1/02/2008

01-02-08 - 4

Over Christmas I ran a sprint against my littlest brother. He beat me (barely), but the real insult and injury was that I pulled my hamstring in the process. My middle brother beat me in a sprint a few summers ago, so I am now officially dethroned. It sucks getting old, I'm more and more injury prone all the time, and all my little core disfunctions keep compounding and have become systemic. Things like camping or backpacking are becoming more and more impractical for me.

I've always thought it was ironic that my skills are primarily mental, but the things I enjoy are physical. It's not so simple as some Psych 101 nonsense that I want to prove I can do the things I'm not so good at, the things the jocks used to lord over me in school. No, the pleasures I take in physical activity are the purely chemical pleasures of endorphins, the engorgement of the pump and testosterone, the zen meditative monotony of a bicycle pedal's cadence, the smell of the air and the constant variety of hiking in nature.

In the bigger picture of life, the one thing I've constantly really wanted since I was 16 or so has been to find the right woman, settle down, have a house and kids, be a dad, play with the family, cook, garden, all that stuff. It's sort of a similar irony that that is the exact thing I'm completely not wired to do. I'm a mean bastard and I suck at relationships, I shut people out and make them feel shitty. I would be really really good at being the single bachelor guy who works a lot and makes money and hustles around, that is what my skills are made for, but that disgusts me, I have no desire for that life.

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