25th & Anaconda

My grandparents, the ones who have a jar in their home inscribed with, "Farts," celebrated their 25th year of matrimonial union. The last time I'd been out to the county was many years ago when I thought maybe it would be important for him to see where I grew up. Nothing was as it was. My grandparents had become vacationally spirited retirees. It took a half mile of gravel road to reach what spread into the likeness of a forested Austin trailer compound. Vintage trailers skirted the outside with bulbs between them, picnic tables, bbq's, an immense circular fire pit with chalk littered there and there. There were stuffed squirrels nailed into the tree mimicking? real wildlife? Maybe, an ode to my grandfather, the hunter who appreciates taxidermy? There were keg fridges and a franzia wine table? A mini loft house with full-fledged kitchen hosted bbq meats and slaws and cold pastas. At the pond, which, in my youth was a frenzy of cattails and perhaps a lone 100-year old catfish, now hosted a variety of fish; a fishing derby with a strict catch & release policy ensued. Falsely impressed mothers would run to their children's squeals upon catching bottomfeeders, more interested in the photographic proof than in the child's live & physical accomplishment. Mother brought her homemade pole, an ice-fisherman's rod with safety pin hook & sipped O'Douls on the dock. Cornhole & throw-the-balls-on-string-to-a-standing-thing games. A band played. It was bizarre to be surrounded in a celebratory campiness with more than enough allure by way of image and food and drink, and to compare this to the cow farm I grew up on, eating raw ramen noodles and sipping on a pepto-bismal bottle. Whatever it means, living between the two memories, I guess, life is funny.

It's my father's birthday. He hasn't had the best of years, so this is my message to the universe - Send him to Alaska, Universe! So he can go be with his people.

I changed up my training this week to get ready for a 10k in Seattle over the weekend, as per the influence of my teammate, Ber. It'll be fun to see how these legs like speed after marathon-dense training. I wouldn't say I have a racing bug, but I do feel like a change up in my day-to-day & a little daytrip will be good for the inner-network-ings of me. The real motivation is to try and earn a lil sumthin' to contribute to Chicago's outlandish boarding fees marathon weekend. Another message to the universe - Send me surprise & health from the synapses of my legs. I'm just going to hold myself accountable here - I will be happy with whatever happens. Courtney! Ber, knowing me well, gave her pre-race advice: "No wine. Keep those sulfites away."

These next few weeks are really intense. On a scale from 1-A pug sleeping to 100-An anaconda bit my labia, I'm going to say it'll be just shy of the anaconda. The 10k, a Weenie Roast, hair of the dog after-party the next day, tie-dye shirt and headband sesh, working 12-14 hour shifts most of next week, a few of the hardest marathon w/o's, leaving for Dave Matthews at the Gorge, a bender similar to Vegas, if not worse than, then jumping in 3 death weeks of concentrated high mileage before cutting down for the taper into Chicago. Total and slimy anaconda.