At left is a photo of Great Guilty Falls, in the finger lakes district of up-state New York, taken by my brother in law in law John Birk. Good geographical name.
I started playing basketball with my co workers in what is decidedly a non-competetive game. My main position so far involves my hands on my knees, head down, trying to ward of the nausea that assaults me when I over excercise and am out of shape. This is genetic. Our stomachs shut down in favor of our other distressed body parts and we expell any nutrients that might otherwise add weight. Afterwords we feel better. Walker does the same thing. My Dad never talked about it but he had a look of shame sometimes . . . never mind.
The nausea led me to think that maybe I should take up running again. The reasoning went like this: Walker is running for cross country and gets lonely so would like a running partner. I need to try to work in some regular excercise now that I am 30 pounds smaller, so that I can continue to firm up my fifites, as it were.
So Walker and I went to the fancy running shoe store and the guy earnestly watched me walk in my socks and told me I could have shoes with yellow labels, signifying that I don't lean left or right with might feet but am more or less stable. Good. I bought a pair of shoes that feel like a foot rub when I put them on. They are light and soft and cushy and fall away at the toe so that any reasonable person would put the next foot forward. I also bought running shorts that Walker says make you feel like you're running naked. We used to do that in high school until a few guys got arrested. Then not so much. Also bought little sock that don't show above my shoes because Walker said I had to, and a running shirt made of that polypropelene stuff.
Walker showed me the course around our neighborhood that amounts to about a two mile run. We jogged very slowly, at least from Walker's perspective, and when I felt really crappy, rather than stopping, I did a little sort of mini-jog that amounts to symbolically continuing while giving one's body a significant break. The second mile involves a nice run around the lake, and before I knew it, Walker indicated that we were done. I had run two miles for the first time in easily 15 years. Since then I have repeated this feat four times. I'm beginning to enjoy that feeling that comes after you break through the initial discomfort of your body realizing that you expect it to continue for a significant length of time. I love the post-excercise runner's "high" I get after. Actually being able to do this is good for my self-esteem!
This weekend, after seeing a really cool baseball game I lost my temper with my daughter, who had been a real pain in the ass all day. . . . well suffice it to say that if I had taken some of the good advice I hand out regularly I would have taken a walk rather than drop the f-bomb at her a number of times on a public street. I'm supposed to be the adult, and I don't like myself when I completely lose it. Well, I didn't completely lose it. I didn't swing from a lamp post or anything, but if Kevin had a video of me, he could probably threaten to show it at parties and leverage some more good behavior from me.
I'm not sure where this temper comes from. I can go for a long time in between the times I foam at the mouth, and can feel pretty centered about myself for periods of time. Then for one reason or another, my id comes out and gives a little performance and, to my chagrin, I'm cleaning up after myself.
Later that night, I went out for a walk with my son, who listened to me and gave me pretty good advice. Basically, what he told me was that he, and Caitlin, and Robyn were over it. And I should get over it, too. We sat down by the river and Walker worried about muggers, but sat with me anyway.
For a manic temper loser, I have raised pretty good kids. Now if I can just come to terms with my own inner one. . . .
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