Part two of my musical autobiography, in which I cross the Atlantic, play hundreds of gigs, become a family man, hit bottom and change careers, all while humming, whistling, singing and/or screaming along to the following soundtrack.
It’s been a funny old life so far. But here’s hoping it continues for another twenty-five years. Or songs. Or both.
Or more.
Early this December, one of my oldest and dearest friends, Glenn Williams, tagged me for the Seven-Day Music Challenge on Facebook. It’s one of those silly games where you have to post seven songs in seven days and say a little about what they mean to you. After I posted the second, I realized that I wasn’t simply posting songs I liked for fun–I was subconsciously describing my life through music. So I thought I would take the idea and run with it in this blog, expanding the original seven songs to twenty-five in order to flesh out my musical autobiography. I have also edited the original Facebook posts slightly to add a little more insight into the songs and my relationship with them.
These songs are not listed in order of preference or in chronological release order but in order of the time they were pivotal in my life. I should also note that these are not necessarily my favorite songs (though many of them are) but songs that tell the story of my life through music’s incredible capacity to join time, place and sensibility into the powerful emotional packages that affect many of us so deeply and profoundly. Continue reading
Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” John 18:33-37.
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer. Psalm 19:14.
Every marathon tells its own story.
Up to now, my marathons had simple narratives: exuberance followed by pain and survival at Toronto; successful pacing and execution at New Jersey; the thrill of strength and speed at Rochester; injury and negative talk at the first Burlington; pushing through the wall at Niagara Falls; and strategy at the second Burlington. But the story of my 2015 Marine Corps Marathon had more twists and turns than the course itself, with plenty of emotion to give it depth and character.
The story was far more memorable, and far more complex, than I dared hope.
I went through my pre-race routine like a zombie–Foot Works applied to the soles of my feet, lube to the groin region, band-aids to the nipples. I got dressed and choked down a bagel with peanut butter, chasing it with sports drink. Thank goodness this was the seventh time I had done this. The routine was comforting and easy to follow at such an ungodly hour.
Just before 5:00, I headed out for the ten minute walk to the Metro station. There was a slight drizzle in the air, but the temperature was moderate and vindicated my clothing choices–a slightly heavier pair of shorts with a compression brief and a long-sleeve tech shirt with my Team Fox T-shirt over the top.
At the last second, I grabbed my new Team Fox hat, leaving the 26.2 hat behind. I was breaking the first rule of race day: never do anything new or different. But I figured a new hat wasn’t going to ruin the day.
In the weeks leading up to the Marine Corps Marathon, when someone asked me what the hardest part of running the marathon was going to be, I jokingly answered, “Getting to the start line.”
As it turned out, my glib answer was pretty accurate.
The long-awaited weekend has finally arrived, and I am as nervous as a fox at a hound convention ….
Yesterday, I finished the program with a strong five-miler; at an 8:00 min/mile pace, it was faster than race pace, but it felt pretty comfortable so I went with it. More important, I came through the week, and the whole program, without injury or even muscle soreness. At the risk of jinxing myself, I think I can honestly say I’m in the best shape I have ever been prior to a race.
The preparations continue. Last night, I double-checked the hotel reservations, and tonight I began to pack. First up is my small but crucial medical kit.
From left to right (back row), there’s lube, sunblock, heat pads, band-aids, cold packs, ibuprofen and chapstick. Left to right (middle row) is an ace bandage, two sticks of Avon Foot Works and antibiotic ointment. In the front is a roll of surgical tape and some steristrips.
Week Fifteen Training Wrap-Up
The last full week of training was almost a carbon copy of week fourteen. Amazingly, I managed to complete Thursday’s ten-mile tempo run at the same 7:56 min/mile pace as the previous week, and Tuesday’s twelve mile interval run was just two seconds a mile slower. Even Saturday’s gentle nine miler came in at a respectable 8:36. Runkeeper, despite screwing up royally on Thursday, seems to be running pretty true, so I have no reason to doubt that the times are within the realms of possibility.
Week Fourteen Training Wrap-Up
Another successful week is in the books. The twelve-mile interval run on Tuesday yielded six mile splits under 8:10, while the ten-mile run on Thursday was completed at a fast 7:56 pace, making me feel cautiously optimistic that at least a PB at the Marine Corps is within grasp. The only downside was a pretty crappy (pun intended) nine-miler on Sunday, where I paid the price for overindulging at a wedding reception on Saturday.
Moving right along …
Bruce Pegg 