Reunion

Reunions - who cares?  I realize that a lot of people do, I just never have. I remember going to my first high school reunion. It was our 10 year (I had skipped the 5 year). I was so unimpressed that it was ridiculous. Hadn't these people grown up and finally understood that everything didn't have to revolve around drinking and dirty jokes? Maybe it was me. After all I didn't blend well in school - I did my own thing and had a very small cluster of friends. My goal was to rock the GPA, graduate early, and get a job. I did. Once I determined that I had enough credits to graduate, it was one short meeting with my counselor and I was out of there - see ya suckers!  In less than a month I landed a job with the company I would give 29 years of hard work and loyalty too.

I wasn't very social in high school - never dated - didn't care too. I was there to get out. There were many downsides. One being little dating experience...lots of the people I knew "had been around the block once or twice" (or at least claimed they had) and I'd not quite moved off the sidewalk. Whatever. Looking back I was a bit shy. If a girl wanted to talk to me she better be prepared to start the conversation, keep it rolling, and decide when it was over. My job was to maintain eye contact. Don't let the eyes wander...no...stop...look at her eyes...her eyes...that's better. Another downside was that shifting from high school directly to a full time job (earning the monster sum of $450 a month) required me to attack my college degree at night.  The downside to that downside was that it took for frickin forever....the upside, I was making bank....or so it seemed. $450 a month and living at home - sweet baby!

So why this blog about reunions?  My best friend from high school called me last week about an upcoming 25 year reunion of our city league soccer team. Many moons ago I played quite a bit of soccer. I wasn't great in terms of skill, but I was fast. They put me in the forward position and our main play was for someone to kick the ball as far as they could and see if I could out run the defender, get the ball first, and score a goal. It wasn't the most strategic plan but it worked well. Sooner or later the other teams would put two guys on me and let's just say the game became a bit rougher. I remember dislocating my jaw in this no contact sport. It was a bitch when the doc popped it back into place...ouch! The day came when we got a real coach who used to play for Manchester United and knew his shit. He moved me to defense using the logic that most Americans shove the fast guys up front so we better have faster guys in the back to cut them off, take the ball and turn it back up field. I loved it!  Big guys racing down with the ball and 120 pound Mikey would take the ball away and run it back to help set up a goal. Anyway 25 years ago we won our division, made it through the playoffs and had the big city league championship game played in Civic Stadium. We lost 3-1 but it was an incredible experience.

Thus the reunion and I don't want to go. I haven't seen these people in nearly 23 years and even Vince, my best friend in high school and I see each other only once maybe every few years. Why would I want to drive to Portland for what would be an awkward evening, probably too many beers, and stories about the big game that likely are a far stretch from what really happened?  Oh, and then there's the "Hi, remember me? Yes, I used to have hair...no, I'm divorced now...."  Sounds like a great time. Geez, I reread that and I kinda sound like an asshole. Truth is I am thinking about going (5% yes/95% no) The thing is that Vince wants me to go. The guy has a heart the size of the moon and is all sentimental about this kind of thing. I could hear the disappointment in his voice when we talked. I left him with a "maybe" though we both knew the odds were against it.

Who knows, maybe you'll see a blog about my reunion experience snuck in among the race stories. My life is about moving forward but not at the expense of forgetting the important things in my past. Maybe this is one of them. Maybe I'm meant to go. Maybe we'll go. Looking over at the passenger seat may be all I need to make it a great trip. That in of itself could be a blog but that is for another day. Today I'll close my eyes and remember beating the keeper, tucking the ball away on the far right post, turning toward my teammates and running with my arms held high because one of them had just delivered to me the perfect pass.

Air

Air. Oxygen. Critical for respiration. Safe to say it's something we embrace. There was a time it came easy. A time I didn't really think about it. It was there when I needed it and I took it for granted. As a little kid I would run around the yard, climb trees, ride my bike, scream when the mood hit me, and chase girls (they were faster then TOO). In early 99 I found that exercise induced asthma was the reason for my recent struggles with running. Part way into a race I simply could not get enough oxygen into my lungs and I would become weak and my breathing was more like panting. The final mile was more survival than anything else. The finish line meant a chance to stop and try to catch my breath. As hard as I tried, a full deep breath was impossible. It's a scary feeling to try as hard as you can to breathe and only succeed in a shallow short gasp of air followed by coughing. Wheezing was a partner in this crime. In time I would get back to normal and move on.  

After some tests it was determined that I would become inhaler dependent. One for the morning and evening, another if I chose to run. I chose to run and the inhaler was magic. Air was back and running was fun again!!!  Best of all, I was able to run with Sharon and Albert again....or is it that they were able to run with me.. :)

So there I was, taking oxygen for granted again - well, not like I used to because sucking on an inhaler is a constant reminder that no one is invincible. We all have our "inhalers" and we find a way to adjust our lives to them. We don't let them change us or at least we shouldn't. 

Two months ago I started to struggle again. From time to time I would need to take my exercise inhaler after a run in addition to taking it before. The time to time became more frequent and I blamed it on cold weather. I'm good at deflecting anything related to my health. In fact I excel at it. Can you say s-t-u-p-i-d?  The past 3 weeks I've needed it during a run which of course I can't take since I had just taken it. My frickin chest gets heavy and air once again is elusive. F ***!  So am I back to square one or am I worse?  Logic would say worse because what helped me yesterday isn't doing the trick today. Scary? Yes.  Let's hope it's just my asthma and nothing else. Ok mom, I know you're reading this thinking you need to be calling 911. But guess what? I visit the doc on Monday. :)  I'm sure I will get some heavy duty inhaler that takes two hands just to hold, with side effects that will make my hair fall out (don't say it), cause me to become impotent, and hell, let's toss in uncontrollable flatulence. Truth be told it'd not be a bad trade to be able to breathe again. You all may not think so nor would many of you sit next to me anymore.

Maybe I should just suck it up. I know people who have much tougher cards handed to them and they step up and move forward every day. That impresses me, they impress me. It could be that my fast days are behind me and my blog will become Jog...don't run. It could be that I get new meds and I start setting new race records. Like life, time will tell. But just because I'm standing next to you and something stinks, it's not necessarily me...