Let's set the tone for tonight's spectacle.
Please grab your choice of drink.
When I love, I love deeply, though it is not often. 10 years ago, before muta est sprouted from spit on the ground, I said to myself that I will never betray myself again. Without a map in hand, I drew out circles and lines with a stick in hand. A map to what though? That is a question I have carried on my back since this journey of aimless quiet wondering began. At the time I never really understood why I said that to myself. As I accumulate years of life, I believe now that it was a feeling of needing to nurture myself and be who I needed to be. I told myself that if I erased everything I ever believed and jot everything down from memory, I'd find who I am. Whether it was through words or pictures, I knew that the answer was cast away by spells in there. I hold that promise like a devotional scapular. In the toughest moments of my life, I've never been alone because of self-efficacy.
When I found running, I took an interest in the connection movement had on my way of thinking. Spending time alone running felt much more constructive than spending time alone in my study. When I looked down at the sweat on my forearms after my runs I remember thinking every blue feeling has left me for a brief moment. It is possible not to feel angst consume every single moment of my life. If melancholy is a binary variable, then I shall find every possible function for the value to equal 0.
'
This weekend I showed up to my first battle with the marathon. I raised myself as a runner under the Frankenstein methods. A mad scientific mariachi of sorts. With songs of pain and love in my heart and machine learning algorithms in my head, I walked up to the starting line with full-confidence in my ability to strike this motherfucker on my first lunge. In González-Iñárritu's Amores Perros, there is a scene where Susana tells Octavio at his brother's funeral, "Si quieres hacer reír a Dios, cuéntale tus planes." Which translates to, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him/her your plans."
My marathon debut turned out to be a diagram of pulled guts. All signs seemed to indicate me coming in around 2:53:00. Of all days, my debut turned out to have quite a massive variance. I reached the finish line completely decayed in 4:00:53. A historic version of me listening to Nirvana would've been devastated at this experience. But I'm in a different realm of wizardry now. For several years, I woke up thinking how I was going to make a strong impression in the marathon, and I laid my head down at night content with the day's training. Everything I cultivated behind my eyes turned out to be a sharp contrast in the real world. And that's okay. I have embraced imperfection through my training. Specifically, through art. We won't get too deep into the details of God, but if there is one laughing at me, I laugh with you. I trust that I will arise from these spilled guts. If I have to paint smiley faces on them with my black sharpie, I shall.
My love for running has not changed a bit. I tripped on the very first step due to circumstances out of my control. I will use my imagination to see through this mystery. I will never delude myself. Never.
Perseverance is a lunatic trait,
Erik