Best Of 2010 Part 2...

May 03, 2010
How Alcatraz Went Down...

There's something I tell people who ask me why I do what I do, or when I try to explain motivation for something like this: In the morning, when the alarm clock goes off, no matter how trained you are, there's always a faint second where you contemplate turning off the lights and going back to bed...because you know how much fight and sweat and blood is going to be waiting for you that day. Then you don't. Then you go out there and compete, and compete well...and I can say this with full assurance, that I am going to bed absolutely a better man right now than I was this morning. And these merits don't wear off. These fights like the one I picked this morning will stay with me for the rest of my life, and until you do one, you can never know. Not for everyone and everyone's got to find their own thing...but this is mine.

May 09, 2010
My Conversation With A Stripper At The Vegas Rhino...

I'm not like the boys here. I don't pay.
I'm not like the girls here. And here we are.
You're incredible...but I'm just here to wing someone.
You keep saying that.
Because I don't want you to waste your time.
You keep saying that.
I know.
So stop saying it.
Okay.
You've cost me a thousand dollars. You understand, right?
That's why I'm telling you to leave me alone.
But you understand you're costing me a thousand dollars?
I do.
And that I don't care about that at all.
Yeah...
I like you.
I like girls who don't name themselves after Ivy League schools.
Do you want to know my real name?
Maybe later.
I like you.
I know you do, honey.
Don't talk to me like they talk to me.
Sorry. I didn't mean to.
I don't want to go back out there. I don't want to be good at this.
So what are you doing here?
Real estate isn't what it used to be.
How's it going so far?
It's my first weekend ever.
Sure it is.
Stop doing that. I have no reason to tell you stories.
Okay, okay. I know. So?
Four grand since Thursday.
Fuck real estate.
Could have been ten but like I said...
You don't want to be "good."
You got it.
Where you from?
Same place you are.
West Hollywood?
One block from you. Too bad you're moving to Thailand.
It's not such a bad thing.
I'm really happy I met you.
...yeah, me too.
I'm going to take you to dinner on Tuesday.
Are you?
You have a problem with that?
No. No problem.
Okay then.
Okay then.

May 16, 2010
Bangkok...

I got in around 3 last night and I don't think I'm staying. This isn't Bangkok. Things aren't good here. I told my driver to take me to my hotel, the third one I thought I could stay in during the last 3 days and he told me I couldn't go there, that the whole of central Bangkok has been sealed. He took me somewhere else, somewhere not too far, where I am now the only Farang walking the street. When he dropped me off he said exactly, "no snipers here good luck America."

Last night when we were turning off the highway, I could hear small crackles coming from not far. We drove past barricades of tires and bamboo on the Red's perimeter. He showed me spots in the street where fights had taken place the day before as we sped by, as we crept through the Reds' zone. It was close to 330 in the middle of the night and the Reds were assembled in large numbers, hundreds of their cars parked along the side of the road, inside the barriers. Someone was on a megaphone and rallying and I had this moment of adrenaline like fuck, this is what I came for this is not what I came for. I'm not afraid of what's happening out there. I have ultimate respect for it.

I haven't slept really since I can't remember when. Last night, I laid in bed for an hour or two before some light started to creep in through my windows, as I could hear more crackles, maybe worse than crackles. From my balcony, plumes of black smoke were rising into the sky. One would burn out, another would start. Walking the streets this morning, I was eating some fruit I've never seen before and saw 4 military trucks pass me by. They're shuttling troops in by the hundreds. More Reds are coming. I think I've seen enough.

May 26, 2010
Are You Happy?

Happiness is difficult to define. I still wake up in the mornings here and know I have to bleed something out. I think of all the rabid dogs I'll have to outrun and of the fights that will ensue in those following moments and for the rest of my life. At 6 in the morning, even here, that's black. I am aware of it, and also that it is here because I summon it, because I cannot survive without it. After 28 years of life, I've come to accept and understand what is necessary for me to operate with honesty. When hurt comes, it's usually because I'm asking it to come, to test me, to lend me new understanding before I deal with it. The origin usually stems from worlds that are out of my control or self-imposed titanic expectations I have of myself and I know that, know all of that. Like I said, I am an incredibly self-reflective person. I am aware of these battles. I am aware that with all of the light I live in and with all the light I believe I desire to shine, I'm equally evil and coarse. If you don't know, you don't know me. Not many do. That's how it will always remain...and I wouldn't be saying that unless there was a need. There is.

I feel open, more open than I have felt in a long, long time. I can feel everything here. I can feel so much. That truth makes me lose myself for moments thinking about it. Happiness to me...happiness to me is feeling like I am on a journey, knowing that everything happening here, every moment of literally every day is banking somewhere inside of me, giving me some form of a greater understanding of myself, of the people all around me. That is happening. I am growing. Saying that, knowing it's the truth...I'm happy here.

May 28, 2010
Full Moon...

I was walking through the front of the hotel a little while ago, stopped in for a chat with my Thai girl. She essentially runs the place I'm staying and every time I walk by or through, she treats me like a burden pig so no suspicions are raised. Of course I know this and stop by quite often, making sure I'm flirting, and hard, quite often. It pisses her off. Really. I love it. At night I leave my door unlocked and she'll slip in when I fall asleep if we haven't been out together already. Last night we were lying in bed and I told her I was going to Full Moon and she balked for a second before accusing me of saying I wasn't going to go. I never said that. There was this moment then when I could tell she was feeling something before she said something like, good...so you can meet some other girls...I'm happy for you. I think I said something like, no that's not me I'm not really like that. Then I tried to lean on my tone to convince her I'm like nothing like anything she has ever come across in her life (an exhausting bit, really), and that her expectations for my side of our species could not be laid upon me...

But I was riffing, and quick and when I looked up she was confused and I could tell she didn't understand my string of words, and was probably still thinking about what had happened with us, thinking about her own thinking that I was so incredibly harmless before I wasn't. I think I said something like don't worry. Then I said it again and sometime after, I think we went to sleep. At 6, her phone started making noises and shortly after, after checking to make sure no one would see her, she slipped out.

I'm here for another week and then I'm leaving. That's been in my head from the beginning. Truth, permanent abandonment will be in my head for the duration of this trip...and because of that, I trust myself to handle any and all situations such as the above mentioned with as much love and delicacy as I am capable. I don't know exactly what's in her head but I can speculate. I have an idea about how things are going to go down when I'm leaving next week, but then again maybe I don't.

June 05, 2010
Kuala Lumpur...

It's been a long day that started at 630 with girl crying for me on the streets of Chaweng. That's a fucking lot to handle and I can't say I've ever handled the understanding of it well. The moment just came, and there was nothing we could really say about it...today, last night, the week approaching. At some point, feelings happened we could never talk through because of the barriers between us. The way we did speak had to be all too simple...for me, for once...through glances or touches or a thousand other things I can't really explain to someone until they've been in something like it. I thought about her all day after I left, about the things in life I'm capable of giving and the things I'm not...why the weight of the latter is so heavy and at what point things became that way.

June 12, 2010
Monkeys...

Yesterday, I went out for a run around 6...maybe sometime after. I took a left on my quaint street and headed north maybe. There were houses and homestays and then the road got significantly tighter before it got tighter. Then there was a steep hill that rode up along a dirt cliff. Then it ended and I was running through the jungle or what looked and felt and sounded like it. I thought I was getting myself lost, excited by the possibility of it, following a stream and narrow footpath. I saw no one before I came across some naked Balinese bathing in the stream before I climbed another cliff before I popped out into the colors of setting sun and endless tiered rice fields. I was sweating and thought of crying before I took a deep breath, thankful that someone like me was going to someday paint it in truer and better words than this. It was a moment I wished I could give to everyone. Someday, I'll try.

June 20, 2010
This One's Loaded...

My Conversation With The "Am I Taking A Movie? I So Am..." Girl Who I Met Through Kyle And Corrie Who Lives In Jakarta With Her Husband And Three Boys, Has Always Lived Internationally And Decided To Pop-In To Bali For A Couple Days To Meet Them And Happen Upon Me, Towards The End Of The Night...After Weighing Me For Most Of It...

*Key - AUGUST = The girl who beat me up bad, bad from late summer through most of the fall in 2008...and I have the posts to prove it.

I think I know someone I should set you up with.
That's what they all say.
No, really. I've known her since I was 14.
Okay go. Where?
Los Angeles.
Oh, my city.
Yeah, I've got a feeling here.
What's her name, I probably already know her.
Yeah, right. AUGUST.
Excuse me?
AUGUST. Her name is AUGUST.
That's not a very common name.
Why are you looking at me like that?
No reason...
Why are you looking at me like that?
It's just...I think you're about to tell me about a friend of yours in Los Angeles who is the same girl that I dated, briefly, the same girl who cut me good, really fucking good when she dropped me, and I'm just trying to wrap my head around it all.
You're fucking with me?
No. You're fucking with me?
No. AUGUST SEPTEMBER. LIVED IN THESE PLACES, DID THESE THINGS...
That's her.
You're...
Absolutely not.
Wow. Nailed it! Her look seemed like your type.
Well, it was.
That's insane, I almost don't believe you.
Ask her about me sometime. Maybe she'll tell you that - that I was insane - that was popular for a little while.
Are you?
What do you think?

June 25, 2010
Mt. Rinjani...

The second night after dinner, we started talking with the more senior of our two porters, Jalan, who is a champion stickfighter come stickfighting season during Lombok's August. I'm going to be very stingy with my words right now, again, because I'm sure one day I won't be...but when you're standing by the fire, 6 people sharing rice wine out of the same cup, struggling to stay warm, and your guide is talking about black magic and a sport where two guys lash hell from each other until one of them cowers and retreats, the only thing I could think...there is no other existence on this entire living planet but ours...

July 08, 2010
Sri Lanka...

Yvonne tells me to make sure that if I want to go swimming at night, to wear shoes walking across the grounds, that at night, the bird that eats the scorpions from the grass is gone or sleeping or can't see them. Then she said something about lemon and drawing the poison but not to worry too much because they're not the ones that will cause death. There are two dogs living at the house and they both growl at me. Monkeys, big black ones, are swinging in the trees 50 yards away. Their babies are everywhere. Bandula says that on Sundays, they surround the entire complex. I am comfortable here.

July 14, 2010
Akurala & Kandy & Dambulla & Sigiriya...

My Then Conversation With The Man Who Walked Me Down A Path I Was Walking Down Anyway, Doing Everything I Could To Be Left Alone On The Side Of One Of Sri Lanka's Beautiful Historical Wonders...

My friend, hello American! Little Something...
Little something. Little something. You want a little something. Of course you do. Because you polluted my steps for 200 yards of course you do. I am going to tell you something can you listen close, do you understand? I know your country has been through a lot. I know. I have much respect for it or maybe I did. Are you still listening, do you understand? Your country is going to fail, fucking fail do you want to know why, do you understand? Not once since getting out into the blood of this country have I witnessed a single moment of genuine kindness. You don't understand the concept of it, do you understand? Are you still listening - oh, you don't want this anymore - oh, you want to walk away? That's okay, I'll follow you for a bit. Do you want to know what happened in Thailand when I was walking down a road 3 kilometers into town after running a marathon? Wait, I'll tell you. Don't you want your tip? I was picked up! I was taken to my hotel. When I tried to give him money, and generously, because that's what Americans do, he refused it, bowed his head to me and smiled. Now he's stuck in my heart forever, do you understand? No, of course you don't. And that's why you'll fail. That's why you'll never find your footing. Here, I'll leave it on the fucking ground.

August 01, 2010
Jodhpur & Jaislamer...

I've been worried about myself lately, that in leaving all of these countries behind, all of these countries and emotions behind, that my nostalgia, fleeting but instant nostalgia will paint every place I abandon in nothing but beautiful colors, even if it's not warranted. I think I was trying to think back to instances recently where that exact thing might have happened and couldn't because I'm both optimistic and choose to see light because seeing darkness is just too fucking easy for me. But now I'm not worried about that anymore, about the objective part of my lens through which I view the world. Because now I've been to India. Because now I'm so lost for a beginning I must so simply just begin.

My only hope in writing this is that I one day blow up big enough so that someone important enough in India will read my words from this day and hence ban me from ever visiting their country again...so that if for some ridiculous reason someone gives me some ridiculous reason for having to go back, I will be able to tell them quite unapologetically (and hopefully with a written certificate) that the Indian Consulate has officially stricken me from their borders.

I was ready for anything here. I've been around. I've been prepped. I didn't care that it's dirty - absolutely disgusting. I didn't care that it's overcrowded - can't tell you how many proclaimed "poor" fathers I met who were also "proud" fathers of 8-13 children. I didn't care that everyone was a snake or a swindler - wait, no, one of them wasn't - a beautiful hostess in the lobby of Agra's Howard Park Plaza. She was magnificent - made me feel wrong for trying to tip her, like I didn't understand the world she was occupying, a world unto herself -- magnificent the way she pranced about that elegant lobby. I should have remembered her name. One. I maybe met or came across enough of 300 people to form an impression of their character. Not a strong ratio. I didn't care that the beacon of this country, Delhi, is set to host the world Goodwill Games in less than 2 months and as a city, was an embarrassment of shambles and responsibility. I didn't care that people don't wait for passing trains of hundreds to pass before pissing or shitting in the open. I didn't care about the smell. I didn't care about the ignorance and faith in their progression as a country on a global scale. I didn't care that every day I had to ferociously watch my back...or that every night, my soul felt like it had been blackened by the world I witnessed. I didn't care that when people asked me to describe it, India, I'd combine words like inescapable death or hell on earth. I didn't care about the constant scroll of beaming words, red, running through my mind, forever on repeat: hopeless, beyond repair, run...fucking run! I didn't care about the ridiculous way Indians waddle their heads when they talk. I didn't care that they struck me as a lazy, inconsiderate, graceless and ambitionless people. I didn't care about any of that...

I knew what I went to india for and I did exactly that - to dip my toe and rape the place for my own growth and self service before abandoning it forever. Actually, that's not true at all. Nothing was pre-conceived. In my mind, laying in bed in Sri Lanka, I most certainly had hopes of the surprise enchantment India might hold for me. I absolutely did. I couldn't wait to get there and take it in. Then, I took it in. But the real clincher for me came the morning of my 16 hour train ride from Jaislamer back to New Delhi...

My Then Conversation With Some Guy Who Didn't Care That I Was Listening To My Headphones And Making It Abundantly Clear I Didn't Want To Nurse His Ridiculous Attempts At English...

America?
Yes, America. Where are you from? (his confusion) Where going?
New Delhi!
Me too.
Very good city!
You think so. Your English is very good.
Thankyouverymuch! You like India!
Sure. Beautiful. Different.
America far. Too far...too...
Believe me buddy, I know.
Culture no. No good! Too fast. India culture. Better.
India culture better than American? Really? So you've been? You've seen? Done what I've done?
India culture better!

Shortly after, he got up and walked to the sink to brush his teeth, which surprised me before he returned with toothpaste and slobber covering his chin, which didn't. That's the moment I started caring...

No, fuck that. I cared the whole time.

August 04, 2010
Hong Kong...

My bed here is perfect, large and white and stainless and everything on it is soft and comfortable and slipping into it is like the realization of an ideal long forgotten. It's so good that when I try to sleep at night, I can't. I love Hong Kong, love it from head to toe, and not only because of what came before it. I want to get a place I can't afford on some steep slope in Soho, fall in love with some girl for a month and then leave before she realizes just how problematic I am.

August 18, 2010
I've Grown...

So I'm sitting here on wednesday night, about to pretend like I am going to be able to go to sleep early in prep for tomorrow's trying morning. I'm running a half-Ironman in 3 days. I don't have a place to stay. And I don't have a bike. But you know what, If there were a mirror in front of me, I think I would look at myself and think something like, that guy's got it all under control...that guy can handle anything. In the past, I'm pretty sure that entire last sentence would have been my punchline...and it sort of still is. But inside of me, it's not, and I'm really not trying to be that funny. Everything was starting to feel pretty clean around here, comfortable around here. Tomorrow, my life turns to chaos and I can feel it and the potential approaching disaster coming, and hard, really fucking hard. I want it to try and find me. I want hotels to refuse me at every turn. I want everyone to fall through. I want to have to sleep in some poor Philippine family's creekside tent in the country. I want them to make me work their land in exchange for my stay. I want them to send me off before supper on the last night with a live chicken I became friendly with, the patriarch of the family handing me a butcher knife and saying something like now you become a man. I want to wake up the morning of race day and eat oatmeal and almonds with the family, borrow the youngest boy's tireless BMX and his plastic army helmet. I want them to see me off with no understanding as to why I came to the Philippines in the first place. I want to ride up to that starting line, sparks kicking off my rims, fuck you all in my eyes, before I drop blood across the lengths of CamSur.

August 21, 2010
A Bike In Naga City...

So I'm wandering the expo at the CamSur Watersports Complex and it's 530, after wandering since 1 and asking everyone to help me. Bike drop off ended at 5 but they extended it to 7. A girl I met named Karen has sent me to another girl Che Che, both extraordinary, who is stationed at the Bike King tent. I tell her my story. She laughs. She gets on the phone, calls someone, who never calls back. I sit at the tent, chat up the Nature Valley team. Che Che calls someone new, some priest who might have a friend who might have a bike. The sun is setting and I feel like I don't belong. Two guys walk up, a priest and another guy Erick, a bike mechanic from Naga City. He tells me he can build a bike for me. He gives me his number and tells me to call him at 7. I see him on the way out, at bike and bag check in. I talk to the people in charge. They panic. Erick walks up, tells them that he is taking me to his shop in Naga, that he is going to build me a bike and have me back by 9. The people in charge tell us that we will be making everyone wait. Afterwards, a girl tells me not to feel bad - they are going to be there all night.

August 27, 2010
Tokyo...

It's that dream where you're running from something, in a race but your legs won't work. Not really. Like you're treading water on the ground or floating just above it. Why? Well, there are certain things in this world that speak to me. Haribos on the streets of Berlin, running down the winding coastline of Victoria Drive, the way Brandon Flowers writes a song, the way Matthew Bellamy plays one, driving through empty red Utah, the smell of snow. Because I've lived with myself for as long as I have, I always suspected Japanese girls might one day prove to be one of those things. But I never thought it would be like this. They're fit and fashionable and beautiful and every one of them looks like they're capable of bare-handed murder. I've been struck more times in the past 3 days than I have been in the past 3 months. So then why the dream? Secret of Japan, no one speaks English. They also don't realize that no one speaks Japanese - which I sort of admire. I can't communicate with words and I'm worried about my understanding of the way they play, about coming across a situation where I need something from someone and that my eyes might not be enough...

Best of 2010 Part 1...

January 17, 2010
So We Grow...
20 i'm shaking this is where it begins keep them in your sight don't let them go get your head down drive drive drive find your breath too deep you're choking you're fading don't you dare this is where we get stronger not fade 21 and 22 745 more more more don't let this slip don't let them get away it's beautiful right so beautiful you want to cry good for you let's go life on that road life on that road you have 28 minutes to go 4.2 and Boston is yours head down fight fight harder harder dig it out you have no choice 23 24 gone 14 minutes for 2.2 you have a shot if you die for it you have to move you have to drive 25 in 640 you got it if you can take down 1.2 miles in 720 that's a 620 clip my body just failed breathe stop easy stop easy not today not possible you've had it that was too much easy easy easy dimitri dimitrov is running next to me saying just enjoy please just enjoy I have to this one is going to hurt and bad I can feel it it already does this one is going to be bad this one was so beautiful easy enjoy it breathe enjoy it you earned your life today son you earned your life today breathe no apologies. 3:14:57.

March 11, 2010
Durban…
I keep on telling him, keep on trying to explain my life, how he couldn't understand it and he usually says something like what's there to understand. Then, ditch your fucking crutches. Then, all you are these days are crutches, and weak. Then, writing bitch posts about fucking gingerbread houses and our book that you're trying to sell to New York. Then, fuck New York, they'll never understand us anyway. Then, that's not what this is about. Then, I thought this wasn't about that - or didn't need to be about that - that one would always happen without the other - that nothing is contingent and if you say it is, then you are finished my friend and not only that but that I might not want you as a friend anymore because you used to be so immune to traps - so immune. I usually take a breath and say nothing or say something like Mid May, over and over but for whatever reason, it's never good enough for him, as if I expected it to be - as if he expects me to leave tomorrow, say something like I'm on my way John, see you in Bangkok. I still have a couple ends to tie up in life or so I tell myself. No, I do. The point, I keep telling him is that someone has to sell this book - and he sure as hell isn't going to do it. Someone has got to give us weight, relevance. That's on me, and I keep trying to explain this and he doesn't seem to care, and there's really nothing I can do about that except tell him that my calendar is circled.

Our time will come again. It's approaching. Love you, brother, now leave me the fuck alone for a month. I'm trying to make you famous.

March 16, 2010
Opie…
There's a mix that I can make of Modest Mouse - all Modest Mouse that feels what I'm feeling now. Boys are raw - I'm dealing with a severe imbalance right now and things are swinging. The music is roaring on my head and I was going through, always going through when I stopped and let myself come to an understanding that I am fucked this minute, just fucked and I can sit here and watch it and feel it watching me or I could take a drive or pretend like I could go to sleep - or write something down - admitting that I have nothing to communicate to - that I don't have the skills to communicate myself to anything but myself. Watch me feel love. Watch me push. Fucking hard. Watch me spit. Fucking spit. I am dirty. I am filthy. I am a motherfucker. Durban is coming after me. This marathon is coming after me. The life I've been bleeding for is at my door and I either won't open up or it won't ring my bell. I can't understand faces but my own. This is how it happens - a rush, all at once, swirling all fucking around me until I cave or my back snaps. I want to put my teeth into this bloody world and it's making me wait. It's making me wait and nothing is making me wait. I am a coward and fearless. Losing my shit. Never seen things so clear. Ever. I am ready to accept everything these statements imply.

March 20, 2010
# 7 Los Angeles
Alarm is set for 3 in the morning. I've got a back up. Have to get north of Sunset to meet my ride before 4. I should get to Dodger stadium by 530, extremely early for the 724 race. I'll lay on the ground and think about times when things have been tough, or when things are going to be tough. Time will fly. I'll line up, minutes before that gun and I'll kneel to the ground, because I do this thing that started a few marathons ago where I take my hand and push it into the ground, twist my knuckles into the pavement until they bleed a little bit, until I can feel that burn and sting before I pull back, before I feel the hurt of sweat covering those fresh parts of my hand for the next 3 hours, because that's how I've found I need to do business. I have never needed a marathon as much as I need this one tomorrow.

April 04, 2010
Let's Rant Quick For Now, Shall We?
I was riding my bike to the Grove yesterday, to the Rosetta Stone kiosk, because I want to learn Thai, because I don't know how long I'm going to be in Bangkok and beyond and I felt like I couldn't understand the colors and sounds of the world around me. In Los Angeles. Not anymore. I felt like, and I feel like what is coming for me is going to take my circuits and tie them fresh and raw. It's a scary and adrenal thought, leaving behind this form of comfort I've found, that I will always find, that I have to continue to battle off for the rest of my life. Bangkok is going to be hot, sweltering, and its culture is going to smash me at a thousand miles per hour. It fucking better. And if it doesn't, then it better know that I am coming to smash it. I want to get messy, lost, buried. I want to get in over my head, so far over my head and handle it. Then get over my head and handle it, and handle it, and handle it. Forever until it's no longer what I need, until I need to move off to something new, somewhere new, where the colors and sounds of Thailand go beyond understanding. Might take a while.

April 16, 2010
I Feel Like I Need To Stop Blogging...
Matt Vaughn, congratulations though, you made a movie that is going to do really well this weekend. You made a movie that people in my theater cheered for at least 3 times. IMDB loves you. Rotten Tomatoes loves you. You made a movie that this country is going to love because your heroine is 11 and says words like cunt and douche and fuck - and they'll think it's edgy and fresh and awesome. And then they'll go home and jerk off to Kim Kardashian and buy the latest Ke$ha single and I'll be on a flight to Thailand, waving goodbye.

April 18, 2010
Coachella, We're Just Gonna Play This One Through...
Bridges started to form between us at some point, and because of that I started to worry she would think I was trying to be the one thing I didn't want to be...and I think she started to worry that her kindness might be leading me on. At some point, one of us closed up...closing the other one. I bitch a lot on here about damage sustained over the years and I have to guess that this Girl could tell some of the same stories and tout the very same wealth of pained emotion. I have a feeling. So now when I see her I'm kind but curt and evasive because I'm trying to be courteous and not drive us any further apart, which is naturally driving us further apart. And still, we're both going absolutely out of our way to put ourselves in the same places at the same times, I think because we share a common faith for the ideal that we can and should know each other well for the rest of our lives. That's what I'm talking about. That's what I'm after. It doesn't take me long to realize that about someone when someone turns me. Last night, I stayed at this party until sometime after or around 4 and at some point, maybe on the drive home, I realized my situation's fatal flaw. I fuck women. Clearly I can't be trusted to mean these noble things I'm saying. Clearly all I can be is cunning and eventually damaging and potentially regrettable. Even though I never made a single play, even though I never had any intention of making a play, this thing between her and I that I was going to so carefully preserve is about to be gone. I'm not here to force and I'm not going to fight and I'm not going to repair. Maybe that's passive and maybe that's cowardly too but I just don't have the time or especially the desire to be convincing to anyone but myself. You're either on or you're off and I give a fuck but honestly...I can't. So I don't.

This Won't Be Up Long...

Never seen Em use so much of a guide track before. Or a full guide track. Probably sick. But that's not why this is going up.

Wait for it...

And So I Take Back From This Year, Everything I've Done And Said That Was Cynical...

The Return Of The Return Of Stefon!

Paul McCartney took the stage 4 times. 4 times! Special night. 3rd time up, he breaks into this Beatles/Lennon mash and I swear I could feel it in the crowd, this collective gasp like, "holy shit that's Paul McCartney and I'm here and I'm watching this and he's asking me to sing along." I'll bet they'd call it a special night too. Watch Paul Rudd's face at the goodbyes, brother could barely contain himself. Nowhere online, that third performance...like it never happened...

Thank You 30 Rock...

I came home tonight, tired from a long day and DVR loaded with 3 things - The Office, 30 Rock and Scrooged. The first two are Christmas episodes, which I'm a total sucker for, and they were both excellent. The third is perhaps the greatest Christmas movie of all time. I'm through the first two, just finishing 30 Rock - treated to both the consistently renewed realization of Tiny Fey's staggering beauty, and what was hands down, the greatest show closing musical montage I've ever seen.

Buckley in West Wing got nothing on this...

What A Morning...

One of my favorite things about the end of the year is the recap - music, lit, film, progress, love, loss...it's all very nostalgic and what can I say, I'm one nostalgic guy. I spent most of the morning reading through Longform's top 5 interviews of the year. Right now only through Christian Bale and Bill Murray because I'm Hollywood slut, but will make it through the rest. Clearly fascinating because otherwise, why would I be writing about it, but also because one of those two says something exactly like, "And Chris Farley was just phenomenal. Beverly Hills Ninja will always remain one of my tops. I have watched that movie. One time I sat down and watched it two nights in a row, and cried with laughter both times. The guy just was a phenomenon, and is missed dearly in my household."


And I probably wouldn't be writing if it was who you thought it to be...

Back In 2000, When We Thought The World Was Going To End...

I was making a playlist this morning, thinking of a certain song, which made me think of this video. Last time I went on YouTube, nothing was there, almost miraculously I thought. Today, it was...

Thank You Again, Finally, Edgar Wright...

Found inspiration is such a rare commodity...

Christmas...

I feel like I have mono, on the fringe of being sick...but hopefully not really. I think it just takes a while to recover from racing for 11 hours straight. Today, two bands who move me incredibly both released Christmas videos. Tonight, AMC is in the middle of a play Scrooged every night for 4 nights stretch. The world is trying to tell me December is a good month to just be happy.

I've decided I'm going to allow it.

The Ironman...

I don't know what I'm feeling right now - tired, broken-hearted, defeated, victorious. It's a mix of a lot of things. I came to the island with a finish time of 10 hours burned into my head, with the grand goal of making it to Kona on my first try. Last year, same race, my age group, 10:30 would have done it. I was on the second lap of my bike, on pace for a 5:15 split, not willing myself that I was okay and strong and steady, but actually okay and strong and steady. I could see my transition into the run ahead, sure I could hold a 3:30 and get invited to Hawaii for the race of all races.

There was a noise coming from my bike, the chain grinding against the frame. I looked down to see that my cranks were somehow coming loose, knowing it was a progressive thing, wondering if I could make it through the last lap without something falling off. 5 miles into the 3rd lap, because of the friction, my chain began to slip to the smaller wheel. I hopped off twice to fix it but the same thing kept happening. It was only another 5 miles before I found a service station, got things tight and back to business. All things considered, I still managed a strong third lap, though I did lose 17 minutes off my pace. Still, I don't think it broke me in any way. I knew the 3:30 marathon could still bring me in around 10:20.

First four miles of the run, I felt good, like I was shot out and on my feet and moving around a 730. By six, I felt as sick as I've ever felt, threw up, felt better, got back into an 8 minute pace, determined to hold steady the rest of the way. Slowly, it started to slip. But something else began to occur to me. The run was broken up into 3 eight mile loops, so I could see everyone running ahead of me - there were a few. Hundred. I thought about it only briefly at the time because brutal pain is an attention seeker, and just kept moving my feet until mile 21, when I knew that if I was going to come in under 11 hours, I would have to chop 2 minutes off my per mile pace and make no stops. Like a ship desperately fleeing attackers in the movies on an open sea, I threw overboard all the flasks and pills and shit I had left in my pockets and tossed my bottle to the side of the road. I took a deep breath. The Killers' "Human" started playing on someone's loud speaker. I laughed. Then, I suffered like I've never suffered in my life before I came in at 10:59:20. That was beautiful.

Later last night, I read the qualifying times for men 25-29 was 9 hours flat. 90 minutes faster than last year, same course. I still don't know how to explain that. It made me feel humbled, and naive, in absolute awe for the strength that was out on the course. And sitting here right now, body in pieces, I feel thunderstruck. At times, hours earlier, I could see myself placing in my division...and in reality, I was getting obliterated, fucking destroyed. That's really something to deal with - I'll never forget it. Today, I've been asking myself how I'm not buried by all of this...or how I can possibly be thinking of all the new ideas I have for training, to shave me down, to toughen me up, to quicken my step. It's all I can think about. And I'm not trying to put a bow on this post. I'm not amateur. I am incredibly happy and proud of what happened yesterday but also somewhat humiliated, and devastated, and that's what I'm locking onto - because I have somehow trained my body to lock onto and love and obsess in the things that make me stronger in this world, that keep me in a constant state of evolution...even if the result of those things appear to destroy me. Right now my body is saying rest up, enjoy December, have some cocktails and let those endless other dreams flourish.

Then...come January, come hungry.

Ironman Cozumel - 0 Days To Race...

Ironman Cozumel - 1 Day To Race...

Time to start getting quiet.

Ironman Cozumel - 2 Days To Race...

It wasn't too long ago that I was talking on here about my competition, about how when I line up on Sunday, there are going to be about a dozen guys who have a shot, really have a shot in 25-29 of getting to Kona. Yesterday, I was talking about the camaraderie between athletes, and felt so much of it today...but then something else happened. I was walking to the convention center to register when I crossed paths with these two guys, two Americans walking ahead of me. Pretty soon we were lost together and talking up life, the journey here and everything in between. They were both named Brian, from Los Angeles but the beach town Hermosa. They were friendly as hell, and if I see them Sunday after the race, we'll probably get drinks together and talk about the day's pretty bleed. Sunday. After the race. Today, the more we walked together, and talked, the more apparent it became - they're here to do exactly what I'm here to do. And no one said it. We didn't talk about times, or ages, or ambitions. We didn't have to. I could feel it in them. They could feel it in me. At some point, the build became too much and we parted ways on my desires to fix the screws in my seatpost. I saluted them, fearful, wondering like hell what they're made of. They saluted me, probably fearful of my calves, wondering like hell what I'm made of. We shall see.

Ironman Cozumel - 3 Days To Race...

Today and last night, it was my job to get here. Everything but my camera made it in 1 piece so I'm switching video to iPhone for a couple days. I walked the streets, tried to get some sun. Tonight, it's my job to get ten hours of sleep since I'm on the three I got last night from LA to Houston. Right now I'm watching Jurassic Park in Spanish. The raptor is about to eat Newman and I need to go out and eat carbs, lots of carbs.

This Is Going To Be Very Good...

I'm sitting in LAX, biting internet off something or someone, listening to the Daft Punk soundtrack from the film. Art inspires art, that's all I can think of as I'm listening to this murderously bizarre and charging album. It's exceptional. It's inspiring. Haunting. And something like this...I don't believe it could occur without a source to be reckoned with, and that makes me happy, and anticipatory...and I like that.

Jet Plane Comin'...

Ready to enter that time warp. So recently back home. So soon on the road again.

At Least My Apartment Is Clean...

There's an SNL marathon and that feels right. Anne Hathaway is on tonight. Saw her last night in Love And Other Drugs. Her body is very good naked and moaning. Good actress. Big eyes. I'm a mess because it's cold and raining and the world is hanging and the race I'm leaving for on Tuesday is a far, far distance away. I won't be better, not really until after it's over and I'm back here, another night thinking about how comforting Saturday Night Live is - how often I write about it, where exactly that all came from and why. Last night I went out thinking someone was going to find their way to my bed, and so I cleaned this place. I thought I was going to find someone to move gently through or not, to exact my poetry upon...or realize my mistake before falling far, far short. The lines in the cleaned carpet have dispersed, but I know they were there, and not too long ago, and for what reason. At some point, I was drifting through a bar, not because I'm telling myself okay time to drift, but because it's all I know how to do, because I'm never a calculated lost, only lost. At some point I was talking to a guy, a good friend actually, who spent the majority of the conversation telling me how terrible it was that people his whole life were trying to dictate his sexuality - before he tried to tell me I could never know mine unless I left myself open - to things - to him - to the possibility of him, essentially - before he became static, despised blind deaf selfish and incredible - before the depressing downgrade began to kick in and I was drifting again, constantly drifting. At some point I was talking to a girl about music, a pretty girl and finely equipped and lovable who was asking me if she could come back to my bed and see my clean carpets and dishes and bathroom, asking me if I would want to have my way with her before I was acting thick, like it went over my head or that I didn't hear it quite right before minutes later she offered herself again, along with her pretty friend, as a pair, seriously, as if to up the ante, before I talked about a friend I had to catch up with across the room before leaving, and that I would be back, always back. Steps away I could feel their rejection, their soon to begin accusations of my homosexuality, as often happens because I don't put my dick in things for the sake of, to battle themselves down, their confusion and potential hurt because I ridiculously give everyone credit of the sensitivity I suffer while dealing with the weight of my lately hopeless pursuits, the potential that they may for a long time be hopeless pursuits, which at this point isn't as heavy as it is expected.

Conspiring...

December 31, 2010...

Like them...

Meaning...

It's as good as done.

Emma Watson...

Doing to millions what NatPort did to me.

The Beatles...

There are times to hold steady and brick-headed in this world and then there are times to let go. I don't know exactly what The Beatles longstanding fight with iTunes was all about, though I suspect if I started throwing around bloated words like pride, bastardization and expectation, someone would say something like say no more you got it right there.

I have never been a MONSTER Beatles fan - and yes, I'm using caps to explain. Once. There have always been about 20 songs lurking around my iTunes that I had swiped over the years, nowhere near the amount I should have had. My Old Man once told me you were either Beatles or Stones. He was Stones, so I became Stones. I always loved The Beatles, but they were more in my periphery. To so many people, they were and still are the be-all-end-all, and I can absolutely accept that.

Anyway, the reason I sat down and started writing this is because I've already plucked a few songs since they became available on iTunes yesterday, fucking remarkable songs, songs I feel like I should have always had on my journey or behind my pen...all of this time. I'm starting to see Beatles songs creep up and move across the iTunes top 200, handfuls and handfuls of them. I'm looking at some of the songs they're standing next to and for some reason, this morning, I'm breathing easier. Without getting too caught up in my perception of youth's narrow vision and emotion/how 75% of the songs we're buying and playing and #1'ing are disposable shit at best, made because people need to get drunk and get high and get fucking, yo, The Beatles are giving me breath.

Say no more.

Chris McCormack...

I feel full, bursting even. I’m ready to give. Last night, I drove down to Redondo to listen to Chris McCormack recount what it’s like to be the champ he is - maybe the greatest triathlete ever, fresh off his second (remarkable) Kona win. There was a moment I was scanning the crowd, thinking about what people there were going to take for themselves, away from him and the night. I started thinking about what I was going to take away…

Macca is a true champ, made and then built and built. Off the course, he’s nothing but love, nothing but giving, nothing but heart. On it, when that gun fires, if you’re out there to take what he believes is rightfully his, he becomes something else…the kind of guy who would rip out your throat and then drag you to your children, make you watch as he force-fed it to them. Anything to win — because it’s what he sacrifices for, because it’s what he wakes up day after day to suffer and bleed for, because he knows that giving anything less than everything would be disrespectful to himself and the gift of a life. Because he is a true champ.

I am ready to race. I am full. I stole so much. Macca, you’re my hero. I’ll be chasing you forever, mate.

Dude...

In bed, lights out. New maniac headphones wrapping my head. I can remember a couple albums that have gotten treatment like this before. Wishing I could let it drag fresh forever.

Guess The Rip-Off...

There's a movie out today called Skyline, a supposed VFX "masterpiece" starring people I'm not even going to mention because their names might soil this holy ground. Actually, I don't even know the names. There was and still is a lot of shit being tossed around town because the guys who did work on the movie trailered below ran off once wrapped - or while they were working - and shot this movie Skyline in their apartment complex. The one out today looks B-Team at best, and I guarantee, no, GUARANTEE it is absolutely going to suck. It steams me because I don't respect artistic hacks, believe smoke on disputes like these usually lead to fire, and because the below trailer...well, it's blowing my fucking mind.

What Do We Call These Again?

Listening to The Night Last Night over and over. Rolling. Told someone today I was starting to feel crazy again - not for sake of credit or to give explanation but to mark myself, for myself, a little for them. I'll call it a seed. Separate - I was out to lunch with one of my down home girls this afternoon. She's going through some shit so I'm going through some shit because she's my down home girl. I'm telling myself I'm helping her, always telling myself I'm helping even though I believe myself to be the disconnect, that people listen to me and humor me and my thoughts on their lives and their troubles and either walk away from the conversation saying something like, fuck well at least I'm not that OR well at least he thinks he's helping. At some point, her shit actually did become my shit because the world is fucking small and because my long ago but wrecking-ball-ex happens to be inescapable, not that I'm trying to...escape...anything...anymore. 10 minutes after mentioning her name, far onto something else, I felt wrong, or off, brought it back, deemed it her, thought of certain people holding certain powers over me because of their movements across the world and my hard cock. I decide I have a problem letting go of people that I loved - decided a long, long time ago. Crossing over means I can never cross back. Or retract. No matter how vile or regrettable things get. I decide the only way to not feel thrown when speaking her name is to fuck her again, just once and well. I debate on how to make this happen while thinking back, sitting in front of down home, also a former lover, to a day I told her I loved her then left her, flew to New York, fucked another former like the one now who haunts me to protect myself from down home before she became down home from hurting me like New York had once done but over and over and over. Right now, I'm thinking about how either of them forgave me for that. Did they? Did I just push? I'm thinking of New York. Stuck with that all these years like I was with her? No. Not like me. She'll make excuses. For me, holding me up, better than me. I'll never forget those words from Munich -- I could hear you, on the phone when you went into the other fucking room, talking to her...I shipped your things away because I couldn't have them near me or in my apartment anymore. I feel sick. Sick. -- My absolution came with a hard price. Fucking vicious. I was a monster. That wasn't so long ago. What am I now? Sitting here writing about this girl I have to fuck for peace, thinking about whether or not she reads here anymore, how blown my cover would be if she did, and if she didn't, how destructive it would be after the fact, how plotted, how monstrous still.

Why I l Love This Town...

There are certain words I'm very careful with, as I try to not be a whore to that which either sounds profound or sounds like it's attempting profound. How confusing and coded - sort of my style - like burying the lead...also mine.

Tonight, Brandon Flowers is in town, playing his solo tour at the Wiltern. The word I've been holding back is hero. Brandon Flowers is one of my heroes. For that to happen, someone's behavior has to speak to me on a very special level. He's been speaking to me since he began speaking, so much that in my first novel, the two mains meet and befriend the actual Brandon Flowers on a romp to Sin City. Someday he'll read it and we'll have a drink and I'll say all this to him and he'll be like yeah I get you. Then he'll say it again and it'll be left at that - that two people from different worlds and breaths and beats can push art through wholly different venues and still share the same echo. I'm just saying. He came through the Troubador when I was in the Philippines and that left a mark on me, missing that.

But that's not all. I am also an avid runner who is now becoming an avid triathlete. One of the first glimpses I had into the sport, years ago, was through a man by the name of Chris McCormack - Macca. I remember watching the Kona Ironman on TV - usually broadcast in December - and watching his packaged profile, hearing his competitors speaking of him as this brutally tough, arrogant little Australian spitfire. I liked that immediately. I remember watching him win Kona some years ago, knowing I would never forget it. I remember checking up on him from time to time, understanding he was probably the best to ever compete in the sport. In October, when this year's version of the Kona Ironman happened, Macca struck again, somehow seemingly out of nowhere to win one of the most amazing races I had ever seen. Watch it in December, even if you have no idea what I'm talking about. Chris McCormack is my hero. Sometimes, I see him running in the neighborhood. Next time I do, I'm parking and chasing. On Monday, 5 days after Mr. Flowers, I'm going to see Macca speak in Redondo about his win in Kona. I'm going to see how he does business - how he speaks, moves, answers what will certainly be at least a dozen of the most non-sensical and lunatic questions a man could be asked. Los Angeles, I love you.

Gentlemen, keep it up.

No Better Sunday Double...

TNT is rolling them back to back -- something comforting about letting them play out on TV, something non-committal that works on me. Coming from Japan, everything Tokyo/Okinawa felt like there was a soft hand reaching inside of me and pulling and pulling, come back come back. It's not like these films flew under any radar. I've probably written about them countless times on here over the years - in some arenas the films are the finest to ever occur. I thought it the moment they hit, I still think it now. People who don't love Tarantino probably don't love them...but I still have to imagine or hope that they respect the force behind it all.

Today, I'm thinking something else, thinking about how Uma Thurman will be looked back upon. She's certainly Tarantino's girl, there's little doubt about that...but as time passes, new generations arrive and the two entities separate, I hope people remember her alone, as the savage queen who killed, killed, killed this role and made my Sunday this Sunday...on many Sundays to come.

This One Hurts...

I was at a joint last night on Sunset, having dinner with a buddy of mine before seeing RDJ and Galafanakis in Due Date. Same joint, remarkable joint, at this point in time, even on a world scale, I'm not sure another rivals it. Dinner was great, and the movie made me laugh. At some point, it was around 11 and I was chasing some dame and floating around, trying to find my way out but also back upstairs at the top bar, completely content with my evening before Elton John and the droves that go along with someone like him began to trickle in and speak of a night that made me regret not keeping my ear to the places I needed to keep my ear to...to find out he was playing a somewhat hushed show at the Hollywood Palladium. It still sort of hurts...a lot.

I see Elton John the way I see Brandon Flowers in the sense that they both move me something incredible - and they're boys, brothers in arms...and I love that. But I'm sitting here trying to soften the blow, and listening to the roaring, singing crowd behind him in the video...and something about that makes everything better, knowing that Elton John wasn't exactly mine like he was for the generation ahead of me. I never would have forgotten the show, but maybe something about it would have felt borrowed...at least that's what I'm telling myself.

When Mr. Killer comes to the Wiltern next week, I'll just have to count on The One I Missed flying back between Louisiana and Oklahoma to duel heart and genius. Either way, I'll just have to survive. Or drive to Ontario, CA tomorrow. What the hell is Ontario, California?

I Have No Problem Obsessing...

Better keep this rolling…

While I still have enough cushion in my bank account to take a 600 dollar hit — yes, a 600 dollar hit — and sign up for next May’s St. George version of the Ironman.

This one works for me on multiple levels. First, I can get in a car and drive from Los Angeles to Utah. It’s self-sufficient. And have you ever driven through Utah? My, oh my. Also, the race has been given the distinction of being the toughest Ironman in the world (judged by an average finisher’s time of over 13 hours). Maybe most important - I don’t want this to stop at Cozumel - meaning I don’t want to treat Cozumel as my be all, end all. St. George is my insurance policy for Cozumel for Kona…just as every race until I make the qualifying time for Kona will likely also have an insurance policy because I want this bad and love the sport worse. That’s where I’m standing.

Today, a small weight has been released. Tomorrow, when I line up for another day of training, I’m going to see that true line, my first, waiting for me south of the border. I’ll feel for moments what electricity Cozumel has to give, and bottle it. I’ll work on my breath. I’ll wait for that gun to go before it goes, sending me off with every intention of taking with compassion and grace, everything I want from the world.

That’s where I’m standing.

Ready Or Not, Here They Come...

Fall is about adoration for me. I could go on and explain, but things are getting different these days, choosing to bottle and save, build myself into a secretive madness, trusting no one to guide my ship or even put their fucking hand on my wheel, not for one fucking second. That's what the game is doing to me and I love it. No, I adore it. But I didn't start this one out to be about me...

I adore the fall for its movies, their brains...their cool and ambition, and this one I'll tout about as highly as any. Colin Farrell moved to the top of my list after In Bruges. Keira Knightly after the first second I saw her on screen in anything. David Thewlis, Ray Winstone. One of the greatest television shows to ever come around, Pushing Daisies' heroine Anna Friel - and in her accent! I love Brits...I love their dames...one day I'll marry one.

Looking forward...

Halloween To Me...

Coming home from a rainy night trick or treating somewhere in my early teens - or whatever I was doing at that time in my life for Halloween, with a group of friends from junior high. Freezing. My parents making a fire, ordering Buffo's, picking it up, being heroes as we all sat around and warmed up and ate and watched this or something like it with Ackroyd or Sandler. Is it my wishful memory, or did SNL used to run its Halloween specials the night of? Maybe we rented it.

Oh Farley you were truly something...

Coming To A Troubador Near You This Thursday...

The Return Of Stefon!

How Far Away Is April Again?

10:00:00...

Is a number I'm starting to see a lot these days...in my sleep, in my head, on the faces of ninos and small animals. It's the number I think it's going to take to be allowed to compete at Kona next year. From what I understand, Cozumel is a slow and windy course. Last year, the last guy in my age group to make it through crossed with a 10:24. He's in Hawaii now, ready to go for this Sunday, the start of this year's Ironman World Championship. I want to be able to say that to myself a year from now...or to some friend when I can't make a sunday brunch - that I have to hop out of town to compete in the Ironman World Championships in Hawaii. Sure, I'm about that a little bit...though a whole lot less than one might think.

It's daunting, not just the 2.4 swim, 112 bike, 26.2 run (yes, miles), but fighting for something that other somewhat talented and hungry 25-29 year old men are going to be fighting for...treating every second like they matter because they all do. Of the hundreds that will be lined up in our age group, I'll worry about roughly 6 of them. They're the 6 who I can see now, every morning and afternoon, before I go to bed at night. They're pushing me every day to find my fights and bleed my miles, knowing that somewhere else on the globe, they're doing the same thing...all of us convinced that we're the ones entitled to this thing, one of the three tickets Cozumel can give to Kona.

Today was a light day. I woke up and hit the road for two hard hours on the new Cervelo. The rain has stopped in Los Angeles, finally (one day and a half), and I was out in time to catch the morning glow before the sun came up. Everything felt right. From there, I dropped my bike off, changed shoes and hit the road again, one hour and fifteen on foot - some hills, mostly quick tempo, mostly with the intention of putting some break in my legs in preparation for friday - tomorrow. Everything felt right. Considering I could barely walk correctly 2 weeks ago because of my blown left calf, I have new and ultimate respect for this process. It's magic and it isn't. I've learned to love the pain of rolling my legs - because if I don't love it and don't do it, then my body has every right to rebel, and I deserve to have everything I work for and desire and dream of taken away.

So tomorrow...

I need to test a couple things - lot of body, mind, some new nutritional elements. For the last 2 weeks, I've been logging 5 hours of training per day for about 5 days a week. The longest singular interval has probably been about 4.5 hours. Tomorrow, I need to get past my body and into my head. So here's what we're going to do...

Wake up at 5:30, ride to Santa Monica and lap Santa Monica before putting a loving hurt on my 7-9 cycling class. When it's over, I'll lap San Vicente before riding home, before leaving my bike and changing my shoes sometime around 10, a 4.5 hour ride. Then, I'll hit the road, aiming for 18-20 miles on foot before running into Equinox on Sunset just before 1, leaving me 7 hours into the day. I'll be drained and pissed and sitting in front of my buddy Colin in a yoga class. He's going to ask me to do a lot of disciplined, difficult, obnoxious shit (amazing too), and I am going to handle it. When my body is destroyed and my mind is on the edge of oblivion, I am going to eat some salt tabs and take on whatever comes like an unstoppable bastard. 8.5 hours. I'll drag myself home, hopefully delusional, eat something, pull myself together enough to head back to the gym at 545 to teach what will likely be the worst spin class in the history of Equinox. 10 hours...

Onward.

Two Of The Best...

I was out to dinner with a friend last night, talking about the moment I begin to have ultimate respect for performers -- when they walk into SNL and just kill it. Dr. Timberlake did that a long time ago. Then he did it again, and again, and again. Jimmy Fallon is the best ever. This is magic...

Sponsored!

Because my game is true, or at least so I like to think...

When it comes to doing things in this world that I deem absolutely necessary, money is not a concern. Meaning...I will gladly trade the stress of debt to travel or train for something I need, like an Ironman, like this promise I have made to myself that says I'm going to make it to Kona, and that Kona will be just the beginning.

But I'd rather not be drowning. I'd rather not carry that stress - I'm carrying enough as is. Last week, I wrote a letter to a friend, laying out my plans for the 2010-2011 racing season. I asked for help. We met for lunch. I said something like I know the last thing your juggernaut needs is help in advertising, but that I would still earn everything you give. He said something like you're a good egg and I like to be able to help people chase their dreams. Then he said yes. I asked if he said yes. He confirmed. I have a sponsor.

This morning, I woke up at 5, ate breakfast, listened to my body, and went back to sleep. Yesterday, I was up at 5, waited for the sun to come up before hitting Sunset for 50 miles on the bike before running for 10 before classes at 515 and 715. My body is coming back together. I can feel myself getting stronger. The worst thing I could do is not have ultimate respect for sleep. Sometimes, discipline means taking the easy route - at least in this situation. Understand though, unless you're training for an Ironman, that excuse is not an option. Sorry.

There's an ease to this morning, as my workouts aren't going to start for about another hour - another 50 on the bike before 2 in the pool before the shoes come on for another 10. I've been saying this a lot in my classes, to ride my bender, that I am as hungry as anyone in this city. Set something huge. Chase something huge. See what happens.

An Open Letter To My Body...

Darling,

Welcome home, welcome home. I am going to speak openly because I know that’s what you both respect and deserve. I understand more than you know. There are blisters and splits on your knuckles, in your palms and on your feet. Your toenails are black – 2 of them. Your left calf is miserable and you haven’t been able to run right since the sixth day of Tokyo. You have traveled the globe, bled across it for the past 4 months. You have been bleeding forever. I know. I understand. You deserve rest, a break, solace. I know. I know. That’s sort of why I’m here. We need to talk…

In the Philippines, something new happened. 70.3 happened, a half Ironman. We stayed in that sun, near 100 degrees and battled for longer than we’ve ever battled before. When it was over, I wanted more. When it was over, I wanted to get out there the next day and do it again, again and again. Fight more. Bleed more. Grow more. Give more. Suffer more. So did you. Don’t forget, I know you too.

Now we’re back in California. Now we’re done slamming our feet across Asia. There’s beautiful and easy access to everything we could ever desire. The rabid dogs are gone…the heat…the kidnapping eyes…broken pedaled and rusted bikes from the 1970’s…posters of Andre Agassi when he had long hair. It’s all gone now. Everything we need is here. Everything we did and everything we saw over these last 4 months has raised us up. I want to draw on it, use it to pick a fight – the biggest one of them all. I want to see what we’re made of, need to see what we’re made of. Both of us.

In 9 weeks, we’re flying to Cozumel. In 9 weeks, on a Sunday, we’re going to wake up to become Ironmen. And I understand what you’re thinking, what you always think for the sake of self-preservation, that Cozumel should be enough. It should. But it’s not. You understand me too. Certainly you saw coming what’s now coming…

Next October, there is a race that happens on an island called Kona, in a state called Hawaii. It may be the world’s toughest. Titans travel from far and wide to line up self-destruction. Don’t play dumb – the Kona fire has been burning for a while now. To get to there, something special needs to happen. There is no disputing that. If what I am about to say seems disregarding, I can offer no apology. You need to ditch this nagging pain and allow me to deliver us. You need to allow my fight every day for the next 7 weeks, and you need to allow it harder than you have ever allowed it before. You need to allow me to break us harder than we’ve ever broken and then come out the next day and break again. You need to simply let go and survive. Be honest with me. Believe me when I say I’ll listen to you, and that I will take care of us. Understand that I aim to chase a beauty beyond capable description, and that great sacrifices must be made. Understand.

To get into Kona, the rules are simple. We have to line up in Cozumel and then finish first, second or third in the men’s 25-29 age group. We don’t stand a chance unless we stand together. I committed long ago. You did too, you just won't admit it. Please consider this - my beg, my plea. Know that I both love you and despise your hesitation, that I am doing this for both of us. Be wicked now, rest is for the defeated…

Finale...

Himeji...

There's this thing I've grown accustomed to over the last 4 months, something I dub travel sickness. It's not exactly a sickness per se, but it's this feeling of moving on...something new approaching, a new country and new adventure on the horizon and spending the last hours and minutes somewhere about to be left behind. I find I see countries as people - all the people I've met and the things I've witnessed and felt as a collective. I also despise goodbyes because everyone else always gets so fucking worked up. So fucking worked up and that makes me kind of sick.

Today, I was riding the JR back from Shibuya, around two, and I actually fell asleep on a Japanese businessman's shoulder. It was probably only for a second but still...fucking still. I am a literal bastion of grace - shit like that does not happen to me. I was so fucking tired I had to force myself to stand, to ride the wave of that whipping train in hopes that it would somehow sharpen me. I came home and I slept. I took a shower. I feel better now but won't sleep tonight. Tomorrow, this thing ends...or really just begins depending on your angle of approach. Me, I'm looking at it from somewhere in between the two extremes...but closer to the latter. Much closer to the latter.

I want to feel the sun set in my home town again. I want Los Angeles, want her like a faithful, shore-lorn sailor. That's what I am. That's what I'm thinking right now.

Ghibli & Kamakura...

I was blasting through the Japanese countryside today after a more leisurely stretch and I was seeing the greens roll beside the parks, full and moving...and I felt it all. I felt the country. Or more particularly, I felt the late summer Japanese weekend. I felt for them what these weekends meant for me back home, growing up or even recently...something rich, something that's quite difficult to put words to, something I believe you can only get out of a country once you've earned it. I'm beginning to believe I have.

Bon Odori...

I'm not sure exactly when I got here, in Tokyo. I was supposed to leave last night or yesterday and then extended a few more days. All I know -- I've been here now for a substantial amount of time and I don't want to leave. I've seen so much. I've seen nothing. A couple days ago, I started leaving the maps at home, finding my own way, following lights or people, sounds or smells or instinct. Tokyo has turned into a feeling, one I already miss. At some point I'll go somewhere. Maybe. I feel like I should. I want to. Or maybe not. This is me confused.

Tokyo...

Is a couple of things to me. It's a suburban playground in a town with a lot of money, enough so they can cover everything with colored foam padding, so that if there's a fall, no one ever really gets hurt. Not really...

It's that dream where you're running from something, in a race but your legs won't work. Not really. Like you're treading water on the ground or floating just above it. Why? Well, there are certain things in this world that speak to me. Haribos on the streets of Berlin, running down the winding coastline of Victoria Drive, the way Brandon Flowers writes a song, the way Matthew Bellamy plays one, driving through empty red Utah, the smell of snow. Because I've lived with myself for as long as I have, I always suspected Japanese girls might one day prove to be one of those things. But I never thought it would be like this. They're fit and fashionable and beautiful and every one of them looks like they're capable of bare-handed murder. I've been struck more times in the past 3 days than I have been in the past 3 months. So then why the dream? Secret of Japan, no one speaks English. They also don't realize that no one speaks Japanese - which I sort of admire. I can't communicate with words and I'm worried about my understanding of the way they play, about coming across a situation where I need something from someone and that my eyes might not be enough...

Ironman 70.3 Philippines...

It was hot, really, really hot. I crossed the finish line and stumbled into the medical tent where the volunteers bathed me in frozen blue sponges. I couldn't say much, just sitting there, trying to come to grips with who I was and where I came from. It was the most unnatural experience...so much heat and then so much cold...so much fight and then so much stillness. Absolutely the most incredible feeling I can ever remember. Apologies to all my former lovers. Yes, even you.

A Bike In Naga City...

I'm so tired of telling the story as to why I was in the Philippines for an Ironman without a bike that this post gets no preface...

So I'm wandering the expo at the CamSur Watersports Complex and it's 530, after wandering since 1 and asking everyone to help me. Bike drop off ended at 5 but they extended it to 7. A girl I met named Karen has sent me to another girl Che Che, both extraordinary, who is stationed at the Bike King tent. I tell her my story. She laughs. She gets on the phone, calls someone, who never calls back. I sit at the tent, chat up the Nature Valley team. Che Che calls someone new, some priest who might have a friend who might have a bike. The sun is setting and I feel like I don't belong. Two guys walk up, a priest and another guy Erick, a bike mechanic from Naga City. He tells me he can build a bike for me. He gives me his number and tells me to call him at 7. I see him on the way out, at bike and bag check in. I talk to the people in charge. They panic. Erick walks up, tells them that he is taking me to his shop in Naga, that he is going to build me a bike and have me back by 9. The people in charge tell us that we will be making everyone wait. Afterwards, a girl tells me not to feel bad - they are going to be there all night.

Me and Eric get in a jeep he built, drive to Naga against the dimming sky and setting sun - the minutes so incredible to me. We pull up to his bike shop on the river, tucked back and away from the main drag - impossible to find so I didn't feel bad about not finding it originally. Erick pulls a frame from the ceiling, a good one and somewhat my size, racks it up, and goes to work. I'm hanging in an alley of the best bike joint in town, chatting up Philippine champions. I go to buy oatmeal and almonds, come back an hour later. My bike is built. I pay 60 bucks and hand over my California ID, ride to a mall, grab a cab to CWC, check in my bike at 840, leave then feeling much, wondering now if all of this actually just happened.

It did. Half Ironman tomorrow morning. Sleep well.