Officially, here endeth my two month long sabbatical. Period. Moving on.
That’s not to say I might not disappear again unexpectedly for days at a time as sudden, seismic work demands occur. These intermittent breaks might be a new F.M.S. way of life going forward in this ruinous, employee slash and burn, economic landscape.
Right now, I am Hailing Caesar.
I’m asking “How high?” in response to decisive commands to elevate.
I’m lying my ass off and telling the boss he’s the Fairest One of All as he preens in front of Nitmos, the Magic Mirror.
I’m not saying I’m kissing a lot of boss ass these days. I’m just saying my lunch seems to consist of an unusual amount of partially digested corn pieces and the odd peanut or two. And fingernails. My boss is the nervous sort.
If I disappear again, I expect it’ll be measured by days rather than weeks or months. No more than my average crack induced blackout typically lasts though.
So, what did I learn on my sabbatical? What insights did I discover about my True Self?
Well, I bought a new pair of jeans. They fit nice. And some new dress casual shoes to match my khaki pants. I ruminated for awhile about how I don’t have to shovel snow off the drive these days or cut the lawn. I have no outside yard work whatsoever for the next few weeks.
Yes, I couldn’t blend into suburbia any better. If there is a common shade of tan, I might just be that.
Professionally, physically, financially, I’m pretty average. Look out your window, I might be that guy there. Or that guy over there. Or, more likely, that bewitching fella over there with the Cheshire cat grin and the coal-to-diamond forming buttocks.
But there is one area in which I excel: Snarkiness.
My journey of self discovery brought me to the foot of a hill. A mound. Nay, a mountain. A mountain formed of tangled arms, legs, race bibs, and tears of disillusioned runners.
There was but one way to go: Up.
I have spent the past few months ascending Mt. Snarky to assume my throne. I have grabbed hold of the twisted, knotted calf muscles of defeated runners and pulled myself up inch by inch. I have leveraged my feet on the contorted, dehydrated jawbones of failed marathoners. I have mopped my sweaty brow with the pony-tailed mane of the female runner (or, on occasion, that of the rare aging, hippie male.) The wind beneath my wings has been the groaning breaths of agony beneath my heels.
It took me two months to climb this mangled pile of roadside runner wreckage. After cresting the summit, I scanned the horizon. Sure, there were taller surrounding mountains, basking in sunlight, built on a foundation of happy race reports and inspiring training tales. I looked down at the carcasses below my throne and the shadowy foundation of near-miss PR’s and disappointed race reports. I threw my arms out, tilted my head back, and let out an echoing muwahahaha.
This is my mountain. These are my souls and soles.
And, yes, there is a cold breeze that blows here. My pasties can not down umbrella fold over my distended nipples to attach to my areola. I’m as naked as a jaybird. A nippled, cold jaybird. A nippled, cold, jaybird with diamond forming buttocks.
Others can occupy Mt. Positive and Mt. Motivation. I’m quit content here on Mt. Snarky. I have settled in to view the horizon and drum my fingers on the handrails as I dream up blog posts. You might wonder what a throne cushion made of broken dreams feels like. A lot like velvet, surprisingly.
I’m back. I have a full tank of snark. I’m ready to regale you with more tales of running, racing, and rife.*
My mountain might not be the tallest. In fact, it’s pretty average sized.** But I know how to use it and that is all that matters.
Or so Mrs. Nitmos tells me.
* That should be “life” but it ruined my alliteration.
** But girthy!
Flying Pig Marathon training is proceeding on schedule. I'm going to come in a little light on the mileage for this "fun run" marathon but I'm okay with that as a PR and BQ are not the goals. Last several Sunday long runs have been: 16, 13, 17, 18.5, 15, 20, and 14 miles. This Sunday is the 21 miler and then taper!