Day 15
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
3 miles - 2 miles easy comfortable, 1 mile faster
Ran early before work along the MBT, because tonight I leave on a Thanksgiving road trip. My conditioning is getting better. My slow miles were around 9'40" and my fast one was 9'17". Keeping my slow pace where it was a few weeks ago is difficult CUZ MY PISTONS ARE READY TO FIRE! LET'S LET THE HORSE OUT OF THE BARN! Keep in mind that I'm still running slower than what I was two years ago, so I still feel like a slow loser with Father Time's clutches tightening around my ankles.
Day 16
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
5 miles - 2 miles easy comfortable, 2 miles increasing pace, 1 mile cool down
Missed run. Last night I drove from DC to Akron, Ohio. I'm not so hardcore yet that I'll search for a route near a Red Roof Inn next to a highway in Akron so I can get in a morning run. I'll skip that day. And after driving 12 hours to Omaha I was not motivated to run at 10 pm.
Day 17
Thursday, November 26, 2015
3 miles - easy comfortable
Thanksgiving! My family opted out of our semi-traditional Turkey Trot. My dad said, "I ran a solo 5k yesterday, so I'm good."
I ran 5 miles to make up for yesterday. It was cold, windy, and rainy, which really kept the monotony of running on a middle school track at bay. Even though it was 33 degrees, I opted to wear long socks and regular shorts rather than tights. Quickly, my thighs turned bright red, and I lost feeling in my "swimsuit area." (Today, I read in a winter running guide that, "frostbite does not discriminate." Words to bundle up by.)
On the plus side, I clocked every mile between 9'06" and 9'29", which could either be attributed to me wanting to be done and go inside where the delicious food awaited me or to a GPS tracking error. I hope it's the former, but would bet on the latter, since me running mile 5 at 9'13" seems improbable. On one side of the track I was running into a fairly strong wind. The other half, rather than wind at my back, featured no wind, an interesting phenomenon caused by, either, trees or the unfairness of the universe. Wind at my back for half of each lap would have been helpful.
Running in inclement weather is my favorite kind of idiocy/lunacy. Running, going fast just to go fast, by itself is odd. Doing it in the rain, wind, or snow is to luxuriate in physical discomfort for its own sake and tell nature, "Even though humans have many inventions to mitigate your impact, I will still sprint through your nastiness as a hobby." And when the Nike Running App Lady chimed "One mile to go" as wind and rain spat in my face, I let out a delirious cackle and pumped my arms at strange angles. You can't stop me, Nature!
Day 18
Friday, November 27, 2015
Crosstrain
I was going to use this as a make-up day, but the roads were icy. You stopped me, Nature! You win this round.
Day 19
Saturday, November 28, 2015
3 miles - 2 easy comfortable, 1 mile faster
AND THIS ROUND!
Day 20
Sunday, November 29, 2015
6 miles - easy comfortable
But not this one!
The weather was actually clear, so I had nothing to rage against other than the cold. I ran an out and back on a road behind my sister's house, then got in a car and drove to South Bend, Indiana.
Day 21
Monday, November 30, 2015
Rest
This weeks concerns:
1. What are shin splints? Should I buy a pair?
2. Beard condensation. No one told me about this. But I have noticed that after running, my beard is wet from my breath condensing (condensating?) on it. Will I develop sweet icicles on it once the weather gets really cold?
Career Nike Running Stats
Runs - 127
Miles - 426.4
MPR - 3.36
Avg. Pace - 10'03"
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Monday, November 23, 2015
What I Brag About When I Brag About Running: Week 2
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| I KNOW. GET OFF MY BACK |
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
3 miles - 2 miles easy, comfortable pace 1 mile faster pace
I ran along Garbage Road again, but this time at night. Well, at 6:30pm when it was completely dark. #EndDaylightSavings
Nike Running Coach suggested two miles at an easy pace, then one mile at a challenging pace. I decided to start at a slightly quicker than normal pace and then kick it up to a fast pace. It was a terrible mistake. I don't think I mentioned when first telling the tale of Garbage Road that both ends of it slant uphill. They are not fun to run up. Plus, when you turn around to do another lap, they trick you into thinking you can run at a quicker pace, because gravity is helping you. My point is that I was tricked by a hill. And my thighs hurt.
Day 9
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
5 miles - 1 mile warm up, 3.5 miles fartlek, 0.5 mile cool down
Ran along the MBT at 7am (an early morning run for me) doing an out-of-shape man's fartlek. 1 minute walking, 1 minute slow jogging, 2 minutes faster jogging, repeat until miles completed. May have frightened/confused some kids on their way to school with my sweaty, bearded self loping down the road.
Day 10
Thursday, November 19, 2015
3 miles - easy, comfortable pace
I didn't run before work, because I had to do dog related things: buy food, clean up puke. The usual. This means I will have to run around 10pm. This morning, when I was doing errands, the idea of running was bumming me out. My legs and hips were sore and tired. Not a lot, but enough that I would not exercise if I didn't have to.
Later that night
I ran at 10:20pm. Which brought my November total to 26 miles, the equivalent of a marathon. Now I just have to compress that into one morning.
Day 11
Friday, November 20, 2015
Cross Train
In lieu of cross training I slept until I absolutely had to get up for work. And after work I made sweet potatoes and marshmallows for Friendsgiving. While that was baking, I laid on the couch watching Weekend at Bernie's with my dog. I feel like this will pay off in the long run.
Day 12
Saturday, November 21, 2015
3 miles - 2 miles easy, 1 mile faster
Today is Friendsgiving, so I had to run before work to leave time for consumption of food. I ran at 7:30am, because I set my alarm for 6:30pm and overslept. Someday I will master the early morning run. I ran a loop down 7th to Franklin to 4th to Michigan. It's 1.3 miles, so each mile finishes slightly before where it started. I finished my 3 miles at the point farthest from my apartment as possible. Still, it was a good departure from running up and down Garbage Road or out and back on the MBT. I need to find more good loops to run. My hilly, weirdly laid out neighborhood makes that a little tough.
Day 13
Sunday, November 22, 2015
5 miles - easy, comfortable pace
Ran a new loop, a triangle from 10th along Monroe St. to Eastern Ave., Eastern Ave. to Sergeant/13th St., and back down to Monroe. It was scenic, but very hilly. I'm sure I'll run it (or a variation of it) again since it's an even five miles. Eastern Ave. runs along the DC-Maryland border through the Mt. Rainier neighborhood. DC, like all cities, has nice looking and run-down looking neighborhoods. What's special about about DC is that it's a big city in a small space, so the changes from one to another can be abrupt. An exciting (possibly too strong of a word) part of running a new route through new neighborhoods is finding out what they're like. I don't often think "Oh shit, where am I?" (because I avoid those places), but when I neared the first corner of my triangle route I started to wonder where I was headed. Fortunately my worries were short lived. I crossed a street and instantly found myself in Suburbia.
Day 14
Monday, November 23, 2015
Rest
Things I Am Currently Haunted By The Prospect Of Because I Read Too Many First Time Marathon Guides
1. Chafing - When will it start? Will my hairy chest keep my nipples safe?
2. Having to poop on a long run - Will Starbucks offer me safe haven?
3. My toenails - Will they turn black and fall off? Will it look cool?
Career Nike Running Stats:
Runs - 124
Miles - 414.3
MPR - 3.34
Avg. Pace - 10' 03"
Thursday, November 19, 2015
What I Brag About When I Brag About Running: Week 1
Day 1
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Rest
I'm using the Nike Running App as my training guide. The App, no matter what distance you are training for, starts on a rest day. 5k, Half-Marathon, whatever; Day One - Take it easy, you've done enough. I know this is for scheduling reasons. The program ends on Race Day, so the day farthest away ends up being a recovery day, once you're in the thick of it. It's still weird to get a reminder on your phone that reads, "Training starts tomorrow with nothing." I feel like I should have done something to justify that day of rest.
In a way, maybe I have. I've had a cold the last four days. It feels like my head is bursting with old chewing gum. I'm also writing this at a bar with a lovely American Pale Ale in front of me. After this, I plan on going across the street to my apartment and dosing myself with Nyquil. That way my immune system can annihilate the demon inside of me. Tomorrow's four miles should be fun.
I'm not a morning person, so a morning run seems foolish to hope for. However, we just fell back into Daylight Savings (or out of it?), and the prospect of post-sundown afternoon runs seems depressing. I suspect eventually I will have to wrench myself out of bed before work to run. Especially if I'm ever going to make it to happy hour.
Day 2
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
4 miles - 1 mile warm up, 2.5 miles of Fartlek (2 min. fast, 2 min. slow), .5 mile cool down
As predicted, I did not wake up early and get my run out of the way. I did wake up early 4 am, and then again at 6 am, because of my cold. Or because I sedated myself so early the night before. Though I was very much awake at 4 am, I opted to stay in bed and think about all of the snot fossilizing inside of my head.
I ended up running at 4:30 pm. I left work early because of my cold, but read on the internet that the rule for running is that if the illness is above your neck that it's generally safe. I guess. (Get out there, sufferers of migraines!) I did a pre-run shot of Dayquil and ran on the MBT (Maryland Branch Trail), which goes along the Red Line from my neighborhood towards Union Station. I passed a group of kids on bikes taking up the whole path, but I stood my ground! The kid coming at me had to swerve at the last second. I'm not the one balancing on two wheels, buddy. You have more to lose than me.
I hate doing fartleks, but I kind of already knew that.
Day 3
Thursday, November 12, 2015
3 miles - easy, comfortable pace
Today felt pretty good. I'm still sniffly and plugged up, but my legs only felt like sandbags for teh first few minutes. I ran along Garbage Road since today is only three miles. Garbage Road's proper name is John McCormack Drive NE. It runs between the Catholic University Campus and the Metro tracks, ending at Fort Totten Transfer Station, which is a garbage dump. Because it ends at a garbage dump, garbage trucks often drive on it. On Thursdays, like today, I foolishly opt for late morning jogs along Garbage Road because I forget about the parade of garbage trucks. I'm kind of dumb. The damp weather today muffled the smells. There have been summer days when I have dry-heaved at the smell. Every two minutes a truck passes, and when a fresh, hot wave of trash-air goes down your throat as you huff along it can cause problems.
Why run this route? Garbage Road's allure is simple. It is straight, mostly flat, and empty. On a short run, I can just go out and back a few times, and no one is ever in my way. I don't understand people who run on crowded sidewalks in areas that are always crowded. Don't people who run in the Plaza in KC or Georgetown in DC get tired of dodging around people? Georgetown has narrow brick sidewalks. It is a stupid place to run. Wouldn't having a good run be better than being seen running? Maybe going around people and off the curb is good lateral motion exercise. I should try it.
Day 4
Friday, November 13, 2015
Cross Train
I did not cross train. I have a suspicion that the Friday Cross Training days will become floating, secondary rest days. Which I've already set the tone for.
Day 5
Saturday, November 14, 2015
3 miles - 2 miles easy pace, 1 mile at faster pace
First missed day! Break out the champagne! I stuck to my training regimen for almost a week!
Just kidding, I was traveling from DC to Kansas for my Grandmother Holmes' funeral. It was only a short run and I skipped it for a good reason. I'm glad that my first skipped day was because I was on planes and with my family, rather than because I wanted to catch the last half of Bring It On on cable.
Day 6
Sunday, November 15, 2015
5 miles - easy, comfortable pace
I ran mid-morning on Burroughs Creek Trail and up to Mass. Street in Lawrence. It was pretty windy, especially when going south. Five miles is 1.55 miles less than my farthest run, according to The App. For this reason, I had to engage in psychological trickery/fantasy. I'm not proud that it's only Day 6 and had to resort to such tactics. But I was staring down this:
The wind was in my face and on a path that just vanishes into the distance. So, I imagined that I was Chain Chomp from Mario Kart, slowly laying waste to everything in front of me. It worked.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Rest
I'm using the Nike Running App as my training guide. The App, no matter what distance you are training for, starts on a rest day. 5k, Half-Marathon, whatever; Day One - Take it easy, you've done enough. I know this is for scheduling reasons. The program ends on Race Day, so the day farthest away ends up being a recovery day, once you're in the thick of it. It's still weird to get a reminder on your phone that reads, "Training starts tomorrow with nothing." I feel like I should have done something to justify that day of rest.
In a way, maybe I have. I've had a cold the last four days. It feels like my head is bursting with old chewing gum. I'm also writing this at a bar with a lovely American Pale Ale in front of me. After this, I plan on going across the street to my apartment and dosing myself with Nyquil. That way my immune system can annihilate the demon inside of me. Tomorrow's four miles should be fun.
I'm not a morning person, so a morning run seems foolish to hope for. However, we just fell back into Daylight Savings (or out of it?), and the prospect of post-sundown afternoon runs seems depressing. I suspect eventually I will have to wrench myself out of bed before work to run. Especially if I'm ever going to make it to happy hour.
Day 2
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
4 miles - 1 mile warm up, 2.5 miles of Fartlek (2 min. fast, 2 min. slow), .5 mile cool down
As predicted, I did not wake up early and get my run out of the way. I did wake up early 4 am, and then again at 6 am, because of my cold. Or because I sedated myself so early the night before. Though I was very much awake at 4 am, I opted to stay in bed and think about all of the snot fossilizing inside of my head.
I ended up running at 4:30 pm. I left work early because of my cold, but read on the internet that the rule for running is that if the illness is above your neck that it's generally safe. I guess. (Get out there, sufferers of migraines!) I did a pre-run shot of Dayquil and ran on the MBT (Maryland Branch Trail), which goes along the Red Line from my neighborhood towards Union Station. I passed a group of kids on bikes taking up the whole path, but I stood my ground! The kid coming at me had to swerve at the last second. I'm not the one balancing on two wheels, buddy. You have more to lose than me.
I hate doing fartleks, but I kind of already knew that.
Day 3
Thursday, November 12, 2015
3 miles - easy, comfortable pace
Today felt pretty good. I'm still sniffly and plugged up, but my legs only felt like sandbags for teh first few minutes. I ran along Garbage Road since today is only three miles. Garbage Road's proper name is John McCormack Drive NE. It runs between the Catholic University Campus and the Metro tracks, ending at Fort Totten Transfer Station, which is a garbage dump. Because it ends at a garbage dump, garbage trucks often drive on it. On Thursdays, like today, I foolishly opt for late morning jogs along Garbage Road because I forget about the parade of garbage trucks. I'm kind of dumb. The damp weather today muffled the smells. There have been summer days when I have dry-heaved at the smell. Every two minutes a truck passes, and when a fresh, hot wave of trash-air goes down your throat as you huff along it can cause problems.
Why run this route? Garbage Road's allure is simple. It is straight, mostly flat, and empty. On a short run, I can just go out and back a few times, and no one is ever in my way. I don't understand people who run on crowded sidewalks in areas that are always crowded. Don't people who run in the Plaza in KC or Georgetown in DC get tired of dodging around people? Georgetown has narrow brick sidewalks. It is a stupid place to run. Wouldn't having a good run be better than being seen running? Maybe going around people and off the curb is good lateral motion exercise. I should try it.
Day 4
Friday, November 13, 2015
Cross Train
I did not cross train. I have a suspicion that the Friday Cross Training days will become floating, secondary rest days. Which I've already set the tone for.
Day 5
Saturday, November 14, 2015
3 miles - 2 miles easy pace, 1 mile at faster pace
First missed day! Break out the champagne! I stuck to my training regimen for almost a week!
Just kidding, I was traveling from DC to Kansas for my Grandmother Holmes' funeral. It was only a short run and I skipped it for a good reason. I'm glad that my first skipped day was because I was on planes and with my family, rather than because I wanted to catch the last half of Bring It On on cable.
Day 6
Sunday, November 15, 2015
5 miles - easy, comfortable pace
I ran mid-morning on Burroughs Creek Trail and up to Mass. Street in Lawrence. It was pretty windy, especially when going south. Five miles is 1.55 miles less than my farthest run, according to The App. For this reason, I had to engage in psychological trickery/fantasy. I'm not proud that it's only Day 6 and had to resort to such tactics. But I was staring down this:
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| Leaked set photos from True Detective Season 3!!!!! |
Day 7
Monday, November 16, 2015
Rest
Traveled back from Kansas to DC.
Career Nike Running Stats:
Runs - 119
Miles - 395.2
MPR - 3.32
Avg. Pace - 10'02"
Runs - 119
Miles - 395.2
MPR - 3.32
Avg. Pace - 10'02"
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
What I Brag About When I Brag About Running: Part 1: A Bold Claim
Listen gang, it's time to face facts. I'm not vegan, I didn't rescue my dog from a deathmatch gambling ring, and I don't volunteer at soup kitchens, so I don't have much to lord over people as evidence that I am in some way superior. Which is why I'm going to have to run a marathon. And it might not end well.
Some years ago, my family decided to participate in a Thanksgiving 5K run. These are known nationwide as Turkey Trots. Every single 5k on the last Thursday in November, from Spokane to Schenectady, is a Turkey Trot. Those in my family who anticipated needing third helpings of pie justified that urge by standing outside earlier than necessary on a morning that was colder than was necessary. This became a tradition. And let me tell you, turkey tastes better and the post-meal nap is more refreshing when your legs are jiggling like that weird orange jello mold with carrots in it.
I believe, as hearty, folksy, salty-earthy Kansans, we were perfectly suited for Turkey Trots. There's a lame joke about weather in Kansas (and probably a few other places): Don't like it? Wait 5 minutes and it will change. There's a reason many people recite this zinger with a defeated tone. We've been on the business end of an unexpected cold front. Running a 5K in late November mimics the wildly erratic weather patterns that accompany the changing seasons in the Midwest. Before the race begins, it is bracingly cold. Standing there in lightweight running gear allows that cold to get nice and intimate. Usually there is a seven to ten minute wait between lining up and actual running. I find that screaming helps me keep Jack Frost at bay. Once the race begins things start to get better. The chill invigorates you and breathing no longer feels like a metal rake scraping across your lungs. It's gone from bitterly cold to pleasantly cool. After settling into a groove, you can enjoy the scenery and maybe pass a third grader who couldn't pace himself. Eventually your layered gear betrays you and you realize that you are stewing under your Nike SolarTherm Tec Pullover. You peel the layers off and ditch your complimentary Turkey Trot beanie in a stranger's garbage can, because you are now burning up. And just like an April day on the plains, you have gone from winter clothes to shirtless with hair plastered to your forehead with sweat in less than an hour.
These Turkey Trots were my introduction to organized running (for pleasure, not gym class). Eventually, once a year was not enough, and I started to sign up for other, non-holiday related 5Ks. Earlier this year I ran in a 10K for the first time. 5Ks were now kid stuff. If I'm going to pay money and drive out to some dinky town's Old Settlers Run then I need to be running for more than half an hour. Since then, I have participated in one other 10K. Or most of one. It wasn't my fault. I asked a cop if I was supposed to turn down a street that other runners were on. He said yes. That was wrong. I cut the second loop I was supposed to be running in half. I probably should have studied the course map a little closer, but that doesn't mean the course wasn't poorly labeled.
I was still encouraged by how great I felt after running those 8ish kilometers. Rather than taking the next logical and doing a 10-miler or a half-marathon (or competently running a second 10K), I have decided to throw logic down the garbage disposal and commit myself to a marathon. I will self-immolate and become a chariot of fire. My training program of choice (via Nike Running) is 24 weeks long. Using that time frame I sought a nearby race happening in April. Fortune smiled upon me in the form of the Gettysburg Marathon, a race as ridiculous as my decision to run it. Participants, when registering, must decide to run for either the North or the South. The two sides then compete for the best results. As the official website states, runners use their own criteria to choose their sides. It could be where they live, where they're from, a familial connection, or their feelings about slavery. That one isn't true. But, even though it's just a marathon and the choosing sides is just for fun, I still can't fathom that there are people who will pick the South. Who would dedicate their 26.2 miles to the forced servitude team? Did I mention that the free shirt comes in gray or blue based on the team? I'm going to judge the hell out of everyone in gray. Really, the Gettysburg Marathon is the perfect first marathon, because the finisher's medal features the U.S.A. and Confederate flags. Such a motif ensures that the medal will not be worn or displayed anywhere, anytime.
I spent yesterday and the day before entering my runs into my calendar. It was shocking to block off three hours. That would be like if I went to see The Wolf of Wall Street and instead of a seat I had a treadmill set to a moderate pace. I can't really wrap my mind around that. And when I google "How the hell do you run a marathon" things about energy gels, hydration schedules, and chaffing come up. There is all this extra stuff you have to know about and monitor in order to run super duper far. I'm not the best at self-reflection, so the idea of tracking how well a meal agreed with my level of exertion seems tedious and embarrassing. I'm only doing this to overcome the physical discomfort and the monotony. I hadn't counted on logistics being the thing that brought me down.
Speaking of monotony, the Gettysburg Marathon, because some of the route is not fully closed to traffic, does not allow headphones. That might be the most frightening prospect, spending 1/4 of a day running without Queen to propel me along.
Me, in less pain than I currently have my sights set on.
Some years ago, my family decided to participate in a Thanksgiving 5K run. These are known nationwide as Turkey Trots. Every single 5k on the last Thursday in November, from Spokane to Schenectady, is a Turkey Trot. Those in my family who anticipated needing third helpings of pie justified that urge by standing outside earlier than necessary on a morning that was colder than was necessary. This became a tradition. And let me tell you, turkey tastes better and the post-meal nap is more refreshing when your legs are jiggling like that weird orange jello mold with carrots in it.
I believe, as hearty, folksy, salty-earthy Kansans, we were perfectly suited for Turkey Trots. There's a lame joke about weather in Kansas (and probably a few other places): Don't like it? Wait 5 minutes and it will change. There's a reason many people recite this zinger with a defeated tone. We've been on the business end of an unexpected cold front. Running a 5K in late November mimics the wildly erratic weather patterns that accompany the changing seasons in the Midwest. Before the race begins, it is bracingly cold. Standing there in lightweight running gear allows that cold to get nice and intimate. Usually there is a seven to ten minute wait between lining up and actual running. I find that screaming helps me keep Jack Frost at bay. Once the race begins things start to get better. The chill invigorates you and breathing no longer feels like a metal rake scraping across your lungs. It's gone from bitterly cold to pleasantly cool. After settling into a groove, you can enjoy the scenery and maybe pass a third grader who couldn't pace himself. Eventually your layered gear betrays you and you realize that you are stewing under your Nike SolarTherm Tec Pullover. You peel the layers off and ditch your complimentary Turkey Trot beanie in a stranger's garbage can, because you are now burning up. And just like an April day on the plains, you have gone from winter clothes to shirtless with hair plastered to your forehead with sweat in less than an hour.
These Turkey Trots were my introduction to organized running (for pleasure, not gym class). Eventually, once a year was not enough, and I started to sign up for other, non-holiday related 5Ks. Earlier this year I ran in a 10K for the first time. 5Ks were now kid stuff. If I'm going to pay money and drive out to some dinky town's Old Settlers Run then I need to be running for more than half an hour. Since then, I have participated in one other 10K. Or most of one. It wasn't my fault. I asked a cop if I was supposed to turn down a street that other runners were on. He said yes. That was wrong. I cut the second loop I was supposed to be running in half. I probably should have studied the course map a little closer, but that doesn't mean the course wasn't poorly labeled.
I was still encouraged by how great I felt after running those 8ish kilometers. Rather than taking the next logical and doing a 10-miler or a half-marathon (or competently running a second 10K), I have decided to throw logic down the garbage disposal and commit myself to a marathon. I will self-immolate and become a chariot of fire. My training program of choice (via Nike Running) is 24 weeks long. Using that time frame I sought a nearby race happening in April. Fortune smiled upon me in the form of the Gettysburg Marathon, a race as ridiculous as my decision to run it. Participants, when registering, must decide to run for either the North or the South. The two sides then compete for the best results. As the official website states, runners use their own criteria to choose their sides. It could be where they live, where they're from, a familial connection, or their feelings about slavery. That one isn't true. But, even though it's just a marathon and the choosing sides is just for fun, I still can't fathom that there are people who will pick the South. Who would dedicate their 26.2 miles to the forced servitude team? Did I mention that the free shirt comes in gray or blue based on the team? I'm going to judge the hell out of everyone in gray. Really, the Gettysburg Marathon is the perfect first marathon, because the finisher's medal features the U.S.A. and Confederate flags. Such a motif ensures that the medal will not be worn or displayed anywhere, anytime.
I spent yesterday and the day before entering my runs into my calendar. It was shocking to block off three hours. That would be like if I went to see The Wolf of Wall Street and instead of a seat I had a treadmill set to a moderate pace. I can't really wrap my mind around that. And when I google "How the hell do you run a marathon" things about energy gels, hydration schedules, and chaffing come up. There is all this extra stuff you have to know about and monitor in order to run super duper far. I'm not the best at self-reflection, so the idea of tracking how well a meal agreed with my level of exertion seems tedious and embarrassing. I'm only doing this to overcome the physical discomfort and the monotony. I hadn't counted on logistics being the thing that brought me down.
Speaking of monotony, the Gettysburg Marathon, because some of the route is not fully closed to traffic, does not allow headphones. That might be the most frightening prospect, spending 1/4 of a day running without Queen to propel me along.
Me, in less pain than I currently have my sights set on.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
The Photograph: Alternate Perspective Scene
This scene is an exercise based on a story I've bee working on about a kid who finds a polaroid of a naked woman in a library book. The kid in the alley is the main character of that story. This is a scene from a different person's perspective.
Closing in the summer is the worst. In the winter you walk through the kitchen feeling the air temperature drop as you get closer to the cold that seeps through the gaps around the door or comes crashing in like a wave when someone goes out to smoke. You don't even need your coat. The heat and sweat from working give you three refreshing minutes outside. The perspiration crystallizes into sludge on your back and it's relief. The air deadens the food smell in your nostrils and the gray alley feels cozy. You throw the trash in the dumpster and it barely stinks. The air is hard and resists the smell. There's only the far-off scent of smoke. It might be a chimney, but it might be that brittle winter nights always smell like smoke.
If it's the second or fourth Sunday of the month you have to drain the fryers into a bucket, then pour that into the grease trap next to the dumpster. Winter is no match for that smell. You have to hope there's not slush or ice, because if there isn't you can be quick and hold your breath. When that's over, you start to realize that you're sleeveless outside at 10:30 pm in January and it's time to go inside.
Summer is atrocious. The alley is hotter and thicker than the kitchen with the heat from the ovens and steam from the dishwashers. Inside, air is shuffled around by fans, the AC, doors opening and closing. You go outside and dark summer air sits on you like a wet towel you'll never find the edges of. There's nothing to savor, like there is in winter. As soon as you're out the door the dumpster smell walks up into your nostrils and down your throat. You can only jogwalk while holding your breath until you get back inside. The chemical steam of the dishwasher will seem like a Yankee candle. If it's grease trap week, you can't run because you'll spill. You just step quick. Alley dumpsters behind restaurants are like Satan's crockpots. Stewed rancid muck slow cooks on metal and wafts down the brick and asphalt corridor. Work enough shifts and you'll feel that scent dripping onto your tonsils every time you look down an alley.
One time, I was closing at some casual modern place--the kind with artisanal pizzas where they use every kind of olive except black, like traditional pizza is so gauche. Well, I was running some trash and had just gotten a couple of bags from the kitchen, not even a third full, but sagging with slop. I toss those normal, then go back to get the bathroom trash. When I go back outside, there's some skinny black kid standing next to his bike in the middle of the alley. He rode up in the two minutes it took me to go in and grab the bags. He's just standing there looking down the alley. He had a piece of paper--it looked like a polaroid-- in his hand that he kept looking at. I kind of stood there and watched him to see what he would do, but he never moved. When I let the dumpster lid close he noticed me. I asked if he was all right; he said yes and rode off. But he'd been standing there for a long time just staring at the alley. It was weird as shit.
Closing in the summer is the worst. In the winter you walk through the kitchen feeling the air temperature drop as you get closer to the cold that seeps through the gaps around the door or comes crashing in like a wave when someone goes out to smoke. You don't even need your coat. The heat and sweat from working give you three refreshing minutes outside. The perspiration crystallizes into sludge on your back and it's relief. The air deadens the food smell in your nostrils and the gray alley feels cozy. You throw the trash in the dumpster and it barely stinks. The air is hard and resists the smell. There's only the far-off scent of smoke. It might be a chimney, but it might be that brittle winter nights always smell like smoke.
If it's the second or fourth Sunday of the month you have to drain the fryers into a bucket, then pour that into the grease trap next to the dumpster. Winter is no match for that smell. You have to hope there's not slush or ice, because if there isn't you can be quick and hold your breath. When that's over, you start to realize that you're sleeveless outside at 10:30 pm in January and it's time to go inside.
Summer is atrocious. The alley is hotter and thicker than the kitchen with the heat from the ovens and steam from the dishwashers. Inside, air is shuffled around by fans, the AC, doors opening and closing. You go outside and dark summer air sits on you like a wet towel you'll never find the edges of. There's nothing to savor, like there is in winter. As soon as you're out the door the dumpster smell walks up into your nostrils and down your throat. You can only jogwalk while holding your breath until you get back inside. The chemical steam of the dishwasher will seem like a Yankee candle. If it's grease trap week, you can't run because you'll spill. You just step quick. Alley dumpsters behind restaurants are like Satan's crockpots. Stewed rancid muck slow cooks on metal and wafts down the brick and asphalt corridor. Work enough shifts and you'll feel that scent dripping onto your tonsils every time you look down an alley.
One time, I was closing at some casual modern place--the kind with artisanal pizzas where they use every kind of olive except black, like traditional pizza is so gauche. Well, I was running some trash and had just gotten a couple of bags from the kitchen, not even a third full, but sagging with slop. I toss those normal, then go back to get the bathroom trash. When I go back outside, there's some skinny black kid standing next to his bike in the middle of the alley. He rode up in the two minutes it took me to go in and grab the bags. He's just standing there looking down the alley. He had a piece of paper--it looked like a polaroid-- in his hand that he kept looking at. I kind of stood there and watched him to see what he would do, but he never moved. When I let the dumpster lid close he noticed me. I asked if he was all right; he said yes and rode off. But he'd been standing there for a long time just staring at the alley. It was weird as shit.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Dear Diary: Wanna Be Your Super Hero
Dear Diary,
I was thinking about the television program Entourage, as I frequently do, while pining for someone to hug it out with. Or someone with whom out I might hug it, if you're a stickler for grammar. One of the fun things that would happen on that show was celebrities would appear as themselves. During the end credits you would see: Guest starring Kanye West as Kanye West, Jessica Alba as Jessica Alba, Gary Busey as Gary Busey, Brooke Shields as Brook Shields. It was a fun treat for the viewers, to be sure, but it also added to the show's already impeccable realism of the Neo-Golden Age Hollywood we currently live in (or near). "Hey, there's Chuck Lidell," you'd think, "appearing as himself, the MMA fighter. Chuck Lidell is an MMA fighter in my universe AND in Vinny, E, Turtle, and Drama's universe. It's like they're gallivanting in the same world in which I'm a corporate cog." It allowed you to become even more absorbed in the gang's hijinks, knowing that they too had a Bob Saget fucking prostitutes with money earned from your Friday night family time.
But there was a twist to this. Entourage would also have well-known actors and actresses playing characters other than themselves. Val Kilmer appeared as The Sherpa, a weed growing hippie guru type. Leighton Meester portrayed Justine Chapin, a pop star who trades in virginal sexuality. In Entourage: The Movie, Billy Bob Thorton and Haley Joel Osment play a father and son duo named Larsen and Travis McCredle. This begs the very obvious question: Do all of the celebrities playing other roles still exist for Vince and the Boys?If Brooke Shields exists in Entourage Land, does Val Kilmer? Does Terrance McQueuwick's existence preclude that of Malcolm McDowell? If so, who was in Clockwork Orange and Caligula in the Entourageverse? When Turtle watches Bad Santa, who is the titular ill-mannered Kris Kringle? Jim Carrey? In Entourage: The Movie, does Vince leave his meeting with Larsen McCredle thinking "Man, he looks just like Billy Bob!"
Does Entourage exist in a universe where some of the celebrities we know don't exist but most of them do? Or in the Entrouageverse is every character played by a real celebrity the identical twin of that celebrity? That's going to be my headcannon. In Entourage Dan Castellaneta's twin brother is the principal at a Hollywood private school.
These are the thoughts that plague me late at night as the minutes slip from my future and my past piles up behind me.
love,
Dennis
p.s. Oh YEAAAAAH! Oh YEAAAAAAAH!
I was thinking about the television program Entourage, as I frequently do, while pining for someone to hug it out with. Or someone with whom out I might hug it, if you're a stickler for grammar. One of the fun things that would happen on that show was celebrities would appear as themselves. During the end credits you would see: Guest starring Kanye West as Kanye West, Jessica Alba as Jessica Alba, Gary Busey as Gary Busey, Brooke Shields as Brook Shields. It was a fun treat for the viewers, to be sure, but it also added to the show's already impeccable realism of the Neo-Golden Age Hollywood we currently live in (or near). "Hey, there's Chuck Lidell," you'd think, "appearing as himself, the MMA fighter. Chuck Lidell is an MMA fighter in my universe AND in Vinny, E, Turtle, and Drama's universe. It's like they're gallivanting in the same world in which I'm a corporate cog." It allowed you to become even more absorbed in the gang's hijinks, knowing that they too had a Bob Saget fucking prostitutes with money earned from your Friday night family time.
But there was a twist to this. Entourage would also have well-known actors and actresses playing characters other than themselves. Val Kilmer appeared as The Sherpa, a weed growing hippie guru type. Leighton Meester portrayed Justine Chapin, a pop star who trades in virginal sexuality. In Entourage: The Movie, Billy Bob Thorton and Haley Joel Osment play a father and son duo named Larsen and Travis McCredle. This begs the very obvious question: Do all of the celebrities playing other roles still exist for Vince and the Boys?If Brooke Shields exists in Entourage Land, does Val Kilmer? Does Terrance McQueuwick's existence preclude that of Malcolm McDowell? If so, who was in Clockwork Orange and Caligula in the Entourageverse? When Turtle watches Bad Santa, who is the titular ill-mannered Kris Kringle? Jim Carrey? In Entourage: The Movie, does Vince leave his meeting with Larsen McCredle thinking "Man, he looks just like Billy Bob!"
Does Entourage exist in a universe where some of the celebrities we know don't exist but most of them do? Or in the Entrouageverse is every character played by a real celebrity the identical twin of that celebrity? That's going to be my headcannon. In Entourage Dan Castellaneta's twin brother is the principal at a Hollywood private school.
These are the thoughts that plague me late at night as the minutes slip from my future and my past piles up behind me.
love,
Dennis
p.s. Oh YEAAAAAH! Oh YEAAAAAAAH!
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Let's Do A Writing Prompt: Road Side
DEUS EX MACHINA
In modern storytelling, a deus ex machina is a plot device in which a dramatic and oftentimes contrived occurrence suddenly saves the day or solves a seemingly impossible problem. This week, write a short story using this device in the form of a character, object, or new found ability. How will you manipulate the pacing to create the most effective sense of surprise? Consider the tone of the story, perhaps incorporating tragedy and comedy, as you lead up to the unexpected turn of events.
ROAD SIDE
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean!"
The man did a little hop when the question exploded from his mouth, wisps of long white hair bobbed gently on the side of his otherwise bald head. Simon already felt stressed enough with his life crumbling in chunks like an abandoned house. He'd forgotten to call Leslie after their screaming match, which he was pretty sure had been his fault or he'd made it worse by saying meaner things than she had. He'd started ordering double Captain and Cokes halfway through the night and couldn't remember anymore, and now it'd been almost a week. He wanted to give her space, but now her friends had started calling to say he still had a chance to win her back. Plus, his hours at the coffee shop had been cut and he hadn't started applying for other part-time work. Which had caused his roommates to act weird when he asked them to cover his part of the bills temporarily. So many things were contributing to Simon's general sense of tension, and now this man was yelling pointless questions at him. The aggression, Simon felt, wasn't helping an already inconvenient situation.
"Like I said, I don't have any insurance right now," it was another thing that fallen onto the back burner. "It's a pretty straightforward statement. I don't know what you mean by what do I mean."
"I'm having trouble understanding why you would be driving a car when you don't have insurance."
The man stomped his foot and looked, to Simon, a little childish throwing such a fit on the side of the highway. He would have been embarrassed for the man if there had been any other cars in sight.
"Why the fuck would you be driving while uninsured? You'd better have some fucking money to pay for this."
Simon looked at the cosmetic damage to the man's driver's side doors that had occurred when he had attempted to change lanes before he noticed the man in his blind spot. It was a gray breezy day on the long straight stretch of highway and Simon lingered in the right lane. It was his favorite kind of weather, and he found it held his attention more than two mid-level sedans on the shoulder of a road.
"I'll be honest with you, I've been meaning to get insurance for a while but other things came up and it kept getting bumped down my to-do list. But I don't not have insurance because I'm basking in financial security, so paying out of pocket won't be an option. Unless you'd be willing to work out some sort of payment plan, which I would be open to." Simon spoke without facing the man, but could see his gesticulations in his peripheral vision.
"What the hell are you talking about? Of course the idiot who hits me on a deserted highway is a broke slacker." The man turned to face the paint scraped cars, "It's responsible people like me who keep things on track and you can't be bothered to do your share. Look at this. This is totaled. You're going to have to buy me a new car. I can't drive this."
"It might be totaled, but that isn't necessarily an indication of costly damage."
"Don't you talk back to me. You're only getting yourself in more trouble."
"I just don't think a scratched paint job will make a Dodge Sabre undriveable."
"It's not a scratch"
The man's voice echoed off a nearby overpass.
"I'm sorry I made contact with your vehicle, but shouting isn't going to undo what happened."
The man yelled again. Simon didn't like owing so many people money, though, he remained optimistic that a paint job could be paid off in a few months. He asked again if the man wouldn't rather just chalk this event up to the cost of living in the world where sometimes people bump into each other and face unexpected happenstances. The man did not and made another little hop that reminded Simon of Rumpelstiltskin. The man demanded Simon call the police so that a proper report could be filed, and he guaranteed that Simon would be going to jail for driving with no insurance. Simon had no cellphone and confessed this to the man, who felt that Simon's lack of a cellphone was somehow evidence that the man's own life was cursed. Simon wondered if this could be cultivated into a seed of empathy for the hardships of others. The man didn't even seem to be taking into account the repercussions the accident might have on Simon's life.
"Fine. I'll call the damn police, but you're going to be paying me back for the minutes I use on the call." The man's hand shook as he dialed.
Simon listened to the wind and thought about unlimited cell plans, but didn't want to interrupt the man's phone call to the authorities. He hoped that the police, or more likely the sheriff as they were on a highway not within the limits of a city, would see this for what it was: an unfortunate happenstance. He was sure that the officer would be reasonable and send everyone on their way. The air was cool and everything felt muffled. No birds or animals made noise. Occasionally a breeze swept by Simon's ears, but other than that it sounded like the man was arguing with a 911 dispatcher in a room of cotton. The land between Simon and the long curving horizon was wide and flat and covered with wild looking grass. Even though he was surrounded by air and the sky he felt the rest of his life lurking behind him, all the relationships to renovate and responsibilities to tend like a garden he resented. He never seemed to be able to explain to his roommates the pressure and responsibility he imposed on himself when they suggested he take on extra housekeeping duties to compensate for a momentary financial shortfall.
"Un-goddang-believable. That idiot dispatcher transferred me to another line. Said my call didn't qualify as an emergency. What is wrong with people? I was in a car wreck"
"Are they sending someone?"
"Of course. Once they took me off hold I told them to hurry."
"I really think that's not the best use of everyone's time. We really could just exchange numbers and you could call me when you have an estimate on the repairs."
"You don't understand, do you? I'm filing a police report. People get arrested for driving without insurance. You're car's going to be impounded. And then I'll be suing you." The man paused before continuing, "For the repairs to my car and the psychological damage. All this stress. I probably have some sort of back injury. Those show up a few days after a bad accident like this. You and I will be in court unless you come up with a settlement."
Simon felt bad for the man, who didn't seem to be appreciating the stillness of the weather.
"I'm going to sit in my car while we wait."
"Oh no you don't. You're aren't getting in your car, are you crazy? You're going to drive off."
Simon moved towards his car, but had to change course when the man stepped into his path.
"I'm just going to sit with the windows open. I'll be able to hear you if you need to talk to me."
"You're going to drive off."
Simon agreed to sit on a grassy slope next to the cars. It was better, Simon realized, because he could feel the breeze tracing its fingers on his arms and back instead of just the side of his face nearest the open window. There was a cool dampness in the air that he found invigorating. It was almost strange to feel so pleasant on a gloomy seeming day. Even the man, pacing and grumbling like a misunderstood teenage, added a vibrancy to the setting. The grayness of the road melted into the sky and it was a blank slate for Simon to begin painting the next chapter of his life and the man scolding the emptiness was the brush he would use. Simon wasn't sure how to articulate his thoughts to himself, but he knew that this is where he would slowly begin to reorganize his life and clear out some of the clutter.
The longer he sat, the more the man's assurances that the accident would be taken seriously by the police began to poke into Simon's thoughts. If he was forced to get insurance right away it would delay him being able to pay his roommates back and certainly affect the first payment on the man's car repairs. If he lost his car, finding a new job wouldn't be easy. He'd have to coordinate rides to work from friends since there weren't many opportunities within walking distance. Fear began to spill into him and he felt as though the answer to the man's phone call was rushing towards him like a fist. Simon couldn't match the stillness of the day and wait for this random event to pass over him like water.
The sound of distant sirens bubbled up into the quiet of the highway.
"I can hear them. It's about time." The man spun to face the direction from which he and Simon had been driving. Cars and lights appeared in miniature on the horizon. Simon stayed sitting in his spot where his view was blocked. "It looks like someone took me seriously," the man continued as he waved to the still distant police cars. "They were right to send the whole squad.
The man's words made Simon realize that, instead of one, he heard a chorus of police sirens. He stood and saw a line of white squares glittering red and blue on top sweeping towards him. If he were to be arrested, he'd have to bail money onto the tab of what he already owed his roommates.
"It's too late to come up with any excuses now. Don't even try." The man stood in the right lane beside his car.
Simon felt the red and blue wailing fill the muffled afternoon around him. He watched the line of cars enter more detail as they cut along the road. As they did, he noticed a boxy brown car in front of the police. So did the man.
"Why won't this guy pull over so they can pass? Another maniac on the road." He looked at Simon with angry disappointment.
The man walked towards the cars and began to flag them down. The brown car schoomed past them without slowing. The man turned to yell and was hit from behind by a police cruiser which was unable to change lanes in time. He was thrown into the back of his own car and fell to the ground folded sideways against the wheel. Simon's only reaction had been to throw himself prone onto the slope, but the cruiser had only hit the man. The cruiser that hit the man and one other stopped while the several others sped towards the brown car. Three officers rushed out and saw that nothing could be done for the man. Simon stood quietly as the sirens were soon gone.
"What the heck are you guys doing just sitting here?" said an officer with a tight ponytail, while her partner spoke with the officer who had hit the man.
"We were in an accident and were waiting for you."
"Waiting for us?"
"Yeah. He had called the police. You were responding to our call."
"Didn't we were engaged in pursuit with a suspect driving the brown car." She looked to the other officers, "Geoff, can you radio this in. Tell them we had to abandon pursuit. Get a body snatcher."
"He thought you were coming for us."
"Is that why he was in the middle of the road?"
"Yeah. He was flagging you down."
"He didn't need to be out in the road to do that. So, what was you're accident?"
Simon gazed at the gray-topped horizon. The world was muted in it's down comforter again with only the crinkled sound of the police radio floating in the air.
"He'd hit the side of my car. Changed lanes without looking."
"Were either of you hurt from the accident."
"No. He insisted on calling it in. I told him it wasn't worth it."
"That's a tragedy."
The officer went to speak with Geoff, then the two came over to Simon and he explained it again. They all agreed that it was an unfortunate freak accident. The officer who hit the man couldn't be faulted. Simon told them that he didn't see a point to filling out a report for his accident with the man.
"I have your statement," said the officer. "If it's alright with you, I'll use that to fill one out on your behalf. It will just help to explain why you two were stopped at the side of the road when we came by, which lead to the man being hit by Officer Gabe's vehicle."
Simon stood on the edge of the commotion, which wasn't really a commotion but compared to everything else along the road it was. He watched officers and paramedics move back and forth until he felt like getting in his car and driving away. He thought about his roommates and Leslie. He was glad that his to-do list wasn't longer.
In modern storytelling, a deus ex machina is a plot device in which a dramatic and oftentimes contrived occurrence suddenly saves the day or solves a seemingly impossible problem. This week, write a short story using this device in the form of a character, object, or new found ability. How will you manipulate the pacing to create the most effective sense of surprise? Consider the tone of the story, perhaps incorporating tragedy and comedy, as you lead up to the unexpected turn of events.
ROAD SIDE
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean!"
The man did a little hop when the question exploded from his mouth, wisps of long white hair bobbed gently on the side of his otherwise bald head. Simon already felt stressed enough with his life crumbling in chunks like an abandoned house. He'd forgotten to call Leslie after their screaming match, which he was pretty sure had been his fault or he'd made it worse by saying meaner things than she had. He'd started ordering double Captain and Cokes halfway through the night and couldn't remember anymore, and now it'd been almost a week. He wanted to give her space, but now her friends had started calling to say he still had a chance to win her back. Plus, his hours at the coffee shop had been cut and he hadn't started applying for other part-time work. Which had caused his roommates to act weird when he asked them to cover his part of the bills temporarily. So many things were contributing to Simon's general sense of tension, and now this man was yelling pointless questions at him. The aggression, Simon felt, wasn't helping an already inconvenient situation.
"Like I said, I don't have any insurance right now," it was another thing that fallen onto the back burner. "It's a pretty straightforward statement. I don't know what you mean by what do I mean."
"I'm having trouble understanding why you would be driving a car when you don't have insurance."
The man stomped his foot and looked, to Simon, a little childish throwing such a fit on the side of the highway. He would have been embarrassed for the man if there had been any other cars in sight.
"Why the fuck would you be driving while uninsured? You'd better have some fucking money to pay for this."
Simon looked at the cosmetic damage to the man's driver's side doors that had occurred when he had attempted to change lanes before he noticed the man in his blind spot. It was a gray breezy day on the long straight stretch of highway and Simon lingered in the right lane. It was his favorite kind of weather, and he found it held his attention more than two mid-level sedans on the shoulder of a road.
"I'll be honest with you, I've been meaning to get insurance for a while but other things came up and it kept getting bumped down my to-do list. But I don't not have insurance because I'm basking in financial security, so paying out of pocket won't be an option. Unless you'd be willing to work out some sort of payment plan, which I would be open to." Simon spoke without facing the man, but could see his gesticulations in his peripheral vision.
"What the hell are you talking about? Of course the idiot who hits me on a deserted highway is a broke slacker." The man turned to face the paint scraped cars, "It's responsible people like me who keep things on track and you can't be bothered to do your share. Look at this. This is totaled. You're going to have to buy me a new car. I can't drive this."
"It might be totaled, but that isn't necessarily an indication of costly damage."
"Don't you talk back to me. You're only getting yourself in more trouble."
"I just don't think a scratched paint job will make a Dodge Sabre undriveable."
"It's not a scratch"
The man's voice echoed off a nearby overpass.
"I'm sorry I made contact with your vehicle, but shouting isn't going to undo what happened."
The man yelled again. Simon didn't like owing so many people money, though, he remained optimistic that a paint job could be paid off in a few months. He asked again if the man wouldn't rather just chalk this event up to the cost of living in the world where sometimes people bump into each other and face unexpected happenstances. The man did not and made another little hop that reminded Simon of Rumpelstiltskin. The man demanded Simon call the police so that a proper report could be filed, and he guaranteed that Simon would be going to jail for driving with no insurance. Simon had no cellphone and confessed this to the man, who felt that Simon's lack of a cellphone was somehow evidence that the man's own life was cursed. Simon wondered if this could be cultivated into a seed of empathy for the hardships of others. The man didn't even seem to be taking into account the repercussions the accident might have on Simon's life.
"Fine. I'll call the damn police, but you're going to be paying me back for the minutes I use on the call." The man's hand shook as he dialed.
Simon listened to the wind and thought about unlimited cell plans, but didn't want to interrupt the man's phone call to the authorities. He hoped that the police, or more likely the sheriff as they were on a highway not within the limits of a city, would see this for what it was: an unfortunate happenstance. He was sure that the officer would be reasonable and send everyone on their way. The air was cool and everything felt muffled. No birds or animals made noise. Occasionally a breeze swept by Simon's ears, but other than that it sounded like the man was arguing with a 911 dispatcher in a room of cotton. The land between Simon and the long curving horizon was wide and flat and covered with wild looking grass. Even though he was surrounded by air and the sky he felt the rest of his life lurking behind him, all the relationships to renovate and responsibilities to tend like a garden he resented. He never seemed to be able to explain to his roommates the pressure and responsibility he imposed on himself when they suggested he take on extra housekeeping duties to compensate for a momentary financial shortfall.
"Un-goddang-believable. That idiot dispatcher transferred me to another line. Said my call didn't qualify as an emergency. What is wrong with people? I was in a car wreck"
"Are they sending someone?"
"Of course. Once they took me off hold I told them to hurry."
"I really think that's not the best use of everyone's time. We really could just exchange numbers and you could call me when you have an estimate on the repairs."
"You don't understand, do you? I'm filing a police report. People get arrested for driving without insurance. You're car's going to be impounded. And then I'll be suing you." The man paused before continuing, "For the repairs to my car and the psychological damage. All this stress. I probably have some sort of back injury. Those show up a few days after a bad accident like this. You and I will be in court unless you come up with a settlement."
Simon felt bad for the man, who didn't seem to be appreciating the stillness of the weather.
"I'm going to sit in my car while we wait."
"Oh no you don't. You're aren't getting in your car, are you crazy? You're going to drive off."
Simon moved towards his car, but had to change course when the man stepped into his path.
"I'm just going to sit with the windows open. I'll be able to hear you if you need to talk to me."
"You're going to drive off."
Simon agreed to sit on a grassy slope next to the cars. It was better, Simon realized, because he could feel the breeze tracing its fingers on his arms and back instead of just the side of his face nearest the open window. There was a cool dampness in the air that he found invigorating. It was almost strange to feel so pleasant on a gloomy seeming day. Even the man, pacing and grumbling like a misunderstood teenage, added a vibrancy to the setting. The grayness of the road melted into the sky and it was a blank slate for Simon to begin painting the next chapter of his life and the man scolding the emptiness was the brush he would use. Simon wasn't sure how to articulate his thoughts to himself, but he knew that this is where he would slowly begin to reorganize his life and clear out some of the clutter.
The longer he sat, the more the man's assurances that the accident would be taken seriously by the police began to poke into Simon's thoughts. If he was forced to get insurance right away it would delay him being able to pay his roommates back and certainly affect the first payment on the man's car repairs. If he lost his car, finding a new job wouldn't be easy. He'd have to coordinate rides to work from friends since there weren't many opportunities within walking distance. Fear began to spill into him and he felt as though the answer to the man's phone call was rushing towards him like a fist. Simon couldn't match the stillness of the day and wait for this random event to pass over him like water.
The sound of distant sirens bubbled up into the quiet of the highway.
"I can hear them. It's about time." The man spun to face the direction from which he and Simon had been driving. Cars and lights appeared in miniature on the horizon. Simon stayed sitting in his spot where his view was blocked. "It looks like someone took me seriously," the man continued as he waved to the still distant police cars. "They were right to send the whole squad.
The man's words made Simon realize that, instead of one, he heard a chorus of police sirens. He stood and saw a line of white squares glittering red and blue on top sweeping towards him. If he were to be arrested, he'd have to bail money onto the tab of what he already owed his roommates.
"It's too late to come up with any excuses now. Don't even try." The man stood in the right lane beside his car.
Simon felt the red and blue wailing fill the muffled afternoon around him. He watched the line of cars enter more detail as they cut along the road. As they did, he noticed a boxy brown car in front of the police. So did the man.
"Why won't this guy pull over so they can pass? Another maniac on the road." He looked at Simon with angry disappointment.
The man walked towards the cars and began to flag them down. The brown car schoomed past them without slowing. The man turned to yell and was hit from behind by a police cruiser which was unable to change lanes in time. He was thrown into the back of his own car and fell to the ground folded sideways against the wheel. Simon's only reaction had been to throw himself prone onto the slope, but the cruiser had only hit the man. The cruiser that hit the man and one other stopped while the several others sped towards the brown car. Three officers rushed out and saw that nothing could be done for the man. Simon stood quietly as the sirens were soon gone.
"What the heck are you guys doing just sitting here?" said an officer with a tight ponytail, while her partner spoke with the officer who had hit the man.
"We were in an accident and were waiting for you."
"Waiting for us?"
"Yeah. He had called the police. You were responding to our call."
"Didn't we were engaged in pursuit with a suspect driving the brown car." She looked to the other officers, "Geoff, can you radio this in. Tell them we had to abandon pursuit. Get a body snatcher."
"He thought you were coming for us."
"Is that why he was in the middle of the road?"
"Yeah. He was flagging you down."
"He didn't need to be out in the road to do that. So, what was you're accident?"
Simon gazed at the gray-topped horizon. The world was muted in it's down comforter again with only the crinkled sound of the police radio floating in the air.
"He'd hit the side of my car. Changed lanes without looking."
"Were either of you hurt from the accident."
"No. He insisted on calling it in. I told him it wasn't worth it."
"That's a tragedy."
The officer went to speak with Geoff, then the two came over to Simon and he explained it again. They all agreed that it was an unfortunate freak accident. The officer who hit the man couldn't be faulted. Simon told them that he didn't see a point to filling out a report for his accident with the man.
"I have your statement," said the officer. "If it's alright with you, I'll use that to fill one out on your behalf. It will just help to explain why you two were stopped at the side of the road when we came by, which lead to the man being hit by Officer Gabe's vehicle."
Simon stood on the edge of the commotion, which wasn't really a commotion but compared to everything else along the road it was. He watched officers and paramedics move back and forth until he felt like getting in his car and driving away. He thought about his roommates and Leslie. He was glad that his to-do list wasn't longer.
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