For a long time, my default cruising speed while running was 7.0 miles per hour.  I’d go to the gym, do a five-minute warm-up at 4.0 mph, cruise at 7.0 mph, and then end with five minutes at 4.0 mph again.

This was a boring chore, and it was hard.  I’d run for 60 minutes, and it was a challenge — even before I had to re-start my efforts after having been sidelined with a crushed ankle nerve.

On a lark last week, I bumped my cruising speed up to 7.3 mph … and wow!  What an effect.  My breathing was easier, I felt better, and life was great.  I actually enjoy running again, and only because I added a mere 0.3 mph to my speed.

I think it boils down to respiratory effort.  Breathing tends to be automatic, not conscious, so when I run, my breathing is based on a multiple of my footfalls — usually, inhale in three steps, and exhale in three steps, for a six-step cycle.  At 7.0, my respiratory effort was not consistent with my pace, so my whole effort was inconsistent and excessively labored.  But at 7.3 … it’s fun again. 🙂

The last week has been filled with growth opportunities.

1. Life at the hospital — never boring — has taken an interesting turn lately.  With the turmoil of recent months, it appears that not only have I been pulled back up from under the bus, but I’m even welcome near the instrument panel again.  Conversations with my senior director about the future look promising, and long-awaited action appears forthcoming within two months.
2. After the Dave e-mail from a week ago, I came to appreciate my friends in a different way.  Just about everyone was helpful and sympathetic, including Tony, Emilie, Duane, Andrew, and Chris (Dad of Divas, whose supportive comments here are most appreciated).  Andrew’s strategy was to take me out to the bar on Friday night.  I think he wanted to simultaneously distract me, and to have me be the third wheel as he met a new friend.  As it turned out, I also met a person (a gorgeous 21-year-old from out of town) at the bar, and we ended up enjoying the evening elsewhere — perhaps the best solution to “break-up blues” known to man.  It was horribly irresponsible, but intense, and I suppose everyone gets at least one of those events at least once in his life. 
3. But the fun continues … Andrew and I returned to the bar on the next evening (Saturday, the venue’s busiest day) and I ended up running into several hospital folks of my acquaintance, including a funny young nurse aide from the oncology floor and his stunningly beautiful female friend.  I ended up helping her to chaperone him for the last half-hour of the evening, including helping them to their car and triaging his irrational yelling at a gaggle of butch lesbians.  Good times, good times. 
4. I had a lovely dinner and evening out with Tony on Tuesday.  He gave me the only free night he had between now and his performance in mid-August, which was kind of him.  We made plans for an October return to The Happiest Place on Earth.  Yay!
5. I was elected Vice President of the United States of MicroAmerica, an online political simulation based on the Yahoo! Groups format.  I preside over the Senate.  It’s busy, but fun. 
6. Speaking of games, at Duane’s urging, I purchased Tabula Rasa, Richard Garriott’s newest game.  Very interesting.  I haven’t had much time to play, but I look forward to playing around this weekend.

So.  It’s been a week of colossal disappointment.

First, we had a family party last weekend.  Nobody said a word about anything, but I’ve never felt more like a stranger than in spending what felt like a very awkward hour with my relatives.  Why?  Perhaps word of my my romantic proclivities has spread; I know the idea is not well-received, despite my not having said anything directly to any of them.  Oh, everyone was perfectly civil.  Civil.  Merely civil.

Second, I lost a bid on a great boat — a Cal 27 — by a mere $50.  The vessel was in great condition, had everything I was looking for, and was ready to go, waiting peacefully at Long Island Sound.  But I got beat by a bidder who submitted at exactly one minute before the auction closed.  So much for getting my hopes up.

Third, I got an e-mail from Dave today, telling me he was breaking up with me.  We spoke by phone, later.  I understand his reasons, and our conversation was amicable.  I keep telling myself that it was only a month, but it’s not much help.  I usually don’t feel comfortable with people like I did with him, and I’m not especially eager to go on the hunt despite my desire to not be alone anymore.  He’s a great guy, and I wish him the very best.

What’s next?  I’m not sure.  I had some reassuring words from Andrew, Duane, and Emilie as I walked home from the hospital.

My natural tendency is to withdraw, perhaps sulk a bit, and wallow in self-pity.  Part of me wants to take the day off tomorrow and just be alone.  Another part of me is angry at where I’m at (or not at) in life and wants to kick ass, take numbers, and come out on top.  I just wish I had the energy for it.  I’m so damn tired, all the time, and for a long while now it’s felt like I’m running on fumes.  And after this week … I just don’t know what I’m going to do next.

I’m in a mood.

First, some context.

It’s been an odd week.  After having started with a great weekend, just about everything and everyone fell through on me over the last five days.  Tuesday was especially hard; I tried contacting several friends, and got nothing but empty silence in return, except from Andrew — with whom I had dinner on Wednesday, as well as some drinks, later, with him and one of his new acquaintances.

Tony?  Voice-mail tag.  Rick?  Plans canceled.  Dave?  Well ….

Even Dave saddened me; we had a short call on Monday, followed by me calling and getting no response on Tuesday, followed by a terse e-mail from him on Wednesday, followed by a text summons from Mary on Thursday to meet him, her, and Matt at The Apartment for a nightcap.  Which was fun, although I really felt bad for how exhausted he seemed from working like a mad demon on crack.  Followed, tonight, by … a non-committal text from Dave (in response to a query from me) and a last-minute, late-evening summons back to the bar from Mary.  Which, this time, I demurred, much to my very deep regret.

So … so, what, exactly?

The second trip to Las Vegas yet again serves as a convenient temporal marker, a reference point of sorts that has no intrinsic causative power yet looms foreboding like Sr. Mary Joseph with her ruler and frown.  This time, the subject being divided is my social calendar.

Prior to mid-May, my personal life was rather anemic.  Oh, sure, I had friends whom I saw on occasion, but “social Jason” was released from captivity perhaps four to six times per month, on average, and usually in a scheduled and structured manner with Tony, or Tony/Emilie/Jon, or Rick — rarely with a group, and never with “strangers.”  And for a long time, I thought this was quite sufficient.

But the more I saw of Andrew after returning from Las Vegas, and then meeting Dave and his circle of friends, the more I came to realize that I actually enjoy human company.  A lot.

Strange, isn’t it?  I pride myself in spotting in others the various ways in which their behaviors betray an inconsistency in apparent self-image, yet I have been so ungodly blind to my own glaring incongruencies for so long.  I have viewed myself as reserved — a loner of sorts, who relishes solitude and emotional tranquility and disdains too-frequent human company — and as possessed of a logical, even stoic, disposition. 

Except that I’m not, really.

I crave human company; now that I have a better sense of what it’s like to be actively social, I get lonely at the drop of a hat.  Or a non-returned phone call.  Now that I’m seeing Dave, and have a deeper experience with the simple joy of proximity and touch, I find I can’t keep my hands off of him — which makes us one of “those” couples at the bar.  You know; the sort that you’re not sure whether you should gawk at or avert your gaze, and you might even snicker openly about, yet you secretly wished you had the balls to do what they’re doing?

My logical brain says, “Hey, cool it.  Take what you can get and don’t be too needy, or too paranoid-introspective.”  Or, as my friend Jen said on Thursday, “Quit acting like a 12-year-old girl.”  Truth be told, I know the logical brain is correct.  I know that my friends — far from abandoning me! — love me and bear me absolutely no ill will.  I know that Dave is running himself ragged and barely has time to sleep, let alone to babysit me.  And my logical brain takes comfort in this, and says that things are looking good.  Very good.

But I’ll be damned if my emotional response has been utterly non-compliant with the dictates of reason.  So, I’ve been stressing about being alone (for only three of the last seven evenings) and missing Dave (who already gives me more time than he can afford despite his work schedule).  I know I’m being foolish.  It is what it is.  Human company, long denied, becomes powerfully seductive, even addictive, to those who’ve carefully rationed their personal time over many years.  Now that I’ve mainlined humanity, I find myself jonesing for more, playing the addict still working out a tolerance level in a world filled with fast-talking pushers and a pervasive emo soundtrack. 

It’s odd, really.  I can’t recall a time in my life when my reason couldn’t keep my emotions under sufficiently tight control.  But lately, things have been more interesting.  Obviously, having a significant social circle in Grand Rapids is a major contributor; I wonder whether the ongoing hormonal changes I’ve been experiencing after my weight loss isn’t also playing a role in this.  And dating (#1) a man, and (#2) the most perfect man in the world, might factor somewhere.  Perhaps.

Anyway, I still have the soundtrack to Ken Burns’s The Civil War in the Jeep’s CD player.  I kept playing “Weeping, Sad and Lonely” over and over and over again — not because of the title, but because of the haunting melody.  But the title struck my fancy, so I’ve appropriated it for this reflection.

Told you I was in a mood.

I’m in a mood.
First, some context.
It’s been an odd week.  After having started with a great weekend, just about everything and everyone fell through on me over the last five days.  Tuesday was especially hard; I tried contacting several friends, and got nothing but empty silence in return, except from Andrew — with whom I had dinner on Wednesday, as well as some drinks, later, with him and one of his new acquaintances.
Tony?  Voice-mail tag.  Rick?  Plans canceled.  Dave?  Well ….
Even Dave saddened me; we had a short call on Monday, followed by me calling and getting no response on Tuesday, followed by a terse e-mail from him on Wednesday, followed by a text summons from Mary on Thursday to meet him, her, and Matt at The Apartment for a nightcap.  Which was fun, although I really felt bad for how exhausted he seemed from working like a mad demon on crack.  Followed, tonight, by … a non-committal text from Dave (in response to a query from me) and a last-minute, late-evening summons back to the bar from Mary.  Which, this time, I demurred, much to my very deep regret.
So … so, what, exactly?
The second trip to Las Vegas yet again serves as a convenient temporal marker, a reference point of sorts that has no intrinsic causative power yet looms foreboding like Sr. Mary Joseph with her ruler and frown.  This time, the subject being divided is my social calendar.
Prior to mid-May, my personal life was rather anemic.  Oh, sure, I had friends whom I saw on occasion, but “social Jason” was released from captivity perhaps four to six times per month, on average, and usually in a scheduled and structured manner with Tony, or Tony/Emilie/Jon, or Rick — rarely with a group, and never with “strangers.”  And for a long time, I thought this was quite sufficient.
But the more I saw of Andrew after returning from Las Vegas, and then meeting Dave and his circle of friends, the more I came to realize that I actually enjoy human company.  A lot.
Strange, isn’t it?  I pride myself in spotting in others the various ways in which their behaviors betray an inconsistency in apparent self-image, yet I have been so ungodly blind to my own glaring incongruencies for so long.  I have viewed myself as reserved — a loner of sorts, who relishes solitude and emotional tranquility and disdains too-frequent human company — and as possessed of a logical, even stoic, disposition. 
Except that I’m not, really.
I crave human company; now that I have a better sense of what it’s like to be actively social, I get lonely at the drop of a hat.  Or a non-returned phone call.  Now that I’m seeing Dave, and have a deeper experience with the simple joy of proximity and touch, I find I can’t keep my hands off of him — which makes us one of “those” couples at the bar.  You know; the sort that you’re not sure whether you should gawk at or avert your gaze, and you might even snicker openly about, yet you secretly wished you had the balls to do what they’re doing?
My logical brain says, “Hey, cool it.  Take what you can get and don’t be too needy, or too paranoid-introspective.”  Or, as my friend Jen said on Thursday, “Quit acting like a 12-year-old girl.”  Truth be told, I know the logical brain is correct.  I know that my friends — far from abandoning me! — love me and bear me absolutely no ill will.  I know that Dave is running himself ragged and barely has time to sleep, let alone to babysit me.  And my logical brain takes comfort in this, and says that things are looking good.  Very good.
But I’ll be damned if my emotional response has been utterly non-compliant with the dictates of reason.  So, I’ve been stressing about being alone (for only three of the last seven evenings) and missing Dave (who already gives me more time than he can afford despite his work schedule).  I know I’m being foolish.  It is what it is.  Human company, long denied, becomes powerfully seductive, even addictive, to those who’ve carefully rationed their personal time over many years.  Now that I’ve mainlined humanity, I find myself jonesing for more, playing the addict still working out a tolerance level in a world filled with fast-talking pushers and a pervasive emo soundtrack. 
It’s odd, really.  I can’t recall a time in my life when my reason couldn’t keep my emotions under sufficiently tight control.  But lately, things have been more interesting.  Obviously, having a significant social circle in Grand Rapids is a major contributor; I wonder whether the ongoing hormonal changes I’ve been experiencing after my weight loss isn’t also playing a role in this.  And dating (#1) a man, and (#2) the most perfect man in the world, might factor somewhere.  Perhaps.
Anyway, I still have the soundtrack to Ken Burns’s The Civil War in the Jeep’s CD player.  I kept playing “Weeping, Sad and Lonely” over and over and over again — not because of the title, but because of the haunting melody.  But the title struck my fancy, so I’ve appropriated it for this reflection.
Told you I was in a mood.

Once upon a time, the life of Jason was a solitary affair; I spent most of my non-working time at the dojo, or running, or writing from a coffee shop, or building my business — all of which are worthy activities, to be sure, but ones that involve only peripheral engagement with others.

Lately, my social life has gotten much more interesting.  This weekend is really no different.  The festivities actually started on Thursday evening; I went to Kava House, chatted with Jen, and got some personal writing done.  On Friday, after getting my annual eye exam, I had lunch at Logans with a gaggle from the hospital, then Andrew and I went to Saugatuck for dinner at The Boathouse before touring the shops in the village.  The trip was my first to that city, and I did score a victory of sorts; I acquired a scrumptious bottle of port from a local winery’s retail shop.  We ate ice cream while looking at the boats (and both of us spilled copious amounts of sweet, creamy goodness on our clothing) then we went swimming in Lake Michigan for a while.  That evening, I drove us to Kalamazoo to pick up a friend of his — a young model with an impressive portfolio and travel history — before leaving them to their own devices at a bar in downtown Grand Rapids.

Saturday technically started at midnight on my social calendar as well as my watch; that’s about when I left Andrew and Brian and strolled a few blocks away to another bar to meet Dave, Mary, and Matt for more socializing.  We closed the bar, then went to Tribal Headquarters for more drinking (I didn’t imbibe too much, though) and a late-night Vito’s Pizza run.  I drove Dave back to his apartment, where we stayed until Matt, Mary, and Tyson picked us up around noon to go to Montague for a day at the beach.  We did a fair amount of swimming in Lake Michigan and got some rays — at least, as much as we could through the clouds.  Then, Matt drove us back to HQ, from where Dave drove us back to his place, from where we prepped for our evening excursion to Lansing (I’d do another “from where” but I fear the vicious regress).  Tony hosted a “wine tasting” that featured no wine but plenty of rum and an overwhelming assortment of snacks, desserts, fondue and whatnot.  Partygoers besides Dave and I included Tony and his lady friend Jen, Emilie and Jon, and Tracy and Teri.  We had a blast; everyone liked Dave, and Dave really enjoyed himself.  We spent the night at a Holiday Inn (conveniently arranged by Tracy) for some much-needed sleep, then … Sunday.

We got up around 10, met the gang at Clara’s in Lansing for breakfast buffet around 11:30, then I drove a weary Dave back to his place around 1:30.  Poor guy had to go straight to work. 🙁  I went to Kava House for e-mail, did a few errands, and ended up (presently) at Bitter End, blogging.

In all, a great weekend.  Busy.  But golly if I didn’t have a blast.  I guess I kinda like having an active social life, after all.

It’s been a fascinating few weeks.  The most significant development is a radical restructuring of my social life, in terms of my circle of friends and the scope and nature of my interpersonal relationships.  An update follows.

1. The Southfield Box Party, scheduled for the last weekend of June, went well.  There were a number of people present to help with the schlepping, and Jon rented a large truck to facilitate the move from Southfield to Novi.  With Emilie’s parents attending to food, and a gaggle of folks to lend muscle, the actual move was accomplished in only a few hours.  Of course, ol’ T-Bone showed up after all the work was done, but we managed to turn it into an overnight excursion, complete with a stay at a Novi hotel and brunch the next morning with the lesbians.
2. I really haven’t seen much of Tony since we returned from Las Vegas.  Part of this is because he’s been busy, but I do rather miss seeing him.
3. The week leading up to Independence Day was interesting.  I spent most days with Andrew, watching movies and dining and whatnot.  Having a friend who actually resides in the Grand Rapids area and is interested in being social is something of a novelty.
4. The Sunday before the week of the holiday (and bear with me, the chronology in this post is not insignificant), I had dinner at Pietro’s Backdoor with Dave, a 22-year-old electrical engineer.  We enjoyed a delicious meal and great conversation.  We initially connected through a social-networking site, and struck up an e-mail correspondence that culminated in a dinner outing.  Went well.
5. On Monday before the holiday, Andrew and I went to see the sneak preview of The Rocker (a not-so-bad formulaic comedy scheduled for release July 30) with the free tickets he got. 
6. On the Wednesday before the holiday, I spent quite some time with a new friend, Tony — not to be confused with Legal Eagle.  Tony is a fascinating young man; intelligent, driven, charismatic … and one of West Michigan’s premier gay sluts with a tally that would earn a respectful nod from Wilt Chamberlain.  I like Tony; the conversation was quite good, and the insight I gleaned on a number of things was well worth the six hours’ talk time.
7. The following day, I had dinner with Becca before she went to see her boyfriend in Indiana and then jets off to Paris for a few weeks.  We went to Cambridge House, where we consumed much delicious, out-of-the-mainstream alcohol.  After I dropped her off at home, I joined Andrew at Diversions for a nightcap.  We ran into Dave and his friend Mary — they tried to pretend that they didn’t see me, but I chased them to the door and shamed them into paying attention to me.  Of course, they would argue that they were trying to figure out if they really saw me, and if so, whether they should approach.  But I like my version better.
8. Independence Day was fun.  Andrew and I did some “domestic” stuff, mostly shopping and dining and errands, before heading downtown for the fireworks show.  We were stationed directly at the center of the Pearl Street bridge.  This marks the first time since I was a child that I actually attended the Grand Rapids fireworks display, and I’m glad I did.  Then, we met Dave and Mary at Diversions for a few hours of drinking and conversation — or rather, Mary and I got to listen to Dave and Andrew discuss their favorite reality-TV programs.  Betsy would be pleased.
9. Saturday was a lazy day.  Dave and I went to Carrabba’s for dinner, then we went with Andrew to Diversions (see a theme developing?) to fawn over Andrew in the presence of his ex-boyfriend.  Between dinner and visiting Andrew, Dave and I went downtown to stroll the entire length of the riverwalk, from Fulton Street to just north of the Sixth Street bridge.  Very scenic.  We ended the excursion by sitting along the river, on a bench, under the moonlight, and agreeing to start dating.  Reminiscent of a scene from a movie.  After Diversions, Dave brought me over to meet his friends at the Tribal Headquarters (i.e., the house on Heritage Hill where most of Dave’s closest circle circle reside); there was a fire, and many funny stories about Dave’s foibles over the years.
10. Sunday … bleh.  I spent most of the day recharging and attending to errands, before driving to O’Hare to pick up Jen from her Great Mexican Adventure.  Nine hours of driving.  At least our conversation on the return was enjoyable.
11. On Tuesday of this week, Andrew and I exchanged his crappy cell phone at the mall and then had dinner.  I shared the news about Dave with him, which was tough.  Andrew is a very special person.  We watched the season finale of Hell’s Kitchen, a program we’ve been watching together for a month.  The Dave thing, and the finale, lent the evening a depressing air of finality that I hope doesn’t become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
12. On Wednesday, Dave and I went to Grand Haven after work.  We intended to lay out in the sun, but when we rolled into town, we shared a pizza at Porto Bello instead, then walked the boardwalk, beach, and pier before getting ice cream and heading back to Tribal Headquarters to watch The Real World and have conversations by another backyard fire.  I approve of Dave’s friends.
13. On Thursday, Dave and I went to Rocky’s, a little bar on Ottawa where many members of the Tribe performed as the visiting band.  Very pleasant.  Got to chat more with Mary and her friend Michael, a young fellow who just returned to Michigan from a nine-month stay in Phoenix.
14. Oh, and for the last week, my mother has enjoyed a well-deserved vacation in North Carolina, with her sister and their friend Kathy.

All for now.

So, I stopped at Arby’s last night for a delicious turkey reuben, and paused a bit in the parking lot to read another chapter A Patriot’s History of the United States.  Around 11 p.m., I pulled away, only to find that my rear left tire had gone completely flat.

No problem, right?  So I thought.

I pulled out the (inadequate) jack and got down to business.  Because the tire was utterly devoid of air, I had a hard time putting the jack under the axle tube, so I put it under the frame, instead.  Big mistake.  I got the Grand Cherokee jacked up and the deflated rubber remove, just in time for the moon to shift phases and push the vehicle off center.

Crash!

The car came a-tumblin’ down, grinding the rotor into the hard asphalt. 

Irritated but undaunted, I tried again.  Same result.

Turns out, the physics of the factory-supplied jack are such that it doesn’t quite raise things high enough from the frame, but the device itself is too bulky to put under the axle tube when the wheel is off.  As such, I had to hoof it on foot to Meijer to buy a new jack.

Mission accomplished.  Sorta.

The new jack’s reach was an inch too short of what I needed.  No matter how I finagled it, I couldn’t swap out the jacks properly.  The new one had only a 13-inch elevation, which even on the frame wasn’t enough clearance to get the factory jack under the axle.

So, back to Meijer.  This time, I bought a small floor jack.  That, with its braces, was enough.  Properly jacked, I was able to install the spare with no problem.

Of course, it wasn’t until I tried to drive away that I realized how much damage I had done to the steel shroud protecting the rotor.  The mile-and-a-half drive from Arby’s to the garage was quite … loud.

So, this morning, I jacked it back up, pulled off the tire, and grabbed the pliers and screwdrivers.  After manhandling the shroud back into position, the car drives quietly and properly with no sign of damage or impairment to performance.

All it took was a grand total of three hours of my life that I’m never getting back.

I took a little online personality quiz this morning.  Herewith the results:

The Architect (INTP)

You scored 27% I to E, 26% N to S, 62% F to T, and 58% J to P!

You are more introverted than extroverted. You are more intuitive than observant, you are more thinking based than feeling based, and you prefer to go with the flow rather than have a routine. The single word to describe your type is the Architect, which belongs to the larger group of rationals. You wish to sculpt the world around you. Others often find you arrogant, yet you have no desire to direct others, only to inform them. You must know the structure of things, and have a voracious appetite for knowledge. You are very rational in everything you do, and probably consider yourself smarter than most.

As a romantic partner, you can be playful with great energy to get things started, but not quite as good on follow through. You may have a tendency to hurt the more emotional types unintentionally by not sharing your own reactions and feelings as you can get swept up in your own ideas and projects. You want to be appreciated for your ability to respond quickly and to fix problems creatively. You need plenty of time to yourself – therefore your partner must respect your need for independence and originality.

Seems right, although my last Myers-Briggs had me as more of an INTJ.