Who wants to make a movie?

In my freshman year of college I took a scrptwriting class. It was, despite being my earliest class in my college career (9:00 AM, I know, right?) one of the most fun classes I had.

I was going through some of my old files and found a copy of my final project for Scriptwriting I.

I'm pleased with it to this day. It's not perfect and I remember making a concession or two that I wish I could change back... but I can't remember what the original draft looked like. Ah well.

It's called "Raimondo V. The Carney"

Please forgive the formatting:

EXT. FAIRGROUNDS - DAY

PAOLO, a skinny twelve year old boy, wanders through "Billy Pilgrim's Traveling Circus." Tacky booth next to tacky booth create aisles of decadent foolishness. Neon lights buzz uselessly against the sunlight. Random clowns juggling knives on unicycles zoom past Paolo. Carnies yell at him, trying to attract his attention and his dollars.

MUHAMMAD
Bop five midgets, earn yourself five dollars!

SANJAY
Dislodge this trinity of decanters and win a large, shoddily made stuffed animal for the woman for whom you have mild affection!

There is a large line at that booth.

JACQUES
I'll guess your age and weight! For an extra buck this monkey will play a drum while I dance the Charleston!

Paolo walks past these vendors, but for some reason stops at one who is not calling for his attention.

It is a dart booth. The sign reads "Pop 5 Balloons with 3 darts, win a tiger." Paolo walks up to the counter and sizes up the booth. One middle aged and tall carny, SPITTIN' PETE stands to the right of the board. He is chewing on tobacco and a faded red handkerchief is tied around his balding head. A couple days of stubble play around the creases of his weathered face. He is wearing overalls. Bare feet stick out of their worn hems like fallen branches in a gutter. The balloons themselves are set up like the five side of a die. They are all orange and black.

Paolo stares at the Carny and slaps down a dollar. Spittin' Pete expectorates to his right and saunters up to the counter. He towers above Paolo and sweeps up the dollar bill. It disappears into one pocket, and from another pocket he pulls out three darts. They are set down. Paolo grabs them, but before he can retract Pete grabs his hand.

SPITTIN' PETE
(leaning in to Paolo)
You ain't strong, boy.

Paolo's eyes widen and lips pull back in a momentary fit of terror, but quickly return to their normal positions. He keeps two darts in his left hand and paces in front of the counter with the other dart in his right hand. He is weighing the dart and gauging the balloons. The Carny leans against a convenient post and crosses his arms. His interest in the boy fades and he leans his head back, watching Paolo over the tops of his cheeks. Paolo assumes a position aligned with the left side of the balloons. He stares at the board, moves his throwing arm a bit and looks over to Spittin' Pete. Paolo smiles a bit, and Pete smiles back, revealing a lack of various teeth. This makes Paolo grin wider, and he turns back to the board.

He tosses the dart up, almost straight up. It moves in a narrow parabola, curving back to earth about halfway between the board and Paolo. The dart passes through the top balloon with no problem. Slices through it so smoothly the balloon holds its shape for a few comical moments. The dart continues and it bursts the second balloon, then lodges in the wall. Pete's eyes widen, but he quickly conceals it. He spits. Paolo begins to pace again, tossing the darts between his hands. He comes to a stop on the other side of the board. He smiles at the Carny again, then looks back to the board. Spittin' Pete doesn't smile this time. Paolo winds up and throws again.

This time the dart flies into the wall above the balloons and drops, pointy end down. The balloons pop and Pete flinches with each one. He spits again. The boy has moved into his place for the final burst. Paolo closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He weighs the dart carefully and tosses it up. Catching it on his fingertip, he proceeds to balance it. His eyes snap open and with an action much faster than the eye the dart is tossed. The balloon is much slower, and it deflates over the dart, which is lodged in the wall. Paolo stifles a smile, Spittin' Pete tries to spit but his reservoir is dry.

SPITTIN' PETE
(mumble)
Shit.

The Carny COUGHS, wipes his hands and walks out back. Presently he comes back with a baby tiger. Paolo eagerly accepts him from over the counter. He turns the tiger around and looks him in the face.

PAOLO
Raimondo.

INT. PAOLO'S HOUSE - DAY

RAIMONDO, now full grown, lays on his back. Sunlight streams from an open window across his belly and tail. His whiskers twitch minutely in his sleep. His forepaws lightly swipe at an invisible dinner.

EXT. PAOLO'S HOUSE - DAY

Paolo, also full grown, fumbles with his keys in the door.

INT. PAOLO'S HOUSE - DAY

Raimondo's eyes snap open, the keys are JANGLING.

EXT. PAOLO'S HOUSE - DAY

Paolo, after much coat and briefcase rearranging, manages to open the door with a pained CREAK.

Raimondo BURSTS through the door, playfully tackling Paolo and launching them both several yards from the house. Paolo's shoes were left at the door.

PAOLO
Waugh!

Raimondo jumps to his feet and sprints back to the house. He stops at the door and looks at Paolo for a moment and heads back in.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
Oof. Hi, Raimondo.

Paolo gets up and enters the house. The tiger is in the middle of the living room, rump high in the air, forearms stretched out in front of him. His tail waggles like a striped cobra. He bounces up and down several times. Paolo smiles and picks up what could be a gazelle thigh bone from an umbrella holder by the door.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
Ready? You ready, boy?

He THUMPS the bone to the ground a couple times, then tosses it. Raimondo leaps and SNATCHES the bone from the air, then lands and skids into the kitchen. Some plates SHATTER on the ground. Paolo SIGHS and walks into the kitchen. He walks to a door and undoes a latch at the bottom.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
Come on, Ray-mo, wanna go outside?!

Paolo slaps his thigh. Raimondo jumps his upper body up and down and furiously nods his head. Finally, he jumps against the door while his rear legs are still on the ground, Paolo undoes one last latch, the door swings open on two creaky hinges at the top, like an oversized kitty door. Paolo shakes the remains of a bag of "Orphaned Children Brand Tiger Chow" into a huge bowl as Raimondo runs outside, chasing a butterfly.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
Hmm. Out of tiger chow.

He wanders into the living room, CLICKS on the television and sits. The chair he sits in has enormous gashes on the legs. As his head falls onto the headrest, an ad pops up.

EXT. FAIRGROUNDS - DAY

A top-hatted man, BILLY PILGRIM, in a red formal coat with wide black trim, white knicker-bockers, and a large waxed moustache stands in front of a parade of animals.

BILLY PILGRIM
Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, I'm Billy Pilgrim and my traveling circus is coming back to town after our mysterious 12 year hiatus. Come on down and see the wonderful sites, like Shark Girl here.

A woman with a shark fin strapped to her back walks up next to Pilgrim, gives an unenthusiastic smile and walks off.

BILLY PILGRIM (CONT'D)
That's right! And you can win a ton of wonderful prizes. Like an unlimited supply of Bear Mating Musk, this hilarious leash and collar. Makes People think you're walkin' an invisible dog!

The man holds up said leash.

BILLY PILGRIM (CONT'D)
Or a lifetime supply of placenta, three hundred gallons of walrus...

Billy Pilgrim drones on, but Paolo is struck by the placenta comment. He looks in the trash at the empty bag of tiger food. Words begin to float through his head.

BILLY PILGRIM (CONT'D)
Lifetime supply of placenta.

PAOLO
Out of tiger chow.

BILLY PILGRIM
Lifetime supply of placenta.

PAOLO
Out of tiger chow.

BILLY PILGRIM
Placenta.

PAOLO
Tiger chow.

BILLY PILGRIM
Placenta.

PAOLO
Tiger chow.

He sits back in his chair and thinks of his job.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. OFFICE - DAY

Paolo pushes a mail cart through hordes of people. They bump against him and tip his mail cart wildly. Someone spills coffee on him and his mail. He stops at a cubicle and grabs a package. As he turns to give it to the cubicle resident, someone steals his mail cart and is immediately swallowed by the crowd.

INT. ANOTHER PART OF THE OFFICE - DAY

A woman hands Paolo his paycheck. Paolo rips open his paycheck envelope. It has a little table on it with the following clauses: "Hours worked - 57", "Pay earned - $60",
"Income Tax - less $10",
"Social Security - less $3.50",
"Medicare - less $1.50"
and finally:
"Employee Morale Tax - less $10"

YVETTE
(extremely perky)
Don't spend it all in one place.

INT. PAOLO'S HOUSE - DAY

Paolo is in a daze in the living room. Raimondo slinks in through the oversized kitty door and slips into the living room. He sits in front of Paolo and stares up at his master. When Paolo doesn't respond, Raimondo drops the eagle from his mouth onto Paolo's feet. Paolo SNAPS to attention and Raimondo jumps onto his lap.

EXT. FAIRGROUNDS - LATER

Paolo, a skinny 24 year old, wanders through "Billy Pilgrim's Traveling Circus." The same tacky booths create a visual assault, but it is much less noisy. The crowd parts around him and there's a quiet whispering from various carnies.

MUHAMMAD
(whispering to a son)
There's the only boy who ever won anything valuable from us carnies.

SANJAY
(whispering to a 'mark')
I understand he has telepathic abilities, can rend a prosthetic hip from 700 feet away.

JACQUES
(whispering to pet monkey)
Play that drum or I'm feeding you to that tiger!

At the end of this alley is the same dart booth where Paolo won Raimondo. The same stubbly, handkerchiefed carny is still there, aging seems to have hit him pretty hard. He's very bald. He does, however, have a little boy of about 12 with him. He appears to be of Indian descent. The boy is standing behind his surrogate old man, peering out at the stranger with a tiger cautiously.

SPITTIN' PETE
Well, if it isn't the little boy who could.

PAOLO
Hello to you, too.

Raimondo SNARLS.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
So, anyone else ever win a tiger from you?

SPITTIN' PETE
No one's had the chance, boy, after you we had to change the prize to a gopher. You stand alone among a field of suckers.

PAOLO
Well, its nice to hear that...for... umm... once.

An awkward beat passes. Pete spits.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
That your boy?

SPITTIN' PETE
Ayuh. He's my pride and joy, Pawan. Won him fair and square about the time I lost that tiger, there. Isn't that right, son?

The boys steps out from behind Spittin' Pete.

PAWAN
Yes.

Pawan ducks back behind the carney.

EXT. FAIRGROUNDS - DAY

Sanjay, of Indian descent, stands alone at his booth. A single tear rolls from his right eye.

EXT. FAIRGROUNDS, DART BOOTH - DAY

PAOLO
Excellent. Look, I'm thrilled that you're still alive, but I've got things to do. Would you mind directing me to whereever it is I can get the lifetime supply of placenta?

SPITTIN' PETE
You, boy, are in luck. You're standing in the place. I'm your man.

PAOLO
(dripping sarcasm)
Fantastic.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
So, what's the deal. Still a buck?

SPITTIN' PETE
Times have changed. Used to be a buck could satisfy a simple carny diet. Nowadays, things is more expensive. We've had to...double the price. But for you, lets make it free. For old times sake.

PAOLO
(shocked by the carny's generosity)
I...thanks...

SPITTIN' PETE
Of course, it won't be completely free. If you win you'll get the placenta for... whatever. And, hell, I'll even throw in my son here! Just to make things interesting.

PAWAN
Dad!

SPITTIN' PETE
(Turning sharply to Pawan)
You'll do as I say!

Paolo considers this.

INT. DIRT BASEMENT - DAY

Light streams in between a single barred window high on the concrete wall. Pawan, clad in a leather thong and collar, is chained to a post in the middle of the room. He is shoveling a hole, exhausted. Gentle FOOTSTEPS echo through the basement. Pawan's eyes and mouth open. He drops the shovel. Raimondo steps out of the shadows and snarls.

CUT TO:

EXT. FAIRGROUNDS, DART BOOTH - DAY

SPITTIN' PETE
If you lose, however, you have to give over that cat.

Paolo is speechless for the moment. Raimondo sits and looks up at Paolo. Paolo turns and looks to him. They exchange a moment of understanding.

PAOLO
I'll do it.

Spittin' Pete spits.

SPITTIN' PETE
Son, we're eating tonight.

The carny pulls out three darts and puts them on the counter. Paolo doesn't recognize them. He solemnly walks Raimondo to the edge of the dart booth and ties his leash to a post. Calmly, he makes his way for the darts on the counter. He walks directly to the left hand side of the board and lobs a dart easily. It passes through the balloons in a manner eerily similar to his first attempt.

Paolo, confidence boosted, beelines to the other side. He tosses, the dart falls and two POPS signify the deaths of two innocent balloons. Pawan grips his dad tightly, Spittin' Pete shuffles back. Paolo lines up his final throw. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He weighs the dart carefully and tosses it up. Catching it on his fingertip, he proceeds to balance it. His eyes snap open and with an action much faster than the eye the dart is tossed.

It misses. Well, it doesn't miss, it hits the thumbtack and knocks that off. The balloon floats to the ground.

Paolo can't move. Pete can't move enough. He quickly begins to pick up the darts and, of course, the damned balloon.

PAWAN
(amazed, happy, relieved)
Shit.

SPITTIN' PETE
Watch your mouth, son! Now, as for you, boy, the rules clearly say "pop." This balloon has not been popped.

He bops it off Paolo's head. This signals Paolo and he begins to move towards Raimondo.

SPITTIN' PETE (CONT'D)
That's right, boy! You just bring that tiger on over.

Paolo's hands are shaking. The knot tethering Raimondo to the post confounds them.

SPITTIN' PETE (CONT'D)
Hurry up! I ain't got all day!

Paolo manages to untie it and begins to walk Raimondo over. He begins to babble to the tiger, and Raimondo looks up at him as he does.

PAOLO
I'm sorry, Ray-mo. I'll get you back somehow, I have to. Things won't be the same without you. I need you. Who'll greet me when I come home?

EXT. PAOLO'S HOUSE - DAY

Raimondo TACKLES Paolo off the front step.

PAOLO
Who'll scare off the Mormons?

EXT. PAOLO'S HOUSE - DAY

Two men in conservative dress, slacks, white, short-sleeved shirts and ties, walk from the sidewalk to Paolo's house. Raimondo jumps from the bushes and tackles one of the men. As clothes and blood spray his face, the other man sprints away.

PAOLO
Who'll protect my house from the largest of rodents?

INT. PAOLO'S HOUSE - DAY

A capybara, essentially a giant guinea pig, scurries through the kitchen. Raimondo is hot on its trail, leaping and bounding after it.

EXT. FAIRGROUNDS, DART BOOTH - DAY

Paolo and Raimondo come to a stop at the counter. Raimondo sits again and Paolo mindlessly pets his head a couple of times.

PAOLO
Now, you be a good boy for this carny. I'm sure you'll find he's a nice gentleman.

SPITTIN' PETE
Yeah, say your goodbyes quickly. Gimme that cat.

PAOLO
Bye, Raimondo.

Paolo lifts up the leash and Raimondo jumps on the counter. Spittin' Pete greedily accepts the leash and Paolo walks off, shoulders slumped, crying softly. Raimondo watches him walk away for a minute, then jumps off the counter behind the dart booth.

FADE TO BLACK.

FADE IN:

INT. PAOLO'S HOUSE - NIGHT

Paolo's living room is only illuminated by the television. He has melted onto the couch and watches the wall. A box of tissues sits on the floor, and a mountain of used tissues decorates the carpeting. A THUMP is heard at the door.

PAOLO
Go Away!

The THUMP repeats, this time louder.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
I said Get lost! No visitors!

The THUMP returns and repeats. It starts to come at regular intervals. Paolo throws down a tissue and storms toward the door.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
Whoever you are, you are damned lucky my tiger isn't...

He OPENS the door and an ORANGE BLUR knocks him off his feet.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
Raimondo! Hi boy!

He pets Raimondo's head. He crawls up and gives the beast a hug.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
Where're your new owners, boy? They let you come and visit?

Paolo hugs him again and sees a piece of red handkerchief hanging from Raimondo's mouth. He pulls it out and examines it.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
Ray-mo? ...Did you eat the carnies?

Raimondo nods.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
'Atta boy! Well, this was quite the day, wasn't it?

Two Asian women walk in through the open door. They are wearing skimpy, sequined leotards and fishnet stockings. They are identical twins.

PAOLO (CONT'D)
Identical twin contortionists!

TWINS
(giggling)
We follow the tiger.

PAOLO
Aww, thanks Ray-mo!

Paolo drapes an arm around each woman and Raimondo rubs against Paolo's thighs, purring loudly.

FADE TO BLACK.

Small Family Car Rides

My Dad left when I was seven years old. He and my Mum had been together for a while before I had been born and the loss was hard on both Mom and I.

But we had family not too far away.

My Grandmother and several Aunts have always lived, if not on the same road, at least in the same region of New Hampshire. And they were there for my Mom to help pick her up and keep her sane.

So we would drive out there a lot. In Mom’s red Subaru hatchback and later in the teal Impreza sedan, then the white Impreza hatchback. We were a Subaru family. I remember the padded cloth seats and the nylon seatbelts and the checking on the edges of the rear windshield.

But I mostly remember the music.

Mom and I were a team for a long time, we were joined a few years after Dad left by Maxx, my Jack Russell Terrier. And like any good team of heroes out on our own we had our theme music.

We went through phases.

Tom Petty got lots of circulation. The Beatles, too. I remember considering the album artwork all rectangled and squared behind the hard plastic. The green of ‘Rubber Soul.’ Tom Petty’s skeletal frame behind the Rickenbacker on Damn The Torpedos.

But we really loved Paul Simon.

Those trips between Sebago, ME and Lee, NH were scored by Graceland probably more than anything else. At least they are in my memory.

Mom loved the man whose folk music carried her through the 70s. Loved that he was successful again, loved the wonderful new sounds coming from the speakers. I loved them, too. I didn’t have the history with Simon that my Mother had, of course, but I could feel that she did.*

And this album about travel and heartbreak and finding something seemed to be the perfect accompaniment. Route 202 was our Mississippi Delta. We weren’t received in Graceland, but in my Grandmother’s kitchen in Dover or standing over the hot air register at her duplex in Barrington.



The three of us - Mum, Maxx and Myself - would leave our home which, for all the love, still bears the scar of separation and pile into the car. Crack open the tape cassette and let that asthmatic accordian carry us down King Street. The bass kicks in as we turn onto 114 and by the time we’re up to speed Mom and I are both singing along “It was a slow day and the sun was beating on the soldiers by the side of the road.”

We’d pass signs and talk and lose our place in the music and come back for “the bomb in the baby carriage was wired to the radio.”



My relationship with Mum was really defined in those rides, I think.

The home - where my Mother still lives - was still freshly marked by Dad’s absence. My Grandmother’s house was a comfort but there were always other people there. In the cars and the roads and the music we could carve out a space for ourselves and that new void we were still feeling.

It’s important to note that I love my Dad very much and I always have. But for some time it was hard to reconcile those feelings of love with the shattered trust of seven year old Krister.

I can’t imagine what it was like for Mom.

In New Hampshire Mom got to rebuild herself with her mother and sisters, the same people who had been there the first time she built herself up. And I got to know and love my Aunts, Alis, Ann and Bonnie.

When feelings were still raw and exposed, I considered changing my name from Krister, which is my father’s name. And the name that I landed on was Al. Seven or Eight year old Krister, I can’t remember exactly how old I was, loved the song. I also adored my Aunt Alis - or Al, if you will - and that may have also played a factor.



I’m not really sure what changed my mind. I think my Aunt was part of it, I seem to recall some sage advise about “giving it time.” Even then I understood that she was mad at my Dad and would have liked to see some sort of vengeance but that approach was not the healthiest.

Of course, I’m glad I stuck with Krister now and have been for years. I’m proud of the connection I have with my father regardless of what was a difficult separation.

Echoic Memory is the term for the way a sound can trigger a recollection. Sometimes it can hit as a full immersion into a past experience. Graceland for me, every time I hear it, pulls out little bits of this whole experience. Of car rides through Southern Maine. Of the freshness of discovering my new relationship with my Mother and my Dog. Of finding out who my family is. Of finding out who I am.

*This part of the post, and in fact my whole inspiration for writing it, really must go to Nell Boeschenstein's ruminations on Graceland for In This Recording.

A poem

I wrote this poem on a snowy Wednesday while waiting for the Downeaster to take me to Boston.

I was inspired by a contest on the Boston Globe's website. I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out, though, so I'ma publish it again here, because blogs are where lasting impressions are made.

Broken shovel
snapped blade
lies collecting snow

New wood handle
fresh stained
iron rusted years ago

Joggin, Day Eight!

Today was hard but good and I feel the best I've felt about my health in a while.

I ran 2.74 miles, according to the map. I ran about three hours later in the day than normal. I don't know if it was that or just the general cooldown of late but the temperature was quite agreeable to me. Plus the day is somewhat gusty. That helps.

I did again notice the problems of being in the direct sun. It has a significant effect on how beat I feel.

Normally when I run, I'm too busy focused on the run to think of anything else. Not so, today. My mind could wander for a lot of it. I even got to time the first mile marker. I think I'd forgotten to think about it by the second (also, I had no friggin' clue where it was).

That first mile I ran in about 8.5 minutes. The second one must've been a bit slower and the final 3/4 a drag because the total run was somewhere between 25 and 26 minutes.



I noticed the roads were a lot busier today. I'm guessing that's largely because of the hour. More traffic, more kids, more people out and about. I didn't see a lot worthy of noting, although the house that last time was having historically accurate construction work done was, paradoxically, having high-tech security work done.

The big reason for why I feel so good about today's run: no palpitations. I think I noticed a twinge twice where the ol' ticker was thinkin' about skipping a beat. But it didn't. I noticed nothing funky from the chest beyond that.

So that makes me feel good. Hell, that makes me feel great! I'm getting better at running longer distances (although I still couldn't do the Beach to Beacon, I'm sure (ask me about my Beach to Beacon joke!)) and the heart seems to be reacting well to actually doing things.

Maybe the palpitations were a sign that my heart wanted action? Or maybe just a psychosomatic thing? I'm not guaranteeing that they're gone, but I feel optimistic.

Talking with Liz the other day, I realized they'd dropped in frequency pretty significantly. There are three things that I think contribute to this: change in diet, dramatic cutback on booze intake, exercise.

And I feel good! So... hooray for that.

Hooray!

Joggin, Day Seven!

Man, the map says 2.59 miles, but I'd swear that felt more like 2.6!

Actually, it didn't. Today's jog once again felt pretty darn good. I kept up a consistent pace the entire time, I was tired at the end, but I also felt myself smiling AND I managed to run pretty quickly for the final leg.

So I'm calling it a success.

There's a mostly-solid blanket of clouds, which helped. Also, it's warm but not hot and most importantly, it is not humid. As I stepped outside there were little drops of water falling intermittently. It wasn't sprinkling and it certainly wasn't raining. It was just thinking about it. Putting it's big toe in before diving in the lake.

I guess it thought it was too cold, because for the duration of my jog, no rain fell. And when I made it home, the sky did the same thing again. Sent down a few exploratory drops and then decided against raining.

Today I saw a uniform truck parked off the Western Prom. He wasn't making a delivery. I'm assuming he was having a lunch break. Sitting in the middle of the prom was a nurse stretching. He saw me coming and a look came over his face like he most've known how silly he looked. Wearing his blue hospital suit, pulling back his leg and craning his back while overlooking the Fore River and South Portland.



I saw another jogger today. And as I came around the crook of the Western Promenade Road - about where it hits ninety degrees by the cemetery, I saw another delivery truck parked out, having lunch.

I saw a construction crew working on an old red house. They were restoring the roof and the side of the truck promised that they were "historically accurate." I saw another reroofing project that made no such project and, in fact, tossed a mess of shingles down three stories through living tree branches.

I saw two little girls standing outside an apartment complex. They were dressed in full headscarf and flowing dress apparel.

I saw an old punk. He was out walking his dog. Skinny. He had impressive male pattern baldness. What was more impressive, though, was the hair he had. It was about a foot long and died orange. He was wearing a white t-shirt, tattered jean vest, chucks and, I believe, just plaid boxers for pants. His vest was covered in patches and safety pins. He was smoking a cigarette and contemplating picking up his dog's poop.

He'd apparently thought about it enough as I started to run by as that's when he dropped the cigarette, made a glove from the plastic bag and picked up after his dog.

I saw four kids in their late teens. Their dress was hipster-lite and they were wielding DIY kites made from trash bags.

As I rounded the corner closest to the hospital, I saw someone had left tiny jars of play-doh on the dirt-retaining wall.

I did have palpitations. The requisite three. They felt pretty minor, but I recorded them this time (finally!) and sent them in to Philips.

Now to shower and meditate on dinner. And the Brenda album. I'm still not sure what all I'm going to write about.

Joggin, Day Six!

This was, hands down, the hardest day of jogging I've done yet.

And I'm not entirely sure why.

Actually, I have my suspicions. Suspicions that rhyme with "nehydration" and "nexhaustion."

I did manage to complete the jog, though! And I managed to tack on a bit more distance, although I did do that at the expense of my overall speed.

I also am blaming the air quality today. It is thick and unforgiving and the sun is hot. Any time I spent in the light of the Sun left me instantly ruing the lack of trees or buildings for cover. It felt like I was breathing bus exhaust most of the time. Unsatisfying, to say the least.

I took off running and was having issues by the time I reached the prom... not a quarter of a mile into the jog. I don't think I slept properly the night before. Just not enough sleep. On top of that, I drank a fair amount of coffee Friday. While my coffee drinking today wasn't eyebrow-raising in any way, I think I might've still been working from a hydration deficit. Or at the least just having recently gotten to the point of proper hydration.

And man did I sweat today. It is humid and hot. This must be what it feels like to be a thermometer. Just tiring, oppressive heat.

So I started slowing down after reaching the bottom of the hill by the Western Cemetary, just 3/4 of a mile in and knowing it was, literally, all uphill from there. My legs started really protesting by the Ohno Cafe and I was in deep trouble when I turned onto Pine Street.



Then I got a second wind as I stepped onto Vaughan, I think I mostly just realized that I was going to make it. A lot of my motivation stems from "20 minutes isn't so long, in the scheme of things."

And I crossed the finish line and, despite the slow down, my time wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Still not good, of course, but better than I'd expected.

I wheezed and shuffled around the block to cool down, made it back to the apartment and realized there was no way I could stretch. There's no sun and I'm so dehydrated I'm in danger of falling over at any minute.

Stumble up the stairs, pour myself a glass of water. Sit and try not to think about the sheen of sweat over every single inch of me. Dripping down my temples, down my nose.

Just drink the water.

By and by I come back to life and regain some semblances of consciousness. I pick up a magazine, leaf through that as I pound more and more water.

And now I'm feeling OK. It's been about an hour.

Palpitations were minor. I can count on about three per jog, it sounds like. But whereas before I've had sustained flutters over the course of a couple beats, today I just had single spasms. Despite all my complaints.

And I feel good about that, at least.

Today I saw a woman in a sundress chasing after her dog. As I approached, I saw her get out a little poop baggie. Hopefully for the dog. I saw a family picnicking. I saw an evergreen bent back in an uncomfortable looking yogic bridge pose. I saw the same man with the tremendous stomach reading on the prom. I smelled barbecues and smoke. I smelled buses pass me by. I heard women speaking in a foreign tongue. I waved goodbye to my roomer as he left for work.

All right. Now to shower, eat something and go to bed. Some of us have to work stupefying hours.

PS: Worth noting with both days five and six that if you click on the image of the map, it'll take you to the walkjogrun site and you can read more info about my progress. If you're into that, that is.

Joggin, Day Five!

I feel real good about today's jog.

I've been consistently adding length onto my routes. I'm now up to 2.26 miles. Today I ran quite fast for the last block, I wouldn't call it a sprint just yet but it was a real run. There was a legitimate quickness to it. Plus as I finished I felt great! Like I could've kept running.

Of course, I didn't. I don't want to overdo it and wind up miserable for the rest of the day. But I feel good! I'm excited.

There were also two changes that I feel are relevant. I didn't use headphones today. I think I'm going to keep it that way. I like being able to think, or not, I suppose, about whatever I want when I jog. Plus I get my own songs stuck in my head. And that's just fine.



The other (bigger) difference was the route change. Instead of finishing the leg around the cemetery and then heading straight up Vaughan Street I now run down Danforth Street. Those of you familiar with West End topography will recognize that this cuts out a pretty steep incline, instead spreading it out over the gentler slope of Brackett Street.

That was much preferred and I think made the rest of the jog much easier. Plus I got to do more of the jog before the uphill part, which is an easier way to distribute my energy.

Also, I had very little in the way of heart kerfuffles. There was a minor flutter toward the beginning, but once I started controlling my breathing a little more the problems ceased.

Neat! I'm excited for Friday's jog.

Joggin, Days Three AND Four! (isn't you lucky?)

Today I'm actually blogging about TWO jogging experiences.

I didn't miss my third day, last Friday, which is good because I feel like missing either that day or today would be a big detriment to the whole jogging cause. But I did do my running in a wholly new and fairly awesome place: My home town of Sebago.

I was out there taking care of Mum's cat, Emily, while she was off with my Aunt enjoying the Scottish games at Antigonish.

So I decided to do the ol' two birds, one stone trick and take care of my run while I was out there, too. I mapped out my route, lamented the fact that I used to run about twice as far with no problem, and took off.

The route is a little more boring in that it's familiar and mostly straight. It's a little more exciting in that it's tourist season and there's all sorts of stuff going on the whole length of it. I didn't have my headphones - which I think is good given that it's on a fairly busy stretch of 114 - so I was able to hear the ice cream trucks and kids playing and barbecues and such. A happy slice of middle America vacationing in the Pine Tree State.



The best part of the whole thing, though, the awesomest thing I've done after jogging, was jumping straight into the lake. I finished the jog, walked a little bit to cool off, stripped off my shirt and electrodes and hopped straight into Sebago. It was an easy, instant refresh and it stretched out and cooled off my muscles way more effectively than stretching afterwards has yet.

I splashed around for a bit, picked up my stuff and walked home.

Of course, since I accounted for extending my route, that means that my original extension planned for out here in Portland was useless as I was now going to have to add on to even THAT. So, today I plotted out another route, choosing again to tack onto my "old" (all of two days) route. I believe next time I'll switch it up big time.

It went pretty well! I stayed in good form for much longer than I'd anticipated. I also started it off with a bit of a walk and extended my cool down walk.

I used my headphones again. I can still hear them jostling in my aural canals, but it's OK. What really bugs me, though, is when a song has a really strong, driving beat and it's different from my jog. It's a little frustrating because I wind up spending time thinking about synching up my steps to the beat instead of running.

I think in some cases, the beats were just a little too fast and that's good; I'm going to want to be jogging that fast soon if I ever want to make that 6 minute mile mark. Maybe even faster. But sometimes it was just too strong in a weird way.

The tricky part will be figuring out what's what.



Today I saw a babysitter and her three wards under the tree where I'd seen the class. I saw two lesbians and their adorable puppy dog who was playing in the shrubbery. I saw some construction workers who likely keep in shape by using their bodies on the job and grew a little envious. Only a little, though, they weren't so perfect. I saw some rich white people tending to their lawns. I saw a bicyclist smoking a cigarette.

I noticed a couple palpitations this run. I only got one of them recorded. I'll play it back into the phone in not too long and see if they tell me to get mee to a hospital. My guess is no.

I also learned it's wise to check your toenails before heading out. Mine definitely need a trim.

Now, I'm going to hop in the shower, take care of some water and have a nice, easy slumber before work. I sleep so well when I've exercised.

My Misfiring Heart

For the past year and a half or so, I've been having arrhythmic palpitations.

At first they really freaked me out. I thought I was dying. They led to panic attacks. Then I read up on them and found some relief in that they probably weren't deadly.

The panic attacks went away, but the palpitations didn't. Probably about once a week I have an unnerving, 20 second - or less - episode. It's scary while it's happening but it passes.

Now that I have health insurance, I'm taking action on it.

My primary care physician hooked me up with a cardiologist. They've now fitted me with an event monitor. I have two electrodes strapped to my torso. They had to shave a patch of my chest to make way for one of the patches, the other goes on my side.

The unit is pretty small, about the size of a beeper (remember those?). It comes with a belt clip and hangs out on my pants most of the time.

The wires stick out from under my shirt.

It feels weird. I haven't gotten used to it yet.

It's constantly on, always monitoring my heart. If I feel an attack, I press a button and it records the 30 seconds before I press the button and the thirty seconds afterward.

I then call a toll free number and - and this is the coolest part - I play the recording back through the phone. It sounds like an old dial-up (remember those?) modem. If the folks I call detect something life-threatening, they'll keep me on the line or pass it on to Maine Med.

I can take it off when I sleep, shower and such. The electrodes are just stuck on with sticky tab.

It beeps when I activate it. It's not supposed to beep during the recording, but when we tested it this morning it sure did.

Ah well.

Anyway, if you see wires sticking out from my shirt, hear weird beeping or see me dart off and make a clandestine phone call with a box, that's what's up.

It's all for my heart.

Joggin, Day Two!

Today I tried something a little different and went running with the iPod Nano and exchanged a month of rent for with Ben my senior year of college (COLLEGE!). I had forgotten about the thing until the other day, figured I might as well use it when I'm at my grossest, physically. And I say it's different because even before my two-year hiatus, I rarely jogged with music.

I decided the key in selecting songs with it would be short, fast songs. That way I've got a good rhythm driving me and the constant variation keeps me from getting bored with whatever song I'm on.

Two problems: 1) I started worrying I was crawling when I was on the fourth song before I passed a mile; and 2) my earbuds make noise every time the cable jostles. Third issue is I don't have anything to carry the iPod except my mitts (for now). I'm still undecided about the whole experience so I suppose we'll see whether I buy some first-world-accoutrements for my first-world-exercise-routine.

I did manage to add on a whole block to my trip. And since I actually timed it this time, I know I'm running about a ten minute mile. A little less.

I'm going to push myself to do better!

I'd like to do a six minute mile, I think. I'm positive that's a ways down the road (ha!) but I already feel better about this jog over the last. I feel like I was steadier, slightly faster and my breathing was better. And I feel like when I pushed myself at the end, I pushed myself a little harder.

My thighs, however, do not appreciate this. They're killing me.

On my jog up on the Prom today I saw what looked like a class circled in the shade of some trees. I saw an older woman and what could've been her son - but also could've been her May romance - walking small white dogs. I saw a nurse (likely from Maine Med) sunning herself on a bench and I saw a man who looked fit but for a gigantic stomach reading a book. There was a couple sitting above the memorial marker at the Southern End of the Prom.

I did manage to tack on another block, adding a full third of a mile to my run. I've already got Friday's jog plotted out so that I add a full block instead of just adding on three sides of a block. I'll have to run around a kitty-cornered block (Up Neal, down Carrol, back down Thomas, up Pine).



Stretching at the end of the jog is something I have to do in the middle of the street. There's no room in the apartment for such tomfoolery. I feel awkward doing it, but I suppose it's important.