Winter Awakenings

_HRB4979, a photo by herb.purganan on Flickr.

Each morning, when I wake up, I reach for my phone to check the time. It’s simply part of my daily habit, a routine that is seldom challenged, changed, or modified. Last night, I went to bed early, having had the day off due to Christmas, two hours before my routine departure from consciousness. I awoke this morning, as usual, and checked my phone. It was dead. I have unwittingly exhausted its power supply and failed to recharge overnight. I searched for my wristwatch. Nothing.  I didn't have the data for which to base my placement in the day with.

You know that sinking feeling of strangeness and confusion inherent in some mornings when you are unsure whether the present is an exceptionally lucid dream, wherein reality is just moments away from bursting in through the door? This was one such occasion. I parted the curtains open, and I viewed the world as a luminous haze, a frozen photograph, a blanket of white, a silence where time was a conjecture devoid of a continuum.  The morning was clock-less, and nothing defined the area upon which the moment was in existence. I usually rise from sleep at 9:45 a.m., my body seems to favor it. But here, I didn't know what time it was.  Sometimes, one can know judging from the varying angles of sunbeams as they streak across the Douglas firs.  It's winter. Anything goes.

Dear Creationists

Dear Creationists, a photo by herb.purganan on Flickr.

Happy birthday, Sir Isaac Newton!

Bainbridge Island

_HRB4886, a photo by herb.purganan on Flickr.

December, 2013

Had a fun day trip to Bainbridge with Chatty, and Dyan. We ate lunch at Poulsbo where we pretty much spent the rest of the day in. Laughter, and merriment were scattered throughout.

Honolulu Marathon 2013

I apologize, Marathonfoto Corporation, but I really can't afford spending $75 to purchase these photos of me you took.  

December 8, 2013

4:15 am: I wake up, attach running gear to my personage, eat a bowl of broccoli I prepared the night before, and aunt Becky readies the car for start-line transport.  

4:50 am: Start Line.  Holy shit, this is a ton of people.  (26,000, roughly).  

5:00 am:  Bang!  Fireworks!  Go!

5:21 am:  5k checkpoint.  Everything's going pretty well.  Stopped at two aid-stations for water, and maintained a sub-7 minute mile pace.  Okay, this is sustainable…

6:00 am:  Just crossed the seventh mile mark.  Oh, god, I'm bonking.  My shirt drenched with water generated by me, and a few cups of cold water tossed upon my head.  Watch says "74˚F," too fucking hot.

6:46 am:  Half-marathon checkpoint.  Shit.  Losing it.  There's still a lot of space around, which means I'm doing kind of ok.  Might still finish in 3:45'00.

7:00 am:  Sun rises.  FUCK!  I'm stopping, I'm stopping.  Knee is giving out.  It's a stab of fire on each foot strike.  Watch says 78˚F.  Real estate, gone! 

8:00 am:  Mile 17.  Walking every five minutes, "running" every ten; this is not part of the plan.

8:30 am:  Mile 20.  Damn it, that Diamond Head Hill will be brutal.  Soldier zooms past toward the incline and his calf-muscles contract.  He falls off his knees and I ask whether he's okay.  Out of earshot before hearing a response.

9:00 am:  Mile 24.  Thinking; PBR. PBR. PBR.  Power-walking now.  Still uphill.  

9:15 am:  <1 km to go!  Running again.  Ahh, homestretch, finally!  

9:18 am:  Finish Line.  I'm on motherfucking Kapiolani Park - wahoo! 

9:30 am:  Walking to Rainbow Cafe to have aunt Becky pick me up.  Shit is like a mile away.  Fuck me!

9:45 am:  At Rainbow Cafe, I'm pretty sure this is no longer Waikiki.  Aunt Becky isn't arriving for another half-hour, therefore, on the grass I pass out.

10:15 am:  Aunt Becky pulls in, hands me a change of clothes and we head to Big City Diner.

10:30 am:  PBR! PBR! PBR!  I'm tired as shit but here I am, having a beer.  Honolulu Marathon, 

nailed!

For the record, on what little training I was able to apply leading up to the marathon, the weather had always been below freezing.  Viz. 12˚f when I left Seattle.  86˚f when I arrived on Honolulu.  Failure, justified!

5 Years Time

Untitled, a photo by herb.purganan on Flickr.

Five years ago, today, Clay died. I didn't know him very long, but his passing had a staggering impact. It wasn't really the idea of his death that struck me the hardest, although it was very devastating, but the reminder of how fleeting life really is; I suppose that's probably synonymous with dying, but to me, it isn't.  I had a conversation with Dyan and Chatty today about not remembering anything from my year as a 19 year old.  Not a particle of memory left from that year.

I stared out the window.  I could see clouds raking the pinnacles of the tall pine trees and the placidly noiseless bay.  Chatty tinkered with her phone, and Dyan sipped her chai latte.  I'm 26 now.  My cup wafted with espresso, and this was a metaphor.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali

Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a photo by herb.purganan on Flickr.

Had a strange dream about Hirsi Ali last night. I woke up wrapped in a voracious desire to create art. Above is the product.

Pioneer Square

_HRB4775, a photo by herb.purganan on Flickr.

Aside from the minor detail of a deranged woman's fleeting presence who told us that the coffee we held were the cause of AIDS, Ciara's senior pictures session was majorly successful.

Honolulu

, a photo by herb.purganan on Flickr.

Flew in to Oahu this weekend to run the Honolulu Marathon. I bought the ukulele shown above at Dan's and relaxed quite a bit. Will do a race overview a bit later this week.

North Shore

North Shore, a photo by herb.purganan on Flickr.

This beach wasn't actually on the North Shore of Oahu. It was somewhere en route, sort of an accidental discovery kind'a thing. Entrance bore no sign, and the driveway seemed like private property. Nobody was around and I felt like the world belonged to me when I stood there.

I Kid You Not

_HRB3407, a photo by herb.purganan on Flickr.

Last night, I had a dream about pig latin. A very lucid, very real dream that when I arose this morning, I suddenly felt the knowledge and skill tuck safely within my mental file cabinet, as if learning a language was like buying a pound of tomatoes at the market. Just to make sure, I checked online to self-test and consequently discovered that I am officially a speaker of the dialect, albeit amateurishly. The years will provide the proficiency for which I heretofore await. ife-lay is-ay ood-gay!