Baby, It's Cold Outside

Sitting. Waiting. On... nothing. Coffee's gone. Mind's numb. Gotta love the holiday season. At least I have some good music to keep me company. Athens is a ghost town. It happens every Christmas break. Students flock back to wherever it is they came from and most of the residents flee for grandmas house leaving the Classic City to fend for itself. There are however a few brave souls that stay behind. Some by choice, some by happenstance. Or in my case, both. There is a certain allure to Athens that is unmistakable. I have been living in or around Athens for 20 years now. It really is a great city with deep roots in music and the arts. It's easy to come for college and before you know it, you're 53 with nothing to show for it but a local fan base for your alt rock band and the coveted status of Townie. Granted, I'm only 22 and don't play in a band, but that matters little. It feels like I've been in this city for decades. I've always had somewhat of a wandering spirit. I inherited that from my father. Lately, I've felt, to be completely cliche, like a caged bird with clipped wings. There is so much to see, to experience, and yet I'm here. Sitting. Waiting. On... nothing. There is something to be said for staying in one place. I have met some truly great people that I refer to as friends. I have a great job. I know where all the best places are for food, and I have a good lay of the land. So what. Have I lost my sense of adventure? Where did all my wild hairs go? I want to go out and make my mark in the world. I want to be one of the few that actually has the courage to chase dreams. I think U2 said it best, I want to go where the streets have no name. I want to take the road less traveled. I want to get lost and find myself in an adventure of immense proportions that I have no control over. My own personal Into The Wild moment. Hopefully without the same result. I get so caught up in life that I forget to live it. I met a man the other day from England. He was a retired Nuclear Physicist that had migrated to the U.S. to teach professors how to handle radioactive isotopes. We talked for about an hour about history, philosophy, and a number of other topics. The whole time we were conversing I couldn't help but wonder about all the stories he must have. I was inspired by a complete stranger. This got me thinking. Why can't I be like that? I want to inspire complete strangers to do great things with their lives. This man, Alan Scott, had truly lived his life to the fullest. I want to be like this man. I have no idea how to make that happen. But maybe, that's the best part about it.

Just Run

It was March. I was living with my grandma and my mom and still looking for a job and a sense of direction. I had been training for one of the hardest and most ambitious goals I had ever set for myself. Running a half-marathon. I ran and ran until I was sick of running. The most I had ever run was 10.1 miles heading into the day of the half. It was early and a chill was in the Atlanta air as we walked from the parking deck to the starting corrals. Atlanta, the bustling mega-city, looked like a ghost town. The streets were empty, quiet. We were suddenly hit by the sound of the announcers and the cheering spectators as we rounded the last corner blocking the starting corrals from our view. We were here. Was I ready for this? My tired body and lethargic mind told me I wouldn't make it, but my heart was fueled with desire and determination. 13.1 miles was all that stood between me and my goal. Anticipation was thick in the air as the announcer started the countdown. I was able to pump out some quick last minute stretches before the countdown reached zero. A thunderous erruption of applause and shouting signaled that it was time to run like never before.

Off we plodded through the roped off course that would be my home for the next two hours and five minutes. The feeling was indescribable as twenty thousand atheletes exploded through the deserted streets. We owned Atlanta. Nothing could stop us. The first three or four miles came and went like clockwork. My goal finish time was two hours and thirty five minutes running even ten minute miles. I decided early on that no matter what I was not going to stop, not going to walk, not even going to think that this was something I could not do. The further I ran I settled into a steady melodic pace that served as a metronome to the tune I played in my head to keep me from focusing on my dwendling strength. Mile seven came and went, then eight, nine, and ten. It was officially the furthest I had ever ran, but I didn't have time to savor the moment. I had to stay focused. My goal was in sight and I could not stop now. Not this close. Mile eleven and twelve came and went with much difficulty. My lungs burned, my legs numb with pain. I couldn't stop. I wouldn't stop. Finally, after that seemed to be a never ending mile, I saw it. The finish line. I started to hear the faint cheers of spectators encouraging the runners not to quit, not to give up. The cheering grew louder and louder as I approached. I fed off the cheers of crowd like a hungry lion on a fresh kill. I pushed my legs for more speed, my lungs for more air. The finish line was close now. Just a bit further. With body exhausted and mind drained I crossed the finish line. Goal completed. The single most difficult challenge I ever attempted was finished and I was the victor. I received my medal and some nutrients as I walked through to the finish area. I ran 13.1 miles not for a piece of metal, but for the piece of mind that I could accomplish whatever I set my mind to do and that's what the medal is there to remind me of everytime I feel like something is too difficult or something is too hard for me to handle. I can and I will complete the challenges placed before me.