Sunday, June 23, 2013

Long overdue, yet it feels too early to share.

When we first met, you were my everything. (Well, I say “everything”… We were in Jr. High. “Everything” was not much and too much all rolled into one confusing teenage hormonal package.)

On some level, even back then, we knew the other was broken, and we figured out a way to make it work and keep our distance all at the same.

It’s weird to see the past twenty-something, nearly thirty, years broken down into such a simple sentence.

But it’s true, isn’t it?

Our entire shared existence has been nothing but figuring out how to make it work and keep our distance all at the same time. I’m not going to spell it out for you. You were there. You know what happened.

The dance we’ve danced our entire lives… I have it memorized: the steps written on my heart, in my soul, in a language only the two of us know.

You’ve broken and put my heart back together so many times that I should hate you. I should stay away from you.

And God knows, I’ve tried.

Yet, you refuse to give up. To go away.

Yet, I refuse to give up. To stay away.

The last time you broke my heart should have been the last time. How many last chances can you give someone?

Too many?

Not enough?

But here we are…

Dancing our dance, like nothing’s happened.

Commence dying.

Two miles on the beach today.

5K this afternoon with my gym buddy.

Five-ish miles all together. All with 30 pounds of good livin’ attached to my back.

The verdict is: I think I’m going to die.

And, dude, that’s just WALKING. Never mind the fact that I haven’t done a single push up, flutter kick, bear crawl, etc. with the pack on. OR carrying a log. OR carrying the team weight…

I’ll be revising my will this week. If you want anything, let me know.

——

I got another positive review on my Johnlock fic! That’s a whole whopping three people who have said kind things, and zero who have been shitheads.

Of course, I’m just dying to be a shithead. I was reading what could have been a beautiful piece of fic and the author used the phrase “would of/could of” CONSISTENTLY. I thought I was going to jump through my phone and strangle the author. I see some offers to proofread/beta in my future. I don’t want to read beautiful fan fic that’s ruined because the author doesn’t know how to write. Most people who write in English when it’s not their first language will make a comment, or it’s very obvious. There’s nothing about this person that would lead me to assume that English is a second language… and that just makes me sad.

OK. Off to thank the review writer…

First thoughts

We went to the beach this morning, J, Guinness and I.

I had ulterior motives… It seems like, whenever possible, there’s a part of the Challenge where the team winds up in the water. (Check out some of the pics from Challenges past.) There’s a lot of stuff online where people talk about what they wear, which makes sense. There’s a lot of sweating and, of course, the water so moisture wicking stuff is important.

I got fully dressed in every thing I intend to wear next weekend: 30 lb. ruck, sneakers, socks, compression shorts, moisture wicking tank top, running shorts, t-shirt.

And then my ass headed directly into the ocean.

THAT WATER WAS COLD.

Yes, I know - this is not a newsflash. I live in New England. I’ve spent a lot of time at the beaches here. But, at 7AM when it’s barely 70 degrees outside, and you haven’t broken a sweat yet?

COLD. COLD. COLD. COLD!

The best part was when Guinness decided to join me. He was so afraid, but he ‘embraced the suck’ and came in with me. Not a huge fan of the waves because I think they took him by surprise, but still! He’s a real New England beach dog now. (You’d be amazed by the number of people who bring their dogs to the beach ass-early so they can run and play in the water.) I’m amazed that for all the times he and J have gone to the beach - Guinness being off-leash, no less - he hasn’t wound up in the water by now.

We went in a couple of times. The last time, I underestimated the tide, gravity and momentum and wound up on my ass. Had the waves been much bigger, I would have been submerged. I wanted to get totally wet, but I had stayed closer to the edge because Guinness kept following me in and I didn’t want him in over his head. That last time, the Universe had it’s own plan. It must have thought I was wussing out or something…

The good news is, the moisture wicking clothing wicked moisture. The sneakers and socks did OK. My wet, pruney, feet didn’t blister. The ruck seems to be waterproof.

I’m going to call that a success and get ready to leave to meet up with my gym buddy for a long walk/jog.