Incredible Mountain Prayer Week-end
06-03-07, 9:35 PM

A mundane week-end it wasn�t. Friday, the boss left on vacation until Wednesday which normally means I�m in charge however he granted this authority to another co-worker � the one who has been undermining me from day one. Sure, I feel a kick in the ribs but deservedly so after last weeks fuck-up, yet I know in the long run I�ll be on top � it�s in my nature.

An incredible week-end! How often have I written about such a week-end? I know...never. Friday with the boss gone, I felt as if I caught-up on work which lead to a terrific spaghetti dinner with Karen in preparation for the 10k race on Saturday morning. Although it was jar spaghetti sauce, let me tell you, it was the best jar sauce she ever cooked, not to mention the pre-made frozen turkey meatballs! I think it was great because she made it Friday night for me. I didn�t have to cook. Let�s just say, I�m the better cook of the two and leave it at that.

Saturday morning we arose at 5 a.m., a typical waking time as Milo begins to whine at the break of dawn to be let outside. As I did such, I noted the small plates in the sink from my 3 a.m. raid on the fridge for more pasta in preparation of the race- the Sacred Mountain Prayer 10k which happens to be the second race of five in the summer series.

Arriving at the park, a collection of jogging shorts and technical gear wearing people gathered. Prior to the starters pistol, the Indian Chief evoke all of us to gather in a circle for the Sacred Mountain Prayer. Never having been to Native American Indian ceremony, I was extremely curious as the ritual and prayer and only wished I could understand the language. Annoying, not only to me but the Chief, was the loud idiot talking behind us during the prayer. I wished the Chief could have shot arrows out of his during the prayer, as he as the rest of us, was clearly annoyed by this person and persons behavior. However, the Indian Chief made his point clear at the end of the ceremony by aptly pointing-out that no matter what religion �RESPECT� is the minimal tolerance. I, on the other hand, just want to hit the guy upside the head.

The race began and I tried to keep to my plan� a pace that pushed my heart and lungs to capacity. The first two miles were uphill and steep� �Respect the Mountain� , the Indian Chief said after the prayer. Boy, did I! My heart pounding and lungs expanding as far as they could with each step. After two miles and a quick spell of downhill, forested trail, just when I thought we could go no higher, the trail turned upward again and my lungs burned!

Throughout the race, I tried to keep two persons within my view, a tall lanky runner clearly above my skills and a guy whom I previously passed and would occasionally shout, �Whooo whoo!� for no apparent reason.

Finally, the mountain could not be climbed any higher and the descent meant only the finish line was only a mile or two away. Skiers could have traversed the mountain to control their speed but without the wooden planks on me feet, I could only hope my body could keep up with my legs. Soon, I passed the �Whoo whoo!� man. As a word of advice as I passed to the deep breathing man, �Just let gravity take-over.� Probably, not such a good idea as this was a race.

Nearing the finish, I took the corner wide as dictated by my speed. The �Whooo whoo!� man cut the corner and began to sprint which caused a grin upon my face as I knew from my days in high school � no one can beat ME in a sprint! Twenty-two years erased from my mind and I was eight-teen again on the football field, the track, in the park or even in my back yard. I had my football helmet on or just my shorts and t-shirt running against my buddies to determine who was the �best� in an impromptu race. I grinned with the challenge as he pulled away. The crowd gathering around the finish saw the same grin and began to cheer as I pushed my legs and lungs to perform. The race was on!

Cheers of encouragement was heard as my body recalled days from long ago. Sure, it didn�t react the same but emotionally my body felt as young as a proud to win. I was closing on him. Closer and closer. �Go! Go! Run!� I heard.

Realizing defeat is a strange emotion. Even though the true winner of the race beat us by five minutes plus, the perceived competition between another participant and myself, just runner in the middle of the pack, was so great not only did we the runners feel the competition and need for success, so did the crowd. We both sprinted and I�m sure both our legs and lungs equally burned as we chested toward the imaginary finish tape.

I leaned into a tap that would not break and fell a step short. Yet, this step short was the metaphor for my past two weeks. Although I didn�t win, I finished but now know what I need to do for success up until the last step.

Onto the mundane... Sunday, we stained the front porch and now have one of the most sexiest looking houses on the block � if that is possible. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Truly, it will be a fun front porch for both us to sit in rocking chairs, play chess or cribbage, and yell at the neighborhood kids as we grow old.

Lastly, I just made an incredible authentic Mexican dinner from scratch which impressed Karen so much that her plate was almost as clean as to when I pulled it out of the cupboard.

I had an incredible week-end! P.S. Yes, the CAVS won! As a die hard Cleveland fan, I couldn't appreciate the moment and waited for the other shoe to fall in a typical near greatness Cleveland sports franchise fashion -- such as the "Drive, "The fumble", "Red Right 88", every shot Jordan ever took to crush our hopes. This losing sports franchise way creeps into our every day life -- like being a step a short for instance! Over achievers we are -- Clevelanders! GO CAVS!

Yesterday - Tomorrow