What I'ma 'bout

Just got back from my first run in a long, long time. For the last six or seven years, each time I run I can scarcely walk for about a week afterwards. I've always chalked it up to age, getting fat and generally being in a similar physical condition to Jabba the Hutt. It's been really depressing because I absolutely love to run. I've never been a particularly good runner, but there's something about it that reminds me of me. I think it's the solitude, physical effort, the music and the sense that for once in my day I'm truly in the moment, not worrying about the kids, sex, lack of sex, work, money, etc. Plus, it fucking hurts, which I don't mind.

I started running in eighth grade after I got tired of being the fat kid. I don't know that I really minded being a chubby kid, but I really wanted to be able to handle my business with the ladies. Being a thoroughly unconfident kid, there was no way I had the moxy to get through the terror of approaching a girl, nor was little bookworm nerdboy going to be able to convince some chick to take her clothes off 'cause I was just so cool. It was going to take something transformative to become a chick magnet and the first step was losing weight. That meant working out and mostly it meant tubby had to put in some serious road work. Those of you that know me, understand that this is probably the first in a long series of life decisions that began with the idea that it would help me with the opposite sex.

At any rate, I quickly found that I loved running. Again, I'm not a particularly athletic guy, nor am I anything near agile. On my best day I can pass for coordinated, but even back in the Summer before 9th grade, I knew I could run.

Actually, I'm such a non-athlete that I can remember almost every detail of my top athletic accomplishments. I remember one Sunday in the park probably in '85. We were playing basketball on the park on Avenue H near Commanche street in good ol' Dodge City. I think it was me, Bubbles, maybe my li'l bro, and a bunch of East Side kids. I can't dribble a lick, but there was one play where I took a guy off the dribble from the wing, drove into lane from he right, elevated and executed the perfect Vinnie Johnson up an under move to score. I didn't even like the Pistons, but that move was a perfect Microwave impersonation.

The weekend of my wedding, I was playing in the Heskett Center at Wichita State and yes, it was another fast break that I was trying to lead. I got picked up at the top of the key; went airborne; showed the ball (to my li'l bro's friend Dominic, I think); tucked it back to avoid the block attempt; stretched out again and did the perfect Magic Johnson finger roll. Actually, it was a George Gervin finger roll, but the full extension and ball handling were all Magic.

There are a couple more examples of my awesome basketball skills, such as the between the legs, look-away assist at Sedgwick County, the time my team ran the court for about an hour at Linwood Park (serious games being played there) and the time I blocked Barry Sanders' shit at the Heskett, but that's about it. Literally, that's about it for athletic achievement. Not much to talk about (ironic, I know), but the point is, that most times I've run I've felt something like each of those times. Usually, it's because at every so often in a run I'm able to achieve the perfect synthesis of exertion, exhaustion and that little bit of adrenaline you get when the perfect part of a song plays. Being tired as hell then being able to push past it while listening to the intro to Faint by Link Park is sublime perfection.

To me running is like telling a woman you love her for the first time, inadvertently, though you mean it. It's writing the perfect SQL query, that nobody else will ever know about. It's lusts first kiss. Running is the ending to The Usual Suspects the first time you see that movie. It's watching your kids be polite in public, even though they're often little shits at home. It's like making love to the right woman. Running can be as good as the last week of your two weeks notice at a job you hate. It's just really, really good.

Anyway, I got to run again, because I went to the doctor and got some orthopedic inserts and it felt great. We'll see what tomorrow brings, but in the meantime, I got to run.

Soundtrack for tonight's run:
Aly & AJ - Chemicals React (Gay)
Cascada - Evacuate the Dancefloor (Gay)
Cause and Effect - You Think You Know Her
DMX - X Gon' Give It To Ya
Dropkick Murphy's - State of Massachusetts
Franz Ferdinand - Michael (Go Home Productions Remix)
Gorillaz - Feel Good Inc.
Grand Duchy - Strange Days
The Hold Steady - Stay Positive
The Rifles - The Great Escape
Kanye West - Stronger
Clint Mansell - Lux Aterna
Zombina and the Skeletones - The Count of Five

So there

For Mom and Veronica

My mother's sister is dying. I just got the news from mom, who's obviously, horribly upset. I can't even imagine what she's feeling right now. Understand, that I don't really know my aunt. To me, she's always been this quirky woman who lives far away in California. I saw her maybe once a decade when she and her family would come to visit us in good ol' Dodge City, KS. I remember that she liked to laugh, which is good because she was (I already think of her in the past tense, though, as I understand, she's not quite passed on yet) married to a real funny-assed, cool guy. When I was a kid, I used to like to just sit and listen to my parents talk to Veronica and her husband 'cause the stories of the old times were always nonsensical and funny. However, when mom called, my first thoughts weren't sadness for my aunt. As I said, I hardly knew her in anything other than a superficial way. I always kind of liked her, but I didn't really know her.

People always say that the worst thing you can experience is to outlive one's child (something both sets of my grandparents understand now), or to lose a parent, or a spouse or basically anyone in your family. I expect that it is, but as I try to deal with my feelings, I've come to understand that there's got to be something truly complicated, wonderful and twisted about one's relationship with a sibling. I'm trying to process what my feelings should be and I keep coming up with this near apathy and resulting guilt. However, I know my grandparents and my mother are despondent. Trying to understand what mom's feeling brings to mind the nature of our relationships with our brothers and sisters.

To me, no one knows us like our siblings do. The way I see it, by the time we're older, not necessarily mature, we've already developed the side of our personalities that we show to everyone else. Only our brothers and sisters have known us all our lives, even when we were spoiled, selfish, and petty, before we learned that you're not supposed to act like a little asshole all the time, especially not in public. Who else have you let see you do something truly evil? Who else have you hurt like you've hurt your brothers and sisters? I can't think of anyone I'd ever make lay on the ground so I could jump a bike over... other than my little brother. I can't imagine locking anyone out of my house in her underwear... other than my little sister. There's no one in the world who, if they flipped over their bike handlebars, could make me laugh like I did when my cousin/uncle/brother (it's complicated) did. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? Our siblings do. My brother and sister know things about me that even my parents don't know, thank God. They've usually, graciously, kept the skeletons in our shared closet until the Sanchez status of limitations have run out.

Siblings are those who:

• Have seen us at our worse
• Know where the bodies are buried
• We sometimes can't stand to be around (maybe it's just me, but I doubt it)
• Drive us batshit crazy
• We don't talk to all that often
• Know all of our weaknesses
• We can relate to in a truly unique, timeless way

I can go months without talking to one of my siblings and when we finally do talk, it's like we were just yesterday, watching t.v. in the front room together; fighting, laughing, yelling and NOT doing our chores. Losing any one of these people would feel the loss of a limb, if not a vital piece of my soul. Thinking of that is how I can relate to what my mom's going through. That's why I feel like crying and that's how I can even come close to feeling her despair. Here's hoping God welcomes my aunt home and envelopes her in all the love and warmth in the universe. Maybe, if my aunt thinks of it, she can arrange that my mom can share in that warmth. If it's possible, I'm sure she will.