I've still been walking/running, doing my thing just like I have the last 4 years of my life. Although my times have been stagnant, I'm hanging in there, even placing in two small races this year. But let's face it, something is missing. In a previous blog I touched on how a friendship I valued very much was taken from me in a way I believe was unfair. Although I'm gradually getting better and moving on with my life, I still can use a little help in that department.
But yesterday, I received news of a loss that never has hope of renewal. He was not a runner (he would have rather been hunting, though he enjoyed hiking in the mountains), but was one of my friends through my love of music. We had met 12 years ago through the craziest of circumstances (my favorite singer did a concert in his backyard!) The story is still one almost too crazy to be true, and I will never forget that day. And I will never forget Jim.
Although we never lived in the same state, we did manage to get together several times in the years he lived in northwest Indiana, and took one very memorable road trip back to his hometown in western Maryland. When we were together (or communicating via phone or IM) you couldn't wipe that smile off my face. Most of the time. But he had this funny habit with all his friends apparently. He'd be your best friend for days at a time, call you, e-mail you every day for weeks then suddenly disappear off the planet. I always suspected he was fighting the demon of alcoholism and most likely was bipolar, and tragically he was found in his apartment after 6 weeks of hardly anyone hearing from him. He lingered in an Atlanta hospital for a few days before succumbing to alcoholism.
When we went to Maryland in 2003, I could still tip them back with the best of them, and one night I even outdrank him (I thought I was Earl Weaver, the former manager of the Baltimore Orioles.) Yet he held down good jobs, and seemed like he didn't have to drink every night, but when he went on one of these binges, look out. When I hugged him and left him in the driveway of his parent's house after that trip, I said "that's the last time I'll ever see Jim."
He moved to Atlanta 5 years ago and he invited me down, but I basically stood him up (I was very broke at the time.) I was still harboring a bit of grudge over $50 for cheese curds that went bad because he didn't tell me he was leaving for two weeks. My family thinks he asked for the curds to be mean and that he was using me, but I honestly think he didn't remember asking for them, as I think the disease was taking its toll even then. After we both got on Facebook, he asked me at least a dozen times to send more, and I blew him off every time. Now I wish I hadn't been so petty.
But aside from that, he was mostly very kind, supportive and generous. When I took up racing he said "I'm so proud of you" and when I got upset on Facebook one day he said "knowing you has always been a pleasure." I think he was very happy that I was (trying) to live a healthier lifestyle. I just wish he had made the same call in his life.
In 2002, we met for a concert in Marinette, Wisconsin, and he pulls this wooden shelf with tin-punch pineapples and wooden hanging pegs out of the bed of his Silverado and says "this is for you." Apparently it was gift he gave an ex that gave it back to him. While it seemed like a random gift at the time, it was very nice and I used it for many years for different things. When I started my medal collection in 2009, those pegs made perfect hangers. Eventually I put all my most treasured half-marathon medals on it. So I have decided that my next half-marathon (perhaps this weekend) will be dedicated to his memory (note: I did the Bear Cupboard Half Marathon in Minocqua one week after his death.) As I can't go to his memorial service (barring a miracle) it will be my own tribute to a dear friend.
I do get discouraged sometimes, when I can't lose weight, or my diabetes acts up. But I know I have to keep up the fight, for Jim, for others that died way too young from any number of demons. And for myself.
