blending in

today's distance: 9 miles

on the iPod: "poker face" -- idina menzel and lea michelle

I can't remember a time when I didn't realize it. My earliest recollections are somewhere around 4th grade, which would have been 1984. Mrs. Trembley was my teacher. I didn't have vocabulary for it, but I would very soon. It felt natural to be different, so in those early years I simply went with it. It was both invigorating and scary. It still feels natural today, and I don't know firsthand any other way of feeling. I never will.

It wasn't long, however, before I realized that this difference was not good. If fact, it was wrong. Unnatural. Hated. Not normal. Chosen. It was the worst thing ever. In seventh grade, at Southeast Junior High School, is where it became crystal clear that something was wrong, through specific words directed at me by my new classmates who hadn't gone to Trinity Episcopal School with me thus far. Two things stand out in my memory: the first being in my room at night, with the door closed, practicing the way that I walked and talked so as to not hear those words again. It didn't work. The second memory I have was the way that I thought about my future. The plan was to graduate from high school and move far away to some mid-sized city, like Cleveland, and live in an apartment. Keep the windows shut and the lights low. Slowly lose contact with my parents and sister. That was the plan. And everytime I thought about it, which was frequent, my mind's eye saw this existence in black and white. Today, that's a profound revelation that is difficult for me to think about. It makes me cry.

High school was different and similar at the same time. I learned very quickly to blend in and not call attention to myself. In fact, blending in became the goal. I began to see my future having a white picket fence, and began to think of how I could pull off a life-long sham. I knew it would be incredibly painful but that I could make it work. I had to make it work, there was no other choice. I continued to hear those hateful words directed at me and I pretended to not be hurt. But I was.

College found yet a third strategy to deal with this difference. I pretty much self-medicated to feel numb. It was good to ease the pain, but it proved to only make the problem worse, as I eventually flunked out for a year. By this point I was a total wreck. The truth is that I was so heavily self-medicated that I don't have very many clear recollections of college. It's a haze of being scared and doing nothing. And feeling incredibly lonely.

All three of these phases of my life thus far had a common thread: I had absolutely no identity or self-esteem whatsoever. None. Zero. I was scared, overweight, lazy, ugly, and directionless. I didn't fit in, had no hobbies, and was interested in nothing. It was the most awful feeling I've ever experienced, and I never want to feel that way again. I won't.

The irony of my growing up experience is that, in alot of ways, it was perfect. I really was blessed to have grown up in the environment with which I did. I had a great family that loved me very much, nice friends that were fun to be around, there was always food in the kitchen. Our house was clean and we had nice things. But deep down inside my soul was a disaster. I was terrified of being different and had no outlet whatsoever to deal with it.

Finally realizing over a period of a few years in my mid-twenties that I had to do something, I began the process of having conversations with the people I loved. My mother can probably recall the exact date, but I can only remember the emotions tied to it, the primary ones being relief and fear. What I do have a distinct memory of, however, was the very first run that I took, which was during this process. I think that run was about 300 yards before I couldn't go any further. It was exhausting and exciting at the same time. I wanted to do it again the next day. So I did.

That these two events, dealing with my identity and learning to run, coincide with each other is of no coincidence. I was tired of having very little self-esteem and no identity and wanted something with which to relate. I can't explain why I chose running, but I do remember that, at that same time, the Komen Race For The Cure organization was getting to be really popular. I wanted to run a 5K, not even knowing what in the hell that distance was in miles. I'd never done anything athletic in my life, much less run in a race.

Running was the missing piece in my life that changed my emotions and identity. It gave me a self-worth that I'd never experienced before and something that I could do. I wasn't that scared kid trying to blend in anymore. I was a guy that kinda liked to run. Over my adult years I've grown by leaps in bounds not only in terms of my running, but also my understanding of who I am. I couldn't be happier today. True story. When I think back to how I used to feel, old emotions sometime resurface and resonate, and sometimes i'll feel the urge to simply blend in again. But I know that my running shoes and iPod are always ready to go. And I know that there is always a new trail and another race waiting.

When I run every emotion and thought and hang-up melts into oblivion. I become just another guy that's out to log some mileage and enjoy the journey. Running gives me an amazing feeling that I know of no other way to obtain. It makes me happy and whole. My self-esteem soars and my identity is complete.

There's so much more to this story, so many experiences and people and feelings. And it's a story that I've wanted to write about for quite some time. Please know that it does indeed have a happy ending, one that I couldn't ever imagine on any level. And for that I'm infinitely thankful.

Run.