The black hole of tight

Monday night is football night in these United States, and seeing as I am a son of the Red, White, and Blue, I fulfilled my societal duty and sat down for the Cincy- New England game. About two minutes into it however, I realized something, I HATE both of these teams. Before, I had not considered this fact, because MNF has become so integral a cog of my week. So I did what many might consider sacrilege and bailed on the game to go hang at a bar with some dudes. My only comfort, besides the Amberschlauter, 60 minute hops, arrogant bastard pint I nursed for the better part of two hours, was that my company was several other supposedly red blooded, tried and true, born and raised, right as rain, country as apple pie, warm as a summer night, you get the picture, fellas. They will remain nameless as they have not signed a full disclosure agreement and, unlike some people we all know, have real jobs that might be on the line. We chatted it up, seven guys ata table made for six small people. It was cozy and the grape flavored swisher sweets were fermenting the air with the musk of a cross between a tuscany vineyard and your granmother's station wagon
What does this have to do with training for a marathon? Well, simply this. I didn't go running until late last night again. This is an alarming trend, but what was more alarming last night and, even though it has taken me two hundred words and counting to get to it, is the theme of this post, the tightness of my right calf. Now I am usually tight after a long run, and after an easy day on Sunday, my body didn't pep itself up right from the get go, but I expected the malaise to pass and the different kinks to be ironed out a mile or so into the run. Didn't happen. My calf throbbed the entire time so intensely, and yes dad I took walk breaks, I could not think about anything else
(Seamless transition into spiritual connection) My runs are some of my favorite times to think. I think about what I am writing, my friends, current events (status of fantasy football team), girls, and God. The rhythm of my stride and pace of my breathing enables me to cut through distraction and focus on a particular train of thought for an uncommon amount of time. That is unless something, like a rogue calf muscle intent on sabotaging the whole works, throws me off my balance.
Afterwards when I had a moment's reprieve from the bitching my calf was doing, I was struck at how running is symbolic of my life. I accomplish more and am happier when the things in my life are in order and working properly. Relationships, finances, spirituality, my room, if any of these, and there are others for sure, are messed up, then I have no chance of doing what I want to do or become who I want to be. How do I achive this balance? No idea, and I don't think it can ever be perfect, besides, I am better as a thermometer than a scalpel. Heck, I am still trying to figure out why my calf was so upset with me last night.
This may be nothing new to the four of you who read this blog, and two of you may have stopped reading when I used the "B" word, but it may keep your bed made for the next couple of days, and if that is the case, then it was all worth it.