Metamorphosis

The little baby entered into the light,
Fluorescent, painful, ever so bright,
Wanting to retreat, yet pushed out into the cold,
Not yet ready to face the prospect of being one day, so old.
Sobbing, whimpering, finally bawling,
The child goes to sleep, not crawling.

Eager to join the ranks of the world,
He packs his materials of importance without being told.
Carrying words of wisdom of caring guardians,
Ready to confront, if need be, any barbarians.
All told, the man is feeling like honey,
Because today, he knows, is time to make some money.

The old man wakes up one bright day,
Clawing at nothing, unable to produce words to say.
His heart gives out, working so hard over the years,
No time to bid farewell to all those dear
To him, no resisting the return to the dust.
Now, the memory is held only in that earthen bust.

-January 19, 2001

A Nightmare in April

Normally I don’t share my dreams with others, but this one is just so weird and so much like a Hollywood horror movie, that I just had to share. Thankfully, such nocturnal experiences are few and far between. A few words of caution: read at your own peril; I don’t want to be responsible for ruining someone else’s reverie. Here it is to the best of my memory:

A bespectacled man, wearing square frames and a business suit, walks through a doorway into a dimly-lit room. He noticed a reddish glow emanating from a small room adjoining the current room and located a couple dozen paces away from the door through which he just entered. But he turned to his right instead. And then, through the shadows, he saw her. Goosebumps prickled the flesh on the back of his neck. A girl, wearing a white frock, ragged around the edges, was standing in the doorway of an adjoining room, her jet-black hair long and her face and one side of her body obscured by the shadows. Behind her, the man observed that the door had been removed and in its place, a wispy, tattered curtain was billowing despite the absence of any air flow. The room beyond had a sickly pale green glow, and on the floor, a small and old mattress protruded slightly beyond the wall, blocked by the girl’s feet. Yes, the girl. As the man started to look up to face the girl, he saw something dangling from her tightly clutched left hand. Dangling upside down by its right leg was a white, curly-haired teddy bear with a red kerchief around its neck. The man’s eyes widened and his lower lip quivered and curled up to form a scream. And then, all went black.

A group of us entered a large room, which must have served as the mansion’s ballroom during its golden era. The enormous room was adorned with oak paneling on all its walls, save for the small windows along the top of one wall. Aged russet-colored curtains swayed gently, buoyed by a light breeze, scattering dust particles on the pine tables below as sunshine streamed through the windows. We traipsed over the well-worn mud-stained carpet, which no doubt had been plush under the well-heeled tenants of days long gone.

We were there to tidy up and organize the room for next day’s formal event, perhaps a black-tie fundraiser or maybe just a bingo party for the elderly. It mattered not, as the task that lay ahead would be tedious and exhausting and all that we could focus on. I was paired with a tall, wiry fellow, with a white crown of hair holding back against his receding hairline and grey-flecked goatee. We cleaned up the enormous fireplace in the corner of the room, and then dusted off the armchairs and couches around it, carefully ripping off the plastic sheets that had covered them all these years. We worked long and hard, and continued to work through the fading rays of the setting sun, turning on the antiquated but magnificent chandeliers that were evenly spaced on the ceiling of the ballroom. By this time, the wiry fellow and I were the only souls remaining, as our coworkers had all left for the night. After we moved the last couch into position, we stood back to admire the results of our efforts. Suddenly, the lights flickered and went out, plunging the room into inky blackness.

“What happened?” I whispered.

“Probably faulty wiring. I’ll go look for a flashlight.”

Suddenly there was a low rumbling sound that increased in intensity every so quickly, and was punctuated by a sharp punching sound as a small ball of fire broke through the ceiling and smashed smack into the fireplace. The glow lit up the entire room, and I jumped up and grabbed a bunch of blankets and threw them into the smoldering heap on the hearth, anxious not to have the embers jump onto the wood paneling surrounding us.

“What was that?” the man whimpered. He looked shell-shocked, as the ball of fire narrowly missed him.

“I don’t know. It looked like a meteorite,” I replied nervously, looking back at two smoking holes marking the spot on the ceiling from which the “meteorite” made its grand entrance.

After we had sufficiently doused the flames, I thought it would be best if we left the building and return to the comfort of the outside world. However, I had forgotten through which door I had entered earlier that afternoon, choosing to depart by the door nearest to us. I walked into a large, two-story, vaulted glass-ceilinged room that must have served as a conservatory in its heyday. It was a dark, moonless night and I could barely make out the twinkling stars through the dusty panes, high above us. I rubbed my eyes and tried to make sense of my surroundings in the faint light. All around me were two-story tall structures composed of painter’s plastic covering vertical wooden beams, spaced a few feet apart. These structures formed a wall that ran the length of the room, folding back on themselves every so often, creating some sort of maze. It would be a chore to find our way out of this labyrinth. I heard muffled voices a few yards away. My muscles tensed and I motioned to the wiry man to follow me, and we groped our way along the solid wooden wall adjoining the door towards the source of the voices. Then the voices faded away, even though we were heading towards them. This is all confusing and creepy, I thought, but I was determined to get out of this confounded place. Suddenly I bumped into a human form. This person whirled around, nearly striking me off balance. It was one of the gentlemen who had assisted with the clean-up process hours earlier. He called out to his partner through the darkness to track back to our location. After the four of us had settled down, we shared our respective tales. It turns out that the two individuals we ran into had left with the main group of people just before sunset, but had decided to come back and take advantage of the electric lights to explore the mansion a bit more. They had been in this conservatory when the lights cut out, heard the rumbling sound, and seen the glow, but didn’t know what to make of it. When the light faded for the last time, the two friends had made a frantic attempt to retrace their steps to the front entrance, but had lost their way in the darkness, until I bumped into them.

The night was still young and we couldn’t afford to camp out here until dawn- who knew what lurked in the shadows? We had all been unnerved by the events of the last couple hours and it was in our best interests to keep moving. I was adamant not to go back to the ballroom, even though that was probably closest to the main entrance, as the “meteorite” was hot when we left, and I was sure it could reignite at any moment, plunging us into a conflagration of burning oak, carpet, and curtains. So we forged ahead into the plastic-sheeted maze. After hours of fruitless ambling, we paused to rest. Exhausted, I nodded off into a deep slumber…

…dogs barking, people shouting. A group of uniformed officers rounded the hallway and stopped dead in their tracks, aghast at the sight before them. The large balcony had been transformed into a mass jail cell, with moldy green iron bars all around. There were perhaps a hundred, maybe two hundred, men, women, and children, old and young, healthy and infirm, milling about, muttering to themselves, or sitting on the floor of their cell, rocking back and forth, resigned to their predicament. The chief called for reinforcements and took a sledgehammer and smashed the heavily-padlocked door to the iron cage. As more police personnel streamed in, each busied himself or herself with helping carry or walk one or two of the formerly imprisoned occupants to safety. The chief walked up to the most distinguished looking member of the prisoners, a stout, elderly, whiskered man wearing a bowler hat, and wringing the hem of his tweed coat.

“Sir, is it OK if I ask you a few questions?”

“Yes,” the man quietly replied.

“Who are all these people? What happened? How long have you been here? The last thing my men and I expected to find people imprisoned in this mansion, let alone several hundred.”

“A couple weeks ago, I saw a posting for a house for sale. My foundation was interested in finding a new home, so I and about 50 of my fellow members decided to check out this location, as it looked promising. The rest of the people you see here were milling about the grounds and in the building. I guess this place had some historical value and was a private museum of some sort. We were taking a tour of the place and stopped on the roof of the mansion. It is huge, with vaulted glass ceilings all over, topping off the magnificent rooms underneath. My group split into several threesomes and foursomes and we milled about the rooftop, admiring the nooks and crannies of this spectacular home. At the edge of my vision, I could see three men wearing black business attire interrogating a man with square-framed glasses-.”

“Yes,” the police chief interrupted, “Those men in business clothing were three of my detectives whom I had sent to the mansion to inquire about unusual behavior at the mansion that neighbors had reported. When we suddenly lost contact with them several days ago, we decided to search this place and look for them. Please continue.”

“So as I was saying,” the old man continued, “the three detectives were questioning this fellow, and all of a sudden he became really agitated and darted off towards the central area of the roof, with the detectives in hot pursuit, guns drawn. ‘Weinstein (pronounced whine-steen)!’ they yelled, ‘Stop or we’ll shoot!’ Weinstein continued to run away from his pursuers, every so often jumping on the glass ceilings in a bid to evade the detectives. At one point, Weinstein stumbled and started sliding down one of the steeper glass panels, desperately clutching at whatever he could grab, but with no luck. He suddenly dropped out of sight and the detectives searched for him, but to no avail. He had simply vanished into thin air. The last thing I remember is the rest of us on the roof with astonished looks on our faces, muttering excitedly about what could have transpired. The next thing I remember is waking up in this cell with all these people.”

“Did you make any attempts to escape or yell out to the outside world?” the chief asked.

“Yes, but it was all in vain. These iron posts are very strong and all attempts to file them or break them ultimately failed. The sad part is we could peer over the balcony walls and see the traffic and people moving on the streets below, and we cried out for help many, many times. Sadly, I think no one could see or hear us, even though we were so close. It’s as if we were living in a black hole or completely different dimension imperceptible to the human eyes and ears.”

“Did you know what happened to my men or Weinstein?”

“When we awoke, we tried to take stock of who was present in the cell. All of those of us, who had been in the mansion or on the roof were accounted for, save for the detectives. It seems they had disappeared as well, just like Weinstein.”

The chief paused for a bit, and then pulled out a picture of a man in a business suit lying facedown, with his face slightly twisted to the side. A couple inches away from his nose was a pair of square-rimmed frames, twisted with the lenses cracked and shattered.

“Do you recognize this man?”

“Yes!” the old man replied emphatically, “It’s Weinstein!”

“I thought so. We found his body a couple days ago in the street below. We saw no marking on his body, save for those created by someone falling to his death. Would you know what happened?”

“One of the people in my group spotted a body lying on the street below two nights ago. Of course, rumors abounded. Someone said that he had jumped to his death in horror after seeing the evils in this place. Another said that he had trespassed some sacrosanct corner of the house and been shot into the sky by some supernatural force….”

…a squat middle-aged man with a sad face and loosened necktie crossed the threshold from the plastic-sheeted maze of a conservatory into the dimly lit room. In front of him was an anteroom glowing red. He could see some movement within, as if someone was pacing back and forth, but that didn’t concern him. He turned right to face another adjoining room with a tattered white curtain. In this room, there was a faint green glow and on the ground was the foot of a dilapidated mattress. On the mattress was a pair of feet. The man rushed inside. Out of sight of the viewer, he grasped the hand of the girl lying on the mattress and whispered, “Honey, are you alright? It’s me.” Her small tender fingers weakly curled around the man’s hand….

I bolted upright in bed.

Quote of the Week 10

"One man's trash is another man's treasure"

-unknown

Word of the Week 10

Plas∙ti∙na∙tion \ ‘plas-ti-nā-shən\ n:

A technique used in anatomy to preserve bodies or body parts. Water and fats are replaced by certain plastics, yielding specimens that can be touched, do not decay, and even retain most properties of the original sample. [1]

Where first seen or heard: The Buffalo News [2]

When: July 9, 2009

Usage in a sentence: “Last week, my family and I visited Bodies: The Exhibition (New York, NY), where the exhibits are all preserved using plastination.”

(http://www.boostermps.com/blog/uploaded_images/plastination2-703537.jpg)

[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plastination

[2] http://www.buffalonews.com/cityregion/story/728336.html

Quote of the Week 9

"Tout disparaîtra mais
Le vent nous portera.

(Everything will disappear but
The wind will carry us.)"

- Noir Désir, Le Vent Nous Portera

Word of the Week 9

Vu∙vu∙ze∙la \ ‘vü- vü-ze-lä\ n:

A Zulu term for a blowing horn, about a meter in length, commonly used in soccer matches in South Africa [1]

Where first seen or heard: BBC Sport: Brazil vs. South Africa [2]

When: June 25, 2009

Usage in a sentence: “To me, the most annoying noisemakers in sports are the air horn, the thunder stick, and the vuvuzela.”

[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vuvuzela

[2] http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/internationals/8115181.stm

Quote of the Week 8

"Not all those who wander are lost"

- J.R.R. Tolkien

Word of the Week 8

Tchotch∙ke \ ‘chäch-kə, tsäts-\ n:

1. A Yiddish word for trinkets, derived from a Slavic word for “toys”. [1], [2]
2. Connotation for worthlessness or disposability, as well as tackiness. [2]

Where first seen or heard: NFT: Not for Tourists Guide to NEW YORK CITY

When: June 23, 2009

Usage in a sentence: “Tourists may be attracted to the numerous tchotchke shops in the Washington Square and Times Square neighborhoods of Manhattan, New York City.”

(http://www.archimuse.com/mw2005/papers/drake/drake4.jpg)

[1] http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/tchotchke

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tchotchke

Quote of the Week 7

"One who gains strength by overcoming obstacles possesses the only strength which can overcome adversity"

-Albert Schweitzer

Sounds that make me feel all warm and fuzzy...

Jet plane engines spooling up for takeoff and thrust reversers deploying upon landing
Every time I fly, I look forward to hearing and feeling these acoustic vibrations that give a sense of power to the flying experience, as well as show the engineered beauty of these flying metal birds. This is particularly poignant in DC9s and the larger Boeing aircraft. Here are two examples: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZ1mrFy_KgA&feature=related (start at 3:10) and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPc3oYMiDfI

Ice hockey players running into the boards
When hockey players run into the boards, either tussling with other players looking for the puck or getting hit into the boards, I strain my ears for the bowling alley sound. You know, the one where the pins are knocked down by the bowling ball and clatter on the polished wooden panels of the alley.

Birds chirping in the mornings
I usually wake up early on weekday mornings, just an hour or so after the sun has come up. Accompanying the sunlight filtering through my windows is the playful whistling of the cardinal and blue jay that like to perch on the branches of the big tree outside my room. This always puts me in a good mood. That and the squirrel running up the tree, looking for his acorn collection.

Roar of the waves, alternating with the water lapping on the shores
It's been a while since I have heard either sound, but it always makes me appreciate the power and beautiful tranquility of nature.

Word of the Week 7

Verst \ ‘vərst\ n:

An obsolete Russian unit of length, equal to 500 sazhen, or 0.6629 mile (1.067 kilometer), long. [1],[2]

Where first seen or heard: The Eight by Katherine Neville

When: June 16, 2009

Usage in a sentence: “Tomorrow, I’ll run over 9 verst around my neighborhood.”

[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Verst

[2] http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/verst

Quote of the Week 6

"Wenn ihr's nicht fühlt, ihr werdet's nicht erjagen"

(If you don't feel it, you'll never get it)

- Faust by Johann Wolfgang Göethe, read in The Eight by Katherine Neville

Word of the Week 6

Ki∙a∙su \ kiaⁿ-su\ n:

1. Afraid to lose out to others. Always wanting the upper hand or something for free. [1]

2. Literally “fear of losing” (Hokkien, Mandarin). [2]

Where first seen or heard: Singapore

When: Early 2005

Usage in a sentence: “Sometimes I think Singaporeans will appreciate the kiasu approach of Long Islanders when it comes to driving- cutting off people, running red lights, driving on the shoulder, driving without lights on in the rain, driving with high beams, anything to get to their destination faster- of course without the rule-breaking.”

[1] An Essential Guide to Singlish. Singapore: Gartbooks, 2003.

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kiasu

Quote of the Week 5

"God is too big to fit into one religion."

-spotted on a bumper sticker

Word of the Week 5

Men∙hir \ ‘men-,hir\ n:

a single upright rough monolith usually of prehistoric origin. [1]

Where first seen or heard: The Adventures of Asterix (series of comic strips)

When: Mid-1990s

Usage in a sentence: “Jawaad fondly remembered Obelix tossing a menhir or two at the Romans when the word came up in the National Spelling Bee.”

(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUjtyKc65K_1wihTWYlOQMVHUzYtM_8F6aIrjo8TI0r4Qu8ObIMExPRrw0StJSyEzmMkmhor2MZhDcqv4SQVvDKQwdBqTEXY1gN5LfwUsb3WdRYrAhV7kOBsdEHnx5-Uq3LD4kC2WXeg/s1600-h/obelixgif)

[1] http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/menhir

Quote of the Week 4

"ADAM BLAMED EVE
EVE BLAMED THE SNAKE
BUT THE SNAKE DIDN'T HAVE
A LEG TO STAND ON"

-spotted on a church billboard, Port Jefferson, NY

Buffalo Half Marathon

As I crossed the finish line, arms raised in the air, I reflected on the emotions of the previous 1:54:08 and the journey that took me to the starting line....

Anxiety. Nervousness. Determination. Frustration. Pain. Focus. Anticipation. Strength. Humility. Camaraderie. Inspiration. Motivation. Exuberance. Confidence. Exultation. Exhilaration. Joie de vivre.

My alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. on the morning of May 24th. My hand crawled out from under the cozy warmth of the comforter, up the nightstand, and reached over to my cell phone to hit the "Dismiss" button. I carefully shimmied out from the cocoon of the bed and stumbled off to prepare for the big day. After getting dressed, I carefully tiptoed down the stairs as to not wake up my dad and brother, made myself a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats and poured a glass of milk, and sat in the relative darkness of the kitchen to ponder on my game plan. While waiting for my friends Bryan and Jen to pick me up, I went over the day's weather forecast and attempted to decode the route that I was supposed to run. Showers at 11 a.m. Hmmm, no big deal, I thought, at least I will be done by then. Some online reviewers of the course said that adjustment to avoid construction would take us over some overpasses, negating the reputation of the route as fast and flat. I am not a big fan of hills, and still blamed the overpasses for slowing me down and knocking the wind out of me during the Suffolk County Half Marathon nearly two months earlier. Before the mental games set in, I quickly exited the house and sat on the front stoop, took deep breaths, and looked out at the lightening sky as the sun began its long ascent above the horizon.

Just after 6 a.m., my ride arrived. I reacquainted myself with Bryan and Jen, whom I hadn't seen in almost 5 years, while we zoomed through the empty streets and highways of Western New York, still sleeping on this fine Sunday morning. The conversation was a blur, as I was still waking up. We found a parking spot not too far from the parking line, and strolled along the street to the Hyatt Regency. It was not yet 6:30 a.m. and the place was teeming with several hundred runners. Weaving through the crowded lobby of the Hyatt, I spotted the concierge and asked him to store my bag, which he graciously did. I rejoined Bryan on the other side of the lobby, where he introduced me to Safiyya, a teammate of his from University at Buffalo. While she sauntered off to the starting line, I realized that I needed to use the facilities. I was discouraged by the long lines, and with 15 minutes left, I thought that the urge to relieve myself wasn't pressing, and that I could hold it for a couple more hours. I crossed my fingers and headed outside to join the now bulging crowd heading towards the base of the parking garage at the intersection of Pearl and Huron Streets. While fumbling with my MP3 player and armband, I ran into Safiyya.
"I wish I brought my iPod," she said.
"Don't worry. There are a few thousand people here. You could chat with some of them," I responded.
"True."
The announcer told the crowd to push back further up the street to allow the stragglers room to squeeze into the mass of humanity. Then he extolled on the virtues of the perfect weather of the race day, the perfect elevation of the course, and that we were going to see the beauty of downtown Buffalo. He reminded us to drink water and Gatorade at the stations spaced apart every two miles. He then finished by saying that above all, that we should go out and have fun. Then a singer, who sounded a bit half-awake, croaked out the Canadian and American national anthems. Kudos to her for coming out at 7 a.m. though. The announcer started the 60 second countdown. I quickly wished Safiyya good luck, plonked my sunglasses on my nose, plugged in my earbuds and turned on my MP3 player. I set it to "Stand Up and Be Strong" by Soul Asylum, which always gets me moving, whether it be a short training run or a long race.

Stand up and be strong
It won't take long
You can't go wrong
Stand up and be strong

At 7 a.m. the gun went off, and the runners let out a jubilant roar. 3,222 pairs of feet and 2 sets of wheels thundering down the sleepy streets of Buffalo. We were on our way, and whatever obstacles I might encounter, I was going to finish these 13.1 miles strong. We headed down Pearl Street, and I saw the recently-demolished Aud, with only one wall remaining standing. While it didn't evoke any memories, since I became a fan of the Buffalo Sabres a year after it was closed, I was sad to see it torn down, since I heard so many tales and legends about the old arena. We drifted right towards Niagara Square, around the obelisk and courthouses, and up north on Niagara Street. I was telling Safiyya not to burn herself out and to keep a steady, comfortable pace. "Are you kidding me? I'm just going to take it easy." At this point, there were a few bystanders cheering on the runners, and quite a few gawkers staring on, trying to fathom the spectacle unfolding before their eyes. After a couple miles, Safiyya took off, and I continued on at my pace, vowing to conserve my energy for the strong finish. We rounded into Lasalle Park, and Lake Erie drew into view. Ah, the sight of water re-energized me. I had been wanting to run along the waterfront, and finally it was happening. At the 3-mile mark, and I sighted the first of the water stations. I grabbed a cup of water, drank most of it and tossed the cup away. I then formulated a plan whereby I would alternate water and Gatorade every two miles, since I found that Gatorade really helped me recover faster after each of my training runs. A runner that I passed was wearing a shirt that declared, "In my mind, I am Kenyan." I smiled, recognizing that the race was more a grasp of our inner confidence and mental stamina rather than a feat of physical endurance. We squeezed onto a winding bike path, two abreast, in front of the Lakefront Apartments. A few residents were watching us, but those on the balcony of the last apartment were hollering and cheering and waving noisemakers. I was already starting to like this race.

We then merged onto Erie Basin Marina Drive, and I kept an eye on the oncoming traffic for my friends from middle school, high school, and college who I thought might be running a bit faster than me. As we approached the 5-mile mark at the base of the observation tower, I grabbed a lemon-flavored Gatorade. Going in the opposite direction of that we came from, I once again tried to spot my friends, but couldn't, and just forged ahead. A bunch of runners ran into the restrooms at The Hatch, but by this point, my bladder wasn't sending signals, so I just continued on. Turning near the Naval Park, I heard my name yelled out and saw Bryan standing on the median. I waved to him and ran on, elated that at least someone recognized me among the multitude of runners. Just in front of me, someone was wearing a shirt requesting donations to the Matthew J. Schnirel Memorial Fund. I flashed back to my few memories of Matt, a classmate at Sweet Home Middle School, who passed away in a plane crash in late April 2008. I was glad to know that some of participants were running in his memory. Finally I saw a roadside timer for the 10K mark. 53:20. Not bad, I thought. While it wasn't as good as my 10K time 3 weeks prior, 51:25, I was staying on pace. As we hopped over the above-ground subway tracks and towards HSBC Arena, "Let's Get Ready to Rumble" played over my earbuds. How coincidental, I thought. And ran on.

As we turned onto South and Louisiana Streets, we encountered blaring stereos and cheering spectators, raising a racket with their noisemakers and cowbells. Just before South Park Avenue, we passed a Polish pastry shop, and I thought of paczki ("paunch-kee"), the ubiquitous sugar dusted doughnuts on Fat Tuesday. Running into the store to grab one for the road would be so tempting at this point, but I had to save my indulgences for later. Finishing was my task right now. We zoomed along and merged onto Peabody Street, the eastern boundary of our long route and just after the 9-mile mark. Just after the I-190 overpass, there was a Franciscan friar, in his brown garb and chastity belt, and the head monk in a white habit high-fiving runners as they passed in front of the church. While I was on the other side of the street, I could help but feel a boost of energy. Here were two of God's servants encouraging us to live out our passions. Today was indeed a blessed day. At this point, it started to drizzle. Oh no, I thought, the rain is going to come 2 hours early. Why does it always have to rain when I race? There was nothing I could do except hope that I wasn't going to drench, and perhaps run a bit faster to escape the brunt of the showers if we got caught.

As I crested the Seneca Street bridge over the train tracks, the Lion King song, "Circle of Life," piped through my ears. Perfect! I felt like I had just conquered another mountain and was raising a cub over the plains. I may not be Kenyan, but I was certainly feeling like one now. On and on I ran, water droplets gently whizzing by. Several more bridges and overpasses. It was clear now that this course wasn't going to be run without a fight. I switched to my energy conservation mode, running faster uphill while others slowed down, and running slower downhill as others let their legs go wild. The industrial-looking businesses along Exchange Street looked gloomy in the darkening skies, but I couldn't let them bring me down. I focused on the road ahead. By mile 11, my legs were starting to feel like jelly, but I cleared my mind and pushed on. I very nearly slipped on a train track rail, but steadied myself and continued. I noticed that two of the runners about 30 yards in front of me had been at about the same position since mile 4, but I was slowly falling behind. But I was determined to conserve my energy for the strong finish. I was thankful to them for helping me maintain my pace, but now it was all on me to finish on my own. As we headed down Michigan Avenue towards HSBC Arena, the steady drizzle finally let up and a few rays of sunshine peeked from behind the lifting clouds. Rounding the corner and crossing the train tracks, I spotted a friend from University at Buffalo, walking along the opposite side. "Go Courtney," I yelled. "Hey!," she yelled back. Down Erie Street I went. Four kids were lined up on the curb, hands outstretched. I stuck out my right hand and high-fived them all. "Pas de Problèmes" by Kana played over my MP3 player.

Ne laisse personne t’indiquer
Le chemin que tu t’es tracé
Ne t’en détourne pas, écoute moi
La vérité est toi

(Do not let anyone tell you
The path that you have traced
Do not worry away, hear me
The truth is you)

"Looking good Jawaad!" I lifted my head. Bryan was cheering me on again, about 100 yards from when I first saw him about 50 minutes earlier. I passed the 20K timer. 1:49:35. This was looking like an even better finish than my previous half marathon. One more hill under the Skyway bridge. As I broke onto Franklin Street, I pondered on how I was going to finish. Jump across the finish line? Raise my arms high above my head? Do a funny dance? Spin around? I picked my move and kept a lookout for the finish chute. Crossing Church Street, I sighted it. I could hear the booming announcer clearly: "Bring it. Bring it. BRING IT! Strong finish! STRONG FINISH!" I responded and broke into a sprint, pushing harder, pushing faster. "Here's 1! Here's 2! Here's 3! Looking good! PUSH IT!" I whizzed by the two runners in front of me, finding my second wind, and reached out for the finish line. So close...I could taste my personal victory. Arms raised high, I crossed the finish line, head pounding, feet pounding, but feeling a sense of joy I had never felt before. I did it!

I glanced over at the clock. 1:55:10, more than 4 minutes faster than my previous half marathon, and I wasn't even feeling tired or in pain. Truthfully, I may have been able to go 3 more miles, but this was all about self-control and living in the moment. I got a finisher's medal, a heat blanket, and scooped up some water, orange slices, and a banana, and exited onto the sidewalk, disappearing into a sea of sweaty runners and cheerful spectators.

I took a few deep breaths and crossed over to Pearl Street, where the full marathoners were speeding by, hoping to catch a glimpse of friends who I knew were running as well. It was my lucky day. I called out to Alyssa, from middle school, just as I reached the sidewalk, and spotted John and Paul, who were creating a racket with cowbells and noisesticks. I hadn't seen these guys in more than 11 years, but it sure felt good to meet them. After a few minutes, Jen jogged by, and I had seen nearly everyone who I wanted to meet. I quickly crossed the street, picked up my belongings from the Hyatt, went to the bathroom (yes, two and a half hours holding it in was long enough), wiped away the sweat streaks on my face, and made my way over to Franklin Street, just in time to see Jason Lokwatom of Kenya winning the marathon. If anything, I felt a secret satisfaction that I finished the half marathon before the Kenyan won the whole thing. I was still hoping to see my former boss from the UB Bookstore, Greg, who was cheering on his brother. After a few circuits of the finish area, I finally found him, with his family, right at the end of the full marathon course. We chatted for a while and he introduced me to his brothers. Now, Elena Orlova of Russia finished as the fastest female runner, and more impressively, 3rd overall. I bid my adieus to Greg and his family, went off to the side, and did some stretches.

Josh, a dormmate from college had promised to treat me to coffee. I gave him a call, walked over to the benches on the other side of the Buffalo Metro tracks from the Hyatt, and sat down to enjoy my Gatorade. "Yo!" I looked around. It was Safiyya, my starting line neighbor. She was sitting on the sidewalk, shoes and socks off, enjoying her Cheetos and yogurt. Seems like I had missed the post-race goodies in the Convention Center, but after hearing about pizza, I was satisfied with my Gatorade. She had blasted off after 3 miles, but hit a wall at 10 miles. But she still finished in a respectable 2:03:00, and especially impressive considering that she only started training about a week before. After a bit of chatting and encouraging her to run the half marathon again, I made my way over to the benches to wait for Josh. After a few minutes, he arrived, and we went to Spot's Coffee on Elmwood. I took a coconut-flavored slush and we talked about how life had changed (or not changed) for us since 2003, since we last lived in the same dorm. As we were sitting outside, I saw a few marathoners running by, forced to run on the sidewalk since Buffalo was now awake, and traffic was returning to normal. After about half an hour, Josh dropped me off at UB's South Campus, where I waited for my dad and Nabeel. Then it was time to wind down and enjoy the rest of beautiful Sunday.

Word of the Week 4

Ax∙o∙lotl \ ak-sə-,lä-t^əl \ n:

Any of several salamanders of mountain lakes of Mexico and the western United States that live and breed in larval form without metamorphosing. [1]

Where first seen or heard: Scripps Howard National Spelling Bee

When: May 28^th, 2009

Usage in a sentence: “That axolotl is one cute-looking amphibian.”

(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GR-vGwEqPuyS4GiBX92zOq_gyhwrvLL3g7IrwtjUHZ7rVN9284xQaRNuf5WpMaHgn-AX3A_5xHaQGnXwRIEuYEHJefUtKamc33e-35-WJyhl2ysm_FK9tA8T2GyEEFzNXckArRpRsyo/s400/axolotl.jpg)

[1] http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/axolotl

Quote of the Week 3

"In my mind
I am Kenyan"

-On a T-shirt, during the Buffalo Half/Full Marathon, May 24, 2009