Marathon...I'm running for.

Presently, it's snowing outside. The wind is coming from all directions and it's causing a burning sensation on my face. The first few minutes of running in weather like this is tough, something most people, even runners won't think about. I must admit, I usually head inside to the nearest treadmill, as insipid as that sounds. No trees, dogs or people to watch as I'm running by, blood coursing at a steaming pace through my vains. But today isn't about running outside or inside, in bad weather or on a sunny day...it's about running.

As I communicate this to you, I am training for a half-marathon, that's 21.1kms folks!!! It's my first and hopefully not my last, baring any unforeseen injury I might sustain along the way. No, no, so far it's been good, week three of a sixteen week training schedule. I have always been athletic, so this comes sort of naturally to me, not to toot my own horn! But, even with prior athletic experience, I'm learning the joys of having to get up on Sunday morning and run.

At least I'm not alone, I have the rest that fill out the Running Room clinic on Slater street. Every tuesday we meet for a talk and a run, usually a short one that I try and run too fast!! Last tuesday I noticed a sign on the front door of the store. It was an annoucement for a breast cancer run, 'Run for the Cure'. I started to read the poster, a date, time, the distance, all the usual suspects that pertain to advertising an event. Then I noticed something else.

Though it wasn't hard to miss, sitting in the center of the post. They were little cards, like name cards at a wedding. Each one had writing on them, and each one had something different written on them. One said, 'For my daugher, my hero' another read, 'For my father'. On everyone, there was a dedication of one form or another, in memory of people's loved ones, who had either died, or as one read, 'For my sister, keep fighting', for those who were finding the courage to live on. On the bottom of the poster there read a single question- who are you running for?

Seeing these cards left me thinking of a few different things for the rest of that night's run. One was my loved ones, my grandmother fell victim to cancer ten years ago this passed year. Another feeling I got was, what I'm a running for? Though I'm not running in that breast cancer race, I must be doing it for a reason. On a basic level, I'm running because I want to get back in shape. On another, I'm running it to see if I can. Then there's the 'cross it off my life's to-do list' which is a good motivator.

As I sit beneath the glow of a candle flame, outside the snow still falling without hesitation, I'm wondering why I'm running this marathon. There is another 13 weeks, so this won't be the last I have to say...

my recurring...

When I close my eyes, I return to it. The image remains there, forever and still, burned into my memory. When all is quiet and there's not a soul in sight, I let myself slip back and slowly give in to it's forces as they draw me closer. All is black and quiet, just the gentle accompaniment of the sound of noise, nothing in particular, no focal point.

In my dream it's always raining. Not violent like during a rainstorm, but certainly more than gentley. The sky is gray and dark, as the sun has run off for another day. I'm standing next to a window, which plays host to quite a view. An innocent rush of cool air runs up and down the length of my body, raising the hair on my neck. I can see the grass, bent over from the wind, and trying to win back it's upright position.

She's wearing a white blouse, and jeans that hug her waste. Her cloths cling to her like a second skin. Her feet are bare...I noticed while she lightly stepped her way toward a red-brick garden path. My face is pressed against the paine, the fog from my breath forms on the surface and blurs my vision. Ahead of her, a row of cedar hedges.

At this point, my mind cannot take it. Screaming at my body, it commands me to give in to chase. She is the target of my desire yet I cannot move. Conflicted, I stand there helpless and vulnerable. The sound of the rain drives past my ears harder with every minute. I want to give in, I must give in. With one last brust of meloncoly, I start for the door and grab the handle.

As I went for the door, she disappeared from slight...

Through the window...

Through the window, I saw her pain.
I put my ears to wind,
and listened to her whispers.
She cried to nobody, to anybody.
Her face had sunk below the glastly exterior she hid behind.

Silence wrapped around her like a blanket.
By the fire she sat staring into its flames.
She watched the pattern of shadows
cast on the wall behind the brillant flashes of yellow and orange.
She thought about each tear, as one by one,
they escaped from her eyes and ran down her face,
like children lost in a reckless abandon.

Pictures lined the mantle left to right, black and white.
She looked past the blank faces looking as though directly at her.
In her memory she heard the laughter,
in her memory she saw the smiles and felt the warmth.
Through the window she reached out her hand...

The men we'll be...

Great men are not born, they are created. They are molded from the world that surrounds them, taking shape as time progresses. They experience every experience, expose themselves to every exposure...Their heightened sense of awareness and belonging makes them in tune with the world spinning around them. They are critical of the masses, and know that they know not...these are great men, these are great women...

At first glance, the above may sound like the mother of all rhetorical flurishes and nothing more than pretenious words spoken to nobody. However, I urge that this is not the case. They are the by-product of a moving conversation between myself and a friend who is more like my brother.

What makes great men, or even simplier, successful people flurish while others are struggling to find their way? Some people have money, and all of the benefits that comes with having a network of friends in high places. They finish highschool with perfect marks, practically breeze through the university of their choice, and go on to fulfill dreams found only in make-believe, or Hollywood.

Some people blossum at different times, my friend says. They have a goal from early on, and stop at nothing until they have reached it... or they have help. Maybe their roads aren't lined with as many complications as some, they had love and support to back them. They had a place where, even in failure, they could come back to and hide.

Being one semester away from completing my degree, I have devoted much time and energy to, well to be frank, to being nervous about my future prospects. So much that once I wrote to Dr. Noam Chomsky in search of some inspiration to cure my discouragement. What he said was simple, but very effective. He told me that even the greatest men, himself included, had gone through times in their lives where they were scared or unsure about what their futures would bring them. Laughter or saidness, successes or failures, even those with the most meraculous of accomplishments had experienced them all, and managed to save face.

So it's not all tragedy and tears...which is good for me because being painfully average, I kid myself alot. Truthfully, it's too soon to tell, my grandpa would say I'm still wet behind the ears. When I write the next chapter of my life, I hope they are good pages, that take my to exciting places, taking from them something to charish and savour.

A champion on the field, when he wins, who always wants to stay trapped in the moment, hanging on to it like it's his last. For that moment his was great, and he will be remembered for it, even if his endevours never take him their again...