A Runner and a Wrestler

This is the lower right side of my back. I guess I should have worn a shirt to protect my skin from my water bottle holder. Lesson learned.
Nike+: 12.69 @ 1:53:12 (8:54/mile)
Weather: about 60 degrees

Saturday morning, Dark Horse, Posscoon and I got things going about 9:30 a.m. As anticipated, we re-traced the Columbia Half-Marathon Challenge. My watch indicated that I ran about .24 miles short of the last time I ran this route, but I'm not sure why. I ran the exact same course. I'm going to assume that my pedometer was wrong - perhaps the mud on the Hinkson trail messed things up. With a 1:53:12 time, I beat my previous half-marathon time by a few seconds. Considering that I had no intention to do so, I was quite pleased. I was just running.

I wore the same outfit as last time - orange shorts with skulls, no shirt and my St. Louis 1/2 Marathon hat. Unlike other runs, I took a bottle of water with me in a waist belt. This was both a good and bad thing. The upshot was that I kept somewhat hydrated. The downside was that the belt served as a constant annoyance and rubbed my skin raw. Throughout most of the run, the belt pulled on my gut. I am going to have to come up with a better option/solution. Perhaps I'll carry a bottle, with a strap, in my hand next time.

I'd have to say that I wasn't really looking forward to this run today. My upper legs were especially tight but cardo-wise, I felt alright. At mile number 7, at the top of Old 63, I drank water for the first time and poured it on my head and upper torso. I took another drink and douse later in the run, but I don't remember exactly when I did so.

After the run, as mentioned, I felt pretty good. This was the fourth time in my life that I have run a half-marathon and the best that I've felt after doing so. I was fairly energetic for the next few hours and even took Sly on a walk for more than a mile. Soon thereafter, I crashed on the couch with Mary while watching Goldfinger and slept for about 2 hours. When Abby called and asked me to help her move her coffee table, I somehow managed the energy to do so. Mary and I were quite grateful for her offer to take us to dinner at Hu-Hot.



Yesterday, Mary and I went to see The Wrestler. It was quite good, but also disturbing. The lead role, Randy "The Ram" Robinson, reminded me of my dad. He's a tragic character who elicits both sadness and anger from those near him. A self-induced martyr who brings out the worst in himself, and consequently, feels the consequences - loneliness. When The Ram apologized to his daughter and asked her not to hate him, I couldn't help but think of my dad and similar conversations. A child can be forgiving of a parent, but not forever. Despite his intentions, The Ram's fuck-ups severed a relationship with his daughter. The same can be said of my dad, too. I think they both held low opinions of themselves and sought physical and emotional pain to further the cause. Randy used wrestling as an outlet - getting beat on, stapled with a staple gun, thrown into barb wire, hit with glass and metal objects - all to paradoxically bring comfort to his sense of being and self-loathing. But I can't say I'm indifferent to these types. I will always feel something, whether sympathy or rage, when my dad crosses my mind. The Ram said that he belonged in the ring and that the 'real world' is where he really got hurt. He also said that he was lonely and that he deserved to be so. I believe all of it. The Ram wanted to be a good dad, but he didn't think he deserved to be loved and he made sure his daughter wouldn't trust him. It's a tragic story for all involved.

I'm not exactly sure where my anger originates, but I know that I hold a lot of it. The trick is letting go and not allowing shit to continue to roll downhill. Seen?

When I'm out there running and I'm bored out of my mind, I just keep putting one foot in front of another. There is always a finish line. I'll see you there.