Requiem for a Dennis the Menace

You know that kid?  A lot of neighborhoods have one: an ever-curious ball of energy who's always running up and down the block, excited about some new scheme to pass away the idle hours of the day.  Ever since I moved to my current neighborhood that kid has been Derek.  I'll see him out there on my way home from work, smashing his trucks into each other, or trying to get in on a game of basketball with some bigger kids.  Occasionally he'll make me a little apprehensive, like the time I saw him messing around with a power drill, or when he decided to take a large shovel and start digging a hole in the dirt of one of the more messed-up parts of the sidewalk.  He's always asking me questions: "Where are you running?", "What are you carrying?", "Is that your daughter?" (referring to my wife, who for the record is four years younger than me).  Often he'll launch right into the next question without even waiting for an answer.  Many times I've wondered what kind of person he'd turn out to be when he grew up.

Last night as I was taking the garbage out one of my neighbors happened to mention in the elevator that there was a memorial for Derek down the street.  Drowned, she said.  Just the previous evening.

Ever since then my life has been a constant stream of images that I'm still trying to process: Derek's teenage cousin explaining what happened in a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone, complete with the exact times of the phone calls, while she carried a small dog in her arms; the memorial in front of Derek's house, with its toys, pictures, candles, and "R.I.P." spelled out in red-white-and-blue wax on the pavement; the cops pulling up later in the evening to make Derek's relatives turn off the music they'd been playing from a car stereo as they gathered to remember him.

He was eleven, and tiny for his age.  It happened in a backyard pool in East Hampton.  He'd run off again, and in the space of a few minutes he was found lying beneath eight feet of water.  According to a news report the police are doing an autopsy, but they don't have reason to believe it was anything other than an accident.

Even though it happened out of town, even though he'd only existed on the periphery of my busy life, I still find myself wondering if there was something I could have done---some advice I could have given.  I hate the part of me that sees this as something that was always a potential consequence of Derek's behavior.  That voice may be trying to make me feel better, but I don't WANT to feel better.  Not just yet, anyways.  Then there's the part of me that's trying to see if there's a lesson to come out of this story, as if anyone's life---no matter how short---could (or should) ever be reduced to something so pat.

Like I said, I'm still trying to process all of this.  I needed to get it all down somewhere though, just to keep it from swimming around in my head in circles any longer.  Now I need to find out when the service is.

Rest in peace, little guy.  I hope you're somewhere now that has more answers to your questions than I ever did.

Race Notes: The NYC Half Marathon

I ran the NYC Half Marathon for the first time on Sunday!  I'd been putting it off in past years because the registration fee is well over a hundred dollars, and the all-Manhattan layout of the course never really gave it the same kind of epic sweep as touching all five boroughs in the full marathon.  I'm always curious to try new courses though, and I figured this one was worth trying at least once.

So how did it go?  First of all it was cold.  And dark: the race started at 7:30, and the sun didn't come up until after 7.  There was still a bit of slushy ice in the water they were handing out along the course.  Also, they were funneling several thousand people through five metal detectors before we got to the starting corrals, which certainly isn't my ideal way to start a day.

But what about the race itself?  It started off fairly quiet, since the first six miles were in Central Park (which still had a fair amount of snow and ice left over from everything that got dumped on us in February).  That stretch was a lot like most of the other NYRR races, actually, with the exception of a part on 110th Street where we went out to a turnaround in the plaza at the northwest corner and came back.

When we exited the park down 7th Avenue at the 10K mark, things started to get more interesting.  There were a lot more people cheering as we got to Times Square, and they had some bands playing.  I wouldn't quite put it on the same level as the marathon in terms of excitement and energy, but it was a definite boost.  That continued as we went along 42nd Street to the west side, with more bands and crowds along the way.

One of the most interesting parts of the race came in the last mile, when we went underground into the tunnel beneath Battery Park where cars usually turn around to go up the FDR Drive.  I always enjoy running in places that aren't normally open to foot traffic, and there was a fun, dark eeriness to that place.

When I crossed the finish line at Wall Street I came in about a minute and a half behind my PR, which I thought was pretty good considering that I haven't been out running much in this frigid, snowy winter, and I had a bad cold a few weeks ago.  The field was a little over 20,000 people.  Overall I'd say it was an interesting and worthwhile experience, but the price tag will probably keep me from making this a yearly habit.

Running Season Is Back!

Wow, it's a beautiful day outside.  It felt great to not have my nose streaming like a faucet this morning when I biked into work.  Tonight I'm planning on doing a long run down through Prospect Park to take advantage of the warm weather and newly-extended daylight.

I'm running in the NYC Half Marathon on Sunday.  Come out and watch me then if you can!  My bib number's going to be 5387.  I'm not expecting to hit a new personal best in the race, and a lot of that has to do with what a miserable winter it's been.  Part of that was the temperature (I'll brave the 20's, but I can't make myself get out there for love or money when it drops into the teens), but part of it was just the constant presence of snow---and worse yet, ice---on the sidewalks.

There were also some personal reasons.  On New Year's Eve I went out for a run and fell flat on my face.  It was the first time it had happened in at least three or four years.  I was shaken, but not too badly hurt.  Then two weeks later I fell AGAIN, and that time things got a little more serious.  I didn't need any stitches, thank god, but I had enough serious cuts and scrapes to put me out of commission for about a week.  Also, about a month ago I came down with a cold, which isn't something that happens to me very often.

I'm starting to wonder whether I'm on the verge of passing my peak as a runner.  Sure, the pavement was torn to shit both the times I tripped, and the second incident was at night on a dimly-lit street, but eventually I'll have to face the fact that I can't keep improving forever, and someday I'll have to be content to just post a good time "for my age."

That's not to say I'm going to throw in the towel though.  Hell no.  I've got a running class that I'm taking with NYRR starting up next week on Tuesday nights, and they've done a great job of pushing me to new heights in the past.  Spring is coming too, which should make getting out on the road a lot easier (give or take a little pouring rain or a freakish cold snap like this coming Thursday).  I just started breaking in a new pair of running shoes last night.  The world is full of possibilities.

I'm Getting Published!

Merry day!  Fire up the blog again at long last!  What?  It's Ash Wednesday?  Well, okay, we can keep the bacchanalia a bit more solemn and austere, if that'll help.

I just found out yesterday that my short story, "ROSEBANK NNL," got accepted as part of a collection that's tentatively being titled Boroughs of the Dead, Volume II.  It's a bunch of NYC-set ghost stories, and the theme inspired me to take a mental visit back to Staten Island.  It was the first story I ever submitted for publication, so I fully expect to get a big head and start lording it over all my friends now (except for the ones who have already been published, including my wife).

Seriously though, this is certainly some great fuel for inspiring me to write more often again.  I've already started on another story for a different anthology.  It may be too weird to ever go anywhere, but at the very least I can use the practice.  I've also still been plugging away at Suckers, my way-too-long-in-gestation vampire novel, although it's been hard to get my momentum back since NaNoWriMo.  I think it may help to give my latest draft a complete read-through, to get me firmly back in the world of the story.

There's still a ways to go before I'm actually, literally (ha ha) published.  The folks behind the anthology are going to send me a line edited version of the story, which I'll then have to approve and sign the contract for.  Then there's the wait until the thing actually goes to print, and possibly another wait until I actually get paid and get a copy of the book.  I remember how long that took in my wife's case, so I'm expecting there to be at least a few months until I can fully consider myself the barest definition of an author.  Nevertheless, I'm excited to see how all of these steps play out.  More news to come as everything progresses!