I'm recovering nicely from the marathon. I can't quite run yet, but I can walk easily and negotiate stairs without too much trouble. The last marathon I ran had me hobbling around for a week and I wasn't able to run without pain for a few months. Perhaps there is something to be said for "preparation" and "training."

I was dissappointed with my time of five hours and 50 minutes. It was even longer than my last marathon time. Further reviewal of the results showed that the best time was 3 hours and 17 minutes. This is about an hour longer than the insane pro marathon runners completed the Rock and Roll Marathon. From this I induce that this race is more difficult even for experienced runners. Also, it said as much on the pamphlet given to me before the race.

Here is a picture of me in pain at the finish line. I didn't wear the pirate hat because it would have been too hot but instead I wore a necklace made of twine, jangly copper washers, and a ceramic skull.

The necklace snapped a quarter mile into the race and I carried the skull in my hand the rest of the way.

Beno did not wear a pirate hat or wear a pirate necklace but we both had pirate flags that we pinned onto our backs. I'll put those pictures up as soon as my roommate pays the internet bill.

In Ever-Closer-To-Shuffling-Off-This-Mortal-Coil News:

My birthday is this Friday. I will be 24 years old, which is the perfect age for something but I forget what. My family has asked what I would like for a present. Since my little brother Luis reads my blog, I figured I would just list it here. This years theme will be stuff I used to love but sorta forgot about:

1. Pearl Jam's new album.
2. Tool's new album.
3. Science (in green.)
4. Edward Scissorhands (I've had two copies but I keep loaning them out and never getting them back. That's what I get for sharing das love.)
5. Impact Suit.


Getting any of these items would make me incredibly happy, as depicted here by this hastily crafted artist's rendition:



Now if you'll excuse me, I have a paper to write.

We're back. We're alive. We finished the race in 5:50.

There were chicken wings at the finish line. Well worth it.

Yar indeed.

Beno and I are about to leave for Prescott. It is an arduous two hour journey filled with snacks, backseat driving, and blasting tunes from a ghetto jambox that we're bringing along because we don't have one a dem fancy in-car cd players.

In "Nothing-Without-Pants-Gets-Past-Jaden News," our long-standing tradition of Pants-Down Friday has been usurped and confined to a single day a year. Blasphemy! Studies show that pants can be down multiple times a week without lasting harm to anyone. Fridays are just mandatory because, much like eating and drinking, if you don't do it at least once a week you will probably die.

To raise awareness of Pants-Down Friday, I will be running the marathon devoid of underwear and in a chintzy pirate hat. I was going to go as a ninja, but my costume is so good that I would start and finish the race and no one would ever realize it ever. The costume is very good. And thorough.

So pirate it is. Maybe next year I'll run as a zombie.

And remember, Cinco De Mayo is Spanish for...Cinco of Mayo. It is also the Mexican Day of Pantalones-Dropping.

Love,

"Having never done anything illegal in his life, he was startled to understand, all of a sudden, that a ruthless constabulary was a crucial resource to more imaginative sorts of criminals, such as himself."

-The Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson

Great book so far.

Ah, the marathon draws near. I am now entering that holiest of times before a race in which I have full license to devour any complex carbohydrates that come within a 15 foot radius of me.

Not that I didn't really before, but I usually asked first, and I was polite about it. Now I just stuff my face and if pressed I gesture towards my Gurg Gorging Permit which is a yellow half-sheet of paper that I taped to my chest. It also doubles as a bib.

This is what I have to deal with every day at work. Adorable pets with big doe-eyes that look up at me and whisper "Take me home" as soon as everyone else is out of earshot.

I'm getting better at hardening my heart. But sometimes I wonder if it's really worth it.

If magical pixie fairies magically turned America into a living creature, this would be it.

This is my favorite anime that I have never seen.

Here is my favorite ninja answering the little nagging questions in life.

I play this in my room in the dark at 3 am while shuffling deliberately out of rhythm.

But other than these I don't watch much Youtube.

We're here to discuss pain, I suppose. It has approximately as many facets as a child's excuses. Many.

I have suckled upon a diet of romantic ideas and grown strong against the pain of heartbreak. Veins of weakness streaked the muscle like the veins of fat that streak your own, but I was young and felt strong and happy.

Let me speak of where I am now. I am in the home of my parents and my brothers and my sister. My dog also lives here although he cannot properly be called mine as I provide him with only belly scratches and kind words. My father sits near me and waits for my mother to rise. He has prepared coffee for her in the new coffee pot. My mother seems tireless and seems to take the coffee as a formality of the morning. At times I wonder if I alone can see her joints as they stiffen and her silent shudders as she wills herself forward to meet the day.

I have inherited this from her, I think. This perseverance. This swollen-jointed mucking through what blocks my way at any given moment. But it is a lost gift.

My sight is limited. The demons in my field of vision are torn asunder and flung to the depths. The demons that are wise enough to wait until my eyes grow heavy with sleep prevail again and again.

And I am here. At my parent's house. I drove here after the party for Brian's birthday. It was incredibly enjoyable. We drank and danced and laughter flowed like water. And I chose to come here.

Most of my friends (perhaps all) were asleep. Myself, I sleep very poorly as of late. Too many dreams. Nothing fun, either, not really. Every morning finds me split in twain, with another path to follow. I am following this path because this is my role. But the others follow their paths because I am too afraid to lead the way.

It is simple at first. Two forks diverge in a yellow wood. Being one traveler, long I stand (but not long for this is dream time) and I choose one. My vision strains and my tip-toes ache as I struggle to see where my other is going. Soon, I am lost for neither path is clear.

And it happens again.

When was it decided that I would be the one to hold every thread? I feel like some greedy dog-walker or overly-ambitious kite-flyer, only in control because I have yet to be torn apart.

Good, the sun is up. I shall crawl onto the couch and sleep. I don't know what I will awaken to or who they expect to find.

Everything I've said is a lie.