The Running in My Head

The following is an excerpt from a chapter in the book. It's about running and while there is a whole other part to the chapter that I am leaving out of this, it is about a period of time, between my 8th grade year and my freshman year. Needless to say I ran everywhere. I could tell you the distance in minutes of surrounding towns and could literally run for almost two to three hours without a rest, sometimes, depending on the situation I was going through it could be more. My freshman year, I ran a 2:09 half mile, 5:15 mile, and a 10:30 two mile, I guess you could say my pacing was pretty good.


I run, but I am not a runner. I run as the blur of bricks facaded houses fade to thick oaks, past the cars, through the center of town in front of the buildings that show the form of one step in front of the other, up the hills until there is only the country. Through rows of cornfields, until I feel that I can reach the horizon. I fail to notice I'm tired, fail to notice the distance, my lungs rush with the freedom of being alive. I run not to freedom but to anything, anything different from the average view of the things that remind me what I am.

The steady rhythm of the rise and fall, of foot meets pavement drove me further into a trance that pushed the failure of me far from my mind. No one could do this, no one could see the things I've seen in these places, the rolling hills dissolve into the line of heaven and earth outside small town Wisconsin, where farm fields rushed the sunset, standing out as cardboard houses on a game-board world, pawns standing as obstacles for the sun to reach. This was my place, the quiet hills, where I could leave, but choose to stay.

The mist of a morning, through the fresh summer air would turn to the dusk of the evening through the crisp fall twilight. Seasons would change and every day I could run as far as I wanted. No one would care when I returned or where I went. The voice of who I said I could be would echo loudly in the silence of being alone with myself, while competing against the failure I thought I was. And when the thoughts got too complicated, when it seemed to hard to sort the feelings from reality, I turned around and ran, with the rhythmic steps of one in front of the other, till it was me and nature, till it was me verse the pavement, till the world made sense, till I knew I would win. I run, but I am not a runner.

From Wanderings of a Broken-Hearted Boy.

I look forward to sharing more with you as the story continues to develop.

Down Goes Fraiser

It's a welcome back party for me, although no one in the coffee shop knows it. I'm sitting at my little laptop, new because my old laptop electrocuted me. Headphones in and typing what you are reading. I will remember this, but I do not remember the following:

There's an old Snickers commercial that portrays a football player getting hammered. He lays on the ground as the trainers run toward him. He looks up at the trainers. They ask him where he is, "On a football field." They ask him the date, "Sunday." They ask him who he is, "I. Am. Batman!" He jumps up and they take him off the field. The Snickers slogan jumps up as he is clearly out of it and not going anywhere for a while.

It's a beautiful Wednesday evening, I am running full speed. All 135(I like to say closer to 150) pounds of me, after the soccer ball. I am a half step away from the ball. I hit a brick wall, it's the goalie. I fly through the air and land.

I wake up on Friday Morning. I'm wearing my soccer uniform. I have a flight to CO, yesterday. I missed it. I have a splitting headache. I do not remember a thing.

Wednesday night, it's blue skies and 70 degrees, I mean perfect. I get back up from ramming a brick wall with my head. I jog off the field. I run back on the field. I have no clue what position I am, this is not that uncommon, so know one worries. I look at a person yelling at me. He's on my team.

"What city am I in?"
"Are you serious?"
"How'd I get here?"
"I think I'm dating someone?"
"You need to go sit down."

I walk off the field bewildered. I ask the same questions again and again. Finally the EMTs arrive at the field. They ask me the date and I reach for my phone, I'm still a clever little dude. They take my phone and ask me to get on a stretcher or put on a neck brace. I ask for some dignity. They give me none.

I arrive at the Hospital. I have the same questions. The doctor wants to admit me, I say no. I leave. I wake up on Friday. I woke up on Thursday. I called people, two sometimes three times. I do not remember any of those conversations.

I leave the hospital on Thursday night. I get in the car. We stop to pick up Motrin. I get out of the car. I have to use the bathroom, only number 1. I look around. I ask my taller new, barely knew me, friend if I should go on a car's tire in the parking lot. He laughs.
"I could always blame it on the concussion."
"haha"
"I can't do it. A Concussion and a ticket all in one night, that would be a lot."
I guess I held it. I was only three minutes from home.

I wake up Thursday morning and packed my bags for CO. Called my friend. Told him I was coming. I don't make it. I fall asleep. I wake up Friday with a massive headache.

It's a "Greg"story.

I missed my trip to CO, but I'm good now. I'm back to writing, which means this will be updated more often. Thank you to all those who supported me, hung out with me, made up answers when I asked the same questions, entertained yourself at my expense, called me, and made sure that I was ok, woke me up every two hours, and put up with my seemingly endless barrage of wonderings and attempts to show I was not injured. Thank You!

Well that's where I've been. I'm glad I remember my password.