At first this was a blog about diabetes. And then it was a blog about running ultramarathons with diabetes. Now, it's a blog about trying to run ultramarathons with diabetes... and lyme disease. Because, you know, the other stuff was too easy.
“And if you ever get scared, look on the bright side:You’ve got a new life.” – Amos Lee
Last month, I was diagnosed with Lyme disease.
Since then, I’ve tried to write this essay a few times.
The first attempt followed a narrative arc rife with
suspense, with a few years of frustrating doctors’ visits, mysterious symptoms
that came and went and the all-around sentiment that the batteries that powered
my body were no longer able to sustain a charge or be fully refueled at the end
of the day.
But if you Google Lyme disease, you realize there’s nothing unique
about that story. In fact, the reality that my own diagnosis came only two years after all of this started makes
this a much shorter story than it is for many.
The theme of the second version was more pitiful, tinged
with regret about what this had taken from me over the past two years and what
it might take in the future. But honestly, that one didn’t get far at all. If
there’s a good time for something like this to happen – and th…
It’s never too late to find love.
I had a dog once, rebooted from a home that
Apparently had no toys.
When we got her, we offered up a buffet of
balls, bones and other expensive forms of
molded rubber and plastic. She ignored them all,
disinterested to find even a moment of bliss
- in any one of them.
She lived this way for quite some time
Seemingly okay with a life without material
One day, she came across a cloth mouse
Long since discarded by the cat who now favored
- killing the real thing.
In a single moment, she became something
we’d never seen before. Bringing it everywhere
playfully pawing and chewing it, taking it to bed
searching for it when she entered a room
ignoring her food if it wasn’t beside her and unable
to focus on anything else.
I’d never seen her happier, or stupider.
It only took me a short while to stop enjoying her bliss and
start worrying what she’d do when
- she lost this.
Would she return to her previous mode of gentle comfort with the world?
Were he alive, my father would not have been on Facebook.He lived in three dimensions, not two. He guzzled cheap beer when he was healthy and sipped blackberry brandy when he wasn't. He cut firewood in the late fall, sometimes with an axe sometimes with a chainsaw but always with snot dripping from his nose. I stacked the wood, going from annoyance to indignation until I finally came out the other end With pride. I held flashlights while he skinned his knuckles On everything. Late evening he'd watch the ballgame with a beer. I'd trace the veins on his hands, smell the Old Spice on his face and the bubbles in his glass. The wounds on his hands seemed so fresh but not once Not ever did I ever hear him Complain and never Not ever did I see him -flinch.