I am self-contained.

To steal a phrase that Tolstoy or Shakespeare or Hugo or Dickens or some other White Dead Guy wrote: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Funny thing is, that phrase equally describes the microcosm and the macrocosm. As it so happens, this blog caps off exactly a year of blog writing: my very first post was January 2, 2005. This year of blogging has chronicled a wild ride with thrilling highs and almost-equally thrilling lows. Running was my big thing this year - my work, living situation, health, and other extra-curricular interests stayed pretty much the same as always - and I must first of all once again thank my sister Rachel for providing the spur to get me going. She continues to be an inspiration to me. So much for the macrocosm.

The microcosm was tonight's run, the Emerald Nuts Midnight Run. This run is, as far as I know, the only nighttime run NYRR puts together and I was amazed at the quality of it. There were thousands of people there, many of them dressed up in costumes, or clothing with blinking lights, or Statue-of-Liberty style 2006 foam hats.

The very very small oftens mimics the texture and patterns of the very very large to a remarkable degree. Today's run was no exception. It began over 24 hours ago, as I prepared for bed. Unfortunately, I was having some very strange abdominal pains of a kind I haven't felt before. I didn't get to sleep until almost 6 a.m., and even then I had to sleep propped up and leaning slightly on my left side. I slept badly until 10 or so, then dropped into a deep sleep until noon. I got up, planning on putting in the planned long run early in the day, then getting some rest and going to Central Park for the 4-miler. The weather had other plans. Cold, I'm fine with. Rain, I'm fine with. Snow, I'm fine with, really! But when all three are mixing, it's time to pour another bowl of cereal, make some hot chocolate and watch a dumb comedy on Fox.

Towards evening, the weather cleared up and I began to have hope of salvaging my long run. 12 miles was on the schedule, so I figured I'd get to Central Park about 10 p.m. and do a couple of 4-mile loops before running the Midnight Run, thus totalling 12. I was feeling really pretty good on the train into Manhattan and was thrilled to find the t-shirt and souvenir were quite spiffy: BLACK long-sleeve T's with a great logo and black headbands to keep one's ears warm. Good stuff.

I managed to drop my stuff, use the john, and get moving by about 10:20. I figured that at 10 minute miles, I had plenty of time to do two loops. Well, the best laid plans of mice and men...

The first two miles were great. I was moving smoothly, easily, and marvelling at the ability of my legs to go all Nike Slogan on me. It was awesome running alone in the park that late at night with a dusting of snow turning all the fields and grass white, whilst the road stayed clear. The two-mile mark was at the 102nd street crossover and it was brightly lit with teams setting up the water station. I was pleasantly surprised to see them setting up a champagne station, too! The guy doing that job looked up at me and called out I was a bit early. I smiled and asserted this was a "dress rehearsal". I should've known that things would be all downhill from there: if the final dress is good, then opening night is often a disaster.

My lungs began closing up during the third mile. I walked a little, but finished the four-mile loop fairly well. I didn't have any albuterol with me; I'd already checked my bag for it before I started running. I'd hoped to run through any mild asthma attacks, but this one turned out to be a real doozy - I haven't had such problems breathing in a couple of years. I had to cut my second loop short, due to time constaints. I made it to the first mile marker and turned around. I made it back to the starting line with about ten minutes to spare, but in real distress. It struck me that though the asthma attack may be cold- or exercise-induced, my stressing out about it probably wasn't helping. Had this not been the Midnight Run, and instead just a regular non-race run, I would've gone home.

Midnight rolled around and fireworks started. The pack got moving. Because I'd returned to the starting line backwards, I'd gotten stuck in the pack at the 5-minute/mile flag. Oddly, it didn't seem to matter this time - EVERYBODY was slower than normal. In fact, I couldn't even begin to run until the second quarter mile.

I ran as much as I physically could, I want to establish that now. I grant that was less than a mile in total, but I really was trying out there. I managed to cross the finish line running, but it took all the air I had left. That last four miles took me 54 minutes. Ugh. But walking had it's advantage: I could really look at the fireworks. Somehow, I like New Year's fireworks more than 4th of July fireworks. New Year's fireworks are less gaudy, less pretentious. They're more a celebration of a universal truth than July 4th's patriotism-fueled money shot.

Walking this race also gave me time to ponder the road just traveled as well as the road ahead of me, more figuratively than literally. A lot of people have been posting end-of-year summations and lists to their blogs: top ten achievements, top goals for the next year, fifty things I didn't know about them, etc. Many of them are interesting and informative, enough so to make me examine those things about myself. I don't make New Year's resolutions though; when I decide I need to change something, I just start changing it at the time. I don't need New Year's to be some big monumental thing. So I'm not going to post tonight's fireworks-illuminated ruminations here. :)

But I will post the one resolution I made tonight and must start keeping: I MUST make sure I have my FUCKING albuterol IN MY POCKET - EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I LEAVE THE HOUSE!

After the race, I was waiting for the C train - still, half an hour later, unable to breathe easily, even just sitting there. I got up to stretch my muscles again and a girl who was chatting with her friends looked at my bag and pointed it out to her friends. I smiled. She asked about the Flying Pig marathon and had I run it? I acknowledged that I'd particpated in it, that I'd had to walk a few miles towards the end. She and her friends were in agreement that that was not a bad thing at all. I think they were impressed and probably have their first marathon ahead of them. Later, as I got off the C train to transfer, she bid me a Happy New Year's as I was leaving.

I returned the wishes and sat down on the platform to wait for the D, thinking about how much it meant to me just then that by completing a marathon I had, in her eyes, become a person, rather than just another meatbag sitting waiting for the train. It is so hard to retain that status in New York. The more individuals make up a community, the less AN individual matters. One has to constantly make their own bubble of humanity, and just when I was feeling about the lowest I'd felt all year, this girl had blown that bubble back into existence.

And as I pondered the strange workings of the world, and dug around in my bag to take a better look at the new t-shirt, what should peek out at me from under a small rip in the liner? My goddamn albuterol.

Peace on earth, everyone. Good night.