Run. Alice!!

Alice in Wonderland is a movie that I enjoy watching.  I don’t really have favorites because a favorite implies something that you never tire of watching.  I tire easily.

Though she be absent, my grand and I still have conversations. She had sleep technical difficulties and I, being her twin, inherited it. Restless Spirit is what I call it.  She and I are talking now.   It’s 12:26 AM and I can’t sleep and I have an idea why.  I’m not living/doing my purpose.  Not for lack of effort on my part, well maybe a little bit.  There’s this little thing called Adulting that I must engage in.  Some people my age, older and younger just say eff it and ignore the Rules of Adulting (RoA) all together.  They usually have a parent(s) who pick up the slack or some schmuck who is ok Adulting for them.  Yeah, I don’t have that luxury.  I’ve been Adulting since about age 7.  Nothing new, plenty of kids start Adulting way sooner than required.  No complaints, but hell, Adulting is exhausting and no one tells you the RoA because if you start as a kid, it’s basically OJT.   I get it now how people go absolutely BatCrap doing something they are good at that they don’t want to do.  I’m good at a lot of things, G-d made me that way.  I could/would excel (and normally do) at everything because I pick things up easily but if the heart isn’t in it, it’s just like mashing peas – a waste.

I feel like a slave.  No, that’s a lie.  I have no idea what it feels like to be a slave.  I can only project the images of what slave life was like onto my current situation.  Having to jump when someone says jump.  Answer the phone, respond, speak at the sound of the beep or else.  The work, I initially believed in but it became as mundane as running on the treadmill and worse yet, yielded no benefits.  Least you can reap gains from da mill.  It has become obsolete, as productive as the hamster on the wheel – it/I am going/go nowhere.

To some I may sound ungrateful but who cares.  Not asking you to agree, understand or even read.  I’m writing this because it’s what I’m supposed to do, called to do.  Simply, what I do.  Every day I leave my home and particularly on the weekend, I see a world that I resent. There, standing on the corner, every corner is someone begging.  Old people, young people, individuals, teams, everybody wants something.  Jesus said give to all who ask.  Obviously, he was talking to/about the middle class.  We give to every body.  No body gives us shit.  The rich give to themselves and/or other rich.  The poor, hell, everybody gives to the poor.  Who gives to the middle class?  The Middle Class. We – The MC pours into every class/caste/population on Earth/America and people wonder why/how we’re running on empty.  One can only run off of blood/sweat/piss/tears for so long. People get tired.  I.  Am.  Tired.

I listen to Republicans, Democrats, Green party, Tea party, coke party, choke party, IDFAF party and every one in between.  Every one saying the same thing about the same issues about the same people.  Social Security (what exactly is that again?), Healthcare (even working people can’t afford that), Education (pre/elementary/high/post secondary/higher) let’s be honest – everybody isn’t cut out for school and just should go,  Children (this might get me some enemies but Everyone does not love the kids), Military (we’ve got to do better by our Vets) – what else is there?  Everyone talking about “Make America great again” or “America is already great”  Listen, America, if that’s her real name, can take care of herself, if we let her.  She’s been around since before Jesus was born and was, by all accounts, doing pretty well.  We humans have a way of getting hold of something and completely removing all evidence of what it once was – pure, simple, good.  I remember when I came of age to vote, there was a saying going around during election time “Ask yourself if you’re better off now than you were 4 years ago.”  I never quite understood that because the person sitting in the Oval Office had absolutely nothing to do with where I was or would be going in the span of 4 years.  Wait, I take that back, they had a hand in how hard it would be for me to maneuver, but even that was still up to me.  That question only really mattered to rich people and poor people.  Middle class people; technically, we’re still the same.  Time has marched on, we’ve aged, we’ve lost, we’ve gained (maybe) but we’re still pouring into others and no one, it seems, is pouring into us.

People die at the hands of each other.  People die at the hands of another.  Those in power should know better.  Those who want power should do better.  Let’s keep it real – No lives matter.  If they did, we’d do better by the people who are living, trying to live, trying.

Funny thing is, this isn’t even me writing this.  I mean, I good, don’t get me wrong, but when you get in the zone, when words, lyrics, energy flows without need for breath,  food, air, you MUST KNOW that it is something Not of This World.   I’ve always believed that, which is why I say I’m GoodWithPen (none good but the Father, from whom this gift flows).  I was hesitant about letting my gift flow because, you know, that whole Adulting BS but this is my test of faith (that’s a whole different story).  I may get fired but I haven’t said anything implicating, merely voiced my opinion, which I actually put down on my recent evaluation, lol.   I understand why people (who have money) are hesitant to take stand on political issues.  They’ve got a lot to lose but my faith ain’t always been high. Always been there, lurking beneath the surface like algae, catfish, termites under the crawlspace.  Can’t see it, can’t hear it, but you know it’s there.  My faith is private.  You should see my faith my actions. So when I see people in positions who do/don’t speak out, that, to me, is an exercise of faith.  If you lose something because you stood up for (what you believe to be/have been) injustice, do you believe He will restore what you lost?  Fence straddling, waffling, pan flipping, coal jumping it can be dangerous and if nothing else, looks exhausting.  It’s akin to going to a buffet and standing in front of the menu board for hours because you’re afraid to make a decision.  To make a choice.  What if I choose wrong?  You can send it back, throw it away, give it away.  Speak out, that could mean death, take that how you will.

I am not oppressed.  More restricted but again, the whole Adulting thing but I’m making strides to get back to Childing, you know when you could do shit and it be excused because you were a kid.  Be like Ryan Locte- embarrass an entire nation and be given ample opportunities.  Let’s see how many opportunities come my way should this be viewed as embarrassing.  Let’s see if I can Locte this to my advantage (yes, he has become a verb).

I’m sure there are plenty of people who have similar feelings, sentiments, thoughts, etc.  Maybe not as deep, maybe deeper, maybe not at all.  At times, most times, the majority of the time Do you care?  Really?  Do you feel what you do is making a difference?  Be the change you want to see in the world?  That drop in the ocean gets lost and add no value to rivers, lakes and streams fed by the ocean.  The ocean does not need our tears.  It, like America was/is self-sufficient until we got involved.

I had the opportunity once to chat with someone who confided that they’d contemplated self-murder.  I asked why.  Their answer was one of mutual feeling.  “The world is such a shitty place to each other, I get sad every time I see it.”  I found it to be the saddest, most truthful thing anyone had every said to me.  People don’t like truth.  No matter how it’s delivered, and my delivery can be comically brash at times, but hey, whatever.

I recall working at the post office just after graduation and we couldn’t talk but we could listen to music.  People would listen to, the now defunct Don Immus – you remember him.  He called a woman’s basketball team a group of “nappy headed whoes” or something to that effect.  But during his show, when readers would call in, most would predictably and cheerfully and regularly ask him “How are you?” and his response is something I’ve followed to this day.  He would say “Do you care?”  Why are you asking how a person is?  Because society dictates it’s the polite thing to do.  Really, do you care?  Be honest.  No.  Why?  Because you have your own troubles to care about and that person’s troubles may be just a bit too much for you to bear.  Or, maybe they just don’t want to hear it.  Maybe, they just, don’t care.  And you know what, that’s really ok.  Don’t say things you don’t mean.  Don’t give people false hope.  Don’t pretend to be something that you aren’t.  If you don’t like something or someone, there has to be a reason.  Whether or not that reason makes sense to someone else, doesn’t matter.  Those are your feelings, they are valid.  Own them, don’t run or hide from them.  Be true to yourself.  Few of us can do that, particularly women, for we may be labeled a bitch.  Well, be a bitch and make no apologies for it.  Don’t be a dick, that’s just unnecessary.  Just because you hold power and can wield it, doesn’t mean you should.  Exercise discretion.  Exercise restraint.

It’s now 1:56AM and my grand and I are still conversing.  My RHEMAn is still at work and I am tired but still the music flows.  Music.  The universal G-d. Accepted by everyone in some form.

“Just like fire, burning out the way, if I could light the world up for just one day

Watch this madness, colorful charade, no one can be just like me anyway

Just like magic,  I’ll be flying free, Imma disappear when they come for me

I kick that ceiling what you gonna say, no one can be just like me anyway.” Pink


G-d gave Noah a sign.  No more water, The Fire Next Time.

Trail and Error

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It’s been a while since I’ve written here.  I’ve written but through the FB page but this achievement deserved to be told at home.  In honor of a part of my childhood, this will be told in a non-traditional fashion.


The Evolution of E:  I’m a girly girl, a prude at times (who am I kidding, I still kinda, sorta am) but since I’ve become a Triathlete, I find myself doing things that I would have turned my nose up and so judged you for.  Now, I will change ALL my clothes in the car.  When you are wet, sweaty, gritty, dirty and just ugh, you want to put on some dry clothes/underwear.  It’s like taking a dry shower.  Hey, they have dry shampoo.    I felt like KastOut – the Bizzaro Outkast:  not so fresh and semi clean.


I go get my post-race glazed donut (for later) and head to get something to eat.  This is the best part.  Now, I’m a persnickety, picky eater.  After a race, it’s hard for me to eat.  One or two bites and then I’m full but an hour later, my belly is growling like rabid dog.  We had to eat at the bar due to the small space and limited seating.  A woman came and sat on the opposite side, she ordered the club sandwich.  Now, traditionally, a club sandwich is a 3-layer sandwich with the bread lightly toasted, cut in quarters.  Her food arrives and she proceeds to take each quarter apart.  I thought she was removing the middle layer of bread.  Nope.  When the waiter inquired, she stated “I didn’t know it came toasted.”  They offered to remake it, she declined saying it would be wasteful.  There she sat, removing every piece of bread from each quarter.  A waitress asked again to have it remade, she declined.  The offered to bring her untoasted bread.  The bread arrived and she asked for a side of mayo and proceeded to make a sammich.  You know, a sammich like you make in your kitchen.  I could not stop laughing but you know G-d don’t like ugly because I caught a cramp in my left hamstring.  It put its hand over a hot flame and grabbed the muscle and held on tight.  I discreetly slid off the stool and attempted to massage the cramp out.  Can’t straighten it, can’t bend it, can’t move it.  I have to get out of here before I cause a scene.  I broke leg bird hop out of the restaurant and wobble, shake, jump, skip and hop down the streets of Richmond in an attempt to keep the cramp from spreading.  At the cross street machine it decides to give me a reprieve.  I was mad, I made sure to hydrate.  I’d been peeing like American Pharoah, getting in my electrolytes, salt and magnesium.  Plus taking the HotShot, there was no way I should have cramped.

This race was tough because it was my 2nd Duathlon and my 1st Trail run.  My performance was below sub-par but in my defense, I’m a Trail Virgin, so the fact that I finished, upright and uninjured deserves a high five.  I’m used to working hard.  The fog, roads and trails made me work extra hard.  I wasn’t prepared.  I need to analyze my training and add in a trail or two if I’m going to continue.


There are times I want to say FTS and go back to riding my bike with a basket and bell but then the realization that I’m capable of so much more keeps me coming back.  I want to retire, I placed 3rd in my AG and that’s like winning Olympic Gold.  What else is there?  Lots more.  I’ve only scratched the surface, not sure if the scratch is poisonous, I’ll find out in the AM or tonight if I wake up itching but the fact remains, I finished my first trail run. No experience, blind as Stevie Wonder and I got it done.  It was not pretty, my gloss was low and I felt like a loser.  Not only that, I do believe I was the only BBOT, I didn’t see any others, so finishing DAL didn’t help the cause.  But you know what, somebody has to finish last, so why not me.  I finished strong.  I finished upright, injury free.  I. Finished.



1 – re-evaluate and up my run game

2 – go for a trail run

3 – never doubt yourself, there are enough people doing that

4 – G-d is always with me, even in the fog

5 – I really am a #RealAthleticWoman,  #SizeMattersNow


It’s a good thing my sunglasses are kinda big because I had a TV cry moment when I crossed the finish line and while talking with a friend.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t bummed about my performance but as the shirt says, “I’m more than a pretty face.  I came here to win” and WIN I did.  EVERY time I cross the finish line, I win.  At home, watching the Olympic trials, it sunk in and hit me.  I actually finished my first trail run.


The Run:  So, as in all Triathlons, the run is the do or die event.  You’ve already done 2, so what’s one more.  Well, when it’s on a trail AND it’s your first, well, that one more can be your undoing.  All that was missing was a basket and a red cape.  I surely felt like Little Red Riding Hood going over the river and through the woods, literally.  There was a 1 mile run through a neighborhood and I was actually glad to see asphalt.  My left-knee was still whining after a stumble on a few roots.  There’s nowhere to go and so when you stumble you either have to catch yourself or go down in the DM (dirty mess) and you KNOW, I was not going down.  So I did the drunk walk lean to gather myself.  At the turnaround in the neighborhood, there appeared a G-d sent human.  There was a woman, Debraunda I believe she said her name was, standing on the sidewalk cheering when she comes out in the street and says I’m going to run back with you for a bit.  When I TELL you she gave me LIFE.  I wanted to drop down in the street and cry.  I was so grateful.  We ran, we chatted, we laughed.  She was the energy I needed and G-d gave me exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it.  We joked about Moses, who walked everywhere and how I needed to borrow his sandals.  Once I got back on my way to Grandma’s, we hugged and she left.  G-d bless her.  There is human compassion in the world after all.  The last mile was so interesting.  I went from Red Riding Hood to Paul Bunyan because you have to be a lumberjack to do the lumberjack logroll.  The was a path of sticks laid out on the trail like a log road/stick bridge.  And just HOW am I supposed to get over that?  The grass was so high, I knew there had to be a lioness lurking, waiting to prance.  I did my best Misty Copeland to get across those sticks and keep it moving.  I got scratched by some branches and thought about every itchy, scratchy, poisonous leaf ever created.  I rounded the corner and saw the finish line.  I didn’t and don’t sprint.  I kept my stride and the crowd support was amazing.  Grateful for the big sunglasses.  I finished DAL but I finished.  Lot of things to rethink but then again, I did go against Triathlon rule 101 – never try anything new on race day, i.e., Trail running.


The Bike:  This was an 18.8 mile ride in the Swiss Alps.  It was so foggy, it was something straight out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie.  Any moment I was expecting a crow to swoop down and caw and peck on my head.  This ride was scary for me because I couldn’t see too far in front of me.  I didn’t have my blinky light so how would cars see me.  Black girl, black bike, yeah, you do the math.  The fog didn’t let up until around miles 8-10.  No crows but plenty of pot holes and street crumbles.  The roads were like those fancy crumble donuts Krispy Kreme offers once in a while.  Between the crumbles and the fog, I was riding like a kid.  I was frustrated.  I’d ridden a hybrid on longer, hillier and crappier roads.  I have a better bike, stronger legs, WTH EJ.  Right let started to cramp so I took a HotShot and hot it was.  That shit was like drinking hot sauce, black pepper, and habanero and jalapeno juice with a shot of whatever liquor you have on the bar.  Kevin Petty didn’t warn me about the taste.  On my way back, down the winding country road, I go got buzzed by a silver Mazda.  I wish I had a brick because I’d have blown a lung to catch them and bust their head to the white meat.  Just uncalled for but Jesus loves me and kept me safe.  The driver is lucky Jesus loves them too and told me, I’ll take care of it.  Made it back and let me say this.  I love spectators but if I’m coming down to the dismount and you’re crossing the path and the volunteers are telling you “Biker coming” and you still stroll across.  If you cause me to crash, I promise you, there is going to be a misunderstanding and you will need medical attention if you make me crash my bike.  #movebitchgetouttheway


The Run/Swim:  Ok, so, I arrive early to get my transition set up and settle my nerves.  Get my bike racked, chip, bib and I’m all set.  I set people still have their shoes on but think, ok, there is a bucket so they are going to put them there.  I’m sitting on a banister, waiting for my assistant and a man walks by and says “You’re going to run in flip flops?” It’s race day so I’m in my own world and give him the RBF.  I’m walking around and I see my friend Jen.  We’re chatting and she says something about my flip flops.  Turns out the swim was cancelled and it’s now a Duathlon.  I do my best Sonya Richardson Ross impression back to transition and trade my flops for shoes and socks.  Now, the would be swim, let’s talk about that.  The river was high, I mean HIGH, HIGH, HIGH.  So high, I think they sent a distress signal to Noah.  In addition, the current was moving so fast and there was so much debris in the river, it looked like something off of National Geographic.  The fog didn’t make it any better.  It was so thick, you couldn’t see across the river.  It was Olympics on Ice fog show thick.  I was actually thinking of skipping the swim because I couldn’t see but again, I need to visit my neighbors every once in a while to hear the latest news and gossip.  So, this initial run.  Yeah, have I mentioned I don’t like running.  Nope.  And it’s a trail run.  What?  I thought it was part trail.  Nope, 95% trail.  Who said this was a Great beginner Tri, even though I’m not a beginner.  LIES.  I survived the swim/run but starting off running throws off my game.  Yes, I can adjust but virgin trail running isn’t the best way to adjust.





I AM…Human Unlimited


Disclaimer – I didn’t not create that name, nor am I stealing it.  Rather, I’m paying homage.


I came across HU on FB and while I am not the first to jump on anyone’s bandwagon, I saw their shirts and commenced to obtain all sorts of splinters and scrapes.  But it wasn’t until their latest email offering up their, IMHO, epic shirt that it  would resonate so well.  FAIL (First Attempt In Learning)  I love love love a good play on words and let me tell you, this is the epitome of being an athlete.  Myself and hundreds of others this weekend undertook tests of our training and even though we’d done them before, there is nothing like that “now or never” moment.

My FAIL moment came during my 58 mile bike ride.  See, where I live, it’s flat.  Oh you MAY catch a slight roller but that’s only due to a bridge or overpass.  No humps in these thar hills but Richmond, VA is notorious for their hills and I found out the hard way, just how disadvantaged my hometown is.

See, I can’t practice hill riding, so I had to Nike the entire thing.  I had my nutrition down (every 45 minutes) my hydration down (H20 every 15) but nothing prepares your legs for hills, when you haven’t trained on them.  I was making good time but then, there was this hill.  I won’t even call it a hill.  More like a steeple with an angled slope that had a long crest at the top.  There would be more, lots more, the entire ride in fact.  Oh, down hill was great but it was cold, so my first FAIL was (#1 – need to buy toe covers and wool socks and a cycling jersey).  I wasn’t freezing but I don’t like my arms to be cold.  Yeah, I was layered up but that wind can be biting.

My next FAIL was cramping.  Now, I have never cramped on the bike, ever.  Never, ever.  It was the hills, so I chewed a few fruit bits, sipped water and it slowly worked itself out.  Note to self, always keep more fruit bits.

The next FAIL was my compression.  I’ve ridden with and without them before but never will I ride with them on hills again.  Nope, unh uh, not doing it.  I’ll get me some leg warmers.  All in an attempt to be fashion forward.

All in all, my FAILs provided me a wealth of information.  Sure, I’d ridden before, and even did a few slight hills but this FAIL showed me I’ve got work to do in the hill department.  The funny thing is, I passed some and I was passed by some.  I didn’t and never will care about people passing me.  Lady with a basket with flowers and food passed me and I almost crashed laughing so hard.  I later found out, she passes most people.  Hills are her thing.

I can’t wait to order my FAIL shirt and wear it proudly at my next race.  For me and my fellow athletes who were out giving it our all, we all, hopefully learned something that day.  We should all remember, that even when you FAIL, it not necessarily needs to be epic, so long as it’s educational.

Congratulations to M. Hicks. I. H. and the rest of the athletes that competed the PPD Beach 2 Battleship 70.3 and 140.6 and those who completed IMMD, and all those who completed races and events in a city/state near you.  We all showed just how Unlimited we Humans are, when we put our minds to you.   Thanks HU!

What ails ya?60 miler post race


This is my Richmond Rox race report.

We’ve all seen the commercials but I must say, we had absolutely nothing in common.  Well, maybe the fact that we were both strong willed is something but not enough.  I’d heard about him and to be honest, my interest wasn’t there.  EVERYBODY was talking about him but I was like, eh.  But the FOMO – on what exactly I have NO idea – crept into my usually impenetrable mind and thus I drank the Jim Joaquin Jones kool-aid.

I should have known this date was going to be a disaster.  I didn’t even do my normal primp prep routine.  I even wore a cut-up bag on my head for pete’s sake, but that goes to show you how I was feeling about this date.  Another clue was the fact that I had to drive to meet him.  Not that it was an issue but he didn’t even offer to come and pick me up.

We had reservations but there was a mix-up.  We had to wait to be seated.  I got bored.  I wanted to leave, I really did, but I stayed.  Didn’t get started until almost 10:30am and my enthusiasm floated down the James like all the debris and unsettled earth that Joaquin kicked up as he tried to stop me from leaving.

The appetizer:  The 1 mile run was, eh.  My mind and worse yet, my body was soo not into it.  If this had been an intimate moment and if I cared, I would have been embarrassed but such as it was, trot, trot, on I went, all the while trying to re-engage myself in this date.

The main course:  12 mile bike was, doh (Homer Simpson voice).  I’ve ridden in the rain.  I’ve ridden in the wind.  I’ve ridden in the wind and rain but THIS, well, let’s just say I would have slapped Joaquin for his behavior if I could have caught up with him.  I actually hated this ride.  In all fairness, I have to give it up to Richmond Multisports.  They took the worst lemons and made the best lemonade they could under the circumstances.  The organization was pretty much non-existent and they didn’t have enough volunteers, thus leading to my adventures on the bike.

Technically, I didn’t get lost but why must these thing always take place in the most remote of places.  I was alone.  No birds, no bugs, nothing.  Just me and I could feel the darkness coming for me.  I berated myself for not changing into my cycle shoes.  My feet kept slipping off the pedals and my shoes were so wet that I had to give serious thought as to whether or not I’d wet myself.  The lack of volunteers and signs made this ride a nightmare.  In all fairness, Richmond Multisports took the old lemons they had and made the best drinkable lemonade they could.  I respect them for that but this ride was taking it out of me.  My foot slipped, my pace slowed, my thigh cramped (due to shoes) and then…I stopped.  Yep, just got off the bike and walked.  No particular reason other than the fact that I was a 5 year old, throwing a fit in the supermarket.  As I crested the top of the hill, I saw the flashing of blue lights.  I hopped back on my back, thanked the officer for direction and assistance and splashed my way on.

I wanted to quit. Mentally, I did, more than once to be exact.  I felt shame, then nothing.  I wanted to call someone but I had no idea where I was.  No street signs around and the maps (no offense RMS), were crap.  I made it around a bend and came upon a familiar structure.  Ok, this must be the loop around.  Keep pedaling.  I see other cyclist.  Please don’t talk to me because we are not almost there.  I say nothing, they don’t deserve my wrath.  I see the race area and OF COURSE it’s all down hill, I mean really down hill.  I dismount and make NOOO attempt to run into transition.  For what?

Dessert:  5k run.  I felt like I was left holding the check.  I ran around in transition looking for the “run out” and even the volunteer didn’t seem to know.  After doing our best Hokey Pokey and turning ourselves about, I was pointed in the right direction and off I went.  I tip toe down the steps, stop to apply by lipgloss – hey, no need in being mad and looking busted – and stride off.  I see a few familiar faces running in.  I smile, wave, high five, you know, the PC BS you do and say when you see someone about to just say PUCK IT.  I trotted on.  The wind blew, the rain came and I, we, ran on.  There was shelter for about 3/4 of a mile and I took advantage.  I walked the aid station – oh you can have people there but not out there for the bike huh!  The run was like a maze, a steeplechase even.  Running through puddles, jumping over small lakes and climbing steps and ramps.  Best of all, I was once again not technically lost.  I wasn’t the only one this time.  There was a clusterpuck of runners, from seemingly all 3 events, wondering, exactly where the hell am I supposed to be running.  There was a kind woman at the top of the stairs/ramp who noted she wasn’t a volunteer but she’d seen a few people go -> thataway.  What is this, a cartoon?  I’m resigned myself to a walk/run but umm, where exactly am I going.  Wait.  What’s that, off in the distance?  Is it that mythical creature?  Yes, it is.  It’s a VOLUNTEER.  I’d hit the turnaround point, so around I went.  As I’m heading back, I see 2 volunteers on the opposite side of the street running.  I mumbled something negative but chastised myself and kept it moving.  Back down the steps/ramp and uh oh, I came out on the wrong side.  This doesn’t look familiar but I’m still going.  I see where I need to be but umm, exactly how do I get there.  I see a runner on the correct side and then there’s me here.  I Usain Bolt it across the water grid and over a small moat to end up where I was supposed to be.  This.  Is.  Some. Bull.

I’m back to the shelter and calculate that I’m almost at the finish line.  I make it back to a portion of the capital trail and of course I enter the wrong side.  “Stay to the left” he yells.  Well why the F didn’t you say that when you saw me approaching?  Dinkus.  Now, I’m running in the street.  I hear a fire truck coming and I’ve got NO PLACE TO GO.  I look back and see the officer has blocked the road.  Whew.  Check myself for any accidental soilage – nothing.  I walk/run on.  I see the runner from the water grid dash and he’s running through the grass.  I shrug my shoulders and laugh.  I see the finish in the clearing so I stop, pull out my hanky (a lady is always prepared), wipe my face, reapply my gloss and stride down the chute, flashing all my 28 chicklets.  You’d never know from the look on my face that I was absolutely miserable.  I collected my medal, my things and headed back.

After dinner drinks:  Arriving at the hotel, Joaquin took, his leave.  He left while I was in the shower.  He left no note just a few rays of sun shadows behind the clouds.  I wasn’t even mad.  This will teach me to go on blind dates.  And to top it all off, the Cowboys lost.  I’ve never looked forward to a Monday so much in my life.  No, I didn’t die.  Never even felt like I was or wanted to but man, did I want to go home.

What doesn’t kill you may, eventually, make you stronger, but damn if you don’t experience some weakness on the road back.  I ran, I biked, I ran again and I grew weary.  But He kept me, so I wouldn’t let go.

What ails ya?

RVA race collage 2




Because of you

September has been designated National Suicide Prevention Month.  It is my opinion  that every month is suicide awareness because the issues and circumstances that drive some to contemplate and complete suicide remain well beyond the glare of the national spotlight.

“There were times, no one was around, no love to be found, my life was upside down.  And there were times, I didn’t have one friend, I could not fit in, was in so much pain and suffering.”

Often, these are just some of the thoughts and feelings experienced by any human, but they are more profoundly felt by those who see no way past these issues and circumstances.

There is someone that is always there, who that person is for you may vary but G-d is always there. He may be quiet, aloof and any other distant human quality we wish to assign to him but absent is not one of them.  Someone is there, someone is always there and if you can be brave enough to just look up and out and reach, that someone may be able to help you save yourself.

“Because of you, I am so much better.  Because of you, I am so much wiser.

Because of you, I’m stronger than ever.  Because of you, I won’t give up never.”

Because of You – from I’m Jus’ Sayin’, the debut album by Moosh Millionz