I L*** (?) running... What? What did he just say?

I love the "L" word. Not the cable TV drama about lesbians (ok, that show IS pretty hot), but the word "love". I love how it's used and misused, under- and over-rated, embraced and ignored... the list goes on and on.

I love running... not the kind of love that makes you want to knit little things and send out invitations (ok, I guess I DO send notes when I run certain events), but the love for life I feel when I'm doing it.

I love the feeling I get when it's just me, the road, a clear head, sweat, sun, breeze, pain... I love it all. I love hills, inclines, and that which makes my body ache. I love the satisfaction of setting and accomplishing a goal, and I love knowing I'll do it all over again sometime soon.

I love the look on people's faces when I help them with their run and they do something they never thought possible. Run a mile, a 5K, pass a fitness test... I love the pricelessness of their happiness, even for that single moment in time.

So why is it I have such a hard time expressing "love" for another person? I love friends, and can express that love without issue. (Incidentally, this post came about because a distant friend of mine who also blogs and is VERY good at it wrote something recently that made me smile, think about her, and say to myself, "I love her spirit." That led to me think, "I love her." The irony here is she has no idea I think these things, which is fine because it's a platonic love I'm not looking to pursue... but blah, blah, blah... HEY! Man up, reach down, grab a pair and get back to your storyline jackhole.)

Sorry folks... I do tend to ramble and drift off track. Good thing there are people on the running course to follow. Yep, that's why I'm never in the lead, but I digress...

So why can't I tell someone I love them?

Take it easy on me here... I realize you're expecting some diatribe on running, and I gave you a tidbit, but the self-realization portion of this blogging experience is important. In other words, settle down, hold on for the ride, and you may just learn something about yourself.

Back to my question... I've kicked this around a lot. Part of me thinks it's the easy answer: I've loved before, I got hurt, so I won't allow it to happen again. Ok... 'cept if you have the feelings and aren't expressing them who's really hurting you, the other person or your stubborn sense of security?

There's another part of me that proclaims regularly, "You're madly in love with your child, there can be no greater love than that." Admirable, and accurate, but everyone needs a partner in life and when my son grows and finds his own, who will I have for me?

A small part of me says, "You're Seinfeldish... nothing's ever good enough for you, so you don't appreciate what you have." This, too, has crossed my mind quite often. Maybe I don't worry about it because I'm a giver, not a taker, so I don't feel bad about not fully accepting someone else because I'm not "using" them for anything. And besides, I have little girly hands so a woman with man hands kind of balances me out, right?

It's not that I'm incapable of love, and I tend to trust people until they give me reason not to, so why won't I allow myself to love in that mushy, girly kind of way? Am I not supposed to because I have male anatomy? Seems to me regardless of the way I'm built, I should be allowed and encouraged to love. So what's the hang up?

What I know is this: the love I have in my heart should be expressed in something other than worn out shoes, my ever-growing collection of race tech shirts, and luggage tags from running events across the U.S. I do love my time on the road, but it's time for something more... the question is, how do I get over myself to allow it to happen.

I love you... you read my ramblings and come back for more. It's not sweaty man love, or moaning beast-with-two-backs love. It's love, unmeasurable, unconditional, mostly unwanted, but very real. I'm sure other writers, the ones who get paid for their craft, LOVE their readers, because those folks help pay the bills.

Maybe I don't love me... now wouldn't that suck?

Regardless, something has to give. I want to share the passion for life that grows inside me with another being who wants to share it the way I do. I don't want a leech, or a "user", or a "poser", or some freak of nature who thinks me doing abysmal things to them is "love" (we can still get freaky though... just call it what it is... lust).

I love... therefore I am???

Hmm... this could go on for a while... where are my shoes? I need to run this one out of my head.

Peace, love, and LOVE... only you decide how much love you really want, and get, in your life.

Whatcha running from... or is that "to"?

It's funny what spurs the thought process on sometimes. It can be something small, like a fleeting glance of someone from the past. It can be a huge event, like holidays, births, weddings, etc.. Or it can be the loudest silence ever heard. That's where I'm at today.

Seems there are questions in life that must go unanswered because people aren't inclined to share information, or they just don't know how to share what's going on inside their heads or their hearts.

I'm not sure I get where the issue begins... childhood, trauma, or indifference. History being what it is, I understand the reluctance, but don't condone it. Truamatic events in one's life are a tragedy, but the healing has to begin somewhere. Indifference, however, kills... it kills the spirit, kills the soul, and kills the passion others have in life.

So the questions I'm asking myself are, "Where's the silence coming from?" and "Am I really hearing nothing, or am I missing the message somewhere?" More concerningly, "Do I even care what the message is?"

For my sake, here's hoping the last point of questioning is 180 degrees off the mark.

I'm coming up on this weekend's Chicago Rock 'n' Roll half marathon with a HUGE mental block... so many unanswered questions bounce uncontrollably inside my head. I struggled with the "voices" at last weekend's Heart of Detroit 10K, and still managed to get my act together and finish strong. But Chicago holds my heart in a special and truly scary way; it's the site of my biggest "failure" in my running "career", if you will, and I find myself terrified of the outcome there.

Last year's fiasco resulted in serious leg cramps leading to some deceleration trauma as I bonked and plastered myself into "the wall" at a speed comparable to 15 minutes faster than my personal best in the half (do the math right and I'll buy you a drink). Chicago also provided me the need (which I ignored) for medical attention, and a list of about 14 "never again's" for a race weekend. That list is scrolling through my head like the credits of a long movie... all sorts of recognition, albeit after the fact, with the hope I'll see something I've missed and have an ephinany like, "Whoa, where'd that come from?"

I've had a year to review, break down, rebuild, and rehearse to avoid the same disaster, and now here I am, six days from race day, and I can't clear my head to save my life. Why is my already feeble mind congested this way? Where is the disconnect? When will the noise subside?

Is anyone else hearing this?

Something's missing in my life, something bigger than I've experienced in recent memory. My son's been gone for a month now and I get him after the race, but I've acknowledged his absence and been blessed with many a long phone call from him over the past 10 days, so I'm thinking (using the term loosely here) that his trip to just east of the Mississippi is NOT what has me twisted like cheap Christmas lights taken down and boxed in haste.

I'm missing answers to questions I've asked myself 100s of times, yet when I try to focus,the questions disappear, leaving only the dead, white noise of public television which signs off after the National Anthem at 2 a.m.

I'm missing... maybe that's it... I'm just simply "missing." Missing like an automobile engine with a bad spark plug. Missing like most major league batters swinging at a Justin Verlander 100 MPH fastball. Missing like... like... DB Cooper?

Missing...

I think I better find something... quickly... because what I'm not missing is the chance to redeem myself in Chicago this year.

I wonder if what I'm missing is the sense that I'm being heard... but by myself? Ludicrous at best... so if not me, then by whom?

The scariness just set in again.

Peace, love, and Windex... something needs to clear the haze off the looking glass of life.