Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Countdown to the Gay Games - Competition


Week 2

Growing up, I was always the shortest one in my class, the scrawniest one of the bunch. I was the one who was always picked last for teams at recess, the one who was relegated from the bench to left field for one inning to prove that "everybody plays." I endured countless taunts of "faggot" because of my cohort's perception of my masculinity. I never played sports. I did enjoy swimming and worked as a lifeguard to save money for college, but my high school didn't have a swim team. I was a great tumbler and even spent a year as a collegiate chearleader flipping off the top of pyramids during time outs. But even then, I never considered myself an athlete. I was, however, a competitor.

I have always been a competitive person. On every other playing field than the sports field, I was the consumate overachiever. I was the straight A student, finishing high school by age 17, interviewing and getting accepted to medical school at 19, chief resident, and youngest person in my department to get promoted to associate professor ( after six years instead of the usual ten). Fueled by my childhood playground humiliations, my early gay adulthood became somewhat of a competition to look the best, wear the best clothes, get invited to the best parties, be the one everyone wanted to date, be the best friend. As I get older, the competition becomes finding the best job that will make you happy, being the best boyfriend, doing your best to pay attention to the world around us and how one person can do his part.

When I ran the marathon a few years ago, I never considered myself to be an athlete. Definitely, it was the opportunity to prove to myself that I could succeed at a physical challenge. What I discovered was my inner competitor sticking to the distance, trying to beat my goal of under 4 hours, watching my athlete's body change in the intervening weeks. And I never paid much attention to the other runners. I never wondered what inner challenge brought them to the playing field that day, what record they set out to prove. Quick to recall the many verbal assaults on my sexuality because of my lack of interest or aptitude in sports, I look forward to this upcoming marathon. I will take some time to look around at the other runners and celebrate them for the athletes and the competitors that they are.

Countdown - Week 1

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Countdown to the Gay Games - Running a Marathon


This is the first week of my 18 week training for the Gay Games marathon on July 22nd in Chicago. I hope to have similar posts every week to outline my progress and thoughts about gay issues as I go along. Feel free to follow along and offer your support.

WEEK 1

I ran a marathon a couple of years ago. It was the Chicago Marathon's 25th anniversary. I had never run a marathon before and was looking for a physical challenge. I learned alot about myself during those 18 weeks of training. I always ran alone and never listened to music so I was always alone with my thoughts. I was able to think about the things going on in my life and in my world. I've tried twice to run a marathon since the original and each time, I fell short. The training didn't stick, I wasn't that motivated to repeat the performance. So why now? Well, now it's a matter of Pride.

Coming out to myself, my friends, and ultimately my family was a powerful experience in my life. Discovering and being honest with who I really am allowed me to take my place in the larger family of the gay community and to develop lasting friendships and a long term relationship. And coming out to the world put another face to the gay community, another beacon by which others would follow.

There seems to be so much turmoil today surrounding people's feelings about everything from gay marriage to hate crimes, from gays in the military to gays in the church, from crystal meth use to AIDS and breast cancer, from teaching about homosexuality in schools to bipartisan politics. And it would seem that many people wish it would all go away - that we would just all go away. To be honest, it was difficult to choose this marathon given my own country's discriminatory policies against gay people and people with HIV. And so I am going to run a marathon - 26.2 miles, about 4 hours, along with other gay men and women in order to be counted. I run to show that we exist, that I exist in this world and in this country. One foot in front of the other.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

The Year of Magical Thinking


It's hard to believe that a book entitled The Year of Magical Thinking would be a reference to a year of grief. But that is what Joan Didion's best selling book is, a reminiscence of the year after her husband died from a massive heart attack in their New York home. "Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it", she writes.

So what does a seasoned author, political analyst, and Ivy League intelligencia do when confronted with the unknown? She seeks to understand it. The book is a touching tribute to her husband and family but it is also the ruminations of a woman trying to make sense of death, of grief, of solitude, of the next phase of her life alone. I appreciated her novel which reads like a journey, rational thought mixed with irrational emotion, equal parts self help and cautionary tale. I also liked how she describes the process of moving on. Of course it is deliberate, it is analyzed. The finality coming while crossing Lexington Avenue and realizing one year and one day later that she no longer has a reference of what she and her husband were doing the year before. For the first time in her head, she is without him.

I have sort of a strange fear of death; not my own, per se, but of those people around me. Truthfully, my fear is more likely a fear of regret - that I did not celebrate what I could when I could, that I always thought there would be more time. I remember a great line from Marsha Norman's play 'Night Mother. The protaganist has planned a last quiet evening with her mother before killing herself. The mother, stricken with grief and anger at the impending event, suggests that every night could be like this one if she were to stay alive. The daughter refutes "but it's the next part that makes this last part so good." In her discussion of many emotions and personal thoughts, Ms. Didion never mentions regret when remembering her husband, never dwells on the things they never had the chance to do or the things they would never do again. No regrets.

The message then is to truly live each day as if it were your last.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Go Easy Into That Dark Night


The New York Times has reported some concerning news stories, like this one, about the drug Ambien. It seems that there have been increased reports of people who have used Ambien getting into more traffic accidents. And the most recent report claims that people who use Ambien are sleep-eating. People are actually unaware that they are getting out of bed to snack while under the influence of their sedative. I can understand the no driving under Ambien problem. But guerilla snacking?

I have to say that I rely on Ambien occasionally to reboot so to speak when my sleep cycles get out of whack. That little white pill gets me to sleep fast (within 15 minutes) and generally keeps me there for at least six hours. Sometimes I use it on a long flight, when I have a string of overnight shifts at the hospital, or when the music in the club was just too good to go home before, say 7am. And I'm not the only one. Recently, on a transoceanic flight from Australia, I watched a young thirtysomething man pull out a 10 mg tab, split it in two, and give one half to his girlfriend. They placed it on their tongues at the same time, toasted each other by clinking their plastic water glasses, and then sent it down the hatch. Asleep in each other's arms, my friend Billy thought they looked cute. Personally, I thought the whole event looked like a suicide pact.

I can't say that I have ever heard of anyone who used Ambien to have a problem with somnambulaic eating binges. And I wonder if the process of putting oneself into deep REM sleep doesn't actually awaken their own personal issue. That it's not really the Ambien at all that makes the person eat, but rather the Ambien that allows a person to tap into a subconscious desire for food.

Something else doesn't make sense to me - the fact that these people on Ambien are leaving their beds, walking around the house, finding and preparing snacks, and then getting back in their beds now strewn with candy bar wrappers and Frito bags. C'mon. On occasion, I have awakened from my Ambien haze a bit early, usually with the need to pee. I have to tell you, that it is somewhat difficult to navigate to the bathroom much less the kitchen without holding on to walls. And I am very cognizant the next day as to what I did and where I did it. I can't imagine how these people are managing their way to the food aisle and back unharmed. But maybe that's the point of the articles - to show the inherent risks that Ambien can pose when all you really banked on is a good night's sleep.

I imagine that the bad press will undoubtedly harm the makers of Ambien. I, for one, will stick by the little white pill's side. Though I might have to buy stock in Lunesta.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Departure

This is dedicated to my dearest friends. Thanks for such a great weekend. Where would I be without you.

DEPARTURE

I’ve packed this bag,
Separated my share of dancehall tricks from yours.
And yet the room doesn’t look emptier
Though I feel quietly full.

I can still hear the music pumping my blood
More in my heart now then in my ears
Taking a last look backward
Before yellow cabbing away.

You remain, flying where you fly
To heights I cannot follow today.
A thousand hands, minus two,
To hold you up in this air.

And, oh, to breathe you in – your smile, your joy,
The small of your back, the way you
Predictably move among this deafening crowd.
I can pick you out of a hundred.

But there are miles to bridge and time to lapse,
Lives to lead where this stratosphere is unreachable.
Wheels that come up should touch down
Until another flight brings us back to this sky.

Sitting alone now in this empty seat
Reserved to go home, like me.
I remember that I somehow forget my fear of flying
When you are with me. You’re magic that way.

I’ve always been amazed that planes can fly.
Heavy steel like heavy hearts defying forward motion.
Only faith, promise of safety, the perpetual energy of our countless hands
Will keep it above these clouds.