A Scary Moment

I have been training for a marathon since this past summer. I've had the ambition, but not the proper training like I desired due to injuries and illness which slowed me. So far nothing I have encountered has made me think I will not be able to run the race.

Some people have told me I should flat out quit, because of an ailing ankle injury. Others believe my lack of intense training will be my downfall and thus I should not run it. I believe none of it. I will run and finish. Today was the first day I thought I would not finish.

While playing the sport I love above all others, basketball, I was introduced to the ground with unfortunate results. While handling the ball and driving towards the basket, I attempted a shot. I jumped in the air and quickly realized I would not make the basket and turned my shot into a pass. On my way down from the pass, my left foot, which has been held together by an ankle brace for the past few weeks, was stomped on by the defender guarding me. Like a boat anchored down, I could go no where; without choice, I went straight to the floor breaking my fall with my forearms.

In the moment, I was in a state of shock. My ankle was already in a place where it needed more care than usual, but now this was something else. My mind flashed to a moment where I was in high school where I was in a similar instance and the ankle pain was great and kept me out of other games. In this case, I went down and stayed down feeling pain. I admit fully I was scared. With the marathon I am running in less than seven days, I prayed I could be able to walk to the bench where there were chairs waiting for me.

I was able to finally get up, with the aid of the man who knocked me down, and hobble over to the sideline. Confidence built inside me for with every step, I could feel only minimal pain. There was soreness all over, but I could tell nothing serious. My heart was beating slower than before as I sat the remaining minutes of the game. Peace surrounded me, as I regained my confidence knowing I will run and finish the race.

So Close, Yet So Far

I will be running a marathon soon and if there is one thing I am sure about, its that I am not sure if I am ready yet.

I have been training as much as I can, whenever I can, wherever I can, but I have also bee side tracked every time. Sometimes it was illness, other times it was pure laziness. Then there was the distraction of friends, and the delay from weather. All in all, I am not where I thought I would be when I first started my training.

Recently while training, things took a turn for the worst. My previous longest run was a mere 12 miles, and I knew I needed to get in anything 16+ to at least run a half marathon. I planned on surprising my girlfriend by running to the city where she worked which is about 17 miles away from my apartment. Around 7 or 8 miles into it, I stopped for a bathroom break and came back running until I noticed I was in extreme pain. Something aggravated my ankle beyond a simple tweak. I don't know what happened, but I knew I had to turn back. In pain, I started a long walk home, with a big limp and an even bigger concern.

Hours later, I made it home. I stopped at a store to drink Gatorade, knowing it would hydrate me in the high 70 degree weather I was running in. I plunged my foot into a steaming tub of water and prayed that nothing was wrong.

As I sat thinking about my ankle and the marathon that is not far away, I remembered singing to myself one of the first times I was running in the country area of my parents home. During that particular run, I tweaked my same ankle in the first mile, but still ended up running the next nine at a decent pace I was happy about. I remember at one point I was actually getting tired of the music I had been listening to, and started making up my own words to songs.
     One line was: "I've been to the top once, well almost, but it was that almost I hated. I won't let an almost happen again"

Although I don't remember the song I was singing it to, I remembered what I was referring to. I once went on a hike up half dome. Due to illness and injury I didn't make it all the way to the top. But I was so close, too close I think. I should have put the rest of my energy into making it to the top. I didn't. And I regret it so much! I could have push through the pain, I could have endured the sickness, I could have been on top of a mountain people see in pictures around the world. Instead, I lied on the ground saying to myself I'd go again sometime. Unfortunately, that time has yet to come. Its been 2 years and I think about the event too often.

I decided because of this event, I am not going to allow myself to not finish. To come so close and walk away with nothing, its a terrible feeling which I never want to feel again. Never again.

Now when I train, I have a new goal. Despite an injured ankle, despite people who say I wont be able to handle it, despite my lack of complete training. I wont come up empty and be so close, yet so far. I will cross the finish line.

Feeling 22

It seems like there are certain ages that are more "fun" than other ages.
    10: You finally hit the double digits!
    15/16: Depending on if you're following a Latino or American culture...but they are essentially the same thing and only for girls :(
    21: Legally able to drink.
    24: Legally can rent a car. (in some states)
    30: The day you realize you're no longer "young."
    40: The day you realize...you're "old."
    50: You're finally lives a half a century.
    100: Still alive!? You're Awesome!!

Today is my birthday and I am turning 22. Technically I won't officially be 22 until 10 something this evening, but as you may notice 22 isn't one of the most fun ages to turn in this culture. Although, Taylor Swift's song may add some hype to this year of life, its not quite a major hit.

One of the things I'd like to do this year is to not live it as if it is a "normal" fill in year. I want to do things which I have never done before. I want 22 to be the best year of my life yet! I have the feeling that it has the potential to be.

During this age I will be experiencing some major changes.
    Graduating from my 4-year university
    Purchasing my first car (technically this happened 4 days before my birthday, but I didn't have the official car title in my name till after my birthday)
    Landing my first Full Time Job
    Living fully on my own
    Starting the rest of my life!
These are all major changes indeed!

No matter what happens, these 365 days of being 22 will be some of the biggest days of my young life. Now, I just need to live everyday just the way I want it too and everything will fall into place.

Putting the Pieces Together

Recently I was putting a puzzle together. It was a gift, and one worth the assembly required.

I started off truly enjoying putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. With my french press steeping coffee in front of me I braced myself for the journey I was entering. Although it was only 252 pieces, I spent about 3 (distracted and inconsistent) hours on this puzzle. The first 2 hours were quite fun! I sat at the table with my roommate, helping him find school supplies online and matching all the easy pieces together. It seemed to be going rather quickly, even faster than the coffee I was drinking.

The last hour wasn't quite as fun as before.The puzzle became harder, and harder and even though I had the picture right in front of me of what the puzzle was, I still couldn't seem to put everything together. I started putting pieces in the wrong places thinking they were fitting, until later when I found another piece that fit "better" because it actually belonged. And this started to make me think.

Now, I apologized for being mostly cliche' here, but this is really what my mind was going through. I am at a point in my life where, I am supposed to find a job, a living place and a life that is supposed to "fit" me. Problem is: There are so many things that fit well, but not perfectly. This job is not my dream job, but it pays well, or I have a good living area, but its not where I want to be. This puzzle is not a clear picture, yet. But sometimes the piece works, for a time. I can make it fit to help me see the bigger picture, until the perfect piece comes around and shows me the complete picture.

The puzzle of my life is one which I will forever be putting together, as every puzzle seems like at some point,  but sometimes we need to sit down and sort through all of it and try out a piece out until the right part comes along and turns the puzzle a clear picture.

My Final Homestand

It wasn't till late today that I realized this would be one of the last times I would stay at home for such an extended time. Today is the second to last night that I'll be spending with my family for my final winter break. Ill be graduating come May and plan on moving into my own apt down south and not rejoining my family's home.

While I silently say a small goodbye to this house, I am filled with memories from almost everything  I see around the house.
     The small gate in between my living room and kitchen has been there as long as we've had our small Yorkshire Terriers. But my most fondest memory is is when Babie, the second dog which was considered mine, was still a lil pup. She was so small, she actually fit in between the wholes in the fence. For some time we couldn't figure out how she was getting past the fence she finally did it in front of us.
     I remember my sister as a teen living in the room across from the room my brother and I would share. She was always the leader and the cool one out of the three of us. I remember saying I wanted to marry her because she was so pretty! My brother would remind me what wanted would never come true. I only have good memories of my siblings when we were young.
     There used to be a gym placed outside where my brother and father would regularly workout. The cover over it was slabs of weak wood which would always manage to stay up through the rain and winds. By the time I was old enough to actually use the gym, most of it had worn itself out from the weather and it was time to give it away.

My house is not the same as when I first was carried into it nearly 22 years ago. Its been remodeled, reroofed, repainted and even added to. The house has grown and change almost as much as I have. It truly may deserve a grand goodbye for giving me so many memories for so long. Instead, my fair well will instead be nothing notable. I'll walk into my parents truck and drive away looking back with simple gratitude for what it has given me.

The Comfort of My Room

There comes a day in every son or daughter's life where the home(s) they grew up in no longer gives the comfort they once gave. Its an odd feelings of which comes in the transition of one's life while growing up. My former home, no longer feels as it once did, especially my room.

While visiting my parents for the Thanksgiving weekend, I felt strangely uncomfortable. My parents had recently given away my bed and replaced it with a futon which was reinforced with a plywood backing to make it more sturdy and less soft. That was done without my knowledge, but since I was okay with the futon I let it pass without a care. The next action my parents took was selling that futon and replace it with...an ironing board. My former room seems odd without a bed in it anymore.

When going through looking for clothes in my dresser and closet, I noticed that it seemed I has more clothes than before. Then was when  I learned my father has been moving his clothes into my room because he no longer has room in his closet. Slowly he is taking away the little space I used to call my own in my home.

Even though I have been slowly moving out over the past years because of college, now I feel as though i'm being pushed out!

Don't get me wrong though, all these occurrences I am fine with. I am rarely ever in the room that was passed down from my sister, to my brother and I, and finally just mine. I want my parents to be able to use the space they have to do as they see fit with, but its a little weird.

I remember seeing my bed which had a car shaped surrounding to it, and I remember seeing the closet go from the dresses of my sister and the suits of my brother to the numerous hoodies of mine. Now, both are long gone.

When I visit my parents house, I now share a bed with my father for the few days, or go off into the home of my sister who always has an air mattress for my needs. But its not the same. My room no longer gives me the comfort, peace and serenity which it once freely gave.

Now I find my solace in my apartment, my new home and place of peace and rest. But soon again, I will need to find a new comfort in a new room, until I find my forever home.

My Friend, the Underdog.

I have a friend who is probably one of the rudest people I know. It is not a rude that is awkward or uncomfortable to be around but one that is completely open and honest with no punches pulled. What he says everyone else is thinking and knows to be true but they hold back the words because they wish not to offend anyone and risk their own likability. My friend, unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, does not care what people think or say about him so he says what he wants. What puzzles me about my friend is how people are attracted to him despite is strong flaw. His open floodgate of a mouth does not keep him from being a popular guy among any group of people. A normal person would believe that any other that has a “no punches pulled” vocabulary would be void of any friends, but not this guy.

I began to think deeper on the situation and finally came to a conclusion of why even I cannot pull myself from liking my unfiltered friend. There was a time in his young life where he was not the most popular, liked or fairly treated person. He had a difficult journey in his youth, having more than his fair share of family tragedies and unnecessary calamities. Yet somehow, some way, he survived and became a stronger person because of it. He adapted to a person who has a heart strong enough to endure the wiles of this life yet soft enough to come to the aid of people who are going through what he went through. He is a champion of sorts; one that started off as an underdog. We as people love Cinderella stories were the underdog thrives and comes to the top of the world after hard work and persistence.

My friend, the underdog, has been beat down, bruised, battered and shattered in too many ways. His trip to hell and back was not a choice of his, but simply in the cards that were dealt to him by life. Despite all the struggle, he continued pursuing his dream and finally reached the place where the grass on his side is greener. He can stand now, having been there and done that without complaining or hating what he went through, but with knowledge that he can use to be in somebody’s corner and help them where they fill like they have been abandon. No one knows more than an underdog, how hard the trials are, but no one knows victory more than the same underdog who triumphs. When I look at my friend, I don’t see the rude and sometimes abrasive nature of him, but I see a man who didn’t let himself be caught up in self-pity or his circle of failures and has grown to become a reliable, caring person; a man who has been through the ringer and won.