Day #3

Day #3 is in the books.

I woke up Sunday morning and convinced myself that I would rest on Sundays, knowing full well that I will most likely spend Sundays watching football with my cousins and old high school friends. Five minutes after making that decision I went out and started to work on the house anyway, intending to get some kind of head start. I felt compelled to take breaks to watch football every fifteen minutes so it was not a fully productive day. I did eventually run the island circle again and got my time down to 40.20, not bad and I think I can shave another five minutes off it but ten will be impossible. The insomnia vs. jet lag battle royale continued and made it impossible to start my intended routine on Monday.

Monday was as bad as Sunday work wise without the benefit of having the NFL to blame. I felt the need to take breaks every fifteen minutes and do nothing. I was sluggish and slow and eventually pssed out for two hours from 4pm to 6pm. Work ouput was light enough that my father joked as to whether or not I had done any painting. I had. I skipped the evening run so I wouldn't be sore for the Tuesday morning run.

Tuesday morning I woke up at 6am, which would have been perfect if I hadn't then immediately fallen back asleep for two more hours. I woke up as everyone was leaving, ate breakfast and started working. Today was the day. I worked like a madman from 9am to 6pm. The largest side of the house, that which requires the most work, is nearly complete by the end of day three. I then took a long walk around the island, same route as the run. 1 hour and ten minutes, so 35 minutes seems like a much more realistic goal. Not sure whether or not I'll have my first morning run tomorrow as it is 12.30am now and I am not at all sleepy. Jet lag vs. insomnia sucks.

Tonight I missed my first attempt to see old friends. A friend from my close circle in high school was having drinks with the brother of another of our close friends, whom we knew but rarely hung out with because he was three years older than us. After the fact I happened to be surfing facebook when my friend messaged me. He had driven home after a few too many and had thankfully made it safely. They had a good time and he informed me it seemed like our friend's brother was doing good, which is always nice to hear. Last I saw him was in '99 and his long time girlfriend had dumped him and he was pretty miserable. My friend then went on to inform me that I had been a lively topic of discussion.

Most of the time these people knew me I was a very shy introvert. My friend, his name is Matt, had a best friend named John. John was the guy whom the first girl I ever loved cheated on me with, then they thought they'd make it up to me by tossing me John's girlfriend as a peace offering. I declined. I was good friends with Matt but I have always leery and suspicious of anyone who would associate with someone who would do such a thing. John I rarely spoke to afterwards. There are few things that disturb me as much as this kind of betrayal and this particular instance would lead to me closing myself off to people for a number of years. Oh, the folly of youth.

I assume Matt told our friend's brother, Pete, that I was in town and he had tried to get in touch with me through my sister to meet them out. Upon hearing my name Pete would inevitably tell his favorite story of us playing Little League baseball together. Pete was in his last year of eligiblity and one of the best in our league. He was huge and would go on to become one of our best high school basketball players. At the time of the story he was 16, twice my size and threw a baseball close to 60 mph. I was 12 and tiny but fast as hell. We were doing base running drills combined with fielding drills. Coach would hit a ball and someone would take off from home plate. If it was to an infielder they made the attempt to get the out at first. If it was to an outfielder, they made the attempt to keep it to a single. Pete played first base so he always ended up with the ball and threw it in to coach. When it came time for me to run something caught my attention, I believe it was a girl but my memory of it all is fuzzy. People started screaming, I looked up and caught a Pete fast ball with my left occipital bone. When I came to I was four feet back from where I had started with my left eye already swollen shut. Pete thought he killed me. My father threw me in our car and rushed me to my Grandmother's house to put a frozen steak on it.

Matt thought this story was hilarious. The facebook chat went like this.

Matt: Pete told me the story of how he ended your baseball career.

Me: HA! I couldn't hit for shit after that. But I could walk and steal bases like a motherfucker.

Matt: You are the ultimate!

Now I know that he was to some degree intoxicated but I felt surprised at the response. During all the time that Matt knew me I was anything but the ultimate anything. I was a turtle who spent all my time inside my own shell. I haven't seen Matt since '99 either, shortly after we graduated high school. I wouldn't start to peek out of my shell for another 4 years. There is something remarkably validating about someone who only knew you when you felt very small telling you that you are the ultimate. It feels wonderful.

The only compliment I will ever cherish more is when the woman I love more than anything in the entire world told me I was the most amazing person she had ever met. Today's was almost as sweet.