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orangeoctopi7 · 5 years ago

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Bonding Time

Hey y’all, it’s the latest chapter of the Spider-Stan AU! Consider it a late Christmas present. Or... wait... is it still Hanukkah? Have a happy Hanukkah present then!

Breakfast the morning after McGucket left was awkward, to say the least. The only sound was the steady crunch of chewing cold cereal punctuated by the occasional scrape of a spoon. Stan pretended to try and solve the maze on the back of the box of Penta-Grahms, even though it was easy enough for a five-year-old. Ford stared so intently into his bowl it appeared as though he was trying to use it as a crystal ball.

Eventually they both finished eating, and Stan finally broke the silence.

“So, what kinda tests are we runnin’ today?”

“Well…” Stanford trailed off, remembering his argument with Fiddleford the day before. Maybe he could be a little more honest with his brother. “Truthfully, we’ve run about all the physical tests I can think of, so far. We’ve, uh, we’ve learned a lot about how the mutation has affected you and your physical capabilities. And your health.”

Stan’s face fell. “Oh… soooooo… no more tests... does that mean… you want me to go?”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Ford said hurriedly.

“Well, I mean, I don’t wanna stay if you don’t want me to.”

“Who ever said I didn’t want you to stay?”

“No one, I just don’t wanna seem like I’m leachin’ off you.”

“Nonsense!” Ford corrected him. The beginnings of a hopeful smile formed on Stan’s lips. “There’s still plenty more we can learn from you!”

“Oh.” Stan’s almost-smile changed to an annoyed frown before his brother even noticed it.

“I’ve got some inventions I was working on before another project came along and took up most of my time, but you’d be perfect to test them!”

“As long as we don’t have to take any more blood samples, sounds good to me.”

And so Stan followed his brother into a small storage room, with just a few small windows, where several odd objects were sitting around, collecting dust. It all looked like junk to Stan, but obviously Ford knew what it all was. He picked out a large pair of goggles, a pair of weird gauntlets, and what looked suspiciously like spandex, before leaving the room and heading outside.

Ford sat down on the porch steps and tried on the goggles. They were comically large, even fitting over those huge nerd glasses, and made him look even more like a great horned owl. The eye pieces slanted at an angle, reminding Stan of an oni print he’d seen in a Japanese gift shop back in Portland.

After just a couple of seconds, Ford pulled them off, blinking rapidly and massaging his eyes. “They seem to be working, but I can’t wear them for long without getting a horrible headache.”

“What’re they supposed to do?”

“They’re light filtration goggles, meant to help see beyond the visible light spectrum. But they take in more light at once than the human eye can typically handle. I was hoping, with your improved senses, you might be able to make use of it. Either that, or it’ll just give you a headache faster.”

“Gee, thanks.” Stan rolled his eyes, but took the goggles anyways. “Whoa!” He exclaimed when he put them on. The world seemed brighter and more colorful with the goggles on, like someone had fiddled with the color balance on the TV.

“Is it giving you a headache already?” Ford asked with a touch of concern.

“No, my head’s fine. But wow, this… this doesn’t look real. It feels more like I’m lookin’ at some fancy paintin’ of the woods than a real forest.” Stan continued to look around when he noticed a strange trail of purple that definitely hadn’t been there before, leading into the forest. As he focused on where the purple line disappeared into the trees, the goggles whirred, and suddenly his vision zoomed in on the spot. “Whoa!” he repeated.

“The goggles can read the muscle movements in and around your eyes to magnify when you’re looking at something in the distance.” Ford explained.

“Yeah yeah, I noticed that part.” Stan stood and walked towards the trail, “But I’m seein’ some weird purple stuff here.”

“Really?” Ford followed him and crouched down, low to the ground, to get a better look at what his brother was staring at. “Right here?” He pointed to a tiny gnome footprint in the dirt.

“Yeah, except it’s a whole line of little purple streaks like that, leading into the woods…” Stan followed the line back towards the cabin and saw it snake around the corner “...and into your front yard.”

Ford’s eyes widened “That’s the trail the gnomes take to my garbage can! You’re telling me you can see it as a different color?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda hazy purple.”

A triumphant grin spread across Ford’s face. “This is incredible! I originally invented these to enable me to visualize residual weirdness, but whenever I tried them on myself, the visual input was too much, and I couldn’t make out anything through the sensory overload! But it actually works!” He grabbed Stan by the shoulders and turned him back towards the woods. “Tell me, do you see anything else?”

“Uhhh…” He scanned the woods, looking for any more colors that looked out of place. “There’s a tree over that way that looks… I dunno, too green? That one with the really thick trunk, near the edge of the clearing.”

Ford followed his brother’s gaze as best he could, squinting at the trees in the vicinity and finding the thick trunk in question. His eyes widened when he got a good look at it, and he suddenly rushed back into the house. Stan didn’t even have time to ask what his brother was doing when the researcher reappeared on the porch, holding a megaphone in one hand.

“Steve, I told you to stay away from the cars in this clearing! If you take one more step towards my brother’s car, I will get the chainsaw!”

Stan was beginning to think his brother had finally made the leap from eccentric to just plain crazy when the tree trunk, which had to be a few yards around, was lifted out of the ground. Stan pulled the goggles off, sure they were malfunctioning. His jaw dropped in disbelief as he realized it wasn’t a tree at all, but the foot of some bark-skinned giant. A flock of startled birds rose out of the woods and the ground shook as the giant stomped away, it’s full form hidden by the giant redwoods which swayed as it moved past.

“Sorry about that.” Ford turned to him and put down the megaphone. “Steve seems to have some kind of problem with cars. He wrecked mine before this cabin was even finished, and I’ve had to chase him off from Fiddleford’s truck a few times. You might want to park a little closer to the house, he’ll only reach so far out into the clearing.”

Stan just stared at his brother, mouth agape.

“Steve?” He finally groaned incredulously.

“He acts like a Steve!” Ford said defensively.

***

After Stan moved his car so close to the house you couldn’t even open the passenger-side doors, they moved on to the next invention Ford wanted to test. The two of them climbed a ladder in the library to the roof, then scaled the steep wooden shingles to the highest peak.

It was an easy climb for Stan, with his ability to stick to walls, but he was impressed by how at-ease Ford seemed up here with just his boots and his sense of balance.

Ford helped Stan put on a pair of strange gauntlets, made of a bulky, segmented wrist strap and a sort of button on a stick that rested just above Stan's palm.

“So, you hold down the paddle here,” Ford pointed to the button thingy that extended over Stan’s palm from the gauntlet thingy around his wrist. “to release the pressurized fluid. The stream will solidify into a sticky fiber ten times stronger and lighter than a steel cable. It’s the same basic principle they use to make nylon, but with an even more robust substance. You just swing it out towards whatever surface you want to use as an anchor, then once it’s stuck, jump up and swing forward. Double-tap to release the fiber, and repeat. When the fluid runs out, hold down on the cartridge,” He pointed to where the cartridge slotted into the wrist gauntlet thingy, “And it’ll pop out. Then turn the wrist strap to the next compartment with a new cartridge.”

“Uh, ok…” Stan nodded, looking over the strange device. He thought he understood what to do.

He took aim at a sturdy looking tree that towered above their perch on the roof of Ford’s cabin. A stream of white goo shot out, quickly weaving itself into a chord of spider silk as it sailed through the air and finally found its target. Stan gave the chord an experimental tug, making sure it was secured to the branch. It held firm.

“Now, the real trick it to pick out a second anchor, take aim with the second web-shooter, and secure a second line while swinging from the first line.” Ford continued.

“Are you even sure the first line will hold me?” Stan asked nervously. He’d mostly gotten over his fear of heights when he gained the ability to stick to walls, but the woods didn’t leave him a lot of options to catch his fall.

“Absolutely. I already tested it out when I first developed this technology.” Ford assured his brother. “I just never got past the first swing because… well, I completely tore my arm out of its socket.”

Stan stared at his brother incredulously. “It’s a good thing I found you before you killed yourself.”

“I was fine! I was wearing an amulet that grants the wearer telekinetic powers, so I caught myself before I hit the ground!” Ford bristled defensively. “And technically, I found you.”

“Whatever. It’s still a miracle you’ve survived this long on your own.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“I wasn’t on my own--”

“McGucket told me you only called him out here a few weeks ago.”

“Well yes, but I…” Ford trailed off. Stan could see he was having an internal argument of some sort. He didn't even notice when Stan gave a start as that strange, twinging version of his spider-sense returned.

This was the first time Stan had ever felt it during the day before, and as he tried to concentrate on the sensation, he was more sure than ever that it had some connection to his brother. Something was wrong with Ford. No, not wrong with Ford. Something wrong was happening to Ford.

But just as soon as he’d noticed it, it passed, and the next thing Ford said threw him off so much, he forgot about his spider-sense for a time.

“I’m not the only one who’s lucky to have survived so long on my own.” Ford said, casting his gaze downward. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, when you told me my specimen had bitten you, and that it was affecting you. I can’t imagine what undergoing that kind of genetic mutation on your own must have been like. You could have died!”

“...Oh…” Stan squeaked. He didn’t know how else to react. He’d never felt like he could have died, not from the spider powers showing up, anyway. There had been plenty of times he’d gotten himself into trouble with the mob or creditors or gangs and he’d felt like he could have died, only to discover a useful new ability. Like sticking to walls when he was pushed off a building, or superhuman strength when he broke himself out of a locked trunk, or inhuman agility when he’d literally dodged a bullet.

“In my defense, you weren’t being sympathetic to my ruined science fair project at all.” Ford continued. “It really did seem to me like you were just being a massive jerk and trying to worm your way out of taking responsibility like you always do.”

“Wow, you are terrible at apologizing, you know that?” Stan grunted.

It was Ford’s turn to roll his eyes. “Nevermind. Let’s just test these web shooters out already.” he said flusteredly.

This unexpected apology caught Stan off guard. He'd volunteered to come out here and be a guinea pig in exchange for room and board. Stan didn’t really mind; it gave him an excuse to stay and… keep an eye on Ford. Yeah. Nobody could deny the nerd needed looking after. Stan certainly didn’t have illusions that things could ever go back to the way things were between them before. No way. He definitely wasn’t getting his hopes up. No one could prove anything.

Eager to leave this awkward conversation and his conflicted feelings behind, Stan jumped off the roof, swinging on the chord. It felt great, like being a kid on a rope-swing again. As he felt himself swing to the opposite end of his human pendulum, he looked around for another good tree branch to anchor from. It was like his spider-sense slowed down time as he found a target, took aim, fired the second web shooter and released the first line, all in a fraction of a second. For just a heartbeat, he was weightless, before swinging forward on the second line. This was fun! It was hard to be worried or upset about anything when he was swinging through the trees like Tarzan.

He managed to reach the outskirts of town in just a fraction of the time it took to walk, and nearly as fast as it did to drive. Stan figured he could get there even faster than driving with enough practice. He enjoyed the view at the top of the old bell tower for a moment, then swung back to Ford’s cabin.

The nerd looked like their birthday had come early when Stan got back. “That test-run went better than I could have hoped! How far did you go?”

“To the old bell tower in town and back.”

“Really? In that short a time?” Ford pulled out his journal and started writing excitedly. “And you never slipped, or ran into anything? The line never broke or detached?”

“Nope. I almost hit a few trees but I always changed course in time.”

“Incredible!” Ford grinned. “Let me see the fluid cartridge, how much did it use?” He grabbed Stan’s wrists and popped out the cartridges without waiting for Stan to answer. “How many lines would you say you used, round trip?”

“Uh, I dunno… maybe ten? Twelve?” Stan guessed. He hadn’t known he was supposed to keep track.

“Hmm… and only used about a fifth of the fluid in the cartridge. Good to know.” Ford jotted the info into his Journal, then snapped it shut. “Fiddleford is going to be so excited to hear this when he gets back! Oh, and it's going to make salvaging parts so much easier!”

Stan raised an eyebrow. He’d used his powers for his fair share of ‘salvaging’, but somehow he doubted that was the same thing his brother was talking about now. “What kind of salvaging are we talking here?”

Ford got that insufferable ‘I know something you don’t’ look on his face. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Ford I literally have super-powers from a radioactive spider. Try me.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

***

They spent a few hours out on the roof, testing out the web shooters. How much fluid did one line use? How many lines did it take to travel a mile? How far could he swing on just one line? Did it take more lines to make a sharp turn? How fast could he travel?

Stan was pretty sure Ford would’ve had him out there all night, swinging back and forth between the forest and the cabin, if not for an incident in the late afternoon. Stan was trying to beat his time from the cabin to the main road when he picked out a branch to anchor from just within sight of the roof. He’d just released his previous line and was about to line up another anchor when he heard a sharp crack. He felt more than saw the dead branch he was anchored to break. He panicked, and instead of thinking to fire the second web shooter and create another secure line, all he could think of was grabbing onto a branch, or a ledge, or a wall, or something to catch his fall. He must have fallen at least 15 feet before he finally stuck to the upper limb of a giant sequoia. Immediately, he hugged it like a life preserver.

“Are you ok?” He heard Ford shout from the roof, witness to the entire embarrassing snafu.

“Fine!” Stan yelled back, his heart still beating a rapid drum solo in his chest.

“I think that’s our sign to stop for the day.” Ford hollered.

Stan didn’t need to be told twice. As much as he had enjoyed himself with the web shooters, this near-accident showed he wasn’t exactly a natural at it. He’d probably do a bit more practice a little closer to the ground before trying that again. Perhaps he wasn’t completely over his fear of heights after all.

***

After yet another canned dinner, Ford brought out the last shelved invention from the storage room. To Stan’s untrained eyes, it looked like several rolls of stretchy, colorful fabric.

“Something tells me these aren’t just to add some accents to your wardrobe.”

“No. It’s an extremely durable fabric. I ruined one too many sweaters while out doing field work, so I developed something that’s water-proof, tear-resistant, protects from abrasions, keeps warm, and most importantly, doesn’t get burrs or stickers caught on it.”

“So, what? You want me to see if I can tear it with my super strength?”

“Well, yes. But also…” Ford paused to collect his thoughts, thinking about how to word what he wanted to say. “I think it could improve your costume.”

Stan blinked. “What’s my costume got to do with anything?”

Ford sighed, looking anywhere but at his brother. How to word this? “I want to help you.”

“I thought that was the whole point of me comin’ out here.”

“No. Well, yes, but specifically… Stan, you’re a hero, don’t get me wrong, you’ve saved so many people, but I know you could do even more with some help.” He finally looked his brother in the eye. “I want to help you be a better crime-fighter.”

Stan broke the eye contact almost immediately. “Uh, Ford, I can’t believe you haven’t already pieced this together yet, but… I’m not really a crime fighter.”

“Not technically, no, and chances are you’ll never be officially sanctioned or acknowledged by law enforcement, but that doesn’t make you any less of a hero. And that’s why I want to help you! You could finally have cutting-edge technology at your disposal!”

“I’m not a hero, ok?” Stan finally burst out. “I never set out to be one, and you of all people should know I don’t act like one.”

“But… but all those people you saved!” Ford protested. “I’ve read the articles! The eye witness accounts!”

“Sure, I may have been in the right place at the right time, and if I saw people needed help, I helped them. That’s just what decent people do, genius! It doesn’t make me a hero! I’m sorry a bunch of nerds blew things out of proportion and made you think I was one.

"The truth is, I've mostly been using my powers to steal. Money. Food. Jewelry. Clothes. Money. Whatever I needed to take care of myself. All those people I threw in jail? Folks I owed money. Enemies I wanted off my back. That's not the kind of stuff a hero does."

At first Ford's only reaction was a blank stare. He was taking a while to process this new information. For all these years he'd had a vision of what he expected the Spider Man to be like, and now, twice in one week, those expectations had been turned on their head. Finally, he collected his thoughts.

"You may have done what you had to to survive. You may have been taking advantage of your powers. But with that power comes a responsibility to use it for good!"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Responsibility? Yeah, right! Like I owe the world anything! The way I see it, these powers are the least the universe could do for me after all the ways life has screwed me over!"

Ford opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but after a moment's pause, he just sighed and shook his head. "Don't you see, Stanley? You've already made a difference in the lives of the people you saved. Hundreds of people already see you as a hero. Why not embrace it?"

"What do you care!?" Stan huffed. "You just wanna play the hero like when we were kids, don't you? Only if you can't be the hero yourself, you'll just live the dream through me."

“Is that what you think?” Ford shook his head sadly, “You just don’t get it.” He trudged back down the stairs to the storage room, the colorful bolts of fabric under his arm.

***

That night, Bill returned to Ford’s dreams. The researcher was getting used to his muse showing up almost every night now. He was also getting used to the otherworldly being’s impatience.

“WOW, FOUR-EYES REALLY DID YOU A FAVOR, LEAVING YOU ALONE WITH YOUR DEADBEAT BROTHER, HUH?”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but this is the first time I’ve felt at home with Stan since we found him in Portland. In years, actually. While I still wish Fiddleford didn’t feel the need to lie to me about it, I think him leaving for a few days was the right choice. Yes, things are still… fragile,” Ford admitted, as he thought back to their argument earlier after dinner, “But our relationship now is better than it’s been for over a decade, and I’m hopeful it will continue to improve.”

“OH, I’M GLAD YOU’RE HOPEFUL ABOUT THAT. ONE MORE SHORT-LIVED HUMAN FAMILIAL BOND RESTORED, WOO-HOO.” Bill rolled his single eye, and then signed “IT JUST SEEMS LIKE SUCH A WASTE FOR SUCH INCREDIBLE POWERS TO GO TO A GUY WHO’D RATHER USE THEM FOR HIMSELF.”

“It’s... unfortunate, yes.” Ford agreed, his annoyance at his brother resurfacing, “But not entirely unexpected from Stanley. At least he’s used his powers to help people in need when he crossed paths with them.”

“STILL, YOU COULD BE A WAY BETTER HERO THAN HIM! I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP YOU THERE.”

“Thank you, Bill, but no. Despite what my brother thinks, I’m really not interested in becoming a super hero myself. I’d much rather be recognized for my scientific accomplishments.”

Bill shrugged. “ALRIGHT, BUT IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, I’LL BE RIGHT HERE WAITING TO MAKE IT HAPPEN!”

***

Stan wanted to scream into his pillow when the twinging, unusual version of his spider sense returned late that night. Sure enough, if he concentrated, he could tell it was strongest in the direction of his brother’s bedroom. But then, Stan got an idea. Those goggles from earlier! They’d helped him see some weird stuff out in the woods, maybe they’d give him a clue as to what was going on with Ford.

So he crept out of bed, down to the storage room to retrieve the goggles, and then into Ford’s room. Stan barely stifled a gasp when he put them on. A halo of sickly yellow was radiating from Ford’s head. That definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

This time, Stan just sat there and watched. Every other time he’d felt this sensation it had come and gone in just a few minutes, maybe even seconds, but this time he was going to really pay attention and figure out what it was, and where it was coming from. What Stan figured out was, of course, really weird. Whatever it was, it seemed to be coming from everywhere, but it all converged on one point: Ford. That’s why Stan had such a hard time pinpointing it that first night, and it was why it had seemed to be coming from Ford all the times he’d felt it before.

After twenty minutes of watching and just trying to familiarize himself with the sensation of this peculiar spider sense, something finally happened. The yellow halo surrounding Ford’s head shifted, and the ghostly silhouette of a triangle appeared. It had a single, slitted eye, just like all those freaky effigies Ford had all around the house, and in the split second before it disappeared, it looked straight at Stan.

“... What the H?” Stan exclaimed under his breath.

****

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#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Spider Stan AU #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #This Jerk #My writing

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hangonimevolving · 5 years ago

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Falling flat. TIRED. Big zero. Skidding off track.

Okay, I had a little bit of title indecision with this post :)

Allow me to regale you with a brief tale from my training run today.

I sent out for a 4-miler this morning on my new favorite route, the access road along the FL-826E expressway (also known as “The Palmetto”). I’d just run it a few days ago on my 6-miler, but I’d started out pre-dawn, when it was still very dark outside, and thus perhaps THE TREASURE was out there that day, but I didn’t see it.

But I did see THE TREASURE today.

What treasure? Well, this: I was about halfway along in the run, when I look over the steel guard rail that separates the road/bike path from a grassy area and a big long canal - - and I see THIS BEAUTY:

This picture doesn’t convey the size of the tire. But it was a nice, big tire. A truck tire, perhaps. And the PERFECT kind of tire for cross-training, practicing tire flips, etc.

So this is kind of a weird confession - but I’ve been really wanting to have a big old tractor tire in my backyard for a few years now. Tractor tires are GREAT fitness tools - you can use them to do box jumps, step-ups, tire flips, sit-ups and back extensions, sumo squats, and a number of other drills. I’d even been looking on the app Letgo for free/cheap tires on and off over the year....

I’d even heard that you can go to a tractor/truck tire dealer, and ask if they have any “junk tires” (i.e. used up, worn-out tread) for donation or cheap sale, and that often they’d be happy to give you one. But I just hadn’t bothered yet.

Anyway - so I find this big ass tire on my run, and I’m thinking “ITS CHRISTMAS MORNING!” Except.... I am on foot, 2 miles away from my house, and obviously this thing is huge. I need to make a plan about how to get it home.

So I pull up Google Maps on my phone, and drop a pin...

And then I run the rest of the way home, in fact picking up my average mile pace in the process because I’m so damn excited about my new tire.

I get home sopping wet with sweat, immediately swipe my purse and car keys from inside, grab a big cup of water and a towel, then jump in the car. And I realize - hmm, I might need some tools and equipment to get this bad boy into the car. It’s gonna weigh a ton! So I look around the garage, and grab a few things: a big stepladder we have, to use as a ramp to roll the tire up into the trunk; a pair of gardening gloves. Some bungee cable, in case I have to rope the trunk shut if I can’t close it with the tire inside. ETc.

So then I take off down the road, and find myself near the tire. I actually overshot a little, unfortunately - I was parked at least 30-40 feet from the tire. The spot where the tire was located happens to be where the road begins to curve, and there’s not much shoulder on which to pull over. Plus, its a curve - cars going at a fast pace could clip my parked car, and I am worried about this. I park and throw on the hazard lights, and realize I need to do this FAST.

I walk about 30 paces back, find my tire, and do some quick planning. I manage - miraculously, to flip it up, roll it up a small, very grassy/bramble-y embankment, and get it over a 24″ steel barricade - this is nothing short of a miracle. The tire is HEAVY. As I flipped it up, I realize it is heavier than the amount of weight I currently deadlift (approx 80 lbs) during circuit training. I am able to get it up, so it isn’t as heavy as some gym tires I’ve tried to use - but its damn heavy.

Okay - so now its over on the road-side of the barricade, and I have the task of CAREFULLY rolling it the 30 feet back to my car. This is not easy. Again, its heavy, and I am very conscious that if I lose control of it, its going to roll into the road and possibly cause a giant accident. So I’m super careful.

I get it to my car, and I am AMAZED AT MYSELF OMG.

DUDE. It is HUGE. Look at the size of it, relative to my car.

I can practically taste victory - I am so excited and abuzz, thinking about how if I can just get it in the car, I will have an awesome, heavy-but-not-too-heavy-to-flip-bc-I-just-did-it tire to work with in my backyard.

Yeah. So. Then I get to trying to load the m#$%^er.

Bruhhhhh. I tried everything. I make the ramp with the ladder, and I try rolling it up. It is honest to god like the Greek god Sisyphus, pushing a boulder up a mountain, only to have it roll back down again.

(aside: I love the myth of Sisyphus, and in fact have blogged about it here before, in reference to running with a jogging stroller)

Anyway, - with the tire, I am vaguely paranoid that it is going to roll backwards and either cause me a spinal injury, make me pull an oblique, knock out my ankle from underneath me, etc. so I am worried and tentative. But I DO try. I give it a solid 45 minutes of effort. I know that I have to roll it about 2/3 of the way up the ladder ramp, of course being VERY careful to keep it centered and not running off track (impossible feat #1), then somehow, 2/3 of the way up, get it to lay flat on the ramp (impossible feat #2) and then stay stationary right there on the ramp (impossible feat #3) while I then run into the car, climb in, and then lay on my tummy while pulling the tire the rest of the way up, into the trunk (impossible feat #4). The one non-negotiable thing that was needed here, was another set of hands and muscle to stand on the opposite side of the ladder, help the tire stay balanced and stationary while I did all that running around. That’s it. That was the difference between my plan working, and not.

I am staring these impossibilities in the face, and still I try. Because I am ordinarily not a quitter. And - 45+ minutes in the sweltering sun, and this too post-4 mile run, on a curved expressway service road that has infrequent, but VERY fast-moving vehicle traffic - - I realized it just wasn’t gonna happen. There was NO way. And so, with a heavy heart, I made the decision to abandon my Big Baby right there, on the side of the road.

I was so disappointed, frustrated, and sad, that I could have just hit someone. Or cried. Or both. It felt like some sort of personal failure in a way, tht I couldn’t get this mammoth tire into my car by myself, even though obviously its an absurd task.

Lessons learned? So the truth is, as the day went on, and Dr. Spouse and I had an enjoyable lunch together hours later, I realized I should stop moping, and find a lesson in this. And I think I found it:

I’m very good about making a commitment and sticking to it, no matter how difficult, personally daunting or exhausting it is, no matter my aptitude or interest. I am a promise-keeper. Its what I am. I’m borderline pathological about it. I am also a planner - I will think of a task, and all the things I maybe kinda sorta MIGHT need to get it done, and I’ll prepare everything. But there is one thing I SUCK AT soooo bad, and that is acknowledging that in life, there are so very, very many things that aren’t just about effort and intention, planning and preparation, and a person’s singular, dedicated effort.

So much of life involves humans needing other humans’ help and support.

Yes. Technically, I was strong enough to flip that tire. I was strong enough and clever enough to strategize a way to get it over that steel barricade. I was careful enough and responsible enough to roll it down the street slowly and cautiously, without jeopardizing myself or other drivers. I was even resourceful enough to make a ramp and get the thing like 2/3 of the way up the ramp alone. BUT. I couldn’t be TWO people. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how many tools I brought. I couldn’t multiply myself. I couldn’t be my own assistant and supporter, my own helper. I really just needed one more person there.

In this case, I didn’t have anyone to ask - not at this time of day, and not in my immediate area did I have a friend or contact with the muscle and the understanding about my crazy need for a truck tire, or my weird fitness interests at all. But - maybe the lesson here isn’t about truck tires, tire flips, quads and delts and fast-twitch muscle fibers.

Maybe I need to learn to ask for help with stuff. Maybe I need to open my mouth and take the risk of saying, I can’t do this alone. Can you help me?

My truck tire won’t be here to help me get stronger. But its got my wheels turning nonetheless.

#fitness #running #half marathon #ocrtraining #randomness #deep thoughts

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other-animals · 5 years ago

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2018-06-23

Scientific name: Elephas maximus indicus Common name: Indian Elephant

I arrive at the “Elephant Community Center” just in time to see several of its residents get fed. Three of the National Zoo’s six elephants are here, one in one corner and two in the other, all presumably seeking shade from what is shaping up to be a stickier-than-average day for early June.

The Elephant Community Center has a similar sort of institutional feel to its human equivalent, the kind of place that has vomit-colored linoleum floors and bulletin boards lined along their edges with crinkly store-bought trim and peppered with ads for pet sitters and piano lessons. The elephant incarnation of this is not unlike a warehouse, with hydraulically operated sliding doors that lead to the outdoor enclosures and a long dirt ramp separating the occupants from their audience. The zookeepers use this ramp as a proscenium of sorts, jogging back and forth in khaki shorts and polos lugging enormous tubs of fruits and forage, fielding questions from errant toddlers along the way. On the far wall someone has smeared some mud into the shape of a heart, an unintended nod, it seems, to the notion of an elephant bulletin board.

The elephants are looming behind a hefty cable fence, looking vaguely in this context like boxers against the ropes. Their heads, approximately the size of small weather balloons, are crowned by two symmetrical lumps at the fore of the skull, a formation that suggests cartoonishly bulging brains. Their trunks, projecting downwards with a limpness that belies their muscularity, are of a length calibrated to drag gently along the ground when at rest—though they are almost never at rest and instead are usually waving through the air, tentacle-like, touching this here and that there with all the whimsy of a toddler in a gift shop. Their state of near-hairlessness, which would, I’m sure, be horrifying if it occurred in paler tones, is somehow made innocuous by their uniform grayness, which lends them both a solemnity and a geological semblance, as though they were rudely carved from river rock. According to one keeper, all the elephants here are female, a designation that can be discerned by counting the number of protuberances on the tip of the trunk. Of the two directly in front of me, the one on the left is significantly larger than the one on the right, who is apparently nearly seventy years old and came to America in the 1960s as a gift from—the keeper tells us—“the children of India.” (How or why this child-initiated feat of international diplomacy was accomplished is not, to my mind, satisfactorily explained, though the same factoid is repeated on multiple plaques and infographics around the zoo.)

Children—I am contemplating, as kids of multiple shapes and sizes press around me, gurgling and screaming and waving their arms—are supposed to like animals; such a liking is encouraged and even enforced. As a child, one’s clothing is adorned with animals; the characters in the books one reads are animals; the stuffed toys one sleeps with at night are animals. The zoo is above all a place for children, a fact that is becoming all the more clear to me as a single woman in her late twenties surrounded, at this moment, by a burgeoning crowd of families, not merely nuclear but emphatically extended: grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, cousins and stepparents, teenagers and infants, all taking cell phone photos of themselves and each other, all bickering and wiping noses and having variations on a conversation like this:

Parent: “See the elephant? Wow! See the elephant?” Child: “It’s so big!”

One girl, witnessing an elephant moving a clod of dirt with its trunk, yells out with more excitement than disgust, “He’s eating poop!” while her father, sensing a teachable moment, rejoins, “We don’t eat poop, do we?”

Adults, after all, are not supposed to like animals, at least not in the way that children like animals—not wholeheartedly, not obsessively, not in a tumultuous, proto-romantic way. Adults should like animals civilly and calmly, with detachment and humor, with an understanding that the line between “us” and “them” is firm. Those with the audacity to breach this boundary must be censured, with women of course bearing the brunt of our consternation—witness the scorn heaped on “cat ladies” and “horse girls,” while men and their dogs are exalted, even admired, their proud, manly relationship anthologized in countless books and films. It is, at least in part, the sexlessness of children that absolves them from the stigma of loving animals too much, and one wonders—at least I have, in certain moments—whether men experience the female love of animals as a tacit threat of sorts, requiring immediate mockery and shame lest women should flee into the arms of, oh I don’t know, an elephant.

There is, I’ll admit, a seeming gentleness there, and certainly nothing more alien than you can find in the eyes of a man who has stopped loving you. The keepers—there are three, one per elephant—have begun their feeding ritual, which is fascinating in its intricacy and tailored, apparently, to each individual elephant’s needs. They begin by emptying a dry quart or so of what look like pink lozenges into a bucket, which they administer to the elephants in two different ways. The younger elephant on the left has them placed into her trunk, which she then delicately lifts and inserts into her mouth; the older elephant has them placed directly into her mouth by the keeper, who takes a handful of lozenges and reaches her arm up to the elbow into her charge’s waiting maw, holding it there dutifully until its contents have been accepted and swallowed down into the gray depths below. From my vantage—I am only twenty feet or so away—I can see an almost unsettling amount of detail: the way the elephants’ mouths are almost puppet-like in nature, with the pinkness of their tongues seemingly attached on all sides, more of a smooth muscle lining than an organ per se. The lower lip, rather than “closing” the mouth, dangles down in a long, fleshy taper—suspended, perhaps, in prehistoric time, decorated at its nadir with a wiry tuft of hair. Such a mouth is inherently, inchoately clumsy, with a comedic tendency to spontaneously release its contents; this is an animal that eats inexactly, abundantly, with anatomically enforced abandon.

The lozenges—which I later learn are called “leaf eater biscuits,” high fiber protein bars formulated for zoo animals whose first few ingredients are soybean meal, corn gluten meal, soybean hulls, and sugar beet pulp (which explains the weird pink color)—are followed by a series of fruits and vegetables that can’t possibly resemble the elephants’ native diet and seem instead to be whatever was on sale in the produce section at Costco: an entire green pear, a stem of broccoli, half an extra-large carrot, a whole raw sweet potato, two red delicious apples, one granny smith apple. These are followed by a measured amount of “Triple Crown Grass Forage”—I read the name off the bag as it’s emptied into a bucket—which, for the younger elephant, is eaten straight, and for the older elephant, is mixed with water and administered as a kind of grassy porridge, delivered handful by handful as one would feed a baby, a human handful resembling (to an elephant) a spoonful.

I feel mesmerized by this process and its methodical, almost clinical intimacy, the keeper on the right reaching over and over into the vulvar folds of the older elephant’s mouth, speaking quietly and conversationally as she does so—not baby talk, just regular talk, although I can’t make out the words. I am thinking about the extreme and shocking violence of captivity, trying to square it in my head with the necessity of caretaking, the way that you have to treat something nicely if you never intend to set it free. I have slept with men who treated me exactly in this way, their artful violence obscured by calm rituals of caretaking: the drinks that were paid for, the hands that were held, the doors that were opened, the stories that were listened to, and me all the while rattling around the cage of their good intentions.

I am over-identifying with the elephants, maybe; I am finding them too relatable. Their immense and impossible wildness is getting lost in my comparisons. They have walked through the world’s last remaining rainforests; they have known danger and suffering I will never understand. But wasn’t it Thoreau that said “It is vain to dream of a wildness distant from ourselves. there is none such.” The wildness in me greets the wildness in you. If I could I’d set you free.

#elephants #national zoological park #national zoo #essay #wildness #animals #other animals

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