Sunday, July 28, 2013

Train in Vain


Hands-down, The Clash is the greatest band of all time, period. It’s also what I’ve been listening to while running through my neighborhood these days - which is crazy because it’s like a surreal, post-punk soundtrack for my suburban life. No really, it’s true. I feel like I’m trapped in a David Lynch movie as I listen to London Calling on my iPod and wave at Stepford wives with strollers and affluent business men with accessory dogs, all-the-while waiting to see an ear randomly lying on the road. But I digress.

The point is that a few weeks ago I started running again. And by running, I mean that I’m lying to you. I’m actually doing the Couch Potato to 5K, which goes something like this: after you map out a route, get new shoes and make a play list, you have to actually use all of it… at the same time. Now, for the record, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that there are as many stages of grief as there are kilometers to finish or that they intersect at key points along the way. For example:

At 1K, I immediately go into Denial. This is the part where I say to myself, “Self, I don’t care if I stroke out and die. I’m actually ready to meet my Maker.” That said, whether or not God is prepared to meet me is an entirely different question. Personally, I’m betting no, which technically means that I shouldn’t need to run after all. I’m just saying.

At 2K, I hit the second phase, Anger. At this stage, I find myself furious at people who name races. Instead of things like The Kafka 5K or Dante’s Marathon - Where you think you’re getting hotter but it’s only because you’re going through Hell, they misleadingly call it stuff like, “Run for your life…” which is ironic, because my life was actually better and happier before I went for a jog. Seriously.

At 3K, you begin to Bargain. No lie, I will actually begin to believe that I should just go on Lipitor because it’s possible to achieve better living through pharmaceuticals; which makes me think that I lost the war on drugs; which makes me think of George Bush, who said the same thing about America’s War on Drugs; which makes me laugh because somewhere a bunch of stoners are eating Doritos and winning.

At 4K, because I realize that someone is eating junk food and watching Cheech and Chong while I’m sweating profusely and silently swearing at strangers, I become Depressed. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be bitter and hostile, but I have to be, because God hates me and my cholesterol sucks. That’s right, I’m the victim here.

At 5K, I transcend into Acceptance. In other words, the pain stops but only because I'm finally home. Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, if you were to see me pull into my driveway, you would think I had just finished a half-marathon. One because of the amount of time I was gone, and two because I look like Rocky on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. No wonder my neighbor stands at his mailbox and yells, “Finish strong!” I want to scream back, "Fucking really? The only thing I finish strongly are books, doughnuts and New York Times crossword puzzles." But I like him, so I don't. Instead I politely wave and listen to Death or Glory as I limp into my air-conditioned house.

Talk to you later.

13 comments:

  1. I'm pretty sure I still have at least one in ear in my jewelry box. If so, it's yours if you want it to help make your mental picture come to life.

    Not, mind you, that the ear thing is all I took away from this piece. It's just the only thing I can actually help with.

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    1. Why do I feel the need to tell the world, "Yes, it's true that he would give me an ear, but it's ok. I know him." Lol. If I get a gummy or plastic ear for Christmas or my birthday, it's on, Joel. And to think that I actually miss you.

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  2. This is too funny. You are very clever, you know. I laughed several times here.

    And I'm glad you could accept it because the pain finally stopped when you got home. I felt the triumph, mkromd! I felt like joining your neighbor and yelling "Finish strong", but I'd be afraid you'd throw an ear at me.

    Run on, mkromd, run on! :D

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    1. Lol. I could never throw an ear at you (and not just because I'm too winded or because the only ears I have access to are my own, lol, but because you're so incredibly sweet and thoughtful). Thank you for the virtual high five.

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  3. I found your running description truly hilarious. And quite appropriate, since one of my favorite entertainments is to watch runners who clearly hate running. I am of course one of those, and I do run, but to foil any sadistic imps who might get enjoyment out of my agony, I pretend I love running, just like those fools who wedge in a marathon on a weekend when they don't have any family brunches to attend. Just like them I go thundering down the paths, trampling squirrels and small children, shoving slower runners into the muck, laughing and brimming with the ecstasy of an endorphin overdose. Then I cut off the trail where I've hidden an oxygen tank. Have you ever noticed that when you pretend to enjoy something, you often end up enjoying it? Well, that doesn't apply to running or to yard work, it turns out. However, running is somewhat less torturous if you pretend you're a marathoner.

    Thanks for the amusing and well-written piece, mkmrod.

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    1. I wish I had read this before tonight's run... I ended up with a horrible cramp in my thigh and laid in my front yard screaming "I'm hit. I'm hit!" And yes, much to my neighbor's sheer horror, that really happened. I really appreciate the note. I'm going to download your book to my Kindle. I'm super-excited to read it.

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  4. Thanks for picking up my book. I hope you like it. I'll buy yours when it comes out (I have no doubt it will, if it hasn't already), because you're super funny and entertaining.

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    1. Hazzah! I can't wait to read your book and you're way too kind. I write to spare my poor husband from hearing all of the non-sequiturs in my head, lol. I'm through the first round of changes to my manuscript. Oy! Any advice for surviving them (for me or my editor)? She's awesome but she has to deal with my blog, my book, and my emails... all the while remodeling. I think she's going to print out and slash her wrists with the last two chapters that she's making me write.

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  5. When working with editors I like to offer rewards for the pain I inflict. My advice is you buy 500 pounds of the finest Swiss chocolate, sculpt it into a six foot tall chocolate replica of Boticelli's "Venus," add a true-to-life chocolate likeness of your editor's face on the figure's face, surround it in fresh berries and hummingbirds, show it to her, and tell her she can't eat it until you're both done with the book. Or, alternatively, you could just do exactly what she tells you to do. Personally, I'd go with the chocolate fantasia, but that's just me. Good luck!

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  6. Literally, lofl. I want to come to Easter at your house... or be your editor. I'm hopeful that mine didn't read this. If so, she's wondering why she got stuck with me and my book instead of you and yours. Speaking of, you're hilarious. I'm totally digging Baby on a Plane!

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  7. Wow, two funny people on this thread. And chocolate.

    Does it get any better than this? :D

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    1. LOL! Yes, Ken had me at hello. I loved his book and laughed the whole way through it. About the chocolate, amen sister. Amen!

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