May 30, 2009

So Me And Durban Wrote A Book...

Or at least we're done with the first draft.

- It has a title.
- The title is not Durban and The Burn.
- It's 75,060 words.
- We're very pleased.
- It only took 4 months.
- We very much love ourselves.

Drag Me To Hell...


I remember the first time I saw Army Of Darkness on Pay Per View. I had a cable descrambler growing up as a child (or maybe I'm just making this up)...because clearly, I've never done anything morally objectionable in my life. Anyway, it was a movie and watching experience I'll never forget. Hilarious and scary and wild and it planted the seeds of my being able to say that this new one, Drag Me To Hell, is absolutely Sam Raimi, and it's really good for all the same reasons. Totally fun and nasty and scary and absurd.

I've always been a big fan of Alison Lohman - something about her always works for me. I'm watching this movie and the whole time, I'm in my seat and applauding because I know she's this beauty starlet, and that she's very talented, and I know that some of the shit Raimi was asking her to do would scare off and did scare off at least one other massively talented starlet in town. I remember when this one was coming together...and I remember being wickedly hyped for it. I also remember having this feeling that it was a huge diceroll. It was. Now that I'm through and I've seen it, I have to say it kicks. And Ms. Lohman dives head first and just crushes it. When you see it, you'll see that's not an easy thing to do. I met her at a party a ways back (drop!) and we're talking about the craziest shit Sam Raimi asked of her, knowing he was going back to his horror/gore roots and I'm admitting that I'm a savant/loser and she started talking in spurts about all these things and her mouth and I didn't get it at the time but now...now, I fucking get it. Gross. Amazing. It's a great flick and she elevates. See it. Take someone not pompous.

May 26, 2009

So I'm Not Okay With This...


And I'm not okay. I finished running yesterday and got into my car and drove home and went out to lunch and then to a barbeque. When I got home, I didn't take the time to think about everything that went down. I didn't think about and certainly didn't celebrate pushing my body into failure. I took calls and congratulations for my supposed accomplishments all day, and all day today -- every one of them telling me how I shouldn't be hard on myself, that I should celebrate a time so many would be extremely proud of. I replied over and over...that I was happy for what I'd done, that I did feel accomplished -- but it wasn't really true. Saying it over and over and appeasing and misleading must have dug something out of me because there's a definite demon inside me now, and I couldn't walk all day today and I just got out of a class that I didn't think I'd be able to teach because my body is in pain...and I felt an immediate need to address the poison that was happening inside of my body - or the awful possibility that I had inadvertently spit that poison into the faces of my 50 students. I was walking out alone, and I was spent and hurting...and felt like I was about to break down and almost did before I got my shit together or buried, one or the other.

I'm sitting here now and I can feel this tightening in my body...this tightening in my mind, this need to find and lock onto the weaknesses in my life so that I can destroy them. Maybe this is obsession, maybe not. I'm proud of the time I ran yesterday, sure, and the fight I put in...because I fucking bled myself out on that course, I did...but not enough. Something's missing. I can tell you what I am proud of...this reaction, what's happening to me right now, the parts of me that are holding onto the disappointment of 14 minutes. I can't handle that. Because this isn't just about running. Truth, it probably has nothing to do with running. It's about settling for 3:25 or saying fuck that...I'm better than that...and I'm not going to celebrate a fucking drop until I get exactly what I want. And maybe I'll never get that. Maybe 3:11 makes way for 3:05 makes way for 2:55 makes way for me grinding myself into the ground. Maybe...but I'm ready for that. I'm prepared for that.

So I'm going to San Francisco at the end of July because I've got a fight to pick on Sunday the 26th. Because I have to fix this. Because that's just who I am. That's just what I do.

May 25, 2009

How It Went Down...

It always happens at mile 20, always. My insides started twisting and a pain shot through my abs and sides, slowed me to a trot. By mile 21, I was grinding and my pace had slowed to something close to 9 minutes per. Over my shoulder, I could see a runner was passing me. In his hand, he was carrying a balloon labeled 3:10:00. He was the pace I had to keep up with to make my time and I told myself that this was the exact fight I set out to pick. I stayed with him for a half a mile before I started to fade...and then I became helpless. The distance between us grew and he slowly drifted away, like I was in a dream and fighting and pushing and pumping my legs but I wasn't moving.

At 23, my calves and hamstrings started to cramp and freeze and by then there was nothing I could do, like handfuls of others on the side of the road stretching and not moving and so close to the finish...helpless to the cave of their bodies. When it was all said and done, I came in at 3:25. I finished 370 out of 14139 runners. My 10k was 43:04, my half was 1:31:33, my 30k was 2:13:39...which means that everything was going exactly as planned until I hit the "guts" segment of the race, the last quarter. My pace went from 7 to 8 to 9 to 10 and I can tell you that it had a lot less to do with guts than I hoped it would.

I crossed the line and my hips and shoulders hurt terribly, and my steps were swaying and I felt relief for being done, but I wasn't relieved. It was the opposite. Truth, I'm a maniac for self abuse, and the fact that I set out to get 3:11:00 and didn't, it cut me something awful. Then something else happened. I got hungry...and I couldn't walk but was immediately thinking of the next fight I could pick, the next city that could host my chase. I told myself I want to run the Boston Marathon in April, and I'm not the kind of person to be daunted by setback -- skin of a writer. And when someone is holding a running party somewhere in the world and I find myself not invited because I'm 14 minutes too slow...that doesn't sit pretty in me. Not one bit.

So sleep tonight, back tomorrow. This one's gonna take another step...or two or ten. I'm alright with that.

May 24, 2009

26.2 Coming...

I've been burning on nerves all weekend. Saturday, I was driving down Olympic, on my way to pick up bib "#706 - Burn" for the Los Angeles marathon and I could feel a turning in my stomach. Over my head, somewhere East of Vermont, a banner was tied on two ends and blowing in the wind. It read, "Mile 23." On my I-Pod, The Killers' "Dustland Fairytale" was just getting going and Brandon Flowers was saying something exactly like, "I saw the devil wrappin' up his hands, he's getting' ready for the showdown," and I thought that to be about right...my chase of 26.2 miles under 3:11:00.

I have a lap watch and GPS to track my minutes per mile. Too fast or too slow and I'm finished. I have 4 packs of Vanilla Bean "GU" that I plan on eating at rough points of 4, 11, 17 and 22 miles. On the road and in the middle of badness, they are fine dining and life saving. I've constructed a plan where I'm going to run the first 16 miles at an exact 7 minute pace. For every mile that's run at a flat 7, I'll have 17 seconds to slap onto the back end, protecting me from the inevitable crash. With 16 miles in the can, I'll switch to guts on the last 10.2, hoping to have a strong enough bank to get me in under 3:11:00 -- the qualifying time in my age bracket for the Boston Marathon.

I've been talking to people lately, mostly those who call me "Teach," and they all have this great and obvious confidence in my ability to do exactly what I set out to do. Allow me to salvage the suspense by admitting that there is nothing obvious about what's coming for me tomorrow. I've prepared. I've run and pushed and focused and committed and still, still have no real idea of my capability...after 27 years of life. No one does. No one should. Truth, I'm afraid...because I know that in a span of three hours tomorrow morning, I'll have an opportunity to re-define the way I see the world.

There's going to be a moment...I know, I've seen it in my sleep, where my mile times start to slow and my legs turn to iron and my body just stops. I'll feel helpless and no matter how much distance remains, it's going to be impossible. I can see it, and when it comes, I like to think I know how I'll behave...but I don't. No one does. No one should. I like to think that no matter the pain in my body, I own the capability of becoming all heart, all guts...capable of powering through, focusing on the simplest of motions, one step at a time. I like to believe all of these admirable things live in me, but I don't know. I have never chased something like this -- 7 words I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life. And along the way, if every now and again, I can fill this need to create and then hold steady a crumbling world...I think I might be alright.

Not just tomorrow, forever.

May 20, 2009

So They Think I'm A Prostitute...


I never thought myself to be the enigmatic vibe type. I feel like I'm working a lot of jobs these days, floating around town doing what I can to make a buck...and maybe I've said stuff like that out loud or give the impression that I'll do whatever it takes to get by. Maybe...

I still work in a restaurant, I think I've stated this before. But, I cut my shifts back to 3 lunches per week in an effort to be barely there...to go unnoticed in a sense, passing without trouble. Days are short and sweet and I go about my business and get out. I'm sort of the new guy amongst a tight group, all have been there for a long time -- at least longer than me. So there was some down time yesterday when one of the servers -- my confidant -- comes up to say he heard something about me that made him laugh...that 3 members of the staff were convinced, convinced that I spent my nights moonlighting as a hooker. They had proceeded to build a case of proof against me. I laughed, quickly realizing that the case was about to be laid out and then it was. He hit bullet points, one after the other that were both precisely hilarious and precisely true. Wait. Shit. They were actually onto something...I thought, and if something like accusatory court existed and I was placed on the stand, I realized I'd actually be in some trouble. I laughed with him but quickly checked myself...trying hard to not laugh so hard that I would create even more unnecessary suspicion. The points were so convincing, in fact, that I started to believe that maybe I was...or that maybe I should be doing exactly what they claimed I was doing. He walked away and I started to wonder if he was still wondering. Had I been convincing in the least in my dispute of their claims? Did I even care? Then suddenly, I got pissed off, insulted even. Who did these people think I was? Didn't they see me 3 days a week? Couldn't they formulate enough opinion on me to know that if I were hooking on the side, my quote would be high enough where I wouldn't be wasting 3 days a week slinging pizzas and Italian wines to locals. Honestly...

Unless he forgot to include bullet point #5 -- Pizzeria Mozza is the perfect cover...

May 17, 2009

Absolutely Hooked On This...

And things have been wound pretty tight lately. Lately, I've felt like I've had so much piling that I thought I was about to lose my shit. Everything has been so tight and weighing...and waiting for this marathon to come has been driving me fucking mad and I can't explain what waiting and stillness can do to a mind like mine. I've been feeling fat and slow and sluggish and had no reason to, maybe because I've been living in the fear of finishing anywhere north of 3:11:00. I've been living in the fear of the adrenaline and everything I don't want to talk about when next Monday arrives. That's where I'm at. It was 5 o'clock today and I had to sit myself down to breathe. And when I went out to walk, I had to force myself to consciously slow my always stomping pace to a half time leisurely stroll, finally accepting that I didn't need to have to have something to do tonight. I picked up dinner and sat down to watch this...

Charlie Boorman and Ewan McGregor's sequel to "Long Way Round" called "Long Way Down." It's a motorcycle trip from Scotland to Cape Town and most of the time, I stayed in bed and just watched it...all 4 hours of the first disc and it's okay because this is Sunday and all I am right now is envy but maybe I feel like I've let something go. Maybe I feel like everything is alright...like the rope found some slack because of these boys.

May 16, 2009

You Can Call Me Golden Boy, Some Do...


Today, I was asked by Equinox national to teach a class and walk and talk on a microphone for a charity called Best Buddies. Someone gave someone else 100,000 dollars and the first lady of California was there in the front row and one of the organizers tried to introduce me to her when I was helping another rider get situated on their bike and I gave Mrs. Arnold Schwartz this little chin flip like what's up when they were actually trying to organize a photo op. It was kind of awkward, I later thought when I really thought about it.

I took the class through a handful of songs, quickly realizing that none of the riders were into the kind of exercise suicide I teach in West Hollywood. When I walked out, I was met with some forms of praise, I think...I really have no idea anymore, am starting to feel like my perceptions are floating away from me or away from most of the world.

When someone came up to pay me, or mentioned my payment, they asked for an address where they could send the check, adding an unnecessary step to the equation and I felt like they were waiting for me to say something like oh no I could never accept payment...that having the opportunity to work for such a grand and worthy cause was payment enough. So I felt like a dick, but whatever...this is the machine, and you should have seen the machine in action today. No, I'm not talking about myself for once. When I talk about myself, I use words like Adonis or Gifted One or Golden Boy...

But you should already know that.

May 10, 2009

Girl, Girl, Girl...


I've been stuck on this crush lately. Stuck defined means that I went from curiosity to intrigue to the girl showing up in my dreams, affecting the way I wake up and feel in the morning. It's been getting to the point where I knew I was going to have to do something about it because things have been getting increasingly engaged between the two of us. And not doing anything about it would cause me to deal with an absurd personal weakness I'm not prepared to deal with at this moment. As previously stated...I don't know why I feel the need to overstate this, but I do...maybe to try and convince any and all (myself) of my composure in the face of things like this -- anyway, I know the game well enough to know when I'm being gamed. So, I had a crush...have a crush...that she started...that got crushed this morning when one of my friends told me about the boyfriend he was almost certain she still had. And he, the boyfriend, is a formidable one, and for me to say that means something. It meant that I was able to let it go, for the time being, under the ominous and gray skies of an early LA sunday morning. And letting it go...got me thinking.

I was having a conversation with a friend of mine about what it was that I was looking for -- about what in a girl and chase appealed to me right now. I told him I was after someone above me, someone with only a touch of time for me, someone who adored and respected me and at the same time, may or may not be off fucking someone else's prince in a faraway country. He said I was out of my mind and I told him I'd long ago given up on trying to abide by the ever changing definitions of world sanity. I told him that my desire for her potential indiscretions weren't due to a lack of self-respect. Actually, quite the contrary - I have a great deal of respect for myself. Maybe, instead, it has something to do with self-preservation...that's what I said. But I think in the end, all I'm interested in right now is honesty. That was me being honest, I said. I don't know if he believed me...or if anyone ever believes me anymore and I don't know exactly when that happened.

I came home, collected myself and left to run a fast 12 miles, the last prep for the 2 week away marathon that is gonna slaughter me and me it and when I finished, I got in bed and let those thoughts parade for a while. It was around 3 when I got to my desk and I just started this roll. Me and Durban recently crossed 65,000 words and the first pass is starting to see the potential of its own end, and everything I'm writing now is big and its putting a mirror in front of my face and forcing me to look and examine and somewhere around my passing 2,000 words for the day, this song came into my ears that I had never heard before the weekend, Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson's called Buriedfed and it put a crack in me before taking something from me...some form of culmination of everything that's been loading and coming. I can't explain or maybe I just did.

After that, I went to a Sunday night cocktail party that was serving Haribos. I didn't know anyone, really. I never know anyone, really - and no one else did either and it was a surprisingly good time, watching everyone lean on charm and wit and alcohol to make things work. I had a couple of drinks and some good and memorable conversation and met some good people, and walking out with a late showing friend of mine, I started to hear something I think I knew was coming, something I knew I would have to handle delicately and with some form of ultimate love...ultimate love being the preparation of everything I've seen and felt and been dealt in life. She told me she'd been spinning before gifting to me what she described as this great admiration. She was this beautiful and sweet and kind girl and she was looking particularly stunning on this Sunday evening on a sidewalk in Hancock Park and I told her I could feel her, that I'd been her before and that I'll be there for her because I do adore her in many ways, but that I couldn't stop the spin, that I was incapable of being the things she wanted me to be. Incapable because I'm never the things people want me to be, never the things people think of me to be. We said goodnight and as I was turning, I kept asking myself over and over whether I gave to her hurt or hope and I couldn't figure out which was better to give.

I walked down the street alone with two red roses in my hand, the gift I was given, and I think I thought of the world and my place in it and whether it's dysfunction or clarity that rules my steps and which of the two I was going to be rooting for for the rest of my life.

Sunday.

Happy Mom's Day, Everyone...

May 08, 2009

Hey! You! Guys!...


If I wasn't sure about why I moved into Los Angeles some four years ago, I think I'd be able to pin down motive on nights like tonight, like when I decide to find myself at the midnight show of The Goonies on the corner of Beverly and Fairfax. When the place you're living does everything in its power to cater to whatever is kicking around in your guts...I think that's what they call home.

May 03, 2009

Blog Sex 2...

Running builds character. If you're a runner, you know this. If you're not a runner, you've likely spent far too much time contemplating how the act itself isn't right for you or your body. I get it, I absolutely do. In fact, I've spent most of my life doing the same thing, everyone does...and I'm about to run my 3rd marathon. Like all of the finer things in life, the act of running, to most people, makes little sense.

Today, we're going to stop talking and set you off on one of my favorite workouts that will, I promise, build character. In 21 days, I'm running the LA Marathon with an aim of finishing under 3:11:00. If I can manage to stay below that time, I'll qualify for Boston. So...all this work, just to run another marathon? I know. We've already discussed how non-sensical this is, just let it go.

To get faster and stronger, I knew I would have to design a route that constantly tested and pushed both aspects of my training. I went to Google maps and plotted the distance of a home-centric Los Angeles lap: Melrose to La Cienega to Santa Monica to Crescent Heights - 2.19 miles. I knew the route was graded. It meant that no matter which direction I was moving, I would always have an up-hill and I would always have a down-hill. This is important. Monotony has its place out there on the road, just not in this workout. The first time I ran the route, maybe 10 weeks ago, I ran four laps around 15:20 per lap. Keep your times. Recently, my good laps have been reading in the 13:50's...usually occurring on the last lap of the run. Every week for the past 10 weeks, as I crossed the finish and watched my times shrink (our aim), I felt strength. I felt like I was growing. That's why I'm here, telling you to try it. If you commit, really commit to getting under the surface of this run, it becomes something bigger than getting in shape.

Here's the recipe...

- Pick a smart route that's graded and Google it. Make a strong but realistic choice on your distance. You can always add later. If you live in the city, pick a route where a stoplight wont stop you, where you can always turn in and cut over without sacrificing time or distance. Obviously, a square route is optimal.

- Start strong. First lap should be your second fastest. Wind yourself slightly, it's okay. Overshoot, it's okay. Second two laps should be maintaining. Last lap is your anchor - your fastest lap.

- Attack the hills. Don't fall behind on the climbs - they're there to be nasty, let them be. Don't coast running down hill - push that speed. If we're always trying to better our time, these two legs of each lap are key.

- Run with grace. Do everything in life with grace, obviously...but especially here. This workout is designed to push your heart and mind. There's a ticking clock on your shoulder. Let it push you harder than you would otherwise want to push.

- Be relentless. The body is going to give you a thousand reasons to quit...and the harder things get, the more intelligent and rational these reasons become. Don't listen. Power through. This is good for you. This will save you. Listen to me instead, think about everything your body was telling you AFTER you finish.

That's it. It doesn't matter if your laps are quarter miles or 10's. It doesn't matter if you're sprinting or walking...as long as you're making strong choices. If you don't know what that means, eventually you will...or keep reading and maybe I'll cover that next time. But for now, dive in. Find yourself a battle out there...

Accept it, love it, tell me about it.