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror.

The April Reboot Check-In That Happened In April

It’s the last day of April, so check me out: I’m doing my reboot check in for April before April is over. Go me!

I had this epiphany at the beginning of September: This thing that I’m doing? This series of choices I make every day? It isn’t working. I don’t like the way I feel, I don’t like the way I look, I don’t like the things I’m doing. Things need to change.

So I took a long, hard, serious look at myself, and concluded that some things needed to change.

Drink less beer.
Read more (and Reddit does not count as reading).
Write more.
Watch more movies.
Get better sleep.
Eat better food.
Exercise more.

Last year, I decided to hit the reboot button on my life. I’ve checked in about once a month since then, to see how I’m doing, celebrate the victories, and identify where I can do better.

Let’s see how I’m doing after seven months.

Continue reading… →

the first mile

The thump of my heels on the sidewalk.

The splash of my water into my parched mouth, and on the back of my neck.

The smell of freshly-cut grass.

The distant drone of a lawnmower.

The nearby buzz of a leafblower.

Continue reading… →

January reboot check-in

I guess I’m going to do this every month or so, mostly because it keeps me honest and motivated and on track, and because I think that at least some of you are on the same path as I am.

How am I doing on my life reboot goals? Let’s see.

Continue reading… →

running with the devil

The Doc told me that I was halfway through my free form run, and that I was looking good.

“Thanks, doc,” I said, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me. We’ve spent a lot of time together in the last two months, so I feel like I know her, even if I’m just another Runner 5 to her.

Another runner came toward me. As we passed, we waved to each other, sharing a little bit of strength and encouragement. It’s part of the camaraderie that I feel like all runners share, without regard to our individual levels of fitness.

My spirits lifted, and I involuntarily picked up my pace a little bit.

That’s when I felt the first twinge of tightness in my left calf muscle. I slowed immediately to a light jog, and then a walk. Fifteen feet later, I was sitting on the curb, trying to massage out what had become a full-on charley horse. I tried active and passive stretches. I massaged all around my calf, my knee, my ankle … nothing was working.

“Just two minutes to go, Runner 5,” said the doc.

“I’m down, doc,” I said. “My goddamn fucking useless body just cramped up for no reason.”

I pulled my phone out of my armband, paused and then stopped my mission, and felt a wave of fury overwhelm me. There I was, on the curb, not even fifteen minutes into my fifty-two minute training run, and I was pissed. I couldn’t walk, I certainly couldn’t run, and it was all because my body — my own goddamn body that belongs to me — broke down. I felt helpless and frustrated. I slowly stood up, and took a few tentative steps toward home. I wasn’t that far away — probably a half mile — but it was going to take me a very long time to get back to my house.

I limped a few steps and had to stop again. I sat back down on the curb and tried to work out the tightness that had now spread from my knee to my foot.

“What’s your fucking problem?!” I said, to my leg, completely aware of how dumb it was to talk to my calf, and too angry to care. “I’m trying to take better care of myself, get myself into better shape so I have a stronger body and a better life, and you pull this bullshit?! Fuck you!”

Then I laughed. Pull this. Ha. Ha. Ha. Durr. Puns are great.

I called Anne and got her voicemail. I left a message with my pathetic status and asked her to drive down the street to pick me up when she heard it. I began limping home, slowly, painfully.

“I can’t even listen to the story now, because of you,” I thought at my knee, in full on ranting dad mode, “It’s week six of training and something new is going to happen and now I can’t find out what it is because you couldn’t do the one fucking thing you’re supposed to do, you goddamn quitter!”

Anne flashed her headlights at me as her car came around the corner. I stopped and waited for her to make a U turn. I got into her car.

“Thanks for picking me up,” I said. “this is pretty annoying.”

“Yeah, I bet,” she said.

“I don’t know why this happened. I didn’t do anything different than what I normally do. It’s really frustrating.”

“Yeah, I get that. I’m sorry.”

“Getting older is awesome,” I said, as we pulled into the driveway.

Anne turned off her car. “Ask Nolan what you can do to help prevent this in the future. He’ll know what do.”

Our son, Nolan, is a trainer. He has helped me in the past, and I knew he’d be able to help me now … and he did. He ended up recommending some additional strength exercises to do on days I don’t run, stretching to do during and after running (you should never stretch before you warm up your muscles) and he showed me how to do some trigger-point massage with a golf ball, a tennis ball, and a foam roller. It’s a lot of stuff that I’ll have to make time for, but it will be worth it. It may be hard, but everything worth doing is hard, and at least I have a choice about it.

And that’s the thing: the choice I have about it, because even though I was pissed and frustrated, my body will heal. I will continue to do the things I’ve been doing to make it stronger. I will do additional things, like yoga and stretching and adding potassium to my diet so my muscles are less likely to — hurr hurr hurr — pull this again. But I have friends who live with MS and lupus and cancer, and I never hear them complain about it. Yes, I had an annoying and — in the moment — infuriating injury, but it will be better in a few days, and I can get back on the road with Sam and the Doc, getting closer to my first real 5K race, one step at a time.

Raise the gate! Runner 5 needs to go to the infirmary for a few days.