Down & Out

It is nearly four o'clock in the morning. The alarm will be sounding soon, but I have been awake for nearly three hours. Insomnia, my old nemesis, has come back for a visit, and, while I would be pleased if it would leave, I would be more pleased if this fracking cough/sickness that has had me down the past week would make like a tree and leaf me alone.

Heading into last week's Austin Marathon, I was feeling fine. I'd no time to run that week, due in large part to prep for the Regional Swim Meet, but I felt pretty groovy, nonetheless. The same could not be said for N---. The poor lass came down with a cold three days away from the big event for which she had been training since September. Me, being the sympathetic husband, made her run anyway. Happy Valentine's Day and everything, huh?

N--- finished her first marathon, though far off from the time she sought. Finishing it at all, though, as sick as she was, was nothing short of awesome; my wife is tough. Me, I too finished, though nowhere near my target time. On the upside, I'll not have to worry about travel arrangements & such to Boston this year. Because of my lack of training, my body was severely worn down and I caught whatever it was that N--- had. Since, I've been coughing, hacking, and unable to sleep in the same bed as the now-healthy N---, as I don't want to keep her awake or re-infect her.

After several days, I opted to go to a doc-in-the-box last night (getting a regular appointment with my work schedule is near-impossible) and got a prescription for a steroid to dry up my sinuses (what the doctor says is causing my cough). The medication appears to be working in that my sinuses feel better, and I am coughing less. However, I began tossing & turning some four hours after sleepy-bye time and, rather than risk waking N--- or -- heaven forbid! -- the cat, I got up and have been biding my time since. Emails have been sent, some research papers have been graded (I ran out of pencil lead, of all things, and could not continue; oh, the luck), and I've pored through most of the new issue of 'Triathlete.' All that was left was to write to you, dear reader, and share my pathetic ponderings.

Now that all of that has been done, I can maybe catch an hour or two's sleep before N--- rises to hit her bicycle training. Depending on how I feel, I may join her in the garage for a bit (yesterday's trainer session was not productive [refer to previous comments regarding illness, feeling sorry for one's self, etc.]), if for nothing else than to watch awesomeness personified.

That's the news, folks, and I am out of here. Thanks for reading.

Hello, World.

I've not published anything here in nearly three months. Not for lack of things to say, but I have had two things in ample supply as of late: Jack and <expletive> -- and Jack left town. With swim season almost in the bag (Regionals are this weekend; State, two weeks after that), I hope to have a bit more free time for things, including, but not limited to, being a full-time teacher again, triathlon, graduate school, and "other."

"Other" will include quite a bit, some public information and some not. What can be public will, quite obviously, be made so, but something that has been tugging at the back of my mind the past several months is getting involved with larger issues. Two, in particular, are Yield to Life (seeing cyclists and other road users as human beings and not just something inhibiting driving the maximum possible speed permissible) and Pick Up the Phone (suicide prevention). The former should be obvious, given that I ride my bike (not as much as, say, a year ago, but, again, the aforementioned ending of swim season within the next few weeks should remedy that), while the latter, too, is linked to cycling. See, I lost a friend to suicide, almost a year ago.

M--- lost his wife through the most seemingly unfathomable ways: A bee sting. Fast-forward 15 months, and M--- seemed to be getting along well with his life, cycling on a spiffy, new bicycle, going out with friends to honky tonks & such. Everything seemed normal. It wasn't.

For several weeks in early 2009, M--- was on my mind. I kept wanting to call him but never did. On Good Friday, I learned I never would get the chance; M--- had taken his own life.

Details were never revealed, but what would they have mattered? A friend, a person, was gone, and I had done nothing to keep it from happening.

Please, no comments about how it wasn't my fault, etc. Rather, if you know of someone who needs you, don't be afraid to pick up the phone; or write; or drop by for a visit. Social networks may still be somewhat the rage, but Facebook will never take the place of face time. For me, I'm in need of some sleep time, so I'm heading to bed. As always, thanks for reading.