#but yeah the 30-50 stretch is BRUTAL

[asleepinawell]

I was going to make favorite dungeon per xpac polls but the tags on the least favorite for arr have been so funny and full of rage maybe I'll just do least favorite for each and then a final championship for the most shit ass beloathed dungeon in the game

[charlie-conway96]

The Support: Adam Banks Imagine

Pairing: Adam Banks x Reader

Words: 1337

Warnings: None

The semester was winding down, which meant exams were coming up. You were a good student but nothing compared to your superstar boyfriend, Adam Banks. What couldn’t that kid do, he was an impressive hockey player, a 4.0 student and an amazing boyfriend. You had really won in life when Adam chose you over one of those airhead cheerleaders. 

Exam season meant you never saw Adam, if he wasn’t studying, he was at practice and if he wasn’t doing either of those things he was sleeping or eating. You both had no time for each other when it came down to the exam seasons and you always dreaded it. 

“The Ducks and I are studying for our Calculus exam, you wanna come? Julie asked, she was your roommate here at Eden Hall. 

“Yeah sure, I need some motivation to get through it.” You laughed.

“I hear ya, This exam is going to be brutal.” Julie replied, leading you out of the dorms.

The two of you walked into the cafeteria, where you saw the ducks gathered around a table covered in books. You saw an empty chair next to Adam and b-lined across the cafeteria to it. You knew that if someone had been sitting in the chair they would have moved but you didn’t want to cause a scene.

“Hi Mr. Banksy.” You said, ruffling his hair before taking the seat.

“Y/N, you’re alive!” He said, slugging his arm over your shoulder.

“Barely but I’m here.” You laughed.

“Tell me about it, I have no idea what is going on.” He replied, gesturing to the textbook. You knew that was a complete lie, Adam was a math genius, he just wouldn’t admit it.

Hours flew by and it was reaching 11:30 when you decided to call it a night. Most of the ducks opted to stay out some more to try to grasp that last bit of knowledge, but personally you knew you had to call it a night. Adam left with you and insisted to walk you back to your dorm even though his was on the other side of the wing. You couldn’t say no to his sweet face and it just meant you got to spend more time with your boy.

“Adam, I am terrified for this exam. I feel like I know nothing.” you sighed.

“Y/N, you know this stuff in and out. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” He replied.

“I thought I did, but after tonight, I don't know.” 

“Don’t worry too much about it, it'll make it worse.” 

Upon arriving at your dorm, Adam pulled you into a hug. You inhaled a big breath to smell his cologne, his cologne was one of your favorite scents you've ever smelled. You didn’t want to let go because you felt safe in his arms and the fear of the exam went away. 

“Did you just sniff me?” Adam laughed,

“Don’t ruin the moment please. You just smell so good.” You giggled. 

“Well you need to get some sleep, rest up for the exam. Good Night Y/N, I love you!” He said, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Good Night Banksy, I love you too.” 

You watched as the blonde boy made his way down the hall before unlocking your dorm room and beginning to get ready for bed. You must have fallen asleep before Julie had returned because you didn’t even realize she came back until you woke up in the morning and saw her peacefully sleeping. 

You quickly got ready, throwing one of Adam’s flannels over a tshirt and pulling on a pair of jeans. You were the only one in the morning section of calculus so you walked to class alone. When you arrived at the classroom your nerves skyrocketed. You sat at your desk staring at the test for what felt like hours, eventually you had to hand in what you had done. There was at least a 50% on that paper but you did not feel confident in what was just handed in.

-

Days had passed and your calculus teacher had handed back the exams. You didn’t want to look until you were back in the comfort of your dorm in case it was bad. (You already knew it was bad she handed it to you upside down) As you were practically sprinting back to your dorm, you ran into Adam. You didn’t really want to see him right now because the exam was burning a hole in your backpack but he may be good support.

“I got the exam back, she gave it to me upside down. That is never good.” You spilled to Adam. 

“Hey you never know. Let’s go back to your dorm and see. Julie is at practice with Scooter so it’ll just be us.” Adam replied.

You grabbed for Adam’s hand as you headed towards your dorm. Your body felt flush and you felt like you were going to pass out. You just wanted a good grade, you wanted to show that you could account to something with your life. The both of you sat on your bed, you slowly pulled the paper out from your bag. You saw the red 5 peeking out from the corner. Your eyes darted to the corner, 52% was circled in red. Your heart dropped, this was the worst mark you had gotten all year. 

“Y/N, it’s okay. You got amazing marks on everything else that we did in class, that’ll help bring your average up. One bad mark doesn’t define you as a student, you are so smart.” Adam said.

“It’s not that, this is the one test that I worked hard for..” Your voice began to crack.

Adam crouched down in front of you so that your eyes met.

“Y/N, you did the best that you could do. You told me yourself that you weren’t confident and you still passed the exam. You passed the class and are going to continue going to school here. Everything will be okay.” Adam’s voice became more gentle as he spoke.

Tears began streaming out of your eyes, you knew he was right but you wanted to do better. 

“I just want better grades.” You managed to say.

“I know, but there’s always next year. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. I can tutor you. I’ll tell Orion to excuse me from practice more. We will be able to get where you need to be.” Adam said, placing a hand on the side of your face while his thumb swiped away tears.

“Your sports comes first over me, I’ll just figure something else out. Math is just not for me.” You responded.

 “Y/N, I would do anything for you. You know that.” 

“Adam, hockey is your first love and I don’t want to take that time away from it.” 

“I want to help though, and there are so many more hours that I can practice in. But right now I want to help you.” Adam answered.

You let out a sigh, knowing your boyfriend was not taking no for an answer. 

“Fine.” 

“Good, now come here and let’s cuddle and take a nap. You need some rest.” Adam said, getting off the floor with open arms.

Adam stretched out on your bed and you crawled into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, knowing that is one of the things that made you feel safe. You nuzzled your head in the crook of his shoulder, taking in your boyfriend's scent. The worry about the class and the test went out the window. It was just you and Adam and that was all that mattered. You looked over to see Adam’s eyes shut as he peacefully napped. You let in one big inhale before closing your eyes yourself. 

“Stop smelling me Y/N!” Adam laughed.

You could feel the vibration of his laugh through his body which caused you to giggle. You closed your eyes again and fell asleep in your boyfriend's arms.

[soysaucevictim]

Rest of the final week of current program & starting some new stuff.

-

Mar. 13

I woke up after 1PM.

Did some dishes before doing today’s workout.

First, today’s DD. 2′ chest squeeze with EC. I forget if I’ve had to do his one for a whole 2′, but oof. That took some digging in, especially in the las ~30″ of it. Got to trembling from fatigue and occasionally paced a bit as distraction. But mission accomplished, there.

Last, Chapter 58 of AoP. First section was traveling, 24TP. Done at Level 2, as high knees, and in one go. Was a bit of a challenge loading things that way. But manageable.

Workout proper was done at Level 3 (7 sets, 20 push-ups per set.) I definitely savored the 2′ rest time. Had a brief bit of doubt whether I could maintain Level 3, but happy I managed. Admittedly push-ups weren’t very refined and counted holds a bit fast. No less a challenge.

Picked up some iced coffee and spent time updating some logs/archives. Keep falling behind on that tool, keep recognizing this as a sign things Are Not Going Well. But anyways...

I did make another Hello Fresh meal, today. Southwest plant-based protein over rice. A pretty tasty recipe. I think I’m getting a bit of a hang of handling this plant-based protein stuff, in cooking.

Spent rest of day on the usual stuff.

Got to bed around the same time as yesterday, in the red zone.

-

Mar. 14

I woke up around 11AM.

Did a bit of the usual before starting on my exercise...

First, today’s DD. 40 push kicks with EC (20/20). A fun little exercise, nothing too flashy.

(After an interlude of distractions...)

Last, Chapter 59 of AoP. Looks like yesterday, I traveled to the wrong camp location - so I made the first thing I did for the chapter was traveling the 25TP from where I was and where I needed to be. Level 2, as high knees. I split this into 15+10.

Did the workout proper at Level 3 (5 sets, 4 push-ups per defined combos). I went for max rest.Push-ups got a bit sloppy and I did get to feeling it.. But it wa ultimately manageable work!

After hitting the showers and sketching a future art project idea, I spent the rest of night on the usual.

I got to bed a little earlier than yesterday, still in the red zone.

-

Mar. 15

I woke up around 10AM

Did a bit of the usual before getting to a psychiatrist appointment. Went okay, aired out a thing and was met with understanding/receptivity. I still think my meds are staining a bit - but hopefully getting back to one-on-one therapy will help.

After getting home, doing some fic reading, and whatnot, got in my exercise.

First, today’s DD. 3′ overhead punches with EC. I counted 382 punches thrown in the duration, happy I managed to stay over 2/sec at that. Very enjoyable exercise.

Last, Chapter 60 of the Age of Pandora Program. Like last time, I went for Morse’s Plan, figured that’d be a fun thing to test against my previous run of the program.

Lotta basic burpees and squats, but unlike last time I managed Level 3 instead of 2 (7 instead of 5 sets). It was still pretty intense, but not quite as brutal as it was for me a year into this journey, yay for progress (definitely dig what a difference going at this stuff has made in the last 5 years...)! \o/

I then made today’s Hello Fresh meal. Pasta primavera in lemon Parmesan sauce. I thought this was pretty tasty.

Spent rest of night on the usual stuff.

I got to bed obscenely late, in the red zone.

-

Mar. 16

I woke up around noon.

Spent a few hours on: getting iced coffee, doing dishes, breaking down some boxes, and organizing some cookware that I recently decided on ordering.

After that and some of the usual peppered in, did exercise.

First, today’s DD. 40 plank rotations with EC. Manageable - took a bit of focus to maintain balance for all of it. Did get a little bit of fatigued, but doable.

Second, Day 1 of the Square One Program. This is a Level 1 Program - so I’m treating it as gentle strength-training and warm-up for the next part of docket. The load was light enough that I modded UP (not using a chair assist) exercises, did things at Level 3, and nixed the rest periods. We’ll see how well I may maintain this - but don’t anticipate issues there.

Last, Day 1 of the Reboot Program. Level 2 Program (cardio-centric), definitely a good deal more intensive than prior for it, considering this the meat of my exercise plan. Did this at Level 3 again, but kept to max rest (did all the hidden burpees, a tiny bit tough on the knees today.)

Spent rest of night on the usual, clothes shopping, and jotting down some more iZ!AU notes.

I got to bed a few hours earlier than yesterday, but still in the red.

-

Mar. 17

I woke up around 11AM.

Went to Seeking Safety Group again, today. Twas alright made some writing notes while teir. Thought about whether I could have the time afterwards to run out to a convenience store while I waited on pick-up - but didn’t do that.

Once I got back home, I got going on my exercise.

First, today’s DD. 50 back leg raises with EC (25/25). Did things as a balance variation. It was nice given how crampy my right hamstrings/glutes were feeling for some unknown reason.

Second, Day 2 of the SOP. Level 3, no rest. Arm work, i kept my arms up for all of the sets and in between them. Got a bit more intensive in the last couple levels.

(After a bit of recovery time, given there was more arm work ahead...)

Last, Day 2 of the RbP. Level 3, max rest. Yeah a lot of bicep extensions / arm raise hold times. Definitely a more intensive load that SOP. Arms got nice and tired.

Spent rest of the day on the usual stuff.

Got to bed later than yesterday.

-

Mar. 18

I woke up around noon and one of the first things I took care of was exercise.

First, today’s DD. 100 shoulder taps with Ec (standing). Manageable work, a bit tough in the last 30 reps or so.

Second, Day 3 of the SOP. Flexibility day, Level 3, no rest again. The Achilles/calf stretches were satisfying. Pretty breezy and good warmup.

Last, Day 3 of the RbP. Leg day, Level 3. I rested ~1′ in between sets, this time. Kinda glad for the short/small lunge intervals here. I feel like I need to give the knees some TLC again here soon...

Spent several hours on the usual stuff (reminisced about some old fandom stuff). Did a bit more writing before getting to bed too.

I got to bed obscenely late, in the red zone

-

Mar. 19

I woke up around noon.

After some YouTube, I got going on my exercise.

First, today’s DD. 10 archer push-ups, no EC. I wasn’t confident enough to do this type of push-up off the knees today - so modded things down that way. Yeah. Not a huge fan of these

Second, Day 4 of the SOP. Level 3, no rest, no assists. Enjoyable and gentle balance work, is what I got from it.

Last, Day 4 of the RbP. Level 3, max rest. Ooof. got to sweating buckets and winded - but done! I’m kinda surprised at how this Level 2 program isn’t as much of a cakewalk as it may seem. the hidden push-ups also helped make things that much more intense. (But I’m still in good enough condition to meet the challenge and I still think the rating is appropriate!)

After a bit of chatting, I made today’s Hello Fresh Meal. Oven-ready chili coconut curry chicken. A pretty low-effort meal, which I appreciated. That said - I may have to throw it in oven longer than specified next time around (i think I may’ve used a bit too much foil to cover the tins - might’ve drawn more heat away from the food like the chicken.) Otherwise pretty enjoyable.

After some dishes and chatting, got some substantive writing progress in (letting FocusMe do it’s job for me more effectively, helped).

I got to bed obscenely late, in the red zone... again.

-

Summary of Experience:

I completed my second run through the Age of Pandora Program in March 15. Quite a few days later than intended... but February/March has really been kicking my ass in terms of stress and energy levels.

At any rate, these are my stats from this run of the program:

Points Traveled: 1,428TP, Level 2, as high knees. (1 point = 10 steps.)

Challenge Levels Taken:

Level 3 for 45 Days (vs 19 from prior record!) - Feels pretty good hitting Level 3 for most of it, this time! \o/

Level 2 for 3 Days (vs 29 from prior record)

Level 1 for 1 Day (vs 1 from prior record) - Chapter 55 still kicked my ass, needed to break after Set 2... again. orz

Jobs Taken: 17 (5 Canis + 12 Misc/Ch.) - Looks like I did considerably less than last time.

Fights Won (Pits): 4 (City Pits) - Not counting instances for plot. It was fun doing more of these, this time around! Probably overdid it a little bit in pacing/loading. Pffft.

[Ending] Scraps: 200

Paths Taken (Spoiler-Free Version): Same as prior run!

Alana, Dicer, and Morse were invited to my camp, again.

---

My stats for the previous run from 2016, for reference...

Part 1:

Points Traveled: 755TP, Level 3, as march steps - mostly. (1 point = 20 steps.)

Challenge Levels Taken:

Level 3 for 10 days

Level 2 for 15 days

Jobs Taken: 20 (8 Canis + 6 Equos + 6 Misc.)

Pit-Style Fights Won: 3 (2 Plot + 1 Extra)

[Ending] Scraps: 4450

Paths Taken (Spoiler-Free Version): B, A, A (Perk Get!), A, B, B (To Be Continued...)

Alana, Dicer, and Morse were invited to my camp.

Part 2:

Points Traveled: 633TP, Level 3, as march steps - mostly.

Challenge Levels Taken: [After fixing counting errors]

Level 3 for 9 days

Level 2 for 14 days

Level 1 for 1 day

Jobs Taken: 8 (2 Equos + 6 Misc.)

[Ending] Scraps: 2,885

Paths Taken (Spoiler-Free Version): B, B, A, B, A (Epilogue B?)

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, GHOST! You’ve been accepted for the role of OTHELLO with a faceclaim change to Oscar Isaac. Admin Kaitlin: Oh man, Ghost, you have no idea how long I have been waiting for an Odin to bless our dashes. I’m not sure exactly what it is about him, but he’s one of those characters that has just always been enchanting to me, and I am so so so stoked that we’re finally going to have him on our dash. I absolutely loved the version of him that you gave us in this application, and I can’t wait to see where you take him from here! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Ghost

Age | Twenty-four

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | I haven’t been on tumblr, more specifically the rp world, in like a long ass time so it might take me a couple weeks to get back into the swing of things (this goes for writing too) but I am going to be on at the very, very least 3-4 times a week and that’ll be on a bad week tbh.

Timezone | EST

Current/Past RP Accounts | Yikes. These. Are. Old. They were all hard to find because my memory (and liking to weird and complicated urls) is a little foggy and 3 are from the same rpg but here you go! The last I had deleted interactions off of but it has A LOT of character building posts I made for her.

In Character

Character | Othello; Odin Bello. Can I use Oscar Isaac, please?

What drew you to this character? | I was originally looking at Delilah when she was auditioned for an taken up by the perfect player. So, I decided to read him and I fell in love. I love broody “bad” boys who are also hella loyal and lost. I like his mix of brutality and passion. There is so much room for him to develop and I always look for that in characters. The last bit of his bio also sums up perfectly what I see in Odin. A constant battle with himself, really.

All must learn a little bit of cruelty in a time where there is no room for kindness. All must learn to be a little kind in a time where the world only knows to be cruel.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I. Bellamy. Out of all Odin’s connections, I feel I could have the most fun with this one and this is why this is a major plot idea I have stirring in my noggin. That is, of course, if it is ever feasible. It also plays into his and Bellamy’s connection to Pandora. He obviously wants to use Bellamy to potentially have a connection to the Montagues, to have someone inside to give him whatever information he needs. He also wants to take Pandora down. They are equal, but to him there could only be one brutal entity running around Verona. I’m sure he knows Bellamy’s annoyance with Pandora and what better way to find a way to tear her down than through Bellamy? If the blood is not on his own hands, how could he be guilty? If it wasn’t a Capulet that were to be Pandora’s demise, then there’d be no need for an outcry of more war. It seems to be the perfect concoction for a messy ending, but for who???

II. Delilah… I want Odin to regret the day he ever met her and not because of her supposed unfaithfulness, but because he was never man enough to love her right. I want him to watch her succeed and truly KNOW that he fucked up. I want him to try and make up for it and I want him to fail. Honestly, I am a sucker for hurting my own characters and what better way than giving Othello a taste of his own medicine?? It will also prove Ivan’s disloyalty to him and that would add a whole new level whenever this man comes into the picture in Diverona. I want Delilah to succeed so bad if you can’t tell.

III. PICK A SIDE ODIN!!! I want him to become one or the other. His mother or his father. I want there to be a downfall so hard that he either gives up all hope and becomes the monster people knew he would become or for him to see the errors in his way and try to make emends for them. No more broody, brutal and crying Othello. No more bloodshed. No more war. Every action has a consequence and so far he has gotten away free of harm. I want to tatter him up, strip him down and still see if he thinks brutality and kindness could have ever shared a home in the same body.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Bring it on!

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

Odin took in a breath of fresh air, filling his lungs with the oxygen he knew he needed to survive. Some people say they don’t need a thing in this world to survive the bitter taste of reality. Yet, he knew as long as he was alive, he knew what it was like to need something so badly you would die for it. He felt he needed oxygen just as much as he neededVerona. To pick and choose a favorite place was like asking him if he’d rather go deaf or blind. He’d choose both over losing any spot or step he had in this city.

“I didn’t come back to this home to be asked to favor one area in it over the other,” He licked his lips, eyes looking around him. It was the closest thing he ever had to a home. “Would you pick a favorite child out of ten if you had them?” He laughed, something hollow and telling of the answer he already knew.

No.

Because when it comes to something you love, you love all of it, not just the pieces that bring you the most happiness or contentedness. Through all the ugly you love it. Just like through all the blood and glorious battle, Othello loved his fair Verona.

What does your typical day look like?

***6:00 AM: The alarm on his bedside table goes off, but he is already awake. The muscles in his shoulders ache from a sleepless night, but he reaches over and dismissing the tone before sitting up in bed. His feet hit the cold floor beneath him as he stretches out his body, groaning in what seems like pain. They tell you about the hurting and then the healing, but somehow he missed the healing.

6:05 AM: Hot water runs in the shower, the steam filling the room and fogging up the mirror. He stands, forehead against tile as his skin burns beneath the water. He prepares his mind for the day that follows. He remembers his father, his stern glare and harshness. He remembers how he is just like him and it helps his mind to adjust to the world he is about to enter. He reminds himself that kindness only gave him the hurting. He wonders when the healing will ever come.

6:30 AM: He is dressed in uniform, sitting in the driver’s seat of his vehicle. He waits for the cold to leave his bones, but it never does. He adjusts the mirrors and his walkie-talkie before starting his car and driving off. Verona seems still, but he knows the facade way too well to believe it to be true.

6:47 AM: A running car is parked on the side of the road, driver’s side open, body splayed out over the top of the hood. He puts his lights on and pulls over. When he comes up to the person, it is clear they are no longer a part of the land of the living. EDM pounds through the speakers of the car, the hood covered in rose-gold chromatic dust. He takes in a deep breath before going back to his car.

6:50 AM: Odin comes back with a bag of white powder, some wipes and a plan. There are no known users of what the Capulets call il sangue di Faerie and there is good reason for that. Even he doesn’t know much about the dust, but he’d protect his family no matter what. He might have been cold and hardened over, but he had always been a faithful man. His loyalties were concrete. So, he did what he could to hide the truth. He cleaned up the mess of Faerie’s Blood before wiping the cover-up drugs over unbreathing nostrils, sprinkling the rest over the hood that once shined like the lights of the night life that hid these secrets as well.

6:53 AM: “Dispatch, we have a problem,” He spoke calmly into his walkie-talkie, eyes never leaving the corpse in front of him. “We have an overdose victim on the side of the road about 3 miles away from The Dark Lady. Send medics immediately. Suspect appear to be dead. ” He waited only moments for a response that help was on the way. At least this person didn’t have to experience the hurting. If only he was able to stick around for the healing.

7:30 AM: The car door shuts. Odin watches what’s left of the scene before him. His heart rate is steady and his mindset unaffected by what just happened. This city was a battle field and there were bound to be fatalities along the way. Accidents happen, especially when it comes to Faerie’s Blood cocaine addiction…

8:00 PM: The rest of his day was uneventful. He comes home to silence, slipping out of uniform and kicking it to the side. There is a twinge in his chest that he can’t quite describe as he pulls the blankets aside and climbs into bed. He remembers and feels the hurting and thinks about the healing. He thinks about how if your dead you can never hurt and then there would be no need for the healing. Even if you’re only dead on the inside, it still counts. He is content enough then to slowly drift into a slumber.***

Odin laughed, taking in a deep breath. “You think being a law enforcement officer would be more interesting, but it really isn’t. On a bad day we catch a thief trying to steal some cigarettes or catch someone driving under the influence. Gotta keep the streets and people of Verona safe, yeah?” He licked his lips, knowing very well his real day-to-day life was more of a glorified cop show where something was always happening. If it wasn’t covering up drugs… it was covering up a murder.

Othello drew in a deep breath. “But if you really want to know. There’s never a dull day with the family. Do you think I dawn the uniform now because I fight for justice? Maybe for them, but it is a good disguise. What officer isn’t morally corrupt nowadays? It just seemed to work.” He also needed the boost after his discharge. “I became a hero and found a place I belong. So, in the end, who gives a fuck what I do in my day?”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

The answer was simple. No matter how much he hated to admit it and to reveal his heart, he knew no other answer to give. His jaw clenched with a whisper of pain, but what else was a strong and calloused man to do but than to swallow it down in one heavy gulp. “Falling in love,” His father also made the same mistake. “What else has it brought me other than betrayal and hurt?”

The Bello men weren’t made for love, his father made that clear, but sometimes the heart is stronger than the mind. Only his fists were never stronger than his heart when it came to Delilah. Even Odin was man enough to choose words over fists, but no one had ever told him that they could hurt all the same. His tongue always lashed out and he could see the pain in her eyes every single fucking time. The words still haunted him.

“You’re nothing but a harlot. Who will love you now, Delilah?”

But maybe his biggest mistake wasn’t actually falling in love, but letting other’s make him believe in the lies he also told. The same mistake that led to ruining a good name– hurting a beautiful and kind woman. He never deserved her and he never will. He was his father and she was his mother. Black and white. Cold and warm. Cruel and kind. They were the spitting image of what he grew up watching and everyone now had the answer to the question they asked for years. The question he even had deep beneath his ribs.

Which do you think he’ll turn out to be?

Which will I turn out to be?

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

***“Bello.” his upper said sternly, making it known that he was serious in his decision. “You’re being discharged.” He knew words could hurt, but not like this. It was what was going to happen and had no control over it. He had been reckless and care free, but this was his way out of having to live brutally and lost. Yet, he wasn’t the soldier they needed with war on the horizon. “It’s for the best.”

“That’s what you think, but what if it’s not for the best?” He asked, tone slightly aggravated. He could feel his fists and jaw clench all the same. With a familiar anger he saw growing up. The same anger that swam through his veins. “This is where I belong.”

The other man shook his head, resting a hand on Odin’s shoulder. As if it were supposed to be comforting. As if it were going to fix things. “Sometimes where we think we belong is just a stop sign along the way to find your real home.”

Odin scoffed, pushing his uppers hand off of his shoulder. “Don’t pull that bubblegum bullshit with me. I’m not in the mood.”

“You need to leave. Before this gets out of hand.”

Out of hand? Them discharging him was out of hand, but he swallowed back the news like razors sliding down throat. He raised his arms in surrender before grabbing his things to leave. “You’ll regret this one day.” He said in a tone devoid of anything but anger.

At least he knew, even with the disappointment of this entire situation, that no one in this world could ever disappoint him more than himself. He thought the obstacles he tumbled through in his life before now were hard? Try losing the last thing you believed could fix you. Try leaving behind the only life you grew to love and care about. It was the hardest thing he was ever asked to do and it ended up being the thing he was best at… leaving.***

“Fuck this question.” He sighed, adjusting his shirt and standing up a little taller to make it seem as if it weren’t that big of a deal. “Being asked to leave the army was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I lost a lot.” He shrugged, like he always did when he wanted to brush off all the seriousness and hide that he was human– one who felt pain all the same. “But look at where I am at now. I wouldn’t be here if that didn’t happen, so, in a way I guess it was meant to be.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“We’ve been fighting to choose sides for centuries.” Othello never bit his tongue when it came to his thoughts. Especially on war. “We’ve been battling, shedding blood, winning and losing for centuries. What makes now any different? I’ve seen all sides of war, this is just the same as the rest.” He shrugged, head tilting in a systematic sort of way. As if every question he was asked came with a question in return.

Shouldn’t you already know the answer?

“It’s human nature. If you really dig down deep, deep beneath the world’s kindness– it is built off of brutality and death. No resolution came without the conflict.” He laughed. “But sometimes people like the conflict a little too much to ever meet in the middle. Am I right? When have you last seen a war go on this long, if not to revel in the destruction?”

Extras: N/A

[pghbabesonbikes]

Frigid Bitch 2018 Results

The 5th Annual Frigid Bitch: …not the coldest, …not the warmest, …not the longest…

At 9am on Saturday February 17th, 2018, the race organizer drove down to the north shore trail to check for ice and found herself staring at the river. There was no trail. Pittsburgh was flooded, the Point was underwater, the steps and railings leading down to the trail were protruding out of 10 extra feet of river along with signage and street lights. Well shit. That would fuck up the route map. Or would it? One of the checkpoints was on the West End Bridge, (or more accurately - under it, in the pedestrian tunnel) and most cyclists would either know or check the map and see the best way to get there is to take the trail. But from the kayak rental station under the Three Sisters Bridges to the Carnegie Science Center, the trail was The Allegheny. Well, if anyone follows the map and ends up staring into the river, we’ll chalk that up to race-day obstacles. They’ll just have to find their way around it.

Set up started early at Spirit, bike-rack equipped cars were already in the lot, and randonneur extraordinaire Monica VanDieran popped in first thing for the second year in a row to grab her spokecard, manifest and shirt. A steady stream of ladies rolled into the upper lodge to register and claim a corner to huddle over their maps and start plotting routes. An hour later an announcement was made that the race would start in 30 minutes and we were at 95 registered racers, so call your friends! Pittsburgh Babes on Bikes had decided that for our 5th year, in an attempt to beat all known previous records of ladies cycling fields, 100% of the registration fee would be donated to the Greater Pittsburgh Women’s Shelter if the race broke 100 riders. 10 minutes later Ngani Ndimble and Franky Montenegro registered as 99 and 100 and a great cheer erupted around the hall. In that moment, hundreds of dollars were pledged to the Shelter and the Frigid Bitch established itself as Pittsburgh’s biggest ladies’-only race ever. Ten minutes after that, the rules and general info for the race were announced from the stage.

   Make as many checkpoints as you can. Go in any order, via any route. Ride however you want, but DON’T GET HURT. Watch out for potholes. Make sure the volunteers get your spokecard number before you roll out! If Paul Beaver tries to make you do something stupid, don’t listen to him. Don’t give my volunteers any shit. Unless they’re Paul Beaver, then give him as much shit as you want. Checkpoints close at 2, race ends at 3. You must be back at Spirit at 3pm! When you get back, FIND ME to check in. Any questions???

From there, the crowd started heading outside to gear up, unlock their bikes, and pile onto the street. One of the volunteers walked out and said “Damn, there’s so many ladies out here! It looks like we’re about to take down the government or something!” Still 5 minutes from the start, the clusterfuck on 51st street started to back up towards Stanton ave. Incoming brunchers were stuck between Butler st and Spirit, and very few racers felt inclined to make way. The clock ticked towards noon. Returning 2017 racers laughed that the light at the end of the street would again be red for the start, so at the last second the proverbial starting shot was moved to the moment that light turned green. A panicky last-minute rider showed up to register, and 106 kick-ass Frigid Bitch racers surged forward towards the checkpoints!

THE CHECKPOINTS The Button The closest checkpoint to the starting location was the Button, a concrete slab on the side of the river that doubles as a semi-secret hang-out spot. The route map showed a set of railroad tracks at the end of a nearby street, which had to be followed on the diagonal across an off-camber grassy stretch. Originally, volunteers were going to stand on the button and make racers ditch their bikes, climb down a rooty mud cliff, and clamber up next to them to get credit for the stop. HOWEVER, when the guys arrived to set up the checkpoint, they immediately realized that was not going to work. The button was completely submerged in the river. No trace of it was there to be seen. So instead, they built a fire on the traintracks and told racers they’d make extra points for shotgunning a beer (untrue). "A" for effort!

Stanton Ave Another nearby checkpoint was not at all secret - the top of the well-known brutally long climb that is Stanton Ave. Impossible to approach from any direction without slogging up one of many hills, your only option is steep or steeper. A lot of racers opted to get this checkpoint out of the way first, and then stop for a minute for one of Bruce’s hot toddies at the fire station. Hell yeah!

Troy Hill Stairs For anyone who decided to hit the button first and then make their way west, the next checkpoint down the river was the massive staircase that connects the sidewalk along route 28 to Troy Hill. Shane was hanging out at the bottom to let everyone know that the checkpoint…was much closer to the top. Some carried their bikes with them (most ditched them with Shane, who ended up fixing a few), hiked up the winding steps and were greeted by a cheerleading squad toting pickles, pineapple, whiskey, and a cowbell. Zack was hopping around and playing “Ring My Bell” by Anita Ward over and over and over on his boombot, and Ryan was yelling for racers to…wait for it…. ring the bell! to get credit for the stop. Frigid Bitch volunteers are the best!

      The West End Bridge Further down the river past the flooded out North Shore, riders had to find the staircase leading up to the West End Bridge’s pedestrian tunnel! Helpfully, Paul Beaver had decorated them out with balloons, and Tim brought back his creepy friend to point the ladies in the right direction. Colin had set up a camp stove with mulled wine and coffee in the tunnel for anyone who needed to heat up some. There was a group of ladies who sure enough, not realizing the river was flooded, not knowing another way around, made it to the washed out section of the trail and decided they were gonna just ride through the water, fuck it. “I didn’t know when I showed up for this race that I’d be biking through the Allegheny River!” Drenched, they rode with frozen feet, until Tim pulled a couple pairs of socks outta his truck and doled em out.

Water Tower on the Hill In the middle of the city, the diva of the checkpoints was the Hill District Water Tower. Anyone following the route map would go across Bigelow Blvd (either up the fast-paced bridge and through a shitty intersection, or along the sidewalk and then up and down the stairs to the pedestrian overpass), up a gnarly hill, up a worse hill, up a staircase, up a brick road, and then either find the dirt trail through the park or climb up a grass embankment where volunteers made them hug the water tower before they could move on. It ruled! Even riders who trekked their own way to the tower found themselves winding up potholed-nightmare roads and climbing other staircases.

   The Wheel Mill and Pocusset The two furthest checkpoints out were also some of the most straight forward - pretty much everyone knows where the Wheel Mill is, and Pocusset is a street that’s been turned by the city into a cyclist-only road connecting Squirrel Hill to the Greenfield Bridge. The Wheel Mill, almost at the city limits, was the furthest checkpoint from the start. The lack of traffic on Pocusset is great, but it’s also a super windy hill, and one rider bombed down it so fast in her determination to kick ass she slid out, terrifying the volunteers. She knows how to power through tho, and made it to the finish beat up but in good time. Pittsburgh was flooding, but the temps were freezing and halfway through the race snow and sleet had started falling. When riders finished and bolted down the steps of Spirit to yell out their spokecard #s, water sprayed from their helmets, down their faces and careened off their noses and gloves to spray anyone around them. Alex K said she had to ride her fixie from the button to the finish line with her signature heart-shaped sunglasses clenched in her teeth bc they were all snowed over. Ladies arrived, soaked and grinning about how hard and terrible and awesome the race was. Women who had just moved here a few months ago came out and met new cyclists, complete strangers rode together, one racer said she had been spectating at the Dirty Dozen when a woman she didn’t know asked her if she’d ever heard of the Frigid Bitch. “No, but I googled it and it looked fun so I just came out!” They were packing into the bar, taking over the tables and floor space, ordering pizza and drying out while the numbers were crunched and the results were tallied.

The Results!! 1st place! Kelly Collier #3 Caryn Willis #6 Elise Rowe #10 Taylor Kyuk-White #666

5 - Franky Montenegro #102 6 - Monica VanDieran #4 7 - Jen Damon #42 8 - Suz Falvey #99 9 - Anna Biebersmorf #86 10 - Sarah Skelly #47 11 - Sarah Ralich #16 12 - Anna Barensfeld #11 13 - Robyn Brewer #8 14 - Kelsey Kradel #19 15 - Cora Devoir #45 16 - Barbara Jensen #32 17 - Heather Knupp #25 18 - Allison Glick #72 19 - Julie Baker #70 20 - Bernadette Brogden #67 21 - Alex Korshin #62 22 - Samone Riddle #64 23 - Jessie Appleman #44 24 - Laura SanBoeuf #77 25 - Alyssa Crawford #103 26 - Ru Emmons #43 27 - Chloe Newman #36 28 - Paige Anderson #48 29 - Naomi Anderson #34 30 - Megyn Sybeldon #35 31 - Katherine Jordan #84 32 - KateCampbell #41 33 - Alex Anna Angela Shewczyk #29 34 - Jamie Martina #69 35 - Cansu Ozen #51 36 - Shaena Ulissi #26 37 - Jane Runyan #63 38 - Maria Bajzek #22 39 - Paula Zamora #28 40 - Catherina Armbruster #50 41 - Sarah Pearman #53 42 - Lindsay Dill #97 43 - Ngani Ndimble #93 44 - Lauryn Stalter #101 45 - Lan Tran #95 46 - Romina Rozar #81 47 - Sara Khalil #74 48 - Tara Seplavy #55 49 - Ania Jaroszewicz #38 50 - Riesa Lirette #14 51 - Emily Palmer #92 52 - Elise Fantom #23 53 - Emily Persico #54 54 - Dani Kramer #7 55 - Beverly Bendax #107 56 - Dayana Rivadeneira #30 57 - Bonnie Weibel #76 58 - Genevieve Everette #37 59 - Mary Jackson #73 60 - Milo Spiders #13 61 - Hayes Vif #1 62 - Sabina Sloman #98 63 - Sarah Wasilewski #83 64 - Bridget McCoy #24 65 - Catherine Oldershaw #100 66 - Leah Nicolich #56 67 - Jaime Park #33 68 - Meghan Warren #58 69 - Morgan Tunstall #59 70 - Kacyn Keys #21 71 - Ellen Kiley #40 72 - Alex Falk #27 73 - Cindy Billisits #79 74 - Katt Schuler #96 75 - Jaclyn Sternick #75 76 - Ryder Lythos #80 77 - Tobin Seastedt #20 78 - Shannon Kenyon #12 79 - Erin Potts #60 80 - Molly Orzechowski #18 81 - Cat Woodson #31 82 - Susan Carlson #46 83 - Sally Folan #15 84 - Laura Jones #57 85 - Joanne Anderson #39 86 - Sara Crawford #49 87 - Rachel Ding #78 88 - Rebecca Jacobson #61 89 - Elayne Filio #17 90 - Nancy Jones #87 91 - Jolynn Gibson #2 92 - Maureen Duncan #9 93 - Athena Marsh #85 94 - Rachel Zaydak #52 95 - Katie Blackburn #65 96 - Joi Roboch #104 97 - Holly Wik #66 98 - Dirty Jones #71 99 - Erica Gamerro #88 100 - Demetra Czegan #68 101 - Amanda Glevicky #89 102 - Gina Gowins #91 103 - Megan Lovett #90 104 - Hana Swift #82 105 - Sarah Grossman #94 106 - Carrisa Mendez #105

            The Donation This exhilarating bitch of a race definitely has its obstacles - from the cold, snow, ice, floods, stairs, mud, brick… - but registration fees won’t be one of them. As long as we are running it, it will always be $5. With 106 registered racers, all of whom made it to the minimum 1 checkpoint, the registration money in its entirety will be donated to the Women’s Shelter this year. Inspired by that goal, registration #s were matched by two outside benefactors, bringing the amount raised to $905. Congratulations to all the ladies who hauled themselves to Spirit; YOU made that happen! Two decades ago 100 pro cyclist women raced the streets of Pittsburgh in pursuit of the US championship and a $25,000 prize purse. This year at the Frigid Bitch you broke that record in the pursuit of alley-cat glory and support of victims of domestic violence. Pgh Babes on Bikes is so proud, and grateful for making our 100+ rider dream come true, we are going to bump that number up to $1,000. Cuz it just feels like a good number to put on a check. THANK YOU to all of the racers who came out to bust apart records, kick ass and grant wishes. Thanks to all the volunteers, for showing up, cheering, bringing hot booze, doing hilarious shit and gettin creative with your stops! Thanks to the photographers for memorializing this race forever and catching everyone’s glee and embarrassing moments! Thank you to the video team; we CAN’T WAIT to see what you do with the race footage! Thank you to my lovely assistants and stage bouncer, and to my little brother for the epic, amazing, incredible artwork. THANK YOU TO OUR SPONSORS, who donate mountains of swag so no matter how big our numbers get, everyone gets rad stuff!

                                                                                                SEE YOU NEXT YEAR!

[ievenranthisfar]

RACE REPORT // Bryce 100: Returning For Revenge

Seven years ago I discovered Utah.

I don’t mean like Mormon-level-discovered Utah. I just mean, like, I personally discovered it. I somewhat drunkenly convinced my old college roommate Matt to sign up for the now-defunct Slickrock 50 outside Moab. A few months later, as we wound our way over undulating waves of slickrock on the rim of canyons in the middle of expansive, desolate desert, I realized something: I was hooked.

Southern Utah is an alien planet. It’s Mars on Earth. It’s the most endlessly fascinating terrain in North America, and some of its most brutal too. Since my first experience, I return every chance I get. I into big, burly mountains. But I’m totally spellbound by Utah desert.

Matt Gunn, the founder of the Ultra Adventure Grand Circle Trail Series, understood that. It’s been his mission to get more people out to explore this far-flung corner of the country. In 2013 I took him up on the challenge, being so enthused, I signed up for both Zion 100 and Bryce 100 just six weeks apart. Zion was the best race of my life. Bryce was the worst.

At Zion, I ran a fast race all day, finishing in 17:55, a mere three minutes off first place. But, I was so focused on Zion that Bryce ended up an afterthought. I just assumed it’d be a beautiful course, pretty much as “easy” as Zion. And since it was the inaugural year for Bryce, no one knew any different.

What we got instead was one of the most sneakily brutal courses I’ve ever experience. You pay for the occasional mind-blowing viewpoints with a leg-grinding, brain-mushing, oxygen-depriving hell of route. I’ll spare you the details, but the end result was my first and only DNF. I made it 74 miles before I couldn’t breathe, stopped eating and got frozen cold. At that point, the idea of running another marathon was simply impossible to wrap my mind around.

But this year, when I realized I needed a Western States qualifier AND I had to get it before the arrival of our kid, the ole Bryce 100 suddenly seemed more inviting than it ever had. I signed up and decided it was time for revenge.

Cut to race morning. 

Photo by Patrick Sweeney 

About 250 of us are standing around, waiting for this thing to begin. I have a weird feeling. It’s not nerves. It’s more like, I don’t want to be there in the first place. Half an hour before, as we drove to the starting line, Dom, Katie and I had gotten lost. We had no idea where we were going. Inside of me, a little pang of hope said, Maybe I won’t have to actually run this thing.

But, lucky me, we found the start. I’d have to run this thin after all.

“Two minutes till we start!” the RD yells from his perch. I move towards the starting line, and see something I’ve never seen before: Everyone is standing five feet behind the line. Weird. No one wants to toe the line. I thought this was a race? I say to myself and step up to the line. There’s the “10… 9… 8…” and in a blink, we were off. Me, five feet in front of about 249 people.

Photo by Patrick Sweeney

I take off strong but not particularly fast. After a couple miles on dusty, flat dirt roads, the course turns off onto undulating, windy singletrack that screams in and out of draws. I pop a few peeks from the other side of the draws and find that I’m already about four minutes up on numbers 2 and 3.

Thunder Mountain Trail is one of the most magical stretches of trail I’ve ever run, and I have good memories of it from last time—perhaps my only good memories from last time. After careening through the bright red, ponderosa-speckled draws like some kind of dusty rollercoaster you suddenly hit them. Hoodoos. Big, alien pillars of red, pink and white sand. It’s as if Earth spontaneously sprouted its own Easter Island heads.

I go screaming through the hoodoos, stop to take my customary first-10-mile shit off the side of the trail and then carry on, dropping down onto the Grandview Trail.

The vast majority of the race takes places on Grandview, although the trail varies dramatically from wide, rocky ATV trails to barely-there, bushwhacky singletrack. This would be my life for the next day 20 hours or so.

I roll up to the Thunder Mountain Aid Station (mile 10.5) as the volunteers are still unloading a few things and ask for some fruit. Instead, I have to go into the tent and open the food myself. But I guess so are the pains of being the first to the aid stations.

With some very fresh orange slices in my belly, I lope off towards Proctor Canyon, already a few minutes ahead of my splits. The next section is a good kick in the face, dusty drops and climbs as you weave your way along the base of the plateau, snaking over a series of canyons. As I bomb down the stupid-steep singletrack, all I can think is, Shit. I have to run back up all this shit in about 75 miles.

This is the precise moment when I realize that out-and-back is 100% objectively the absolutely worst format for a 100-mile race. I’ve done HURT with it’s five 20-mie jungle loops. I’ve done Big’s Backyard Ultra with 4-mile loops every hour. But 50 miles out and the same 50 miles turned 180 degrees? Woof woof.

I come into the Proctor Canyon Aid Station (mile 19) a bit knackered but overall, feeling good. Dom and Katie are there waiting for me. A welcome sight after running by myself for nearly 20 miles. I’ve gained another five minutes on my splits.

“I’m kind of surprised I’m winning,” I tell them as they stuff fresh gels into my pack. “I don’t feel like I’m running that fast. I’m just running really comfortably. But the weird thing is… that’s as fast as I can run.”

I’m running at the very edge of what I could but I was nowhere near red-lining. The altitude was acting like a governor, keeping my effort comfortable and in check. Whatever works, right? I still can’t believe I’m leading.

And boom, just like that, I’m not leading anymore.

Another runner comes shooting through the aid station and out the other side. The feeling I experience isn’t disappointment. Oddly, it’s relief. Phew. I don’t have to be in the lead anymore. I can just run my own race.

Out of Proctor, I wind my way through scrubby meadows and soft pine forests, eventually climbing up to the very top of the plateau. At times the trail is faint, at other times, it clings to the side walls of dusty draws by the skin of its teeth. Finally, there’s one last nut-kicker as you push up to the top of the plateau and the Blubber Creek Aid Station (mile 28).

Another aid station, another time waiting on food. “Do you have any fruit?” “Oh, we can cut some up for you.” “Uhhhhhh… yeah… that’d be great.” So I stand there, again, waiting for them to pull out more oranges and cut them up. A couple minutes later, I shoot off into the forest again.

The top of the rim offers jaw-dropping views for miles and miles. It’s the first time you get a taste of the rugged cliffs you’re running along. Strangely, I have almost zero recollection of this from four year ago. I was basically blacked out the majority of the race. So, this discovery is a rather pleasant one. Oh, it’s really beautiful up here.

Just a few paces out of the aid station, I caught sight of the other runner who had passed me back at Proctor. Not wanting to jump back into first just yet, I trail him for a bit, staying a comfortable pace behind and watching. I can tell he’s starting to falter.

It’s early afternoon, and the day had grown intensely hot. It looks like he’s running with one only bottle. Not smart. Last night right as I was going to bed, in a super-last-minute-OCD change, I threw in a third bottle to carry between Proctor Canyon and Blubber Creek just in case. I can feel my bottles bouncing on my chest. I’ve nearly sucked all three dry. So I know this guy in front of me is in serious trouble.

Right around mile 30, I pass him back on a climb. I’m back in the lead. Damn. Have to remember, I’m running my own race.

At Kanab Creek Aid Station (mile 36) I’m in and out fast. Now, the descent down to Straight Canyon Aid Station at mile 41 and a chance to see my crew again. The sun is blasting full-bore by now, and I actually think to myself, Thank God for AC. I know how to run in the heat. I feel bad for everyone else.

After a few miles later, and I burst out into a clearing to see a massive aid station below me. At Bryce 100, Straight Canyon is the jam. And it’s hopping. After all the quiet miles by myself, it feels good to finally get some big cheers from the crowd. But more importantly, it feels good to cool down.

Dom and Katie go to work immediately. I get ice-cold Moroccan mint tea in my bottles (my new secret weapon), an ice bandana around my neck and a full soak-down compliments of Dom. It’s UH-MAZING. I feel like a NASCAR at a pit stop. And a couple of minutes later, I bound off, feeling pumped up, cooled down, and like I can kick all the asses. By now I’m about 30 under my 22-hour pace. As my dad says, ha cha cha!

Photo by Joel Livesey

I set off for the big climb up to Pink Cliffs Aid Station (mile 46.5) and the highest point of the course, around 9,400 feet. It’s the single most-sustained climb as well. But man, I feel fan-friggin-tastic. After I half-mile, turn off the dusty country road and bound up through a little patch of woods I’ve dubbed Secret Forest. From there, it’s a turn onto another dusty dirt road and climb. Then turn onto doubletrack and climb. And finally bushwhack your way up the last few hundred feet on a sleepy, shaley hillside and climb. I surprise even myself by running nearly every step. In my race plan, I had budgeted 1:50 for these 5.5 miles. Instead I do it in about 50 minutes. At the top of the climb, a volunteer greets me with a “Holy smokes, man! You’re flying!”

More pineapple in my belly compliments of the 10-year at the aid station, and I drop down the—you guessed it—dusty, rocky road towards the turnaround point. Of course, all I think is, Dammit. I have to turn around and run back up this shit.

Down, down, down I go.

Now, this is where the course map gets deceiving. On paper, it looks like you just drop into the turnaround point at Crawford Pass (mile 51.5). No. Not true. You have what amounts to a super gnarly, nearly cross-country slog on overgrown singletrack, over fallen trees and across rocky, chewed up washes. Ah yes, I remember this. I think to myself. How awful.

By now, my ankles are starting to feel pretty beat. Like, baseball-bat-beat.

Imagine you’re an ant, and you’re trying to run across a field of chunky, hunky vomit. All six of your ankles would be wrecked. That’s how I’m starting to keep.

After what seemed like an eternity in the hot sun, I arrive at Crawford Pass.

“I’m definitely a bit knackered,” I announce to Dom and Katie and the loud Australian woman working the aid station. “But I’m waaay happier than the last time I was here.” I flash back to four years ago when I plunked myself down in a red camping chair and tried to (unsuccessfully) wrap my brain around doing everything I just did, but now in reverse. Snapping back to the present moment, I feel tired but excited to still be winning. In fact, I figure, I must have had a pretty good lead at that point.

With another quick patch-up, Dom and I set off for the long return trip to Straight Canyon. I have a pacer now, which is normally nice, but a small bit of dread flashing in my brain as I realize I’ll have to huff and puff and summarize 51.5 miles of the day, all while running back over all that chunky vomit.

Photo by Dom Grossman

On the way out, we pass the second-place guy about 10 minutes from the aid station,. We figured I have about a 23-minute lead. There a bit of a gap and then bam, bam, bam, bam. Four or five other guys all another 5-10 minutes off second place. It’s a little tighter than I thought. It might turn out to be a race after all.

Photo by Dom Grossman

Up and over Pink Cliffs, the sun beats down on us mercilessly. By now, I’ve developed a new technique with my ice bandana: Once it’s mostly melted off but was still nice and wet, I slip it under my hat, letting it dangle over my head to make my own makeshift Marathon Des Sables desert hat. It looks silly, but I’m in Fuck-It Mode at this point.

Photo by Dom Grossman

Coming down the bushwhack/shaley section from Pink Cliff, I really start to feel my ankles. And the feeling is pain. Another mile or two down the long dirt road, and my ankles not-so-politely declare, “No more, thankyouverymuch.”

Every single step on my right foot shoots white-hot pain through my ankle. I slow to a jog. Then to a walk. And finally, I can’t even take another step. I pull out of my body for a instant and see that I’m leading the race, on a nice, juicy downhill, and I can’t even take one step forward.

Dom’s selfie game can be a little over-the-top, but man, it’s good to have him around during a tough race. He orders me to lay on the ground, and we try to drain the blood out of my leg through a series of stretches. After a few minutes on my back in the middle of the road, it does the trick, or at least enough to get me back down to Straight Canyon. I still can’t believe I’m in the lead.

By now, we’re passing a stream of runners headed out to the turnaround point. Their kind words of congratulations lights a nice fire under my ass.

That said, there’s one woman who takes a look at me and blurts out, “Are you OK?” “Uhh, yeah. I’m fine. Why?” “You’re going the wrong way.” “Oh, no. I’m headed to the finish.” She looks back at me skeptically.

To be far, my makeshift desert bandana probably looks dumb, and I most definitely look like shit.

Photo by Katie Grossman

Back at Straight Canyon, the party has swelled. It’s almost overwhelming. So many people hovering around. I come in and collapse on the ground so Dom can stretch me out again. A very nice volunteer offers to help out by throwing a few ice cubes at my which immediately bounce off my chest and into the grass. I think to myself, This is one of those scenes that makes all the other crews tell their runners, “Yeah, the first-place guy was here 12 minutes ahead of you, but he looked like actual dog shit.” Screw it. I don’t care. I have to patch myself back together. Where’s the fucking duct tape?

I take longer than I would’ve liked, but so be it. My right ankle feels like it’s holding on by a thread. And the left one? Maybe four threads. Dom and I set off. We have a stout climb ahead of us, back to the top of the rim. And in the late-afternoon sun, I start to feel pretty haggard. We pass yet another woman going in the opposite direction who grunts at me, “Where are you going?” as if I’m going in the wrong direction. “To the finish line,” I grunt back.

Photo by Dom Grossman

Up on the rim, things start to deteriorate even more. All day I’ve been right at the edge of my pace, which isn’t more than a comfortable jog. But now, back above 9,000 feet for the fourth time today, my engine was running on fumes. Sixty-plus miles at this altitude have finally caught up to me. I’m just depleted. There’s no other word. Depleted. Oh no, I realize. This is exactly what happened last time. Suddenly the specter of my old DNF is breathing down my neck. Not again. I try to keep my head straight. Last time I was barely surviving. This time, I’m—miraculously—in first place.

But it feels like only a matter of time.

Photo by Dom Grossman

Somewhere around mile 70 or so, as we power hike up a rock-strewn doubletrack, a runner and pacer saunter up behind us. We exchange the customary head nod and “great job, man” and that was it. Swift and painless. I’m out of it.

But then, to add literal injury to insult, things get worse. I start to kick rocks. At the time it doesn’t dawn on my, but in retrospect, my busted-ass right ankle must be causing my foot to rotate externally, just ever so slightly. And by doing so, smack, smack, smack. I catching just about every single rock between mile 70 and the finish with my right big toe.

Every.

Single.

Rock.

The one reprieve from the pain is the amazing sunset we snag, right above Blubber Creek. This is where I dropped, in the middle of the night, four years ago, so it feels like I’m putting some demons to bed.

As we hurtle down off the rim towards Proctor Canyon, my knee joins the symphony of pain because, why not? I don’t remember a whole lot of this section, mostly because I start to go into a fairly dark place (literally and metaphorically). Dom does his best to keep my spirits up, but isn’t able to do too much. “Man,” he quips out loud. “At least, I’m just glad I get to be here to see you feel so shitty. Now I know it can actually happen to you.” Funny. Katie says just about the same thing a few hours later.

Dropping into the Proctor Canyon aid station, I get passed by two (three?) other runners. At this point, I don’t care. I’m deep within the pain cave. I sit down in a car, scarf down a freshly made bowl of ramen noodles, swig a whole can of Coke and then aske Dom and Katie’s permission before I pop two ibuprofens. I know it’s not great idea, but at this point, it feels like the difference between finishing in four hours and finishing in eight.

After a quick squabble between Dom and Katie over Dom spilling soda on Katie’s puffy, Katie and I set off to stalk the finish line. Instantly—thanks to the miracle of ibuprofen—I feel better. Amazingly, I’m also still right at or right under my original 22-hour target pace. So, things aren’t so bad. Or at least at this point they’re not.

Remember all those descents in the morning? Those ones I knew would turn into ascents at night? Yeah. I start to hit them. And there are way more of them than I ever remember. (There always are.) The night becomes a power-hike punctuated by kicked rocks and maybe one or two more runners passing us.

Finally, we arrive at Thunder Mountain, our last aid station, mile 92.5. More soup, more Coke, let’s roll.

This final section of the course is also the first. So, it’s all those super-fun rollers through hoodos and draws from earlier in the day. And in fact, I had been excited about it all day—partly because it’s objectively fun/cool, partly because I wanted Katie to see it and partly because (FOR SOME REASON) I didn’t think it had too many climbs.

I was an idiot.

It is steep. It is so steep. I’m reduced to a painfully slow and painfully painful power hike. At one point, I can feel the exact moment the ibuprofen wore off. A snap of pain floods back into my legs, ankles and feet.

And that’s when I thought the thought. You know, The Thought. Capital T, capital T. The Thought. The Thought where you think it. The Thought that goes, At least it can’t possibly get any worse.

Because you know what always happens next…

We’re power hiking a super steep incline, and suddenly I hear a SQUISH from below me. My right foot slides back in my shoe. What the hell was that? I wonder. And then I know. I know because I feel it. And what I feel is a giant blister that—unbeknownst to me—had been forming under my entire right heel and at this very moment decided to pop. Now, suddenly, every step is excruciating pain. My pacer and all the forest creatures know it because I scream expletives with every step.

This is officially a comedy of errors.

We soldier on. We get passed by yet another runner, solo. He’s fucking flying. How? By now I just want to be done. Unfortunately the course isn’t.

One bright spot is the gaggle of hoodoos. Suddenly, like giants congregating in the night, our headlamps light them up. In the pitch-black night, they’re ghostly. “HOLY SHIT!” Katie starts screaming. “THIS IS SOOOO COOL!” It was the first time she had ever seen hoodoos. Like, ever. And it was blowing her mind. We snapp a few photos and enjoy a brief reprieve from my grim task of kicking every rock I could find. I cherish the moment of levity.

Photo by Katie Grossman

Soon, we start winding in and out of the draws. Turning, climbing, cresting, turning, dropping. Over and over again. By now, we’re counting down the miles. Three miles… two miles… one mile… “The finish line must be right at the Thunder Mountain trailhead!” I said as if I knew. I’d never made it this far.

The draws keep coming. With every one we say, “This HAS to be the last one.” And nope, another fucking draw. After the race, Matt Gunn tells me, “Oh yep, those eleven draws, huh?” It would’ve really been nice to know the number eleven going in. Instead, every new turn is a heartbreak. The total mileage ticks 100 miles. Oh c’mon…

Finally, finally, FINALLY, the trail straightens out and we dip down to the trailhead. There’s nothing there. No finish line. No lights. No spectators. Just a pink ribbon to follow. Oh c’mon…

We turn left onto the dusty country road that I breezed along nearly 23 hours ago. “The finish line has to be right around this corner,” we both keep saying. But we take a corner and a corner and another corner, and all we see is a great big expansive of nothing. Pine forest. Dirt. Darkness.

You know when you’re just so over a race and ready to be done? Yeah.

The road seems to stretch on forever, with no indication that we were nearing any sort of civilization. I turn to Katie and only half-jokingly say, “I think I’m gonna drop right here.”

Finally, we see it. Or something. We see lights anyway. We get a little closer, and we see it. It’s the finish line.

You know that scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail where the knights are rushing a castle and it cuts and then it cuts back to them and it doesn’t look like they’ve made it any closer and then it keeps doing that? That’s essentially what happens here. Even when we can see the finish line, it feels out of reach. Once again, I turns to Katie and say, “I think I’m gonna drop here.” I was joking slightly more this time.

And then, we arrive.

Photo by Dom Grossman

I cross the finish line. What a day. What a course. What a relief to be done. “How do you feel?” someone asks. “I’m just glad I don’t have to run this damn race ever again,” I say. And I mean it. Bryce 100 is a brutal race. I thought it four years ago when I DNF’d it. And I think it again today. 23:01, sixth place, and the utter stuffing beat out of me.

After offering me a beer (which I gladly accept), Matt Gunn urges me to go pick out my finisher belt buckle. Each one is handmade and unique. And as I peruse the table in a shell-shocked, sleep-deprived, mind-mushed state I grab the only pink-colored buckle I see. “The happiness of this belt buckle represents the exact opposite of how I feel,” I tell the poor volunteer standing there who has no idea how to respond.

In the light of day, it might be one of my favorite buckles for that very reason.

Utah lives up to its legend. It’s everything I wanted. It’s a land of wonderful brutality. And beautiful wonderality.

I feel like I’ve been baptized into it with the Bryce 100. And even if I never run it again, it will always hold a very special place in my heart.

EPILOGUE

This race took everything out of me. I knew it was a hard race at the time, but in the convening weeks since then, I gained even more respect for it.

For the first week after race day, I just felt like I’d gotten the shit beat out of me. Hour-long epsom salt baths (perhaps accompanied by a viewing of The Unbreakable Kimmy Schimdt) were the norm. All I wanted to do was lounge around. I got my ass properly kicked.

For those counting, 116 hours of recovery time is almost five days.

Beyond the emotional wear-and-tear I was physically brutalized too. Thanks to all those rocks I decided to kick for the last 30 miles, several toenails were full blackened and primed to eject themselves from my foot. So, in a moment of curiosity, I went to a podiatrist to see what official medical intervention could do. (In my all races, this has never occurred to me.) About 25 shots of novocaine to my toe later, all the blood was drained. And I’m happy to report I’m still the proud owner of ten toenails.

Beyond the toenails, my ankles and tesnor/upper IT were wrecked for weeks. Shit, I’m still recovering.

But every time I look down at my bruised toenails or feel a twinge of pain in my hip, I think back to Utah. I think back to the dust and the plateaus and the rocks and the washes and heat and the rocks again, and it reminds me of how brutally beautiful that damn state is. And how I can’t wait to get back.

You know, as soon as all this shit heals up.

The full Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/1043646531

[chessgroup69-blog]

Five Questions with Daily Norseman: “Trubisky’s play reminds me of Christian Ponder”

A few weeks back, I attended the Sunday Night Football game in Minnesota to watch the Vikings take on the New Orleans Saints. I was cheering for the Saints because, well, they were playing the Vikings. Minnesota’s US Bank Stadium, located on Chicago Avenue, is a great facility and Vikings fans, despite the misfortune of having to wear purple and yellow, are a generally congenial lot. Minnesota Nice is a thing, after all.

However, I was struck by just how much vitriol was pointed toward the Saints, Head Coach Sean Payton, and the brave Saints fans shouting “Who Dat?” Excited to find out why the Saints are so hated, why I saw so many Teddy Bridgewater jerseys, and how confident Vikings fans are in this squad, I reached out to our old friend Ted Glover of the Daily Norseman. Be sure to check out the other half of the conversation on the Daily Norseman website.

Windy City Gridiron: 1. We’re 9 games into the Kirk Cousins era and his stats have been very good - on pace for over 4,700 yards and sporting a 17:5 TD to interception ratio. So why do I get the sense that most Vikings fans are tepid in their endorsement of Cousins to the point that many of the fans seated around me during the Vikings / Saints game were openly pining for Teddy Bridgewater?

Daily Norseman: Are there fans that are not in the Kirk Cousins camp? Yes, and welcome to the Vikings fan base. Is it a majority, though? I don’t think so. If there’s a knock to Cousins, it’s his penchant for a bad turnover or a sack at the worst possible time, although it’s not happening with the frightening regularity we were told to expect. He also seems to have 312 batted balls at the line of scrimmage this year, and he needs to quit doing that. And I get the feelings many fans had and still have for Teddy Bridgewater. I was the biggest Bridgewater fan there was, and although the stats weren’t there, it was the tantalizing promise and potential Bridgewater had that a lot of Vikings fans felt was taken away from us, and him, when he was hurt, and then with how things subsequently played out. He’s a really humble person, and a guy you just want to cheer for. But that said, Kirk Cousins is the best pure passer the Vikings have had since Brett Favre sold his soul to the Devil in 2009. He can climb the pocket, he’s generally pretty smart with the football, and has made some incredible throws in every game this year. Throws I would argue that neither Case Keenum, Sam Bradford, or Bridgewater (one of those three was widely expected to be back at season’s end last year) could make consistently. When you add that to his durability, getting Cousins was a no-brainer, and I’m happy with what he’s done so far with the Vikings.

WCG: 2. Dalvin Cook returned from injury before the bye and was able to put together a nice outing. What are the expectations for him going forward and can he be a difference maker in this offense?

DN: Now that Cook seems fully healthy, I expect him to become the lead back with Latavius Murray riding shotgun, and it’s a heck of a talented combination. Murray has been a very good backup, and is a stud between the tackles. But we saw Cook’s ability on display when he went off tackle for over 70 yards against the Lions, and it’s that speed and vision that makes him special. I think he brings a home run dynamic to the Vikings running game that wasn’t necessarily there with Murray, both as a runner and pass catcher. Still, I love Murray as a relief guy that can get four or five yards at a time, and he’s a guy that keeps defenses honest and makes them respect the run. I think Cook is really going to be a difference maker as we head into the home stretch.

WCG: 3. Mike Zimmer’s defense has not had quite the sharp edge that it has the last couple seasons - Football Outsiders currently has the purple posse rated 9th in DVOA. What has changed and do you believe this team can regain their top 3 status from last year in the final 7 games?

DN: I think Mike Zimmer got complacent with his calls and his scheme, and early on thought things were more of an anomaly than a trend. For the first couple of losses, you could have argued there was a ‘yeah, but’ extenuating circumstance that caused the coaching staff to think it was a temporary thing that would correct itself. In the week two shootout tie with Green Bay, you could say ‘yeah but it’s week two and it’s Aaron Rodgers.’ In week three you could have (feebly) argued ‘yeah, but the Vikes turned it over deep in their own territory three times and the whole team was reeling from what happened to Everson Griffen.’ In week four, when the Rams hung over 500 yards of offense and Jared Goff had a perfect passer rating the ‘yeah, but...’ excuse wouldn’t fly anymore. Mike Zimmer admitted he was making things harder than they should have been, and focused on the strengths of his players. And since the Rams debacle, the Vikings defense has been a lot closer to the 2017 version than the early 2018 version. Even in the 30-20 loss to the Saints, the Vikings only gave up 120 yards passing to Drew Brees, and held the Saints offense to only 270 yards. They had two brutal turnovers on offense that changed the course of that game, and since the Eagles game the Vikings defense has been as good as it was last year.

WCG: 4. Adam Thielen and Stefon Diggs have emerged as a top duo in the NFL with Thielen putting up a remarkable streak of 8 games to start the year with 100+ yards. Has Thielen become the most popular player on the Vikings and why does Kirk Cousins even bother throwing the ball to Laquon Treadwell?

DN: If not, he’s pretty close. Danielle Hunter, Harrison Smith, and Stefon Diggs are right up there, too. And for Bears fans who don’t know, just be prepared for Cris Collinsworth and Al Michaels to mention the fact that Thielen is a native Minnesotan who was undrafted and got a $500 scholarship (yeah, that’s 5 Ben Franklins) literally 347 times on Sunday night. It’s a great story, don’t get me wrong, and it’s one of the reasons he’s become a fan favorite, but we hear about it every...single...week, going on two years now. How about people start focusing on the fact he’s just a damn good WR? He’s arguably the best route runner in the game, and catches everything thrown his way. Teamed up with Diggs, opposing defenses truly have a ‘pick your poison’ scenario with Diggs and Thielen. His feel good story is great, but his ability is greater. As to Treadwell, he’s the Vikings number three receiver. He’s not going to live up to his first round draft status, but he’s a guy that has become more reliable for 2-3 big catches a game. His contract and dead money make cutting him an unrealistic option, so I like the fact that Cousins goes to Treadwell to keep his confidence up to keep him in the game. He’s not going to eclipse Diggs or Thielen, but he has a role to play in this offense. But yeah, get back to me Monday if he has a drop in a big situation Sunday night.

WCG: 5. You’ve been particularly critical of Mitchell Trubisky this season on the Twitter machine. What does Trubisky need to do for you and Vikings fans in general to change your attitude?

Yeah, I have. Part of it is because he’s on the Bears, and he’s a rival. But honestly, I never got the hype surrounding him. He had a fairly limited resume coming out of college, his arm was nothing special, and his mechanics, at least last year, were generally pretty bad. His play has reminded me of Christian Ponder, the former Vikings first round bust, and still does to some extent. This year, he’s looked good against inferior competition, which Ponder occasionally did, but just okay against the better teams. You could argue he had impressive numbers against the Patriots, but he completed barely 50% of his passes, and the only reason he went over 300 yards is because of the game ending Hail Mary that was short of the goal line. His game has improved as the talent around him as been upgraded, and the Bears were really smart to hire a guy like Matt Nagy to get the most out of him. Granted, he’s probably going to set a bunch of Bears passing records this year, but other than Smokin’ Jay Cutler, the Bears list of QB’s is almost as long and unimpressive as the Vikings list is. Trubisky seems like the classic ‘one step forward, two steps back’ guy right now, so for me to change my opinion of him he needs to consistently play above average football against all levels of competition. I don’t think he’s doing that right now. Can he? Yes, I think so, and I didn’t think that at the beginning of the year.

*Editors Note: Christian Ponder? CHRISTIAN PONDER?! #%&%$

WCG: Bonus: As I mentioned, I was at the Saints / Vikings game a few weeks ago and the vitriol reserved for Sean Payton and the Saints was shockingly high, like at a Packers level high. The Vikings ended up winning that playoff game with the Minneapolis Miracle so where is all this hate coming from?

DN: It goes back to the 2009 NFC Championship Game. Brett Favre was physically pummeled by the Saints, and suffered several cheap shots that weren’t called. A couple seasons later the ‘Bountygate’ scandal came out, where we found out the Saints were intentionally trying to injure Favre, and defensive coordinator Gregg Williams paid out monetary bounties to players to intentionally hurt Favre and other players. Sean Payton knew about it, and didn’t do anything to stop it. Both him Williams were suspended for a year over the incident, and both of those guys can eat a bag of herpes infected %$^&* forever and all time as far as Vikings fans are concerned. For me, everyone involved in that game save for Payton are long gone from the Saints, and the Vikings washed a lot of the bad taste of that 2009 NFC Championship Game game away with the Minneapolis Miracle, so my hatred for the Saints is pretty much gone. But there are a lot of fans who will always despise the Saints for it.

But Payton and Williams can go to Hell twice as far as I’m concerned.

*Editors note: I really wish Ted would stop sugar coating it...

Thanks again to Ted and the Daily Norseman. If you’re on the Twitter, consider following me @gridironborn and if you want to stay up on the enemy, Ted’s account is @purplebuckeye but be forewarned - he’s pro-Viking and pro-Ohio State...

Source: https://www.windycitygridiron.com/2018/11/15/18095360/five-questions-with-daily-norseman-trubisky-kirk-cousins-zimmer-adam-thielen-stefon-diggs

[ficdirectory]

Blink (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Pearl’s trying to listen to Char’s story about her awful boss, when Gracie starts barking.  

“Hey!  Pipe down!” Char reprimands the dog comically.  “I’m in the middle of a story here.”

“Sorry, I don’t know what her problem is.  I’m gonna walk her in, like, ten minutes.  Gracie.  Manners.”

Grace yips and continues to whine, obviously not satisfied with the idea of waiting.  

“I’m really sorry.  She’s not usually like this.  Let me see what’s up, and I’ll call you back tonight.”

Getting up and walking to the sliding glass door where Gracie is pacing, Pearl glances out.  Sees Jesus from next door, standing out in Frank’s yard.

“That’s Jesus.  You are not supposed to whine,” Pearl reprimands.  But as the minutes tick by and Jesus doesn’t move, and Gracie doesn’t calm down, Pearl gets more concerned.  She steps out and calls to him.   

“Jesus,” she tries.  Gracie circles Pearl’s legs.

He doesn’t give any indication that he can hear her - hasn’t moved.  He’s standing absolutely still.  Gracie’s been whining for several minutes now.  Has Jesus been out there the whole time?

“It’s cold out,” she tries, because these California kids clearly don’t know the first thing about dressing for Minnesota winters.  “Jesus?” she tries again.  “You should go in.”

But he doesn’t turn.  Doesn’t respond at all.  And Pearl’s worry is on overdrive.  “Gracie.  That is Jesus.  Go see Jesus, girl,” she instructs.

Gracie takes off, bounding through the snow and skidding to a stop beside him.  She licks his hand.  (His bare hand in this brutal cold - he seems to have lost a glove.)  Then she snags his coat sleeve with her teeth and starts leading him back to Pearl.

“Jesus?” Pearl calls again, wanting her message to get in.  “You should go in.”

He blinks at her like he’s coming out of a daze.  “I...can’t.”

“All right.  Come inside.”

Gracie leads Jesus by the sleeve until he’s safely indoors.  Then, she lets him go, and returns to Pearl’s side.  Her old self again.

“Are you okay?” Pearl asks.  She gets busy giving him her heated blanket to wrap around himself and making him a cup of instant hot cocoa.  (She’s a hot cocoa snob.  Prefers the good stuff you stir slowly on the stove, but Jesus needs warmth as soon as possible.  So instant will have to do.)

“I’m...not, actually…”

He speaks slowly.  It’s not at all how he sounded this morning.  

The hot cocoa seems to bring him around.  Even holding it in his hands makes the life come back to his eyes.  

“Thank you.”

“No problem.  You have a hard time with cold?” she guesses.

“I have a hard time with a lot of things...” he admits, sipping the drink.  “...psychologically.”  He pauses.  Meets her gaze.  She knows the look.  He’s waiting for the judgment.

He won’t find it here.  Not with her.  “Listen.  Do you need something?  Can I call someone for you?”

“Actually...would you mind if I called someone?  I need to touch base with my therapist.  I got an appointment later and never officially canceled before my family decided to come up here for the week.  I’d call myself, but I don’t have service.”

“Yeah, of course,” Pearl answers, offering her phone.

She half-listens as Gracie stays close to her.  The picture of perfect behavior now that Jesus is inside with her.

“Yeah.  Hi, Dr. H, this is Jesus Foster.  I’m not going to make it in today, because we’re in Minnesota.  But I wondered if I could touch base with you another way…”  He glances around and his eyes fall on Pearl’s computer.  He raises his eyebrows at her.  “Maybe Skype?”  

Pearl nods.  He can use whatever he needs.  Like she’s gonna stop a kid from talking to his therapist.

“Yeah 3:00 still works,” he’s saying.  “Okay.  Yeah.  Bye.”

“Everything okay?” she asks, nervous but trying not to show it.

“How’d your dog know to do that thing with me?” Jesus asks, skirting her question with one of his own.

“She’s a service dog,” Pearl explains as Gracie nips and distracts until Pearl’s hand tremors pass. “Do you need to tell your parents you’re here?”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Jesus reassures.

“How old are you?” Pearl checks.

“Sixteen.”

That makes sense.  Most sixteen year olds aren’t reporting back to their parents every two seconds.

“How is it living next door to Grandpa?” he wonders.

“Fine.  Keeps to himself.”

“Yeah,” Jesus nods.  

It’s officially awkward.  Especially as Jesus seems to have no plans to go back next door for at least an hour.

--

Jesus can’t stop looking at the cool purple curtain in the corner of the cabin and wondering what could be behind it.  The outside of her cabin is seriously ugly, but inside there are pops of color where he doesn’t expect them, comfortable furniture, and an open floor plan, so he can pretty much see everything at once.  No surprises.  All one level.  It’s so warm in here.  So homey.  And the hot chocolate’s so good.  

Pearl’s quiet.  Honest.  She wears her clothes like she’s hiding.  Her tan cardigan is long.  A black beanie hat covers all her hair.  Fingerless black knit gloves obscure her hands.  It isn’t until she starts shedding layers that he really gets a good look at her.  Part of it is how much clothing she’s got on, and part of it is that he’s finally with it enough to really see her.  Seeing her take off all her layers makes him feel like she trusts him in some kind of deep way.  He can’t say why, it’s just what he feels.

She reminds him a bit of Mama, but younger.  Maybe late 20s or early 30s.  She’s thin with dark hair and brown eyes, but where Mama’s eyes shine with a kind of calm certainty, Pearl’s are guarded.  Her mouth has worry lines around it.  She’s watchful - hasn’t taken her eyes off him since he walked in - but it doesn’t make him feel exposed.  Instead, he gets the feeling that by being here, he might be exposing her.  He doesn’t want her to feel that way, and he also knows he needs to be able to feel safe.  To breathe.  And being here has allowed him to do that.  Jesus doesn’t know what it feels like to hide because you want to.  He only knows what it feels like to hide because you have to.

...But maybe it’s not a choice for Pearl either.

He instinctively doesn’t ask what she needs a service dog for.  Jesus caught her tremor, even if he didn’t mention it.  All of a sudden, he feels beyond tired.  “Do you mind if I crash for a few minutes?  Didn’t get much sleep.  There are, like, a million people in my family, and it’s been hard to feel...like...okay...since we got here.”

“Yeah, go ahead.  Want me to wake you in an hour?”

“I’ll be up, but my thing isn’t til 5:00 actually.  Sorry.  I should have mentioned it.  3:00 California time.”

“Oh,” Pearl nods.

Jesus can tell she’s not thrilled about his dropping by like this, but she did send her dog to get him.  He tries not to worry about it and stretches out on the couch.

--

The last thing Pearl expects is to have Frank’s grandson over for several hours on a whim.  She doesn’t like company.  Doesn’t like teenagers.  Least of all teenage boys.  But she had seen the look in his eyes when Gracie led him inside.  How dissociated he looked.  She knew that feeling - without him even specifying psychological reasons.

It’s for that reason that she lets him stay. She sees herself in him.  Knows that sometimes you just need someone to be there.  So, while she’s not about to let her guard down or let Jesus out of her sight for more than a few seconds, Pearl’s okay to do some more knitting.  To keep talking to Char via Facebook, updating her on the strange turn of events.

At 4:00, she makes herself a frozen TV dinner.  Jesus doesn’t stir.  At ten to 5:00, she prompts Gracie to go see Jesus, and she sits two inches from his face until he wakes up and groggily smiles at her.  

“Hey, you,” he greets.  Pearl’s impressed that, ever since she specified Gracie was a service dog, Jesus has not tried to touch her.

“What’s her name?”

“Grace,” Pearl says.  “I didn’t want to wake you.  I mean, you seem to need the sleep, but it’s ten to five.  Just in case you had to do anything to get ready for your appointment.”

“Oh, whoa, yeah.  Thanks.  Is it cool if I use your bathroom?”

She tells him where it is and tries to think about what she can do while he’s occupied on her laptop.  A therapeutic hour is 50 minutes.  Gracie needs a walk, and Pearl could probably put some headphones on and swing or something while he’s busy the rest of the time.  She’ll see how comfortable she is with letting Jesus stay in her cabin alone.

He comes back, and Pearl’s turned her laptop on.  Logged herself off of Skype.

“Here.  I’ll be around here.  Probably just listening to music or something.  I won’t listen in,” she promises.

“Is this really okay?” he asks, seeming nervous again.

“It’s really something you need, right?” she asks.

Jesus nods.

“Then it’s really okay.”

--

Just before 5 PM, Pearl disappears behind the awesome purple curtain with headphones on.  He signs onto Skype and sees Dr. Holly Hitchens is signed on, too.

He hits the button for video call and waits.

“Jesus.  It’s nice to see you.  Though it’s not the way I thought we’d meet this week,” she says with a smile.

“No, me neither,” he answers.

She leads him through getting grounded and focused and then asks where he’d like to start.

“I’m not sure.  This trip is harder than I expected it to be.  It was, like, really sudden?”

“I see. Where are you right now?”

“My grandpa’s cabin in Minnesota.  Well, actually, his neighbor’s cabin right now.”

“Can you share with me one thing that’s difficult?”

It takes no time for one thing to snowball into 25, and for Jesus to get lost in his head.  He hears Dr. H. calling his name, though, and focuses in on her.

“I got stuck outside...like...mentally stuck. But I couldn’t move.  Not sure how long I was out there for.  The neighbor’s dog came and got me, and this is as safe as I’ve felt since we were packing to leave.”

“How long are you scheduled to be there?” she asks, making notes.

“Through Sunday.”

“And when did you arrive?”

“Last night about dinnertime.”

“All right.  So, it sounds like you feel overwhelmed.  Like you may need some coping strategies to get you through the time there.”

“Yeah.”

They talk through some.  He says he brought his backpack with extra snacks, his blanket and headphones, but they made him get rid of his water in the airport.  And he wasn’t allowed to take the glitter Frankie gave him for Christmas.

“Is it possible to get another water bottle to carry with you while you’re there?”

“I guess…  Moms did say if I need something, tell them.”

“Good.  I want you to make a note somewhere you’ll see it, to remind yourself to ask them about that.”

Jesus grabs a pen off the desk and scribbles Water on his hand.

“What else would you like to talk about?” Dr. H. asks.

“I’m having a hard time feeling safe…” he admits.

“You mentioned you feel your safest now.  Is this neighbor’s cabin somewhere they’d consent to you stopping in if you needed to take breaks?”

“I’m not sure.  Pearl?” he calls, but he doesn’t see her.  

Gracie trots over and sticks her head through the fiber optic curtain.  Pearl pokes her head out.  “What’d you need, Jesus?” she says coming out and taking her headphones off.

“This is my therapist, Dr. Holly Hitchens,” Jesus introduces.

“Pearl West,” she says back shortly.

“I was wondering if I like needed a break from stuff next door, if I could come by here…  It wouldn’t be this big of a thing, usually.  Just...I need somewhere to feel safe?  ‘Cause I don’t really next door?”

Jesus can see how Pearl purses her lips, but then she nods.  “If you need to, yes.”

The session is over soon after that, and Jesus feels like there was barely any time to discuss all of the millions of triggers he’s come up against since Moms decided to take this trip.  But at least Pearl said he could come back.  And Dr. H. asked him to call and check in if he needed to.

Jesus checks the time on his phone - the only feature that works here with no service.

“Dude, it’s almost 6:00? I gotta go…” he says, casting nervous looks outside.

It might as well be midnight for how dark it is.

“I can walk with you,” Pearl offers, even though she looks uneasy at the thought herself.

“Are you sure?  I mean, you don’t have to if you’re not comfortable…”

This makes Pearl smile just for a second.  “Yeah, I do.  Look.  I have a light on my hat.”  (She turns it on, temporarily blinding him.)  And this.” She takes a small container out of her coat pocket.

“What is that?” Jesus asks, curious.

“Mace.  Don’t worry.  I’ll look out for you.  And Gracie will be here, too.”

They walk outside, and it’s eerily dark, cold and still.  The crunching of the snow under their feet is the only sound.

Jesus swallows.  “Do you ever get scared?”

Silence for so long Jesus doesn’t expect Pearl will answer.  Then, she says, “I’m scared all the time.”

“Sometimes, I fake it too well, and my family believes I’m okay.  Otherwise they kinda can make me feel like I’m overreacting…” he hedges, and then asks: “Same?”

“Yeah.  Same,” she says with so much feeling that Jesus can’t begin to name them all.

“Earlier when I was out here alone, I got stuck ‘cause it felt like I needed so much help, but I couldn’t get it.  I felt like that a lot, you know, before in my life.  I feel like I’m the only one who needs help like this, but it’s not obvious to people, you know?”

“It was obvious to me.” Pearl says, her voice calm.  Even.

“Because you get it.”

“Yeah,” she says, slowing down as they approach the front of Frank’s cabin.  “Because I get it.”

And before he has time to say anything, Pearl knocks hard on the door, and disappears into the night before anyone answers it.

In the seconds before the door is pulled open, it occurs to Jesus just what she did for him.  Not only did she walk him home even though it scared her, she remembered that he didn’t feel like he could go home, and knocked to make sure his family knew he was out here.

He’s pretty sure the last thing Pearl wants to be is a role model for anyone, but she’s become one for him, in no time at all.

[beardcore-blog]

Creating a Monster

Unfortunately, I crashed before I could save a good deal of this. This is what Pet was able to send to me because she crashed too. What happened before this: Pet approached Colette and asked her in a hush-hush way if she’d ever killed anyone. Then Pet started asking about The Shadow Stalkers, Colette said she’d been in it, and Pet asked how she got in. Now, read on…

[0:07] Colette Loon was grinning like mad, being very amused. What a funny woman. "I got in because I was… very good friends with one of them. Still am. Maybe I can talk to him about getting you in." She itched her neck and continued. "There’s not much I can teach you except not to care about your plaything. If you start doing that, well, you’ll be a little bitch about it. I’ll help you out. You remind me of my little sister a bit, but less snobby. Her name was Clair. Never mind about her though."

[0:11] Pet Fiertze was beaming, entirely pleased. "Oh, would you really? Would… YOU ever go back to them? With me? Are they mean to their own? I always wondered if they’re people I see walking the streets, every day." She was rambling, unable to contain her excitement. This woman was being so perfectly good to her, exactly what she’d been needing ever since these anti-goodytwoshoes desires started to rouse.

[0:17] Colette Loon uncrossed her arms and placed one hand on her hip. "I said yes, didn’t I? Yep. As for the Shadows, I don’t know if I can go back. You know the Marines? I’m about to join I think. My buddy is a Marine. I just gave him my application. I get free guns, food, shelter, and I get to bully people. It’s gonna be great. I don’t think I can go back to the Shadows at all." she paused, taking a breath. "They are the people walking the streets sometimes. But mostly, we… they… stick to the… well, shadows. The alleys, the catwalks at times, if those damned cats aren’t around. I can do it openly. I stabbed Auntie and the MPD was only looking for me for a few hours. I just… I don’t know about them. I’ll help you out, Petty Pet Pet."

[0:23] Pet Fiertze smiled sheepishly, cheeks pinkening mildly at her own zealousness. She didn’t mean to come across too strong. "That is so very nice of you. Thank you," She mewed wistfully, brow knitting as she contemplated the woman’s words. "Yes, those stupid cat people act like it’s their property. You can just… Get away with it, being a Marine? I thought they were good people," Pet mused naively. "Will you play with me, sometimes? I come up with creative things to do to people, and I want to so bad sometimes. It keeps me awake."

[0:25] Colette Loon smiled again. "Yes, I am being pretty nice, aren’t I? Isn’t that strange? And no, probably not. I’m not a Marine yet. People will hold grudges, so you gotta be sneaky." She grinned wider. "Of *course*, I will play with you."

[0:30] Pet Fiertze near-swooned, overcome, and threw her arms melodramatically around Colette. "It is so weird for people to be nice, here. ‘Specially the killers." She mumbled, nuzzling a bit contently into the woman’s bosom, if not instantly rejected, and then withdrew from the mini bear hug. She was absolutely thrilled about the prospective partner in crime.

[0:32] Colette Loon was taken back. Man, she sure hadn’t been hugged in a while. Anyone else would have probably been tossed off or stabbed, but this one reminded her of her sister. She humored her and hugged her back a bit awkwardly. "Yeah, yeah. You’re like a damn puppy dog, y’know that? I’ll turn you into a blood lusting wolf, if you’d like."

[0:36] Pet Fiertze blinkblinked, eyes asparkle. "I want to be able to be that, but I want to be me too! At the same time. I’m not like a puppy dog, though. I was thinking the other day, the streets were so crowded. It would be funny to skip along the awnings, dumping mustard gas down there. Or to have a friend on the other side, with a huge bucket of ammonia! And then one with bleach. And then toss them at the same time, down onto the crowd. For fun, you know?" She had many of said ideas running around in her head, and they wanted out. Finding someone with whom she could relate, to Pet, was like finding a damn-near soulmate.

[0:40] Colette Loon felt it appropriate to pull out her switchblade and open it. She ran a gloved finger along the shiny blade. "See this? This is my baby. Think of me as Van Gogh and this… my paintbrush… and someone’s flesh… the *canvas*. I love knives. Do you like knives. I just adore them."

[0:45] Pet Fiertze canted her head at the woman after paying proper observation and reverence to ‘her baby’, lips twitching in semi-psychotic pleasure. "I like knives. And scalpels… Before Midian, I was one of the youngest neurosurgeons. I just wanted to help people then, but now… I think things like, wouldn’t it be fun to experiment? Damage someone’s medulla oblongata just right, so that they lose the ability to cough? They’d die far down the road when they had pneumonia or were choking, and it would be a mystery. All sorts of stuff like that." She sighed contently, tongue darting out over her lips. "Do you like to be meticulous, or brutalize people?"

[0:50] Colette Loon got a bit excited when asked about how she liked to go about her ‘art.’ She rubbed her fingers along the blade more, feeling the smooth surface. "Well, if I can, I like to take it slow, make them writhe around and watch their reactions. But if I can’t, I *will* hurt them. It may be a bit sloppy, but it’s all I can do at the time. But I’m careful about picking who I put the blade on."

[0:57] Pet Fiertze nodded vigorously, listening with intense interest. It was a hobby, as she was studying it, as though the whole thing were as innocent as Chess tactics. "Yes! I think it’s better to capture someone, and take them somewhere to enjoy it all. And yet, I still would like to run down the streets, hurt people, and make an escape." Pet nodded sagaciously, top teeth clamping down on lower lip as she pondered. "I would feel stupid if ever I set my sights on a victim, and he or she overpowered me. Has that ever happened to you? I think I’m real competent, though."

[1:00] Colette Loon sighs a bit and takes her mask off again. She pointed to the scar on her face. "This… ugh. Okay, well, I wasn’t trying to hurt him, but I was overly confident and he was on my tail anyway and basically, I got my ass kicked. That’s when I learned to judge who I pick, sometimes even watch them. If you pick someone that’s stronger than you or you underestimate them, far worse can happen than what happened to my face."

[1:03] Pet Fiertze sighed a bit dejectedly. "Well then that’s why we have eachother from now on," She mewed forlornly, and a bit presumptuously, but she always thought the life of a hobby such that they shared was bound to be a lonely one. For it not to be, was thrilling. "My Godfather, Lucien, he thinks I’m going to fail in these endeavors. I can’t wait to prove him wrong. The person who did that to you, is he still around? You should get revenge, one day."

[1:07] Colette Loon sighs and shook her head. "I don’t think so. Lucky bastard is probably far away now. I never told you that I hate this place. I really do. I can’t get out. Even if I could, I probably wouldn’t leave. I’ve lived here too long and I’ve been molded into something else. This city twists people, it really does. Someday, you’ll probably end up like me. I used to be like you."

[1:12] Pet Fiertze stretched up high, arms above head, squeaking indulgently as she did so. "I understand. It had been good for me in many ways, though. I’m learning stuff about myself. Did you know, I didn’t even know what actually goes down during sex before I came here? And now, well. I still haven’t had experience, but at least I know. You know, from my point of view, it’d be pretty darn cool to be like you." Pet intoned reverently.

[1:16] Colette Loon actually laughed quite a bit at her last statement. "Oh, you really are a little puppy, aren’t you? You don’t want to be like me, do you? I mean, you don’t know me at all yet. I could get you alone and murder you. I don’t think I will though. We are too similar. Just don’t trust me *too* much because I won’t trust you too much. Understand?" She slipped her mask back on.

[1:20] Pet Fiertze downcast her gaze, cheeks pinkening at the semi-rejection. "You seem so competent and savvy, though. But you’re right. I need to trust you lots though, you know? In time. And maybe… Maybe you’ll trust me like that, too." She concluded both wistfully and hopefully. "Am I keeping you?" She’d inquire hastily, forgetting her manners.

[1:26] Colette Loon felt somewhat bad for making the girl so down… which was weird. "Don’t be upset. I trust you enough to do fun shit with you, right? Yes. That’s all that matters though." She popped her jaw and smiled a bit. "Do I look like someone that needs to be somewhere? Or like I have a lot of friends? Ha, no. Not at all. You’re fine, rookie."

[1:32] Pet Fiertze brightened mildly, rocking back and forth again, hands clasped behind her back. "Well, fair enough!" She snapped her fingers in revelation. "Do you use a cell phone? Because we need a way to contact eachother. Plus, if you’re ever outnumbered or something, you can call me and the other way around." Pet fumbled around in her bag, victorious in retrieving a pen and notebook, which rather strangely had kittens on it. Little hand scribbled away, and she ripped the small bit out, phone number offered.

[1:34] Colette Loon took the number and put it in the pouch on her belt. "Yeah, I do. Want me to write it down?" she asked, crossing her arms. She didn’t really know why she was being so nice to this girl. It was probably Pet’s morbid curiousity that saved her ass from Colette’s wrath. She was lucky indeed.

[1:32] Pet Fiertze brightened mildly, rocking back and forth again, hands clasped behind her back. "Well, fair enough!" She snapped her fingers in revelation. "Do you use a cell phone? Because we need a way to contact eachother. Plus, if you’re ever outnumbered or something, you can call me and the other way around." Pet fumbled around in her bag, victorious in retrieving a pen and notebook, which rather strangely had kittens on it. Little hand scribbled away, and she ripped the small bit out, phone number offered.

[1:34] Colette Loon took the number and put it in the pouch on her belt. "Yeah, I do. Want me to write it down?" she asked, crossing her arms. She didn’t really know why she was being so nice to this girl. It was probably Pet’s morbid curiousity that saved her ass from Colette’s wrath. She was lucky indeed.

[1:40] Pet Fiertze mmhmed, thrusting the pen and paper generously over. She’d been in enough tight spots, and for a companion to show up and basically even the score would be most appreciated. "I’d like that. Bullies need to be taught a lessen," she intoned, nodding sagely. ‘Game on bitches’, Pet mused whilst brain sifted through her various fantasies.

[1:41] Colette Loon laughed a bit, jotting her number down. She handed the pad back her. "Y’know, we are bullies, technically. We really are. Are you okay with that?" she asked, tilting her head to the side a bit.

[1:45] Pet Fiertze grinned impishly, that enthrallment running rampant again. "Yes! Oh, to give back to the city as it has so generously dished out. We are cool bullies." Well, perhaps the word for Pet wouldn’t be ‘cool’, but she was having some serious girl-power go-get-’em emotions at the moment. "Where do you like to sleep?"

[1:47] Colette Loon laughed again a bit at Pet. She seemed so young. "Where do I like to sleep? Hm… where I can. There’s a shelter, but I’m not a little pussybitch. I don’t know, I just don’t like it there. Plus, I stabbed Auntie, the woman who runs it." She paused, thinking for a moment. "How old are you?"

[1:52] Pet Fiertze agreed wholeheartedly, and found it rather amusing that Colette had stabbed Auntie. If Auntie were a Shadow, her disguise would be as the Cookie Monster. "I like to sleep in Apocalypse. It’s nice, and I got on Chi’s good side, I think… Did she scream when you stabbed her, and writhe?" Pet inquired, idle chat and all that. "I’m nearly twenty-one. What about you? I hope you still respect me… I know I come across as naive."

[1:55] Colette Loon uncrossed her arms and sighed. "Chisaki? That little kitty. She’s good friends with a friend of mine. Only cat I can stand. Auntie… I think… probably. She did scream, I remember that." She had a hard time remembering for some reason. "I’m 25 as of November 4th. There, now you know my birthday. Get me something this year." She really didn’t care if she got her something or not.

[2:04] Pet Fiertze nuh-uhed, brow knitting. "No, just Chi. He is someone I thought everyone knew, because they know someone who he’s raped or have been themselves. I like a cat lady named Emberen." Pet tapped her lower lip with a finger in contemplation, reminded herself to return the pad and pencil to their designated spot. "Do you want to get matching masks and stuff? You need a different one from that, that people won’t associate with you. Right?"

[2:06] Colette Loon shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose. I don’t wear this one as much as I used to actually, but I needed to wash my other mask. Where will we get these masks, rookie?" she asked.

[2:09] Pet Fiertze mulled over the idea, contemplating where best to look. "I will go out shopping around one day, and if I find something nice, I can take you to look? I want it to be the perfect thing!" It was strange to be -vain- about picking something to cover one’s face, but she seemed pretty unbudging on the whole mask aesthetics thing.

[2:11] Colette Loon popped her neck again. It sure did hurt. Sleeping on concrete would do that. "I wear a mask because I can. Sooner or later, people stop asking. It’d probably be better for me not to wear a mask when doing these things, huh?" She laughed a bit and crossed her arms.

[2:14] Pet Fiertze furrowed her brow, as the woman had a point. "That is true. If you think people will suspect you, it’s best not to do it. It is the combination of blond hair and a mask that will stand out most, yeah?"

[2:16] Colette Loon shrugged her shoulders again. She was rather tired at this point. She was good at standing for hours, but she wasn’t immortal or anything. She’d need sleep soon. "I guess. But I’m not worried about people knowing who I am or not. This city is too corrupt for anyone to be that big of a deal. I mean, for this kind of thing. The police suck."

[2:23] Pet Fiertze nodded her head meekly, hand wandering up to cover a fierce yawn. "Yes. Wanted signs for your arrest would be no good. The mercenaries here are terrible," Pet mewed forlornly, recalling Bane and his rude attempts, though she didn’t know his name. She’d narrowly escaped that dilemma. Little hands balled into fists, and she knuckled them into sleepy eyes. Once donce, Pet blinkblinked a bit vacantly for a moment, and snapped out of her sleep-deprived stupor after a moment. "Colette, thank you so much. I’m so glad for all of this," She intoned happily, barreling into the woman’s petite form for another greedy hug. Arms eventually unsnaked and loosed from her, and she withdrew again, a dopey smile plastered across her features. "It is sleep time."

[2:28] Colette Loon patted the woman on the back awkwardly as she hugged her again. "Don’t sweat it. Now I just get someone to play games with. No big deal." She nodded her head and itched her neck. "Yes, it’s late. I’ve been up all day, walking. I’m so *very* tired. Enjoy wherever you sleep and hope that your pal, Colette, sleeps soundly." She laughed a bit, still wondering why she’d been so nice to her. She began to walk back into the city. "Tata."

[2:30] Pet Fiertze still had that ridiculously content little smile etched across her lips. "Sweet dreams, pretty Colette," she called after her, toddling off in the opposite direction.

Posted by Colette Loon on 2009-08-01 06:35:39

Tagged: , Midian , City

The post Creating a Monster appeared first on Good Info.

[soysaucevictim]

This post is about the Assassin Training Plan.

Started with a bang, ended with deep groaning because the power went out and threw off my plans!

-

Oct. 5

I woke up proper by about noon, today.

Did a a bit of gaming and YouTube before starting on my exercise... which wound up being far more than I meant to.

First, today’s DD. 20 commandos with EC. That was pretty brutal, took some digging in to complete the reps. A few more than that, I think I was going need to take a break! :P

Second, I decided to address some encroaching ivy on the house... which snowballed into pruning the 3 damn bushes in front of the house. I worked until my arms felt like noodles. And it was such a full body workout that got leg and back involvement from pulling roots and picking up trimmings.

This .gif summarizes that adventure nicely.

After a few hours of recovering watching YouTube and playing games... I deliberated on whether I should even do my intended workout. But eventually determined I would, but I needed to swap around the schedule for something more manageable.

Second, “Classic Warmup”. I’m going to be using this one every day this week.

Third, Day 1 of the ATP. Today’s high burn workout was “Ace“, done at Level 2 with max rest.Yeah. I had a more intense looking HIIT workout planned - but I looked at this and went “I think I can actually do this, instead.“ (I mean, I was right about that, but I don’t know if I’m going to regret it later.)

Last, “Full Body Stretch”. Same thing about the warmup workout.

Let me just say, throughout this nonsense, I also couldn’t help but think of a certain Jeff Goldblum quote.

Yeah. I’m going to treasure sleep tonight.

-

Oct. 6

I woke up a bit after noon.

Did a bit of gaming and YouTube. I also did some grumpy organizational work, did some dishes, and made some dinner, and my exercise for the day.

First, today’s DD. 300 backfists with EC. That got pretty tough - especially from sore arms due to yard work and trying to keep both arms up throughout. But still doable and quite enjoyable! :D

(While having some potatoes au gratin baking...)

Second, Classic Warmup.

Third, Day 2 of the ATP. Today’s casual training workout was “Cardio Crunch“, done at Level 2 with EC. This was fun and doable. It was amusing negotiating the up and down swiftly and fluidly. A bit of neck strain during the last 2 exercises, though. :P

Last, Full Body Stretch.

I then stayed up way too late working on that art project some more.

-

Oct. 7

I woke up proper at about 1PM today.

Did a bit of of the usual gaming and YouTube before exercising.

First, today’s DD. 40 squat hold side bends with EC. Still 2 of my favorite exercises rolled into one, so this was pretty fun!

Second, Classic Warmup.

Third, Day 3 of the ATP. Today’s combat workout was “Skybreaker“, done at Level 2 with EC. I loved every moment of this one - pure unadulterated combat work. First set I did the side kicks 10/10, but that was a bit too easy. I then did the rest bounce-switching with every rep. THAT took it to the next level and I worked up quite a sweat! =W=

Last, Full Body Stretch.

I then spent some time doing dishes and taking a shower... meant to work on art. But wound up making a thread on DAREBEE instead. :P

-

Oct. 8

I got up a bit after 8AM today.

Got to the facility, had a pretty cathartic therapy session and spent pretty much the rest of my time at the facility working on some art.

Got home, spent some downtime on the usual, baked some pizzas, and exercised (after some reservations).

First, today’s DD. 50 side bridges with EC. I thought about doing this while I was over at the facility. But I guess I needed to shore up my energy a bit more. Yet another instance of needing a couple more hours of sleep. So I kinda scraped by on this one. :P

Second, Classic Warmup.

Third, Day 4 of the ATP. Today’s HIIT workout was “Expedited Delivery“, done at Level 2. Barely. I was half-regretting the decision to go past Set 3. Partly because I was flirting with overexertion and heartburn. But I'm in one piece. Wooh! (This was the workout I initially intended to do for Day 1, btw.)

Last, some pacing outside and Full Body Stretch, as cooldown. Because oh man was I amped after that endeavor.

Was also kind of nervous about when and how long the Planned Safety Power Shutoff Event that PG&E was going to put into action. That was answered a bit after midnight.

-

Oct. 9

I got up a bit after 10AM.

Got picked up by my transporter to see if my dental appointment was still happening today. Turned out they were misinformed about the blackout impact and I just had to go back home.

I did some exercise, none of it how I originally planned. Did save that in advance and try today’s DD... but just wasn’t up for it.

First, Classic Warmup.

Second, Day 5 of the ATP. Today’s casual training workout was “The Stitch“, it didn’t have any levels. Outage meant lesser quality music from laptop speakers, no fans, and diminishing daylight… Had planned to do “Origami Abs”, but I was not up for all those sit-up variations. Did a bit of “Abs Superset” too, but my neck was not having it.... yeah, kind of a miserable time.

Last, Full Body Stretch.

I attempted to do some reading before getting to bed that night. Couldn't really do much else.

-

Oct. 10

I got up proper around noon.

Power was still out for most of the day, so no access to DDs. But I did some exercise after a bit of chatting with family.

Second, Classic Warmup.

Third, Day 6 of the ATP. Today’s High burn workout was ”Cheetah(?)”, done at Level 1. Initially planned to do “Bridge 4″, but I didn’t have access to HIIT timers.Tried “Temple Run”, kept losing and under-counting my high knees and grew miserable from that... it too was NOT fun. But I showed up.

Last, Full Body Stretch.

Did some more reading, read a [long] chapter of “Lies My Teacher Told Me“ to dad, to pass the time.

I was happier when the lights came back on around 8PM or so. I spent the rest of my time working on some art. Still no internet/cable/phone service though.

-

Oct. 11

I think I got up around 8AM today?

I spent a few hours working on that drawing some more. Internet came back around ~3PM. I immediately found articles on it and ranted about how BS the outage was.

(There's just... so much I could SAY about this mess.)

After a bit, I did the dishes and made the family some dinner.

First, playing catch-up with the last few DDs.

Oct. 9 - 3′ half jacks with EC. I counted 190 reps and even though I tried to moderate my pace for sustainability - this was pretty brutal. Also getting a furious coughing fit afterwards WAS NOT what I planned for.

Oct. 10 - 30 plank jacks with EC. After recovering from that fit, I was a bit hesitant. But 30 reps is far more doable.

Oct. 11 - 40 dead bugs with EC. Fun reminder of improved coordination. This was no less a bit tough!

Last, Day 7 of the ATP. Today was another casual training day where I opted to do some old DDs with EC again.

February 10, 2016 - 200 knife hand strikes (100/100). Very fun and satisfying work - the feel of the sliced air is always a bonus. But I know I’m a broken record about the combat stuff!

February 11, 2016 - "1′ side leg raise hold”, which was technically 2′ split into 1′/1′. The last few seconds in each side were tough. Arguably muscle fatigue was the bigger enemy than the “concentration game”.

March 5, 2016 - 50 forward bends. I think this was just within my capabilities today.

No arbitrary goal for ECs, partly due to needing to catch up and being past midnight (1322/1390).

I’m just going to go ahead and post this now.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, GHOST! You’ve been accepted for the role of OTHELLO. Admin Rosey: We’re so happy you returned to us! Othello has always been one of my favorite characters because of his complexity and depth. The voice that you’ve given to emphasizes the humanity, which hurts all the more. You have no idea how ecstatic we are to see him return and watch him claim the throne.  The version of him that you’ve portrayed for us gives us such hope that he will swindle all of our hearts ruthlessly. Who else is ready for some Othello and Desdemona to ruin our lives? Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.*

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Ghost

Age | Twenty-four

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | I don’t have a job anymore so I’m back \m/ about a 6.5 this time around.

Timezone | EST

Current/Past RP Accounts | Yikes. These. Are. Old. They were all hard to find because my memory (and liking to weird and complicated urls) is a little foggy and 3 are from the same rpg but here you go! The last I had deleted interactions off of but it has A LOT of character building posts I made for her.

In Character

Character | Othello; Odin Bello. 

What drew you to this character? | I was originally looking at Delilah when she was auditioned for an taken up by the perfect player. So, I decided to read him and I fell in love. I love broody “bad” boys who are also hella loyal and lost. I like his mix of brutality and passion. There is so much room for him to develop and I always look for that in characters. The last bit of his bio also sums up perfectly what I see in Odin. A constant battle with himself, really.

All must learn a little bit of cruelty in a time where there is no room for kindness. All must learn to be a little kind in a time where the world only knows to be cruel.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I. Bellamy. Out of all Odin’s connections, I feel I could have the most fun with this one and this is why this is a major plot idea I have stirring in my noggin. That is, of course, if it is ever feasible. It also plays into his and Bellamy’s connection to Pandora. He obviously wants to use Bellamy to potentially have a connection to the Montagues, to have someone inside to give him whatever information he needs. He also wants to take Pandora down. They are equal, but to him there could only be one brutal entity running around Verona. I’m sure he knows Bellamy’s annoyance with Pandora and what better way to find a way to tear her down than through Bellamy? If the blood is not on his own hands, how could he be guilty? If it wasn’t a Capulet that were to be Pandora’s demise, then there’d be no need for an outcry of more war. It seems to be the perfect concoction for a messy ending, but for who???

II. Delilah… I want Odin to regret the day he ever met her and not because of her supposed unfaithfulness, but because he was never man enough to love her right. I want him to watch her succeed and truly KNOW that he fucked up. I want him to try and make up for it and I want him to fail. Honestly, I am a sucker for hurting my own characters and what better way than giving Othello a taste of his own medicine?? It will also prove Ivan’s disloyalty to him and that would add a whole new level whenever this man comes into the picture in Diverona. I want Delilah to succeed so bad if you can’t tell.

III. PICK A SIDE ODIN!!! I want him to become one or the other. His mother or his father. I want there to be a downfall so hard that he either gives up all hope and becomes the monster people knew he would become or for him to see the errors in his way and try to make emends for them. No more broody, brutal and crying Othello. No more bloodshed. No more war. Every action has a consequence and so far he has gotten away free of harm. I want to tatter him up, strip him down and still see if he thinks brutality and kindness could have ever shared a home in the same body.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Bring it on!

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

Odin took in a breath of fresh air, filling his lungs with the oxygen he knew he needed to survive. Some people say they don’t need a thing in this world to survive the bitter taste of reality. Yet, he knew as long as he was alive, he knew what it was like to need something so badly you would die for it. He felt he needed oxygen just as much as he needed Verona. To pick and choose a favorite place was like asking him if he’d rather go deaf or blind. He’d choose both over losing any spot or step he had in this city.

“I didn’t come back to this home to be asked to favor one area in it over the other,” He licked his lips, eyes looking around him. It was the closest thing he ever had to a home. “Would you pick a favorite child out of ten if you had them?” He laughed, something hollow and telling of the answer he already knew.

No.

Because when it comes to something you love, you love all of it, not just the pieces that bring you the most happiness or contentedness. Through all the ugly you love it. Just like through all the blood and glorious battle, Othello loved his fair Verona.

What does your typical day look like?

***6:00 AM: The alarm on his bedside table goes off, but he is already awake. The muscles in his shoulders ache from a sleepless night, but he reaches over and dismissing the tone before sitting up in bed. His feet hit the cold floor beneath him as he stretches out his body, groaning in what seems like pain. They tell you about the hurting and then the healing, but somehow he missed the healing.

6:05 AM: Hot water runs in the shower, the steam filling the room and fogging up the mirror. He stands, forehead against tile as his skin burns beneath the water. He prepares his mind for the day that follows. He remembers his father, his stern glare and harshness. He remembers how he is just like him and it helps his mind to adjust to the world he is about to enter. He reminds himself that kindness only gave him the hurting. He wonders when the healing will ever come.

6:30 AM: He is dressed in uniform, sitting in the driver’s seat of his vehicle. He waits for the cold to leave his bones, but it never does. He adjusts the mirrors and his walkie-talkie before starting his car and driving off. Verona seems still, but he knows the facade way too well to believe it to be true.

6:47 AM: A running car is parked on the side of the road, driver’s side open, body splayed out over the top of the hood. He puts his lights on and pulls over. When he comes up to the person, it is clear they are no longer a part of the land of the living. EDM pounds through the speakers of the car, the hood covered in rose-gold chromatic dust. He takes in a deep breath before going back to his car.

6:50 AM: Odin comes back with a bag of white powder, some wipes and a plan. There are no known users of what the Capulets call il sangue di Faerie and there is good reason for that. Even he doesn’t know much about the dust, but he’d protect his family no matter what. He might have been cold and hardened over, but he had always been a faithful man. His loyalties were concrete. So, he did what he could to hide the truth. He cleaned up the mess of Faerie’s Blood before wiping the cover-up drugs over unbreathing nostrils, sprinkling the rest over the hood that once shined like the lights of the night life that hid these secrets as well.

6:53 AM: “Dispatch, we have a problem,” He spoke calmly into his walkie-talkie, eyes never leaving the corpse in front of him. “We have an overdose victim on the side of the road about 3 miles away from The Dark Lady. Send medics immediately. Suspect appear to be dead. ” He waited only moments for a response that help was on the way. At least this person didn’t have to experience the hurting. If only he was able to stick around for the healing.

7:30 AM: The car door shuts. Odin watches what’s left of the scene before him. His heart rate is steady and his mindset unaffected by what just happened. This city was a battle field and there were bound to be fatalities along the way. Accidents happen, especially when it comes to Faerie’s Blood cocaine addiction…

8:00 PM: The rest of his day was uneventful. He comes home to silence, slipping out of uniform and kicking it to the side. There is a twinge in his chest that he can’t quite describe as he pulls the blankets aside and climbs into bed. He remembers and feels the hurting and thinks about the healing. He thinks about how if your dead you can never hurt and then there would be no need for the healing. Even if you’re only dead on the inside, it still counts. He is content enough then to slowly drift into a slumber.***

Odin laughed, taking in a deep breath. “You think being a law enforcement officer would be more interesting, but it really isn’t. On a bad day we catch a thief trying to steal some cigarettes or catch someone driving under the influence. Gotta keep the streets and people of Verona safe, yeah?” He licked his lips, knowing very well his real day-to-day life was more of a glorified cop show where something was always happening. If it wasn’t covering up drugs… it was covering up a murder.

Othello drew in a deep breath. “But if you really want to know. There’s never a dull day with the family. Do you think I dawn the uniform now because I fight for justice? Maybe for them, but it is a good disguise. What officer isn’t morally corrupt nowadays? It just seemed to work.” He also needed the boost after his discharge. “I became a hero and found a place I belong. So, in the end, who gives a fuck what I do in my day?”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

The answer was simple. No matter how much he hated to admit it and to reveal his heart, he knew no other answer to give. His jaw clenched with a whisper of pain, but what else was a strong and calloused man to do but than to swallow it down in one heavy gulp. “Falling in love,” His father also made the same mistake. “What else has it brought me other than betrayal and hurt?”

The Bello men weren’t made for love, his father made that clear, but sometimes the heart is stronger than the mind. Only his fists were never stronger than his heart when it came to Delilah. Even Odin was man enough to choose words over fists, but no one had ever told him that they could hurt all the same. His tongue always lashed out and he could see the pain in her eyes every single fucking time. The words still haunted him.

“You’re nothing but a harlot. Who will love you now, Delilah?”

But maybe his biggest mistake wasn’t actually falling in love, but letting other’s make him believe in the lies he also told. The same mistake that led to ruining a good name– hurting a beautiful and kind woman. He never deserved her and he never will. He was his father and she was his mother. Black and white. Cold and warm. Cruel and kind. They were the spitting image of what he grew up watching and everyone now had the answer to the question they asked for years. The question he even had deep beneath his ribs.

Which do you think he’ll turn out to be?

Which will I turn out to be?

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

***“Bello.” his upper said sternly, making it known that he was serious in his decision. “You’re being discharged.” He knew words could hurt, but not like this. It was what was going to happen and had no control over it. He had been reckless and care free, but this was his way out of having to live brutally and lost. Yet, he wasn’t the soldier they needed with war on the horizon. “It’s for the best.”

“That’s what you think, but what if it’s not for the best?” He asked, tone slightly aggravated. He could feel his fists and jaw clench all the same. With a familiar anger he saw growing up. The same anger that swam through his veins. “This is where I belong.”

The other man shook his head, resting a hand on Odin’s shoulder. As if it were supposed to be comforting. As if it were going to fix things. “Sometimes where we think we belong is just a stop sign along the way to find your real home.”

Odin scoffed, pushing his uppers hand off of his shoulder. “Don’t pull that bubblegum bullshit with me. I’m not in the mood.”

“You need to leave. Before this gets out of hand.”

Out of hand? Them discharging him was out of hand, but he swallowed back the news like razors sliding down throat. He raised his arms in surrender before grabbing his things to leave. “You’ll regret this one day.” He said in a tone devoid of anything but anger.

At least he knew, even with the disappointment of this entire situation, that no one in this world could ever disappoint him more than himself. He thought the obstacles he tumbled through in his life before now were hard? Try losing the last thing you believed could fix you. Try leaving behind the only life you grew to love and care about. It was the hardest thing he was ever asked to do and it ended up being the thing he was best at… leaving.***

“Fuck this question.” He sighed, adjusting his shirt and standing up a little taller to make it seem as if it weren’t that big of a deal. “Being asked to leave the army was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I lost a lot.” He shrugged, like he always did when he wanted to brush off all the seriousness and hide that he was human– one who felt pain all the same. “But look at where I am at now. I wouldn’t be here if that didn’t happen, so, in a way I guess it was meant to be.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“We’ve been fighting to choose sides for centuries.” Othello never bit his tongue when it came to his thoughts. Especially on war. “We’ve been battling, shedding blood, winning and losing for centuries. What makes now any different? I’ve seen all sides of war, this is just the same as the rest.” He shrugged, head tilting in a systematic sort of way. As if every question he was asked came with a question in return.

Shouldn’t you already know the answer?

“It’s human nature. If you really dig down deep, deep beneath the world’s kindness– it is built off of brutality and death. No resolution came without the conflict.” He laughed. “But sometimes people like the conflict a little too much to ever meet in the middle. Am I right? When have you last seen a war go on this long, if not to revel in the destruction?”

Extras: N/A

[astrofish]

Thinking Cars

Thinking Cars

What I really meant? “Thinking about cars,” as an analogy. I wanted, for years, like 1972 or 1975 short–bed F-100 with its very stable six–cylinder, a long line of Ford six-bangers that never stopped working. If I spent less time in Austin’s traffic, maybe a truck with a three on the tree, standard shift. Not sure when those went away. At one time, I was hard on equipment, and the throw-out bearing would have to be replaced every 20K miles or so. Just my style of driving. I like to be smooth — or think of myself as smooth. While ultimately less useful, and potentially a little less stable on the road, the short–bed, half–ton always appealed to me the most. A vehicle from before my driver’s license. It’s changed, over the years, with my most recent object of lust being a series of old cop cars, usually based on a Town Car frame, with cop shocks and cop tires, and routine cop maintenance. Last time I talked about it, used car lot off the old Austin Highway, guy was explaining that the cars all had over 100K miles, and the drive train itself was a ’98 to 2006 Mustang big-block, the factory hot–rod version. No, not that. Like this one: Police Interceptor. Gas is cheap right now, and not sure how long it will be like this. I was guessing at 20 miles to the gallon, tops, for the highway, so that would be 5 gallons, each way to the Rock Shop — at $2 per gallon? $20 round trip, and that’s with cheap gas. If — when — prices creep back up? Don’t want to consider it at the moment. Still, it would be fun. Cool car. Hurricane spiked it, say $3/Gal. $30 Round trip? The upholstery and dash would have to be replaced, and given the current state of phones, a constantly changing environment, I’m not sure I want much more than a cigarette lighter charger. No in-dash entertainment for me. Like the aforementioned truck, that Police Interceptor has a seat that’s big enough to take a nap on. I couldn’t quite stretch out my whole frame, but it would be doable.

Prior to that idyl?

I did have an affection for British Marque cars, little roadsters that are ever so much fun to drive, but usually, just short, sporting distances — not a hundred mile commute on the straight–line ragged interstate. Or heavy American iron, like The Caddy? From a not-to-distant past, in old Austin, my dream car was a venerable 1974 Lincoln Mark IV Coupe. 2 Door, with a vast expanse of hood, that front section probably weighed more than the current hybrid. 460 cubic-inch V-8, leather seats, couldn’t park it in a normal parking lot, due to the car’s relative size. Don’t think it even had shoulder seat belts. Maybe 4 miles to the gallon, in city traffic? Probably not much more than 10 miles to the gallon, otherwise? Yeah, not a good choice. Very cool car, highly emblematic of true American Iron, though. Covetous until I have to pull up to the gas pump or try to fit in a contemporary two-car garage or now-normal parking space.

Thinking Cars

Another previous affection was for a VW (Bug) pan with a fiberglass Porsche Roadster bolted on top. Kit car. Looks like a vintage Porsche, has the rock-solid (and way cheaper to maintain) drivability of a slightly dated VW Bug. Fiberglass body, wind in the hair? Two problems, although, factually, probably better performance from a VW frame and motor when compared to an actual ’56 Roadster — no data to back up either claim at the moment. “no data to back up either claim” has never bothered me. The first problem is that trip to Austin, at least, for me. The drop-top is so totally cool, but two hours — or more — depends on traffic — in the heat, breathing nothing but exhaust fumes? Not so much fun, and the roaring of the wind is fun for a few minutes, but not after parking under a tree with a large murder of crow. I lived in New Mexico and Arizona, the high desert — the great American Southwest — off and on for a few years. The Porsche — and VW — motor is an air–cooled, flat 4, hangs out aft of the rear axle. Makes for good traction, and interesting handling characteristics, but as a practical placement? Air–cooled and in the back of the vehicle? Right next to the ground that can easily fry an egg most summers? That just bakes the motor. So that second problem is two-fold, air-cooled and rear-engine. Plus side is ease of access for mechanical repairs, but I’m no longer interested in getting greasy myself.

Thinking Cars

Returning to the quintessential British Roadsters, amusing — slightly ironic — the best of the current British roadsters is a Mazda Miata. I could never. I’ve owned a handful of British roadsters, and while they are enjoyable, slightly quirky, again, living in the American Southwest with our — to some people — brutal summers? The drop top is a wonderful idea but not really practical most of the time. The older British ones are even more fun, back in the days long since passed, I knew guy who shoveled and squeezed American (Ford) 350 V-8s into Jaguars. English craftsman coachwork and sporty handling, American motor reliability. The English — the joke — was that Lucas was the Prince of Darkness. Lucas electrics? All the wiring and electrical parts on those roadsters? At one point in New Mexico, a group of my buddies? Every time it rained, all of us with British cars would be stranded. For some reason, the Lucas electrics shorted out in the New Mexico rain. Desert. Didn’t rain often. Not long ago, on the road to Austin, I zipped past a Bug-Eye Sprite. Austin Healy, evolved into a model called a “Spridget.” Cross between a Sprite with a body that looked like the MG Midget. Cute cars, with the Austin Healy branded model a better deal because, well, the cachet of that brand. Think it was 1275 cc motor, like, I owned motorcycles with bigger motors than that. However, the notion that a car like that would be fun? Well, yes, it would be a blast for a day like the other afternoon, met a buddy for lunch, had a meeting to go to, and then zipped over to the grocery store. However, in a town that’s filled with monster trucks? Those little cars, no matter how much fun, just get swallowed whole. Girlfriend had a Honda CR-Z, and I got to drive it for a spell. I adored that car. It was, at best, problematic, but did have its uses. For one, it was a sporty Honda hybrid. Two-seater. Hard-top — with all the modern inconveniences. Great fun to drive, if a little plagued with oversteer, typical of front-engine, front-wheel drive. The major problem was visibility, and there were serious blind spots for me, as a driver, in the back quarter, a little spot — on each side — where I couldn’t see traffic. The other — wrote in a horoscope, cf. Virgo — drawback to that one car? Either drive it sporty and get under 35 miles to a gallon, or drive it conservative and get 40. I teased 50 miles to the gallon out of it one winter’s evening in a long haul someplace, chatting the whole way.

Thinking Cars

astrofish.net/travel

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[shg11]

The basketball legend and social activist who counted Ali and King among his contemporaries discusses Colin Kaepernick, LaVar Ball and Trumps America

Like all people my age I find the passage of time so startling, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar says with a quiet smile. The 70-year-old remains the highest points-scorer in the history of the NBA and, having won six championships and been picked for a record 19 All-Star Games, he is often compared with Michael Jordan when the greatest basketball players of all time are listed. Yet no one in American sport today can match Kareems political and cultural impact over 50 years.

In the 90 minutes since he knocked on my hotel room door in Los Angeles, Abdul-Jabbar has recounted a dizzying personal history which stretches from conducting his first-ever interview with Martin Luther King in Harlem, when he was just 17, to receiving a hand-written insult from Donald Trump in 2015. We move from Colin Kaepernick calling him last week to the moment when, aged 20, Kareem was the youngest man invited to the Cleveland Summit as the leading black athletes in 1967 gathered to meet Muhammad Ali to decide whether they would support him after he had been stripped of his world title and banned from boxing for rejecting the draft during the Vietnam War.

Kaepernick, the former San Francisco 49ers quarterback who has been shut out of the NFL for his refusal to stand for the US national anthem, is engaged in a different struggle. But, after being banished unofficially from football for going down on a bended knee in protest against racism and police brutality, Kaepernick has one of his staunchest allies in Abdul-Jabbar.

At the Cleveland Summit Abdul-Jabbar was called Lew Alcindor, for he had not converted to Islam then, and he became one of Alis ardent supporters. When Ali convinced his fellow athletes he was right to stand against the US government, the young basketball star knew he needed to make his more reticent voice heard. He has stayed true to that conviction ever since.

Were talking about 50 years since the Cleveland Summit, wow, Abdul-Jabbar exclaims. We were tense about what we were going to do and Ali was the opposite. He said: Weve got to fight this in court and Im going to start a speaking tour. Ali had figured out what he had to do in order to make the dollars while fighting the case was essential to his identity. Bill Russell [the great Boston Celtics player] said: Ive got no concerns about Ali. Its the rest of us Im worried about. Ali had such conviction but he was cracking jokes and asking us if we were going to be as dumb as Wilt Chamberlain [another basketball great who played for the Philadelphia 76ers]. Wilt wanted to box Ali. Oh my God.

Abdul-Jabbars face creases with laughter before he becomes more serious again. Black Americans wanted to protect Ali because he spoke for us when we had no voice. When he said: Aint no Viet Cong ever called me the N-word, we figured that one out real quick. Ali was a winner and people supported him because of his class as a human being. But some of the things we fought against then are still happening. Each generation faces these same old problems.

The previous evening, when I had sat next to Abdul-Jabbar at the Los Angeles Press Club awards, the past echoed again. Abdul-Jabbar received two prizes the Legend Award and Columnist of the Year for his work in the Hollywood Reporter. Other award winners included Tippi Hedren, who starred in Alfred Hitchcocks thriller, The Birds, and the New York Times reporters Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey who broke the Harvey Weinstein story two months ago. As if to prove that the past can be played over and over again in a contemporary loop, we saw footage of Hedren saying how she would not accept the sexual bullying of Hitchcock in the 1960s just before Kantor and Twohey described how they earned the trust of women who had been abused by Weinstein.

Abdul-Jabbar explained quietly to me how much of an ordeal he found such occasions. He was happiest talking about John Coltrane or Sherlock Holmes, James Baldwin or Bruce Lee, but people kept coming over to ask for a selfie or a book to be signed while, all evening, comic references were made to his height. Abdul-Jabbar is 7ft 2in and he looked two feet taller than Hedren on the red carpet.

The following morning, as he stretches out his long legs, I tell Kareem how I winced each time another wise-crack was made about his height. I can tell you I was six-foot-two, aged 12, when the questions started, Abdul-Jabbar says. Hows the weather up there? I should write down all the things people said when affected by my height. One of the funniest was at an airport and this little boy of five looked at my feet in amazement. I said: Hey, how youre doing? He just said: You must be very old because youve got very big shoes. For him the older you were, the bigger your shoes. Thats the best Ive heard.

In his simple but often beautiful and profound new book, Becoming Kareem, Abdul-Jabbar writes poignantly: My skin made me a symbol, my height made me a target.

A group of top black athletes gather to give support to Muhammad Ali give his reasons for rejecting the draft during the Vietnam War at a meeting of the Negro Industrial and Economic Union, held in Cleveland in June 1967. Seated in the front row, from left to right: Bill Russell, Ali, Jim Brown and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Standing behind them are: Carl Stokes, Walter Beach, Bobby Mitchell, Sid Williams, Curtis McClinton, Willie Davis, Jim Shorter and John Wooten. Photograph: Robert Abbott Sengstacke/Getty Images

Race has been the primary issue which Abdul-Jabbar has confronted every day. In another absorbing Abdul-Jabbar book published this year, Coach Wooden and Me, he celebrates his friendship with the man who helped him win an unprecedented three NCAA championship titles with UCLA. They lost only two games in his three years on campus as UCLA established themselves as the greatest team in the history of college basketball and Wooden, a white midwesterner, and Kareem, a black kid from New York, forged a bond that lasted a half-century. Yet, amid their shared morality and decency, race remained an unresolved issue between them.

Wooden was mortified when a little old lady stared up at the teenage Kareem and said: Ive never seen a nigger that tall. Even though he would later say that he learnt more about mans inhumanity to man by witnessing all his protg endured over the years, Woodens memory of that encounter softened the womans racial insult by saying that she had called Kareem a big black freak.

Abdul-Jabbar nods. He would never see a little grey-haired lady using such language. When it doesnt affect your life its hard for you to see. Men dont understand what attractive women go through. We dont get on a bus and have somebody squeeze our breast. We have no idea how bad it can be. For people to understand your predicament youve got to figure out how to convey that reality. It takes time.

Abdul-Jabbar made his first high-profile statement against the predicament of all African Americans when, in 1968, he boycotted the Olympic Games in Mexico. After race riots in Newark and Detroit, and the assassination of King in April 1968, he knew he could not represent his country. Dr Harry Edwards [the civil rights activist] helped me realise how much power I had. The Olympics are a great event but what happened overwhelmed any patriotism. I had to make a stand. I wanted the country to live up to the words of the founding fathers and make sure they applied to people of colour and to women. I was trying to hold America to that standard.

The athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos took another path of protest. They competed in the Olympic 200m in Mexico and, after they had won gold and bronze, raised their gloved fists in a black power salute on the podium. I was glad somebody with some political consciousness had gone to Mexico, Abdul-Jabbar says, so I was very supportive of them.

Does Kaepernicks situation mirror those same issues? Yeah. The whole issue of equal treatment under the law is still being worked out here because for so long our political and legal culture has denied black Americans equal treatment. But I was surprised Kaepernick had that awareness. It made me think: I wonder how many other NFL athletes are also aware? From there it has bloomed. This generation has a very good idea on how to confront racism. I talked to Colin a couple of days ago on the phone and Im really proud of him. Hes filed an issue with the Players Association about the owners colluding to keep him from working. Thats the best legal approach to it. I hope he prevails.

Over dinner the night before, he intimated that Kaepernick knew he would never play in the NFL again. We didnt get that deep into it, he says now, but he has an idea that is whats going down. But hes moved on. He hadnt prepared for this but he coped with different twists and turns. Some of the owners in the NFL are sympathetic, some arent. Its gone back and forth. But he appreciates the fact that kids in high school have taken an interest. So he got something done and this generations athletes are now more aware of civil rights.

Abdul-Jabbar is proud of Colin Kaepernicks stand. Photograph: Michael Zagaris/Getty Images

Kaepernick has been voted GQs Citizen of the Year, the runner-up in Time magazines Person of the Year and this week he received Sports Illustrateds Muhammad Ali Legacy Award. Considering the way Kaepernick has never wavered in his commitment, Abdul-Jabbar writes in Sports Illustrated that: I have never been prouder to be an American On November 30, it was reported that 40 NFL players and league officials had reached an agreement for the league to provide approximately $90m between now and 2023 for activism endeavors important to African American communities. Clearly, this is the result of Colins one-knee revolution and of the many players and coaches he inspired to join him. That is some serious impact Were my old friend [Ali] still alive, I know he would be proud that Colin is continuing this tradition of being a selfless warrior for social justice.

In my hotel room, Abdul-Jabbar is more specific in linking tragedy and a deepening social conscience. I dont know how anybody could not be moved by some of the things weve seen. Remember the footage of [12-year-old] Tamir Rice getting killed [in Cleveland [in 2014]. The car stops and the cop stands up and executes Tamir Rice. It took two seconds. Its so unbelievably brutal you have to do something about it.

LeBron James and other guys in the NBA all had something to say about such crimes [James and leading players wore I Cant Breathe T-shirts in December 2014 to protest against the police killing of Eric Garner, another black man]. They werent talking as athletes. They were talking as parents because that could have been their kid.

If the NFL appears to have actively ended Kaepernicks career, what does Abdul-Jabbar feel about the NBAs politics? The NBA has been wonderful. I came into the NBA and went to Milwaukee [where he won his first championship before winning five more with the LA Lakers]. Milwaukee had the first black general manager in professional sports [Wayne Embry in 1972]. And the NBAs outreach for coaches, general managers and women has been exemplary. The NBA has been on the edge of change. I was hoping the NFL might do the same because some of the owners were taking the knee. But theyre making an example of Colin. Its not right. Let him go out there and succeed or fail on the field like any other great athlete.

Abdul-Jabbar smiles shyly when I ask him about his first interview with Martin Luther King 53 years ago. As a journalist I started out interviewing Dr King. Whoa! By that point [1964], Dr King was a serious icon and I was thrilled he gave me a really good earnest answer. Moments like that affect your life. But my first real experience of being drawn into the civil rights movement came when I read James Baldwins The Fire Next Time.

Muhammad Ali, then Cassius Clay, with Bill Russell and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, then Lew Alcindor. Photograph: Bettmann/Bettmann Archive

Has he seen I Am Not Your Negro Raoul Pecks 2016 documentary of Baldwin? Its wonderful. I saw it two weeks after the Trump election. It was medicine for my soul. It made me think of how bad things were for James Baldwin. But remember him speaking at Cambridge [University] and the reception he got? Oh man, amazing! I kept telling people: Trump is an asshole but go and see this film. Trump doesnt matter because weve got work to do.

In 2015, after Abdul-Jabbar wrote an opinion piece in the Washington Post, condemning Trumps attempts to bully the press, the future president sent him a scrawled note: Kareem now I know why the press always treated you so badly. They couldnt stand you. The fact is you dont have a clue about life and what has to be done to make America great again.

Abdul-Jabbar smiles when I say that schoolyard taunt is a long way from the oratory of King or Malcolm X. If you judge yourself by your enemies Im doing great. Trumps not going to change. He knows he is where he is because of his appeal to racism and xenophobia. The people that want to divide the country are in his camp. They want to go back to the 18th century.

Trump wants to move us back to 1952 but hes not Eisenhower who was the type of Republican that cared about the whole nation. Even George Bush Sr and George W Bushs idea of fellow citizens did not exclude people of colour. George Ws cabinet looked like America. It had Condoleezza Rice and the Mexican American gentleman who was the attorney general [Alberto Gonzales] and Colin Powell. Women had important positions in his administration. Even though I did not like his policies, he wasnt exclusionary.

Look whats going on with Trump in Alabama [where the president supports Roy Moore in the state senate election despite his favoured candidate being accused of multiple sexual assaults of under-age girls]. You have a guy like him but hes going to vote the way you want politically. Thats more important than what hes accused of? People with that frightening viewpoint are still fighting a civil war. They have to be contained.

Does he fear that Trump might win a second term? I dont think he can, but the rest of us had better organise and vote in 2020. I hope people stop him ruining our nation.

Abdul-Jabbar also worries that college sport remains as exploitative as ever. Its a business and the coaches, the NCAA and universities make a lot of money and the athletes get exploited. They make billions of dollars for the whole system and dont get any. Im not saying they have to be wealthy but I think they should get a share of the incredible amount they generate.

In Coach Wooden and Me, he writes of how, in the 1960s, he was famous at UCLA but dead broke. Yeah. No cash. Its ridiculous. Basketball and football fund everything. College sports do not function on the revenue from water polo or track and field or gymnastics. Its all down to basketball and football. The athletes at Northwestern tried to organise a union and thats how college athletes have to think. They need to unionise. If they can organise they can get a piece of the pie because they are the show.

The legendary Michael Jordan never showed the social conscience of Abdul-Jabbar and other rare NBA activists like Craig Hodges. But Abdul-Jabbar is conciliatory towards Jordan and his commercially-driven contemporaries. I was glad they became interested in being successful businessmen because their financial power makes a difference. I just felt they should leave a little room to help the causes they knew needed their help. But Jordan has come around. He gave some money to the NAACP for legal funds, thank goodness.

President Barack Obama awards the Medal of Freedom to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar at the White House in November 2016. Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

Abdul-Jabbar defines himself as a writer now. As he reflects on his LA Press Club awards he says: To be honoured by other writers is incredible. Im a neophyte. Im a rookie.

He grins when I say hes not doing not too badly for a rookie who has written 13 books, including novels about Mycoft Holmes brother of Sherlock. Yeah, but I still feel new to it and to get that recognition was wonderful. I was very flattered that the BBC came to interview me about Mycroft because the British are very protective of their culture. Arthur Conan Doyle is beyond an icon. So I was like, Wow, maybe I am doing OK. When I was [an NBA] rookie somebody gave me a complete compilation of Doyles stories. I went from there.

People were amazed because I always used to be reading before a game whether it was Sherlock Holmes or Malcolm X, John Le Carr or James Baldwin. But that was one of the luxuries of being a professional athlete. You get lots of time to read. My team-mates did not read to the same extent but Im a historian and some of the guys had big holes in their knowledge of black history. So I was the librarian for the team.

I tell Abdul-Jabbar about my upcoming interview with Jaylen Brown of the Boston Celtics and how the 21-year-old has the same thirst for reading and knowledge. While enthusiastic about the possibility of meeting Brown when the Celtics next visit LA, Abdul-Jabbar makes a wistful observation of a young sportsmans intellectual curiosity. Hes going to be lonely. Most of the guys are like: Where are we going to party in this town? Where are the babes? So the fact that he has such broader interests is remarkable and wonderful.

Abdul-Jabbar acknowledges that his own bookish nature and self-consciousness about his height, combined with a fierce sense of injustice, made him appear surly and aloof as a player. It also meant he was never offered the head-coach job he desired. They didnt think I could communicate and they didnt take the time to get to know me. But I didnt make it easy for them so some of that falls in my lap absolutely. But its different now. People stop me in the street and want to talk about my articles. Its amazing.

Most of all, in his eighth decade, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar loves to lose myself in my imagination. Its a wonderful place to go when youre old and creaky like me. I see myself working at this pace [writing at least a book a year] but its not like I have the hounds at my heels. Since my career ended Ive been able to have friends and family. My new granddaughter will be three this month. Shes my very first [grandchild]. So my life has expanded in wonderful ways. But, still, we all have so much work to do. The work is a long way from being done.

Main photograph by Austin Hargrave/AUGUST

Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2017/dec/08/kareem-abdul-jabbar-kaepernick-trump-interview

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Kareem Abdul-Jabbar: ‘Trump is where he is because of his appeal to racism’

The basketball legend and social activist who counted Ali and King among his contemporaries discusses Colin Kaepernick, LaVar Ball and Trumps America

Like all people my age I find the passage of time so startling, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar says with a quiet smile. The 70-year-old remains the highest points-scorer in the history of the NBA and, having won six championships and been picked for a record 19 All-Star Games, he is often compared with Michael Jordan when the greatest basketball players of all time are listed. Yet no one in American sport today can match Kareems political and cultural impact over 50 years.

In the 90 minutes since he knocked on my hotel room door in Los Angeles, Abdul-Jabbar has recounted a dizzying personal history which stretches from conducting his first-ever interview with Martin Luther King in Harlem, when he was just 17, to receiving a hand-written insult from Donald Trump in 2015. We move from Colin Kaepernick calling him last week to the moment when, aged 20, Kareem was the youngest man invited to the Cleveland Summit as the leading black athletes in 1967 gathered to meet Muhammad Ali to decide whether they would support him after he had been stripped of his world title and banned from boxing for rejecting the draft during the Vietnam War.

Kaepernick, the former San Francisco 49ers quarterback who has been shut out of the NFL for his refusal to stand for the US national anthem, is engaged in a different struggle. But, after being banished unofficially from football for going down on a bended knee in protest against racism and police brutality, Kaepernick has one of his staunchest allies in Abdul-Jabbar.

At the Cleveland Summit Abdul-Jabbar was called Lew Alcindor, for he had not converted to Islam then, and he became one of Alis ardent supporters. When Ali convinced his fellow athletes he was right to stand against the US government, the young basketball star knew he needed to make his more reticent voice heard. He has stayed true to that conviction ever since.

Were talking about 50 years since the Cleveland Summit, wow, Abdul-Jabbar exclaims. We were tense about what we were going to do and Ali was the opposite. He said: Weve got to fight this in court and Im going to start a speaking tour. Ali had figured out what he had to do in order to make the dollars while fighting the case was essential to his identity. Bill Russell [the great Boston Celtics player] said: Ive got no concerns about Ali. Its the rest of us Im worried about. Ali had such conviction but he was cracking jokes and asking us if we were going to be as dumb as Wilt Chamberlain [another basketball great who played for the Philadelphia 76ers]. Wilt wanted to box Ali. Oh my God.

Abdul-Jabbars face creases with laughter before he becomes more serious again. Black Americans wanted to protect Ali because he spoke for us when we had no voice. When he said: Aint no Viet Cong ever called me the N-word, we figured that one out real quick. Ali was a winner and people supported him because of his class as a human being. But some of the things we fought against then are still happening. Each generation faces these same old problems.

The previous evening, when I had sat next to Abdul-Jabbar at the Los Angeles Press Club awards, the past echoed again. Abdul-Jabbar received two prizes the Legend Award and Columnist of the Year for his work in the Hollywood Reporter. Other award winners included Tippi Hedren, who starred in Alfred Hitchcocks thriller, The Birds, and the New York Times reporters Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey who broke the Harvey Weinstein story two months ago. As if to prove that the past can be played over and over again in a contemporary loop, we saw footage of Hedren saying how she would not accept the sexual bullying of Hitchcock in the 1960s just before Kantor and Twohey described how they earned the trust of women who had been abused by Weinstein.

Abdul-Jabbar explained quietly to me how much of an ordeal he found such occasions. He was happiest talking about John Coltrane or Sherlock Holmes, James Baldwin or Bruce Lee, but people kept coming over to ask for a selfie or a book to be signed while, all evening, comic references were made to his height. Abdul-Jabbar is 7ft 2in and he looked two feet taller than Hedren on the red carpet.

The following morning, as he stretches out his long legs, I tell Kareem how I winced each time another wise-crack was made about his height. I can tell you I was six-foot-two, aged 12, when the questions started, Abdul-Jabbar says. Hows the weather up there? I should write down all the things people said when affected by my height. One of the funniest was at an airport and this little boy of five looked at my feet in amazement. I said: Hey, how youre doing? He just said: You must be very old because youve got very big shoes. For him the older you were, the bigger your shoes. Thats the best Ive heard.

In his simple but often beautiful and profound new book, Becoming Kareem, Abdul-Jabbar writes poignantly: My skin made me a symbol, my height made me a target.

A group of top black athletes gather to give support to Muhammad Ali give his reasons for rejecting the draft during the Vietnam War at a meeting of the Negro Industrial and Economic Union, held in Cleveland in June 1967. Seated in the front row, from left to right: Bill Russell, Ali, Jim Brown and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Standing behind them are: Carl Stokes, Walter Beach, Bobby Mitchell, Sid Williams, Curtis McClinton, Willie Davis, Jim Shorter and John Wooten. Photograph: Robert Abbott Sengstacke/Getty Images

Race has been the primary issue which Abdul-Jabbar has confronted every day. In another absorbing Abdul-Jabbar book published this year, Coach Wooden and Me, he celebrates his friendship with the man who helped him win an unprecedented three NCAA championship titles with UCLA. They lost only two games in his three years on campus as UCLA established themselves as the greatest team in the history of college basketball and Wooden, a white midwesterner, and Kareem, a black kid from New York, forged a bond that lasted a half-century. Yet, amid their shared morality and decency, race remained an unresolved issue between them.

Wooden was mortified when a little old lady stared up at the teenage Kareem and said: Ive never seen a nigger that tall. Even though he would later say that he learnt more about mans inhumanity to man by witnessing all his protg endured over the years, Woodens memory of that encounter softened the womans racial insult by saying that she had called Kareem a big black freak.

Abdul-Jabbar nods. He would never see a little grey-haired lady using such language. When it doesnt affect your life its hard for you to see. Men dont understand what attractive women go through. We dont get on a bus and have somebody squeeze our breast. We have no idea how bad it can be. For people to understand your predicament youve got to figure out how to convey that reality. It takes time.

Abdul-Jabbar made his first high-profile statement against the predicament of all African Americans when, in 1968, he boycotted the Olympic Games in Mexico. After race riots in Newark and Detroit, and the assassination of King in April 1968, he knew he could not represent his country. Dr Harry Edwards [the civil rights activist] helped me realise how much power I had. The Olympics are a great event but what happened overwhelmed any patriotism. I had to make a stand. I wanted the country to live up to the words of the founding fathers and make sure they applied to people of colour and to women. I was trying to hold America to that standard.

The athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos took another path of protest. They competed in the Olympic 200m in Mexico and, after they had won gold and bronze, raised their gloved fists in a black power salute on the podium. I was glad somebody with some political consciousness had gone to Mexico, Abdul-Jabbar says, so I was very supportive of them.

Does Kaepernicks situation mirror those same issues? Yeah. The whole issue of equal treatment under the law is still being worked out here because for so long our political and legal culture has denied black Americans equal treatment. But I was surprised Kaepernick had that awareness. It made me think: I wonder how many other NFL athletes are also aware? From there it has bloomed. This generation has a very good idea on how to confront racism. I talked to Colin a couple of days ago on the phone and Im really proud of him. Hes filed an issue with the Players Association about the owners colluding to keep him from working. Thats the best legal approach to it. I hope he prevails.

Over dinner the night before, he intimated that Kaepernick knew he would never play in the NFL again. We didnt get that deep into it, he says now, but he has an idea that is whats going down. But hes moved on. He hadnt prepared for this but he coped with different twists and turns. Some of the owners in the NFL are sympathetic, some arent. Its gone back and forth. But he appreciates the fact that kids in high school have taken an interest. So he got something done and this generations athletes are now more aware of civil rights.

Abdul-Jabbar is proud of Colin Kaepernicks stand. Photograph: Michael Zagaris/Getty Images

Kaepernick has been voted GQs Citizen of the Year, the runner-up in Time magazines Person of the Year and this week he received Sports Illustrateds Muhammad Ali Legacy Award. Considering the way Kaepernick has never wavered in his commitment, Abdul-Jabbar writes in Sports Illustrated that: I have never been prouder to be an American On November 30, it was reported that 40 NFL players and league officials had reached an agreement for the league to provide approximately $90m between now and 2023 for activism endeavors important to African American communities. Clearly, this is the result of Colins one-knee revolution and of the many players and coaches he inspired to join him. That is some serious impact Were my old friend [Ali] still alive, I know he would be proud that Colin is continuing this tradition of being a selfless warrior for social justice.

In my hotel room, Abdul-Jabbar is more specific in linking tragedy and a deepening social conscience. I dont know how anybody could not be moved by some of the things weve seen. Remember the footage of [12-year-old] Tamir Rice getting killed [in Cleveland [in 2014]. The car stops and the cop stands up and executes Tamir Rice. It took two seconds. Its so unbelievably brutal you have to do something about it.

LeBron James and other guys in the NBA all had something to say about such crimes [James and leading players wore I Cant Breathe T-shirts in December 2014 to protest against the police killing of Eric Garner, another black man]. They werent talking as athletes. They were talking as parents because that could have been their kid.

If the NFL appears to have actively ended Kaepernicks career, what does Abdul-Jabbar feel about the NBAs politics? The NBA has been wonderful. I came into the NBA and went to Milwaukee [where he won his first championship before winning five more with the LA Lakers]. Milwaukee had the first black general manager in professional sports [Wayne Embry in 1972]. And the NBAs outreach for coaches, general managers and women has been exemplary. The NBA has been on the edge of change. I was hoping the NFL might do the same because some of the owners were taking the knee. But theyre making an example of Colin. Its not right. Let him go out there and succeed or fail on the field like any other great athlete.

Abdul-Jabbar smiles shyly when I ask him about his first interview with Martin Luther King 53 years ago. As a journalist I started out interviewing Dr King. Whoa! By that point [1964], Dr King was a serious icon and I was thrilled he gave me a really good earnest answer. Moments like that affect your life. But my first real experience of being drawn into the civil rights movement came when I read James Baldwins The Fire Next Time.

Muhammad Ali, then Cassius Clay, with Bill Russell and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, then Lew Alcindor. Photograph: Bettmann/Bettmann Archive

Has he seen I Am Not Your Negro Raoul Pecks 2016 documentary of Baldwin? Its wonderful. I saw it two weeks after the Trump election. It was medicine for my soul. It made me think of how bad things were for James Baldwin. But remember him speaking at Cambridge [University] and the reception he got? Oh man, amazing! I kept telling people: Trump is an asshole but go and see this film. Trump doesnt matter because weve got work to do.

In 2015, after Abdul-Jabbar wrote an opinion piece in the Washington Post, condemning Trumps attempts to bully the press, the future president sent him a scrawled note: Kareem now I know why the press always treated you so badly. They couldnt stand you. The fact is you dont have a clue about life and what has to be done to make America great again.

Abdul-Jabbar smiles when I say that schoolyard taunt is a long way from the oratory of King or Malcolm X. If you judge yourself by your enemies Im doing great. Trumps not going to change. He knows he is where he is because of his appeal to racism and xenophobia. The people that want to divide the country are in his camp. They want to go back to the 18th century.

Trump wants to move us back to 1952 but hes not Eisenhower who was the type of Republican that cared about the whole nation. Even George Bush Sr and George W Bushs idea of fellow citizens did not exclude people of colour. George Ws cabinet looked like America. It had Condoleezza Rice and the Mexican American gentleman who was the attorney general [Alberto Gonzales] and Colin Powell. Women had important positions in his administration. Even though I did not like his policies, he wasnt exclusionary.

Look whats going on with Trump in Alabama [where the president supports Roy Moore in the state senate election despite his favoured candidate being accused of multiple sexual assaults of under-age girls]. You have a guy like him but hes going to vote the way you want politically. Thats more important than what hes accused of? People with that frightening viewpoint are still fighting a civil war. They have to be contained.

Does he fear that Trump might win a second term? I dont think he can, but the rest of us had better organise and vote in 2020. I hope people stop him ruining our nation.

Abdul-Jabbar also worries that college sport remains as exploitative as ever. Its a business and the coaches, the NCAA and universities make a lot of money and the athletes get exploited. They make billions of dollars for the whole system and dont get any. Im not saying they have to be wealthy but I think they should get a share of the incredible amount they generate.

In Coach Wooden and Me, he writes of how, in the 1960s, he was famous at UCLA but dead broke. Yeah. No cash. Its ridiculous. Basketball and football fund everything. College sports do not function on the revenue from water polo or track and field or gymnastics. Its all down to basketball and football. The athletes at Northwestern tried to organise a union and thats how college athletes have to think. They need to unionise. If they can organise they can get a piece of the pie because they are the show.

The legendary Michael Jordan never showed the social conscience of Abdul-Jabbar and other rare NBA activists like Craig Hodges. But Abdul-Jabbar is conciliatory towards Jordan and his commercially-driven contemporaries. I was glad they became interested in being successful businessmen because their financial power makes a difference. I just felt they should leave a little room to help the causes they knew needed their help. But Jordan has come around. He gave some money to the NAACP for legal funds, thank goodness.

President Barack Obama awards the Medal of Freedom to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar at the White House in November 2016. Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

Abdul-Jabbar defines himself as a writer now. As he reflects on his LA Press Club awards he says: To be honoured by other writers is incredible. Im a neophyte. Im a rookie.

He grins when I say hes not doing not too badly for a rookie who has written 13 books, including novels about Mycoft Holmes brother of Sherlock. Yeah, but I still feel new to it and to get that recognition was wonderful. I was very flattered that the BBC came to interview me about Mycroft because the British are very protective of their culture. Arthur Conan Doyle is beyond an icon. So I was like, Wow, maybe I am doing OK. When I was [an NBA] rookie somebody gave me a complete compilation of Doyles stories. I went from there.

People were amazed because I always used to be reading before a game whether it was Sherlock Holmes or Malcolm X, John Le Carr or James Baldwin. But that was one of the luxuries of being a professional athlete. You get lots of time to read. My team-mates did not read to the same extent but Im a historian and some of the guys had big holes in their knowledge of black history. So I was the librarian for the team.

I tell Abdul-Jabbar about my upcoming interview with Jaylen Brown of the Boston Celtics and how the 21-year-old has the same thirst for reading and knowledge. While enthusiastic about the possibility of meeting Brown when the Celtics next visit LA, Abdul-Jabbar makes a wistful observation of a young sportsmans intellectual curiosity. Hes going to be lonely. Most of the guys are like: Where are we going to party in this town? Where are the babes? So the fact that he has such broader interests is remarkable and wonderful.

Abdul-Jabbar acknowledges that his own bookish nature and self-consciousness about his height, combined with a fierce sense of injustice, made him appear surly and aloof as a player. It also meant he was never offered the head-coach job he desired. They didnt think I could communicate and they didnt take the time to get to know me. But I didnt make it easy for them so some of that falls in my lap absolutely. But its different now. People stop me in the street and want to talk about my articles. Its amazing.

Most of all, in his eighth decade, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar loves to lose myself in my imagination. Its a wonderful place to go when youre old and creaky like me. I see myself working at this pace [writing at least a book a year] but its not like I have the hounds at my heels. Since my career ended Ive been able to have friends and family. My new granddaughter will be three this month. Shes my very first [grandchild]. So my life has expanded in wonderful ways. But, still, we all have so much work to do. The work is a long way from being done.

Main photograph by Austin Hargrave/AUGUST

Read more: http://ift.tt/2B0TX8P

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Kareem Abdul-Jabbar: ‘Trump is where he is because of his appeal to racism’

The basketball legend and social activist who counted Ali and King among his contemporaries discusses Colin Kaepernick, LaVar Ball and Trumps America

Like all people my age I find the passage of time so startling, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar says with a quiet smile. The 70-year-old remains the highest points-scorer in the history of the NBA and, having won six championships and been picked for a record 19 All-Star Games, he is often compared with Michael Jordan when the greatest basketball players of all time are listed. Yet no one in American sport today can match Kareems political and cultural impact over 50 years.

In the 90 minutes since he knocked on my hotel room door in Los Angeles, Abdul-Jabbar has recounted a dizzying personal history which stretches from conducting his first-ever interview with Martin Luther King in Harlem, when he was just 17, to receiving a hand-written insult from Donald Trump in 2015. We move from Colin Kaepernick calling him last week to the moment when, aged 20, Kareem was the youngest man invited to the Cleveland Summit as the leading black athletes in 1967 gathered to meet Muhammad Ali to decide whether they would support him after he had been stripped of his world title and banned from boxing for rejecting the draft during the Vietnam War.

Kaepernick, the former San Francisco 49ers quarterback who has been shut out of the NFL for his refusal to stand for the US national anthem, is engaged in a different struggle. But, after being banished unofficially from football for going down on a bended knee in protest against racism and police brutality, Kaepernick has one of his staunchest allies in Abdul-Jabbar.

At the Cleveland Summit Abdul-Jabbar was called Lew Alcindor, for he had not converted to Islam then, and he became one of Alis ardent supporters. When Ali convinced his fellow athletes he was right to stand against the US government, the young basketball star knew he needed to make his more reticent voice heard. He has stayed true to that conviction ever since.

Were talking about 50 years since the Cleveland Summit, wow, Abdul-Jabbar exclaims. We were tense about what we were going to do and Ali was the opposite. He said: Weve got to fight this in court and Im going to start a speaking tour. Ali had figured out what he had to do in order to make the dollars while fighting the case was essential to his identity. Bill Russell [the great Boston Celtics player] said: Ive got no concerns about Ali. Its the rest of us Im worried about. Ali had such conviction but he was cracking jokes and asking us if we were going to be as dumb as Wilt Chamberlain [another basketball great who played for the Philadelphia 76ers]. Wilt wanted to box Ali. Oh my God.

Abdul-Jabbars face creases with laughter before he becomes more serious again. Black Americans wanted to protect Ali because he spoke for us when we had no voice. When he said: Aint no Viet Cong ever called me the N-word, we figured that one out real quick. Ali was a winner and people supported him because of his class as a human being. But some of the things we fought against then are still happening. Each generation faces these same old problems.

The previous evening, when I had sat next to Abdul-Jabbar at the Los Angeles Press Club awards, the past echoed again. Abdul-Jabbar received two prizes the Legend Award and Columnist of the Year for his work in the Hollywood Reporter. Other award winners included Tippi Hedren, who starred in Alfred Hitchcocks thriller, The Birds, and the New York Times reporters Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey who broke the Harvey Weinstein story two months ago. As if to prove that the past can be played over and over again in a contemporary loop, we saw footage of Hedren saying how she would not accept the sexual bullying of Hitchcock in the 1960s just before Kantor and Twohey described how they earned the trust of women who had been abused by Weinstein.

Abdul-Jabbar explained quietly to me how much of an ordeal he found such occasions. He was happiest talking about John Coltrane or Sherlock Holmes, James Baldwin or Bruce Lee, but people kept coming over to ask for a selfie or a book to be signed while, all evening, comic references were made to his height. Abdul-Jabbar is 7ft 2in and he looked two feet taller than Hedren on the red carpet.

The following morning, as he stretches out his long legs, I tell Kareem how I winced each time another wise-crack was made about his height. I can tell you I was six-foot-two, aged 12, when the questions started, Abdul-Jabbar says. Hows the weather up there? I should write down all the things people said when affected by my height. One of the funniest was at an airport and this little boy of five looked at my feet in amazement. I said: Hey, how youre doing? He just said: You must be very old because youve got very big shoes. For him the older you were, the bigger your shoes. Thats the best Ive heard.

In his simple but often beautiful and profound new book, Becoming Kareem, Abdul-Jabbar writes poignantly: My skin made me a symbol, my height made me a target.

A group of top black athletes gather to give support to Muhammad Ali give his reasons for rejecting the draft during the Vietnam War at a meeting of the Negro Industrial and Economic Union, held in Cleveland in June 1967. Seated in the front row, from left to right: Bill Russell, Ali, Jim Brown and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Standing behind them are: Carl Stokes, Walter Beach, Bobby Mitchell, Sid Williams, Curtis McClinton, Willie Davis, Jim Shorter and John Wooten. Photograph: Robert Abbott Sengstacke/Getty Images

Race has been the primary issue which Abdul-Jabbar has confronted every day. In another absorbing Abdul-Jabbar book published this year, Coach Wooden and Me, he celebrates his friendship with the man who helped him win an unprecedented three NCAA championship titles with UCLA. They lost only two games in his three years on campus as UCLA established themselves as the greatest team in the history of college basketball and Wooden, a white midwesterner, and Kareem, a black kid from New York, forged a bond that lasted a half-century. Yet, amid their shared morality and decency, race remained an unresolved issue between them.

Wooden was mortified when a little old lady stared up at the teenage Kareem and said: Ive never seen a nigger that tall. Even though he would later say that he learnt more about mans inhumanity to man by witnessing all his protg endured over the years, Woodens memory of that encounter softened the womans racial insult by saying that she had called Kareem a big black freak.

Abdul-Jabbar nods. He would never see a little grey-haired lady using such language. When it doesnt affect your life its hard for you to see. Men dont understand what attractive women go through. We dont get on a bus and have somebody squeeze our breast. We have no idea how bad it can be. For people to understand your predicament youve got to figure out how to convey that reality. It takes time.

Abdul-Jabbar made his first high-profile statement against the predicament of all African Americans when, in 1968, he boycotted the Olympic Games in Mexico. After race riots in Newark and Detroit, and the assassination of King in April 1968, he knew he could not represent his country. Dr Harry Edwards [the civil rights activist] helped me realise how much power I had. The Olympics are a great event but what happened overwhelmed any patriotism. I had to make a stand. I wanted the country to live up to the words of the founding fathers and make sure they applied to people of colour and to women. I was trying to hold America to that standard.

The athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos took another path of protest. They competed in the Olympic 200m in Mexico and, after they had won gold and bronze, raised their gloved fists in a black power salute on the podium. I was glad somebody with some political consciousness had gone to Mexico, Abdul-Jabbar says, so I was very supportive of them.

Does Kaepernicks situation mirror those same issues? Yeah. The whole issue of equal treatment under the law is still being worked out here because for so long our political and legal culture has denied black Americans equal treatment. But I was surprised Kaepernick had that awareness. It made me think: I wonder how many other NFL athletes are also aware? From there it has bloomed. This generation has a very good idea on how to confront racism. I talked to Colin a couple of days ago on the phone and Im really proud of him. Hes filed an issue with the Players Association about the owners colluding to keep him from working. Thats the best legal approach to it. I hope he prevails.

Over dinner the night before, he intimated that Kaepernick knew he would never play in the NFL again. We didnt get that deep into it, he says now, but he has an idea that is whats going down. But hes moved on. He hadnt prepared for this but he coped with different twists and turns. Some of the owners in the NFL are sympathetic, some arent. Its gone back and forth. But he appreciates the fact that kids in high school have taken an interest. So he got something done and this generations athletes are now more aware of civil rights.

Abdul-Jabbar is proud of Colin Kaepernicks stand. Photograph: Michael Zagaris/Getty Images

Kaepernick has been voted GQs Citizen of the Year, the runner-up in Time magazines Person of the Year and this week he received Sports Illustrateds Muhammad Ali Legacy Award. Considering the way Kaepernick has never wavered in his commitment, Abdul-Jabbar writes in Sports Illustrated that: I have never been prouder to be an American On November 30, it was reported that 40 NFL players and league officials had reached an agreement for the league to provide approximately $90m between now and 2023 for activism endeavors important to African American communities. Clearly, this is the result of Colins one-knee revolution and of the many players and coaches he inspired to join him. That is some serious impact Were my old friend [Ali] still alive, I know he would be proud that Colin is continuing this tradition of being a selfless warrior for social justice.

In my hotel room, Abdul-Jabbar is more specific in linking tragedy and a deepening social conscience. I dont know how anybody could not be moved by some of the things weve seen. Remember the footage of [12-year-old] Tamir Rice getting killed [in Cleveland [in 2014]. The car stops and the cop stands up and executes Tamir Rice. It took two seconds. Its so unbelievably brutal you have to do something about it.

LeBron James and other guys in the NBA all had something to say about such crimes [James and leading players wore I Cant Breathe T-shirts in December 2014 to protest against the police killing of Eric Garner, another black man]. They werent talking as athletes. They were talking as parents because that could have been their kid.

If the NFL appears to have actively ended Kaepernicks career, what does Abdul-Jabbar feel about the NBAs politics? The NBA has been wonderful. I came into the NBA and went to Milwaukee [where he won his first championship before winning five more with the LA Lakers]. Milwaukee had the first black general manager in professional sports [Wayne Embry in 1972]. And the NBAs outreach for coaches, general managers and women has been exemplary. The NBA has been on the edge of change. I was hoping the NFL might do the same because some of the owners were taking the knee. But theyre making an example of Colin. Its not right. Let him go out there and succeed or fail on the field like any other great athlete.

Abdul-Jabbar smiles shyly when I ask him about his first interview with Martin Luther King 53 years ago. As a journalist I started out interviewing Dr King. Whoa! By that point [1964], Dr King was a serious icon and I was thrilled he gave me a really good earnest answer. Moments like that affect your life. But my first real experience of being drawn into the civil rights movement came when I read James Baldwins The Fire Next Time.

Muhammad Ali, then Cassius Clay, with Bill Russell and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, then Lew Alcindor. Photograph: Bettmann/Bettmann Archive

Has he seen I Am Not Your Negro Raoul Pecks 2016 documentary of Baldwin? Its wonderful. I saw it two weeks after the Trump election. It was medicine for my soul. It made me think of how bad things were for James Baldwin. But remember him speaking at Cambridge [University] and the reception he got? Oh man, amazing! I kept telling people: Trump is an asshole but go and see this film. Trump doesnt matter because weve got work to do.

In 2015, after Abdul-Jabbar wrote an opinion piece in the Washington Post, condemning Trumps attempts to bully the press, the future president sent him a scrawled note: Kareem now I know why the press always treated you so badly. They couldnt stand you. The fact is you dont have a clue about life and what has to be done to make America great again.

Abdul-Jabbar smiles when I say that schoolyard taunt is a long way from the oratory of King or Malcolm X. If you judge yourself by your enemies Im doing great. Trumps not going to change. He knows he is where he is because of his appeal to racism and xenophobia. The people that want to divide the country are in his camp. They want to go back to the 18th century.

Trump wants to move us back to 1952 but hes not Eisenhower who was the type of Republican that cared about the whole nation. Even George Bush Sr and George W Bushs idea of fellow citizens did not exclude people of colour. George Ws cabinet looked like America. It had Condoleezza Rice and the Mexican American gentleman who was the attorney general [Alberto Gonzales] and Colin Powell. Women had important positions in his administration. Even though I did not like his policies, he wasnt exclusionary.

Look whats going on with Trump in Alabama [where the president supports Roy Moore in the state senate election despite his favoured candidate being accused of multiple sexual assaults of under-age girls]. You have a guy like him but hes going to vote the way you want politically. Thats more important than what hes accused of? People with that frightening viewpoint are still fighting a civil war. They have to be contained.

Does he fear that Trump might win a second term? I dont think he can, but the rest of us had better organise and vote in 2020. I hope people stop him ruining our nation.

Abdul-Jabbar also worries that college sport remains as exploitative as ever. Its a business and the coaches, the NCAA and universities make a lot of money and the athletes get exploited. They make billions of dollars for the whole system and dont get any. Im not saying they have to be wealthy but I think they should get a share of the incredible amount they generate.

In Coach Wooden and Me, he writes of how, in the 1960s, he was famous at UCLA but dead broke. Yeah. No cash. Its ridiculous. Basketball and football fund everything. College sports do not function on the revenue from water polo or track and field or gymnastics. Its all down to basketball and football. The athletes at Northwestern tried to organise a union and thats how college athletes have to think. They need to unionise. If they can organise they can get a piece of the pie because they are the show.

The legendary Michael Jordan never showed the social conscience of Abdul-Jabbar and other rare NBA activists like Craig Hodges. But Abdul-Jabbar is conciliatory towards Jordan and his commercially-driven contemporaries. I was glad they became interested in being successful businessmen because their financial power makes a difference. I just felt they should leave a little room to help the causes they knew needed their help. But Jordan has come around. He gave some money to the NAACP for legal funds, thank goodness.

President Barack Obama awards the Medal of Freedom to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar at the White House in November 2016. Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

Abdul-Jabbar defines himself as a writer now. As he reflects on his LA Press Club awards he says: To be honoured by other writers is incredible. Im a neophyte. Im a rookie.

He grins when I say hes not doing not too badly for a rookie who has written 13 books, including novels about Mycoft Holmes brother of Sherlock. Yeah, but I still feel new to it and to get that recognition was wonderful. I was very flattered that the BBC came to interview me about Mycroft because the British are very protective of their culture. Arthur Conan Doyle is beyond an icon. So I was like, Wow, maybe I am doing OK. When I was [an NBA] rookie somebody gave me a complete compilation of Doyles stories. I went from there.

People were amazed because I always used to be reading before a game whether it was Sherlock Holmes or Malcolm X, John Le Carr or James Baldwin. But that was one of the luxuries of being a professional athlete. You get lots of time to read. My team-mates did not read to the same extent but Im a historian and some of the guys had big holes in their knowledge of black history. So I was the librarian for the team.

I tell Abdul-Jabbar about my upcoming interview with Jaylen Brown of the Boston Celtics and how the 21-year-old has the same thirst for reading and knowledge. While enthusiastic about the possibility of meeting Brown when the Celtics next visit LA, Abdul-Jabbar makes a wistful observation of a young sportsmans intellectual curiosity. Hes going to be lonely. Most of the guys are like: Where are we going to party in this town? Where are the babes? So the fact that he has such broader interests is remarkable and wonderful.

Abdul-Jabbar acknowledges that his own bookish nature and self-consciousness about his height, combined with a fierce sense of injustice, made him appear surly and aloof as a player. It also meant he was never offered the head-coach job he desired. They didnt think I could communicate and they didnt take the time to get to know me. But I didnt make it easy for them so some of that falls in my lap absolutely. But its different now. People stop me in the street and want to talk about my articles. Its amazing.

Most of all, in his eighth decade, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar loves to lose myself in my imagination. Its a wonderful place to go when youre old and creaky like me. I see myself working at this pace [writing at least a book a year] but its not like I have the hounds at my heels. Since my career ended Ive been able to have friends and family. My new granddaughter will be three this month. Shes my very first [grandchild]. So my life has expanded in wonderful ways. But, still, we all have so much work to do. The work is a long way from being done.

Main photograph by Austin Hargrave/AUGUST

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