fear and loathing in g-vegas

Posted on June 15, 2009

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as always, tonight’s run: 2.3219 miles.  mixed reviews, to say the least.  i went up to the new timing interval in my training program, which, of course, wasn’t as easy as the first.  no big deal.  i started off well and actually managed to get into a groove by the third interval and was cruising fairly well (hey, mac trucks have cruise control) through the fifth interval.  then the proverbial fecal matter hit the rotating air circulation blades.  but before i get into this, let me provide a little back story…after all, i learned the fine art of in medias res from none other than agII, more affectionately known as g-money, during ap literature my senior year of high school.

the weather patterns in columbia have become quite predictable as of late, yet i still hold out hope for change.  each day hits into the mid 90s and it slowly cools off, hitting the upper 80s anytime between 730 and 900pm.  coinciding with this drop in temperature is usually a storm front replete with amazing thunder and lightning…but typically no rain.  so i always get my hopes up that a nice storm will hit us, bring some beautiful weather and ultimately cool the f outta this s.  but no.  instead, we get all the joys of a thunderstorm without the storm part and in a matter of 30 or 45 minutes we’ve just got deathly still air.  it’s like going on that first date with a new significant other: s/he circled “yes” on the note you passed in algebra, you picked her/him up around 730, head off to the sizzler for a romantic dinner (during which she gets chicken fingers and fries and you just devour the free bread and water since your dad thinks giving you $20 wouldn’t build character), you see the most mediocre movie in the theaters at the time, but it doesn’t matter because you’re thinking about when to pull the old yawn-arm-around-her move (which you never do), you get in the car and don’t worry about awkward conversation because it’s just awkward silence, drop her off at home, look at the clock at it’s 946.  what the hell do you do now?  btw, i’m not bitter.  i’m just awful with the ladies.  but i digress…or is it egress?  whatever.

now that i’ve wasted all your time with my complete inability to woo the fairer sex, i’ll just say this: it storms, but never rains here.  it never cools off.  which pushed our start time on the run to about 845 this evening.  everything was going swimmingly until darkness fell.  i was plodding along when i managed to come across a little dip/crown/pothole/something other than flat surface in the road and my knee totally gave out and cracked.  i felt like 20 bucks.  fortunately it was at the end of one of my intervals, so i decided to walk my minute and see what the next run would be like.  needless to say, it wasn’t happening.  it felt as though someone was constantly punching me in the back of the leg with each step, and the stability just wasn’t there.  at first i had a thought of just cutting it short and walking home, but the inspiration of phil collins and “easy lover” convinced me that i wasn’t some joggin floozie and i kept walking in the hopes that i could work out my problems.  in the end, i took three full intervals to walk it off, got back with my program and finished my run.  i guess i should be happy with the end product: things could have gone much worse (see earlier post about laying prostrate in the road, screaming like a little girl) and i could have had another serious knee problem, taking me out of the running before i really got started.  i managed to run a full 4 minutes longer than the first interval step at which i had been performing, as well as about half a mile further.  congrats to me, i’m the big winner.

continuing with my bass ackwards train of though this evening, i received a call from an old friend in g-vegas as i was stretching for my run this evening.  it was good to hear from him, i hadn’t exactly been the greatest about keeping in touch.  in fact, i think i’ve only sent him one or two emails since our status as co-workers came to an abrupt end.  he got engaged a few weeks ago, so congrats are definitely in order.  the past few days have been great in terms of getting in touch with good friends.  friday i got a text from a law school friend visiting her family about an hour away from us and she wanted to get together and catch up on saturday.  the wife and i ended up having dinner with her on saturday evening.  it was great just to spend time with someone who became a great friend during my time in chicago.  but it also got me to thinking about the terms on which i left both chicago and g-vegas.  first up: chicago.

leaving chicago was inevitable.  i had spent three years there for law school and the majority of those three years also involved a countdown until i could finally live in the same town full-time with my (now) wife.  i made some great friends, had some great times.  i’ll admit that i didn’t really invest too much effort or time into developing many relationships there; my head was more than ready to be down in south carolina.  but, in the end, i can honestly say i’ve made two of the best friends i’ve had in a long time up there.  the others…well, they’re more like acquaintances.  random emails, maybe a drunk text or two, but nothing all that sincere.  but g-vegas is a whole other issue.  without getting into the particulars, i think i’m still bitter about the circumstances and friends from that town.  there were people i thought were great friends, people i could rely on and would be around for a long time, but such is not the case.  it’s interesting how blind you can be to those things until after you’ve moved on…and it wasn’t just the friends, but the general attitude of people in the town.  but there are still certain ones that i need to be better about keeping up with, and i think i’ll put that on my list of things to do. right after all the other stuff my wife put on that very list…sorry honey, i’ll get to them – i promise.

okay, enough psychoanalyzing.  it’s time to retire for the evening, pop in a disc of law and order svu and drift off to sleep as benson and stabler solve another bizarre and exciting sexual assault.

and if you need anything, anything at all...just call me: sven...or stabler...or mark fuhrman...sweet dreams.

and if you need anything, anything at all...just call me: sven...or stabler...or mark fuhrman...sweet dreams.

god i’m seriously messed up.

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