I bailed on yesterday's run due to heavy lifting and a lot of stairs at my parent's, so no run blog until after tomorrow's scheduled long run. Last long one before taper starts next weekend, and it looks like it will be in my neighborhood. 12 relatively flat miles, here I come!
Because I feel guilty when I don't blog for days on end, I decided to write the 2nd letter in my letter writing challenge. This one is to my crush. Feel free to leave now and tune in tomorrow if you'd rather read about running.
I go by the Urban Dictionary's definition of crush: a burning desire to be with someone who you find very attractive and extremely special. I've only had 2 crushes in my life, and one of them was Chuck Norris.
|Crushing on Chuck in high school led me to my first love|
I met you in high school, but we weren't really friends. We didn't hang out together, at any rate. You spent more time with my sister than you did with me, outside of band camp. I thought you were nice, and I believe we were friendly, but we each had our own circle, our own idea of fun.
I didn't notice when you disappeared from high school, and I don't remember how you reappeared in my life. I have a vision of a drive-by near my mother's store on Cedar, but have no idea what year that was.
My strongest memories of you are after I came back from the Carolina's, running from that life with baby boys in tow. I believe there was a day at the beach, and I distinctly remember visiting while I cleaned my car. You were confident, intelligent, interesting, and I wonder sometimes if you had pushed your case at the time, would our history be different today. Knowing what I know now, I can't answer that. I had a lot to learn, so should probably leave well enough alone. I ultimately returned to my high school sweetheart, my first love, and you disappeared again.
You reappeared when we were living in that one bedroom apartment, my first love, my 2 boys and I. You were with your fiance, though I don't remember if she had that status at the time. Both our chosen mates had issues, and we both were trying to make things work. I remember long walks, discussing the problems in our relationships. You were my best friend, at that time.
You were there for me after the move into his boss's house. You promised a flight in the glider you were learning to pilot, for my birthday. I still bear the mark from that motorcycle ride, and through our conversations in the back yard you were elevated to crush status. I remember sitting at the picnic table, being more aware of your body next to mine than of what you were saying. You were kind. You were attentive. You were intelligent and interesting. You were exciting, and you seemed to have all the answers I needed. I was (as you later put it) "trying to shoot the moon" with my first love. I was trying to make things work. I was attempting the near impossible with someone who, while a good man, treads a path I cannot and do not wish to follow.
Somehow, for some reason, we lost touch again. I now know it wasn't all bad, but at the time I hated my life. I started using marijuana, eventually every day, to escape. I moved on, moved out. I found someone to give me the attention I craved, though he couldn't give me the love I deserved. Heavily depressed, still using, you recognized me, out with my boyfriend and my boys at a chinese all-you-can-eat. You were too shy to approach, and had your brother's girlfriend come over. I was thrilled to see you again! We exchanged phone numbers and my day was made.
That was a very low period in my life, and I was not at all happy with myself or my situation. You can actually read about some of what I was going through, and some of my confusion over you, here. That was my first real attempt at blogging, and I was trying to use it therapeutically. I stopped taking or returning your phone calls. I let you go, believing I was too messed up, that you would hate me when you found out who I really was. I hated me at the time, so of course that made sense.
I never truly let you go, you know. You were the one who got away, the one I couldn't forget. Through years of attention but no love, then through years of love but no connection, I thought of you. I cleaned up, cleared my head, and decided I wasn't half bad after all. I quit smoking cigarettes, in part because you had quit the last time I'd seen you. That wasn't the only improvement made because I felt inadequate when speaking with you last.
I found MySpace, and thought of you. I looked you up, and lo, there you were! This time I was the shy one, the one who still felt inadequate, as well as guilty for shutting you out. I looked up your address. It was near the holidays, and I planned to gift you with the return of a book I'd borrowed way, way, way back when we were friends in the back yard, sitting on the picnic table. Christmas passed, giftless.
I finally mustered up the courage to write you on Myspace, asking if you were, in fact, who I remembered. You were, and we met up again after so many years, at a Martin Luther King Day celebration. Of everyone I'd invited, you were the only one to show. I guess that's a good thing, because you would have been the only one I saw, anyway. We talked. We walked. We talked some more.
Our relationship, from then until now, may be the subject of another letter. For now, you should know I still find you brilliant, and intelligent, and interesting, and exciting. You offer the love and attention I crave, with no strings or hidden agendas. You inspire me to better myself, just being who you are. You are, and always have been, my only real life crush. You are my superman, and I believe without a doubt that our history means we are meant to be. My heart would break if you disappeared again, my dearest, bestest friend.