Building Prometheus

I no longer have leisure.

I prefer to think of it as balance.

Once again, when I need it most, I cannot sleep.

Here I go.

I’ve faced great adversity in my studies. Studying at full steam, damning every torpedo that may missile its’ way to my bow or stern, and saying F the icebergs.

I have sought economic recovery, substantive reasoning, and procedural duress. But most of all I have sought my future.

I’m giving everything I have. Refuting pleasure, comfort, and the joy of the lacksidasical ideals and practices that I used to enjoy.

Amidst this new maze of law and life, I find myself attenuating my efforts by the very notions I once held so dear.

So I’m working harder than I did back then. Back in 2003. That insidious occupation within my life.

Family. Faith. Health. Law. Work (this is law too). And then Fun.

At the end of each day, I compose a list of duties I must accomplish for the following day. And now at the conclusion of this brief list, is simply “Be Happy.”

Last Saturday I purged myself of what I thought was a sickening poison through 21 miles of pure escape.

This may be my last entry for a while, as I find myself feeling inadequate at this moment.

But until that next entry comes, I will vest in my ethic of perseverance.

Strength. And Honor.

A Deliverance of Empathy

Empathy is a virtue.

This morning after resting four consecutive days, I ran the quintessential distance of distance running: Ten miles.

The course itself consisted of rolling hills, largely on open farm road of southern Maine. What lies between my arrival of the race and my time now is a miracle of deliverance.

I ran with a close friend whom I have run many times with. His soul is filled with the virtues of courage and prudence, and his vigor is fueled by his own inadequacies.

It would be discourteous to call him anything less than the epitome of perseverance and ambition.

On another day, perhaps in the future, two of our other running mates would be out there, leaving on the pavement only the sinews of physical effort. But today it was just the two of us.

We were issued chips which recorded our time. I had dressed what I thought to be accordingly for the chilly winter’s day, and strapped my ankle strap chip upon my leg. I subsequently decided to change, placing my compression pants over my chip. Forgetting my own chip lay beneath my friend’s, I mistakenly grabbed his and put mine over my leg.

He then rabidly searched the car for his chip, as I patiently waited for the gun to go off. The heard began to move, and he slammed his door shut from sheer anger, and ran down into the race. He had never run a better race.

Fueled by his perceived frustration and inadequacies, he ran strong at a pace I can not hold for longer than 5 miles. He received no time. No validation. But his own personal acceptance of his efforts. I robbed him of this right, and confess. I made an error which took from him the only proof of the apex of his accomplishments at this distance. It was a mistake. An honest error.

He forgave me. And we both enjoyed the day. But we also must be very careful not to assign to this deliverance the attributes of a victory. Records do not stand without numbers.

I have subsequently run a 2.5 mile cool down, done a core workout, and now feel about as ambitious as dried paint, and as decent as a criminal. But I have found something in such a short time that would not have been delivered were it not for my careless ineptitude.

Empathy.