This should pick up where it left off. We returned from a few weeks in L.A. and it felt like I had reached some new, clearer perspective. All of a sudden I realized everything was up for grabs. Gayle wasn’t particularly happy with this round of my growing pains, and neither was I. There were so many miles to run, last minute work trips to scramble off to, the continuous plodding along of my album, and the new routine of both kids back in a curriculum of some sort. Just a lot of stuff to manage, you know?

It was a couple months of Be Careful What You Ask For. There are moments where The Big Picture you’ve asked for grabs you by the collar, as if you’ve been trying to side step it. “Are you ready to clock in and do the work necessary to get THERE, wherever THERE may be?”

So I needed to figure out how to do everything at a different level from what I’m used to. I had to somehow get more organized, more open to everything coming at me, and more honest with myself about what was working and what wasn’t. Step 1 was kicking this whole music thing in the ass once again and reminding myself who the fuck I am.

Within weeks Dan Certa was back in the fray, cranking out stellar mixes of the Season II batch. This was a major jolt to my feeling that the album is moving toward completion, and soon Kevin was back in action. Mixing and mastering went extremely well, and I can honestly say I’m proud as shit of what I’m hearing. Soon you’ll hear it too, and no it’s not the same as the hundreds of iterations and rough mixes I may have laid on you over the years. This is a complete piece of work, with a Grammy-winning mix engineer, and a mastering engineer who has worked on some of my favorite albums. Very proud, and getting pretty freaking excited.

Meanwhile I’ve had to steadily increase my running mileage to previously unforeseen possibilities. According to the training schedule, I had to do it. There was no way out of it, unless I wanted to risk permanently damaging myself on race day. The culmination of all of my weekend runs out to the mall and back through the park system was a 20 miler last week. This took me from the valley near my house out to the 271 overpass nowhere near my house, and back. It was a mystically gorgeous Fall morning, with sun blazing through the fog and just me, stripped of all ego and identity, hammering down and then gliding the best I could for twenty. Effing. Miles. To heal my legs I needed to take an ice bath afterward, which could be the single most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever experienced. Damn we lead pampered lives, don’t we?

I should mention that this run took place less than 48 hours after getting my computer bag and wallet stolen in Chicago. Through no oversight off my own, I’m pretty positive it was cut from my suitcase where I usually tie it as one piece. I’m a pretty frequent traveler these days, so I take pretty consistent measures to protect and preserve my shit. Alas, it was gone. There’s a surreal quality to needing to fly home with no license, no bag, and no identity. The TSA grilled me on who my neighbors were, what kind of car I drive, and similarly odd big brother questions. It did the trick, and once I was home any anxiety or loss went away.

It’s not to say that it doesn’t still come in waves. In navigating every bureaucracy I’ve needed to further surrender to the idea that all that shit is gone, and it’s really OK. I blessed the anger it created in me, because it got my whining ass out of bed to run those 20 miles. The first 4-5 miles were powered by anger, and the next 10 were all surrender. The final 5 were out of the joy I get from running. No one can take that from me, and no one was there to see it. It feels like my first half marathon in retrospect, because I don’t really know how it happened. And now it’s on to the Chicago Marathon in 2 weeks, 26.2 miles ideally in under 4 hours. I ran my second half last weekend in 1:46, about 8:15 pace per mile. Last year’s was 8:40, and I really tried to take it easy this time out.

Because it’s all about pace, and the steady build right? As I limp toward my 26th mile, past 1.2 million spectators in a city that has given and taken and given back to me, I wonder if I’ll even be coherent enough to think. If 20 miles all alone took me on the ride it did, I don’t know what 26 in a sea of humanity will do.

So this is where I’ve ended up, remembering once again that I’m stronger because of the pain. That little bitch ass voice in our heads isn’t capable of measuring the levels of our growth. I left mine back on mile 12, or back on the freeways of L.A. It comes back strong sometimes, but we will always come back stronger. This Fall is about the lacing up, the tuning up, the stepping up and rising up. I will remember and celebrate how much growing up I needed to do this year.

This is what we’ve asked for, anyway.

I’ve had a couple weeks now, when even though I know that amazing stuff is happening, my energy is caught in a start/stop stammer. The only remedy has to be clearing out the clogs and keep moving. I’ve been doing plenty of the latter, now that it’s week 2 of marathon training. Last week was already 21 miles total (up from 10-12 with all the travel), and this week will be 22. By September it will be more like 50-60 miles per week. It can get overwhelming to think about so I’m better off to stay in the moment.

Isn’t that always the case with everything though? Last week I left the house on Thursday to meet my boss in Toledo. We ended up on Put-In-Bay island that night, and I rode the ferry back to shore in a suit. There were more calls to make in Columbus on Friday. Better yet, my car would only start with a jump so I decided to leave it running the entire day, from 10a-6p. Better still, I had to drive through torrential downpours on narrow country roads most of the way. It was taxing, and it felt like a big bad idea.

The last couple weeks have felt like that stressful drive through the storms, with limited sight distance and malfunctions all around me. Surely I must be getting better at ignoring the glitches, but it has been ridiculous lately. I’m beginning to think it’s best to let shit break, let it leave me, let it go because it always makes room for something better. You just can’t get too hung up on the money thing in the meanwhile. Fixing all the neat shit you wanted then manifested isn’t going to break the bank. It’s just part of maintaining a fast moving current, or more clearly the success we asked for.

And so with my stiff and achey legs adjusting to more and more mileage, so it is with our ever-expanding vibe.

There’s nothing like a 26.2 mile race that forces you to contemplate things like surrender and acceptance. If for no other reason than not destroying yourself on race day, you need to come to terms with the commitment necessary to haul your ass those 26.2 miles at a steady (preferably efficient) clip. I’m getting my head around the number of miles I’ll need to run this Summer, the curbing of my shitty-weather partying tendencies, the amount of time bending necessary to accommodate all those hours on the streets and trails. It’s a friggin commitment, that’s for sure.

I’d rather figure it out now though than 2 or even 4 months before the race. It’s just under 5 months until October 10th, and although the running has begun in 3-4 mile intervals, it’s nowhere near where I thought I’d be after completing my first half marathon last Fall. It still feels foreign to me that I ran that distance, especially in light of all the travel, my inconsistent regimen, etc. The commitment is supposed to expand as the distance increases. It’s kind of.. LAW. There’s just no way around The Work, and my life improves immeasurably in areas where I realize this is the case, surrender to it, accept it, and stop all the whining and procrastination.

Everyone is on their own continuum of how far they’ve come, and how far they’re willing to go. Running is only one (small) measurement, and to tell you the truth, I honestly don’t care that much about the distance or pace in terms of numbers. I remember feeling pretty elated to be done that day, and pleasantly surprised that I made it in under 2 hours, but the victory was in the hundreds of shorter runs that prepared me. I’ve been trying to think about songwriting and sales the same way. There is no happy ending to an unhappy journey, or some big pay off for years spent toiling in anguish. There just isn’t. A good tune won’t erupt out of a miserable obligation to write. You write when and because you have an innate need to express who you are. You sell out of your need to service other people, to provide solutions to their business problems.

So in my panic to not miss the window again this year, I registered for the Chicago Marathon. Not the half marathon either, the full on big Daddy marathon. I didn’t know at the time that the Spring would challenge me in all sorts of new ways, or that I’d feel so alienated from completing 6 miles, let alone 13 or 26. But that older, wiser mofo who steers my bigger picture from inside this body knew that I needed to set the commitment into motion: When we set a firm deadline to grow into some way bigger shoes, we generally show up prepared. It’s less than 5 months out and what it’s really screaming to me is “are you ready to take your year back?”

Am I ready to surrender to the struggles in the minutiae and let it blow through?
Am I ready to accept any self-imposed limitations and reinvent a more capable person to handle the demands of this commitment?
Am I finally letting everything that I’ve started complete itself?
Am I excited that I had the balls to take on so many things that feel personally unwieldy, slightly insane, and just BIG?

Bottom line:

Would I have entertained the thought  if I wasn’t ready to improve?

The answer to all of these is a definitive absofugginlutely. It’s my favorite answer to life’s questions. Good morning streets, good morning trails. Stretch me out and remind me why I love my time spent with you so much. You make me a more loving, capable, and certainly more healthy mofo.

And so it begins, pitter-patter.

Running the trail for the 3rd consecutive morning, I’ve started to notice how damn happy the people are who are out there with me. There really aren’t many of us, but everyone has a pretty frisky grin on their grill. There are old ladies looking for birds, a few couples, and a few other joggers and cyclists. I needed to stop to let 3 deer cross my path, a couple of does and a fawn. Deer are all over the place in Ohio, but it’s still kind of mystical to run right up on one. In fact, I needed to think about what I would do if I were charged. Screaming and flailing my arms around would be my best defense I decided. We stared each other down for about 30 seconds and then went on with our morning.
There’s a bridge over the river at the start of mile 3. On mornings where time allows, I chill there for about 15 minutes. It’s really an outstanding place to quiet the mind, listen to all the different birds, crispy leaves falling, and the river trickling by. Any man-made noises are out of earshot. These are the times when I remember that Ohio could be one of the most beautiful places on earth. Who told you that the cost of living around such places has to be exorbitant? It’s really a hidden treasure back in those woods, on that bridge, over that water, with the mist hovering over the surface as red and yellow leaves cascade down. Not a bad start to the day. On my way back I came down a trestle that stretches over a gorgeous landscaped gold course with sunlight, fog, and all those multi-colored trees. It brought tears to my eyes. I just took it really slow and soaked it  in. This is the world we pass by on our way to anywhere, and witnessing it in its own majestic being-ness is awe-inspiring. Call me crazy, it’s just a golf course, right? I say let it glow. I say thank you for letting me notice its glow. I say the day won’t get to me if I hold onto this moment: the deer, the glowing beauty, the oxygen, and the smiling faces.

My legs don’t really wake up until a few miles in, and the run back to the car is actually pretty comfortable. When I bought my car a few weeks back, I took a final test drive with a different salesman than our family salesman, who has sold us around 6 cars by now. Anyway this other guy and I were talking about bicycling and playing da’ bass, and he laid a really good (obvious) tip on me. I was getting ready to run the 1/2 marathon and I was nervously wondering if I could actually survive it. He reminded me to breathe deeply through my nose and into my diaphragm, which does a significantly better job of oxygenating the bloodstream. I know this through practicing yoga on occasion, but honestly I don’t think too much about breathing when I run, unless I develop a cramp. It’s always wise to breathe into the pain in that case.

Breathing is probably the most basic need that we still manage to deprive ourselves of. How often do you consciously breathe? 10-12 deep breaths, through the nose, and into the diaphragm so it expands. Do you know how much this simple, (free) exercise could improve your clarity, well-being, and positive outlook? Breathing is the the gateway to meditation, and connecting to your higher self. Yet we run around on autopilot, completely ignoring that we can control the quality of the breaths we take in. We huff and puff through stressful days, eeking out shallow breaths from our chest. However, conscious breathing forces everything to chill the hell out, while also providing much better fuel for your mind, body, and spirit.

Realistically, most of us are chained to our computers all day long. To conserve your vision, carpal flexibility, and your sanity, try pulling back once per hour for 3-4 minutes. Stand up, look out a window, and breathe baby breathe. You just might see your friend Krissy Carter scampering through the bushes with fucking gnomes and unicorns!!!!

Yeah unfortunately, that red streak on my shirt is nipple blood. I applied the band-aids and everything, and still left my nips rolling around in the street somewhere between miles 8 and 12.  My $14 Target swimming trunks garnered more cheers than I expected. Seriously, about 8-10 ladies said “love your shorts!”, and it wasn’t even when my bulbous ass was working hard to grind up a hill. Hahaha. Kidding.

I need to get melodramatic here about the running thing. The truth is that it has been a big deal for me in terms of proving to myself that I can actually finish something. In May 2006, I couldn’t run more than a block or 2 without thoughts of vomiting, or stopping. The last few weeks have been challenging to squeeze in the volume of running I needed to train properly, and I was definitely nervous on Friday. The farthest I was able to run in training was 9 miles (last Sunday in Chicago), and I needed to run 13 on Saturday.  Once we walked up to starting gates and felt the electricity in the air, I knew it was going to be a special morning. Suddenly I really appreciated the overcast, shitty Akron weather. It was just a cool, even run the whole way through. I wasn’t looking ahead to the next mile, I was just enjoying seeing all the spectators and the scenery. Akron was gorgeous that morning, and what better way to see it?

There were too many great little moments in that hour and 53 minutes to share here, but I will leave you with this: The overwhelmingly GOOD thought I kept thinking over and over was that we need to do more things for ourselves that no one can ever take from us. No one can take these 13 miles away from you. Once you’ve done it, the experience is yours forever. That was my only goal, to finish something. Anything. Actually kicking my goal’s ass left me with some bigger, grandiose ideas of a marathon, and of course finishing a lot of other shit I’ve been talking about for a while. Just the idea of something is plenty to get excited about, but for at least this weekend, I was proud that I actually put all that time in. I couldn’t have done it if I didn’t love doing it.

To summarize, in May 2006 I decided to stop telling myself that I’ll never do anything athletic, that I couldn’t run. What are we still telling ourselves that we can’t do every day? There’s probably a lot. Jason Woods is looking into Triathalons, so I told him I was going to turn my attention to cage fighting. We both agreed I have the build for it, and I can only assume that removing my nips through friction will prove to be an advantage.