Resplendency

My past weekend could only be described in one world which would perfectly accentuate the past 60 hours or so: disaster.

But don't stop reading; I promise that there is a reason behind my complaints and me telling you why my weekend was so abominable.  A good reason, in fact.

So where do I begin? I guess I shall do so in chronological order:

Friday night is the night before my second race of my cross country season. Those that know me well are highly aware of the fact that I take it as seriously as can be, and that running is my life. It's given me more pleasure than I can imagine, and has shaped (for better or for worse) into who I am today. Because of this, I slept minimally the night before. And minimal sleep for a runner (or anybody, really) makes you cranky, especially before an important day.

The aforesaid race went just awful for me. My arch nemesis, the heat, of who we share a brutal enmity, got the better of me and led for my race and time to not be what I worked for. I beat my personal best time by 19 seconds, but did not succeed in reaching my goal for that race when I put in the required effort my goal. Thus, a major letdown on my part, especially because I have been working as hard as ever, running more than ever, and the result was not what I intended it to be. When you put so much energy into one specific thing, and you fail at your goal, it's quite disheartening.

So, I come back from Fairfield University dejected, exhausted, and legs full of lactic acid.  Atleast, I think to myself, I can look forward to a Saturday night with my teammates and housemates, which never ceases to cheer me up.

Yet, it didn't. Painful nostalgia appeared, instead.

We all have it. There is no denying it. Some arbitrary spoken word from somebody sparks a memory of something, or someone, that is no longer there. And, likely, you miss them. You miss the old version of them (or in my case, her).  You miss the person you fell for so much that it's physically exhausting, and the thought of reality makes you feel sick to your stomach.  You hope, pray, that she feels the same way. And it's selfish that you plead that she thinks about you, but you can't help it. But you also hope she's fantastic because you want nothing but the best for her, because she deserves so much. She deserves it all. And, yes, you miss the good, the bad, the everything. You miss it so much, and it tears you apart from the whole you're trying to regain. It's a sickening Sisyphean cycle that you go through constantly, with seemingly no end, no matter how hard to try to move forward.

Sunday morning rolls around, still feeling discouraged by it all, and I have to run 20 miles. Typically, this is not such a big deal for me (as I am training for my fourth marathon in November), but my mind was just not with it that morning. All I yearned for was to lay in bed and sleep off my recent struggles. Instead, I ran for 2 hours and 15 minutes, wishing that every moment I was sleeping. Nevertheless, I did finish the run, and had even more lactic acid in my legs that forced me to waddle like a duck when I had to walk due to extreme soreness

When I return from my run, my cell phone kicks the bucket. So how do I celebrate its untimely demise? By waiting at the Verizon Store for three hours to buy a phone I'm not used to, do not like, and charges me $ 9.99 a month for the Internet when I didn't need it in the first place. They say it's mandatory. I say it's asinine.

That evening, while preparing for my radio show (which YOU can listen to at icecast.marist.edu on Sundays from 8-10 p.m.!), my computer freezes right when I'm about to save and even finish the outline, thereby leaving my partner and I bitterly unprepared.  As always, "the show must go on" and we did our best, at least salvaging a semi-entertaining two hours on college radio...if that's even possible.

Now, why do I mention all of this?

Listen, I promise it's not to just complain, to have you sympathize for me, so I can say, "Oh, woe is me, I had a terrible few days! My life sucks!"

No.

That's not it at all. Because this entire tumultuous weekend has taught me that it could have been just as likely that I had the best weekend of my life than the worst one. What I realize (and I hope others do, too) is that we have these resplendent memories of awful times, like these. There's no denying our loathing of these moments. But what about the good times? Don't those cherished memories and moments have an even more resplendent recalling in your mind? A foiling example for each awful moment of my weekend:

My first cross country race of the season was a moment to remember, as I beat my recent personal best time by 90 seconds for the 5K and outkicked three other runners in the last 100 meters. That's something to be proud of. That's a special memory, as is when I ran my third (and most recent) marathon under three hours. These are resplendent memories.

The reminders I have of you, who I miss, are to be cherished forever. Those moments of my life with that person are indispensable, and of which I will never forget. Some of the best times of my life to date were spent with that special someone. And for that, I will always be grateful and remember those times of invincibility, that felt like I could fly across the world when I was in your company. These are resplendent memories.

The opportunity I had to call live soccer games with my friend on campus is just simplisitcally satiating. I sit at a pristine campus, on a gorgeous field of grass, watching the game I adore the most, especially with such a close friend of mine. These are resplendent memories.

See? Just as easy as it is to get caught up in the awful and unfortunate, we instantly forget the powerfully special times that are right there, too.

Life is a cycle. We have these weekends where they cannot end soon enough. We have the weekends we never want to end. We have moments that are painstaking, but they are replaced with memories of sheer joy. It's all a cycle, and what I know is that coming up are more sublime, blissful moments that I will soo never forget.

I knew there was a reason for complaining about my weekend.

The Good

So I went to a wedding this weekend.

Weddings are fun. Families coalesce in celebration of the bride and groom starting their lovely life together. People dance, talk, laugh, and drink (all in excess) in joy of the occassion. 

But, for me, this wedding wasn't just a symbol of "eternal love" and all of that fun stuff. It was something else.

My cousin got married on perhaps the most beautiful place imaginable, Lake George, on one of the more beautiful days imaginable. Don't believe me? Maybe you will now:

Here is the view from which Sara Pfau and Worth Russell exchanged their vows. See what I mean by perfection? Sure, it wasn't a wedding of ultimate grandeur, with thousands of people. But the important people were there. It was at the location that meant the most to them. That's what mattered.  It was perfect for them. 

Perfection, of course, is relative. Frankly, some people believe perfection is impossible.  I just don't buy that. When you see two people vow to dedicate themselves to each other forever, till death do them part, with the sublime setting of a lake behind you on the sunniest of days, with family and close friends around laughing and smiling, not everything in life is awful and stressful. There are those bright spots that trump everything else.

Like Danny Vinyard says in American History X, "Life is too short to be pissed off all the time."

When you have unique moments like these, how can you be pissed off?

Making Sense

Normalcy isn't normal. It's better.

Really? That can't be right. Normal, everyday life being spectacular and special? Why would that be such a celebration? If anything, why should we be so exuberant over our daily, banal routines that only become fun at 5 p.m. on Fridays?

I find myself without a true, definitive answer myself but a certain feeling that I know it's true. Let me see if I can even figure this out.

This summer, my father, a supportive, good dad (who, like all men, have their own faults), suggested I read a book titled Not Fade Away by Peter Barton. Before Mitch Albom's Tuesdays with Morrie and Randy Pausch's heart wrenching swan song The Last Lecture, Barton wrote his story right before succumbing to stomach cancer at 51, leaving his wife and three young children behind.

I won't give away the entire book or spend hundreds of words reviewing it, but the message is clear; there is a simple, intrinsic beauty in the everyday world.  There is so much we can achieve, appreciate, and understand if we just pay attention once in a while and look around our surroundings.

Now, I'm not, in any circumstance, talking about the narcissistic, self-serving motto of "living life to the fullest" with "no regrets" that so many people possess today.

Or am I?

Well, kind of. I guess what I'm trying to say is that with the right outlook on life and motives and just passion, we really can pack in so much into our daily lives. That ferocity of taking calcuated (but not dumb!) risks and truly working towards something we feel strongly about makes that supposedly mundane so special, and makes your overall life that much worth living.

That's how Peter Barton was able to die content and happy at 51 years old.  That's how Randy Pausch was able to do the same at 47.

That's how you and I can do the same, too.