Harlem Crit Race Report and Results

70 starters on a narrow bumpy soaking wet course.. 37 finishers.
Murat is a lucky 18th. How I made it through that carnage without laying it down- a miracle. Murat loses his nerve when people are kissing the asphalt all around him. That I let myself get swarmed with 1/2 lap to go sucks balls, but I have all my skin so I live to race another day.
In the Cat 3 race which followed- (see below) 79 starters and 73 finishers- the road dried out nicely. More later.

19 mile climb: Uludag, Bursa, Turkey

My brother Ali followed me up the climb in our little rental car, and tried to shoot some footage. Not sure how this looks- uploaded it through Blogger.

The chart below shows the climb.. Notice the three little drops in HR. I had to stop once to put on a vest, then stop again to pee and drink a Coke, then again to put on a jacket- it was cold.

Here's me at the top. Relieved. The street is lined with dormant hotels.

A little farther up the road we find the ski lodge and the ski lifts.

My brother Ali, driving our little Turkish built Renault Symbol. Crappy hotels which cater to skiers, beyond.

From the very peak we spy this spectacular structure, presumably a five star ski resort.. but looking more like a majestic castle.. or the place where The Shining was filmed..

Here's the top of the Old Mudanya Road with new team mate Murat Akyazi (left) and old team mate center named Irfan. He and I raced together as juniors in 1989. He's a little bit heavier now, but still loving the bike regardless.

At the KoroPark Mall in Bursa. We can afford to buy nothing at this place. Nothing but some food. This place has both a Dunkin Donuts and a Starbucks.

A view from the Airbus en route to Frankfurt

Curry Chicken. The flight to Boston wasn't so bad.. I swiped the eating utensils and the blanket as payback for charging me 90 Euros for an extra suitcase. It has mostly my dad's personal stuff in it Lufth-douche-bags!

The view from my uncle's summer house balcony in Burgaz. Maybe if I can get a training camp organized for next spring, we can use his place as a base. Should sleep 6 comfortably.

The view from about 1200 feet, near Gundogdu, looking down upon the coastal town of Kursunlu. The climb out of Kursunlu rises 400 feet in the first 1/2 mile.

Harlem or bust

I hear that Wells Ave is cancelled this weekend. That leaves me no choice but to throw my hat into the ring down in the Skyscraper Harlem Classic. 3-1/2 hour drive for a 40 minute crit? Yeah, why not? A stop at Copolla's Pizza in College Point will make it all worth it. Besides, my good friend and coach Todd Scheske has pre-registered in the Pro-Am Invitational, which features Fast Freddie and Tyler Hamilton (the only unattached guy on the list)! To be honest, watching the Pros race will be enough of a blast I think. I would probably drive down and back on Sunday. Who wants to go? This is serious. I have a Honda Odyssey that fits four ten speeds and four ten speed racers.

Nini-great!

Having not raced since Blue Hills or Wells back in early May, I was anxious to test the legs after the 500+ miles logged on Turkey's beautiful and challenging roads. Mindful that my body clock was still set to 1:00 am at the start of the crit, I was thinking that it would be quite hard for me to race. So for reasons I myself don't even understand, during the B race I got on the course and set the cruise control to 260 watts for 20 solid minutes- about 15 watts shy of FTP.. Let's call it a very solid warm-up. I was feeling good, but still doubting myself because of jetlag, stress, lack of sleep, etc..

By the way, many thanks to everyone who reached out to me today and offered their condolences for my father's passing. The sincerity that comes through from such great people makes it so much easier to re-connect whatever it is has snapped inside of me. Many thanks. It was surprising to me how many people knew about it, but then again I forget that I pretty much chronicled everything here, so word spreads quickly from my handful of readers.. Thanks for that too.

So the usual suspects manage to un-attach themselves from the field in no time. I'd name them but you probably already know the boys I'm talking about- they keep such a close eye on eachother that the successful break includes them all, while less gifted and less ambitious riders don't pay such close attention to what's happening. The winning break started out with what looked like 10-12 guys.

About halfway through the race, I find myself going pressing the pace at the front, trading pulls with Gary A, John L and others. Without realizing it at first, we suddenly have a six man break, way clear of the very large field. We rotated pretty solidly for the next few laps, and it was hard enough for me that with 14 to go, 10 to go and 7 to go, I was having some doubts about having the desire to suffer enough to make it to the end. The pace wasn't killer so I tightened my chin strap and muted out those voices of doubt. By the time we had about 5 to go, we had picked off about 4 or 5 of the original break, so up the road there were only five guys left [who eventually lapped the field]. Our chase group had of course swelled to about ten guys by this time. The field was 1/2 lap back on us, meaning that the winning break was 1/2 lap up on us. We worked hard enough that we were probably only about 1/2 mph off the winning pace.

Final couple of laps, our chase group had a few surges which really went no where, but helped to shed some bodies in the final laps. Two to go there was another hard acceleration, just after my pull, and I had to really dig to stay in contact. It was so close in fact, that I had to force Gary A to close a small gap on the back stretch. It wasn't intentional, and I apologized, but it cost him a match I think. Winding it up for the "field sprint" for sixth, I found myself fifth wheel coming out of the corner. Gary was leading it out hard with John L and his NBX team mate on his wheel. There was someone else thrown in there I can't remember who, but I remember having to touch the break to avoid a fall with about 300m to go. Once I saw my opening on the left it was full gas to the line. My gear selection was in doubt at first, then I realized it was perfect because it let me accelerate the entire way and pass all four ahead of me with about 1/2 wheel or more to spare. So put me down for 6th! It's not a win, it's not a podium, and I didn't even go for one prime, but it feels pretty damn good all the same. This proves that feeling tired or slow or under-rested is all relative [to the rest of the field]. We don't know what speed or result we're capable of unless we press ourselves to the limits.

Coasting after the sprint, I'm completely wasted and can barely catch my breath. Not even pedaling for 1/2 lap. My watch says 7:30 but in my mind I know that it's really 2:30 AM. The decision to race yesterday wasn't a no-brainer. I had to really commit- though I can't pinpoint the exact moment that I said "I'll do it".. The night before I went out with friends until 2:00 am. I awoke at 5:30 to be at the office at 6:30. Drove up to Boston for an 8:30 meeting which took three hours. From there I went to two jobsites in the Beacon Street area, on my feet for about five hours, trudging up to the ninth floor of one building and to the fourth floor in another.. Just wearing myself down more and more. Slightly hung over. Headed to Providence at 3:00.. drove in heavy traffic for 90 minutes.. stopped at the office to drop off a co-worker, went home to grab bike and stuff.. and then found myself pounding out a 20 minute FTP interval as a warm-up at Ninigret. What is WRONG with me? I look forward to seeing what a well-rested Murat is capable of. I know that sounds kind of cheesy, but I've worked pretty hard to get into form this year, and hopefully this is a sign of it beginning to bear fruit. Wish me luck. Thanks for reading.

No Service up here

7:50 pm: I feel like Forest gump must have felt when he suddenly decided to stop running. Now what?..
8:15 pm: Looks like dinner is being served. People belly ache about airline food. I like it. Each meal is a challenge: to try and finish everything without wasting any of it- hard to do. There's always something on the tray which sucks.. Why don't they ever serve soup on airplanes? Just curious. More than six hours until we land. For me, it will be the same as 2:30 am. By the time I drive home and get to bed it will be 4:30 my time.. (9:30 Eastern) I'm expected at work tomorrow. Chicken Curry has arrived.
8:44 pm: there's so much to look forward to.. After these six hours are through that is.. After making my inflight meal disappear I felt a wave of happiness poured down on my head- only for a few seconds.. The feeling lingers.. But it might be from the wine I'm sipping. Took a picture of my Lufthansa food for you (I'll add it here later) This Airbus is not full so people have picked their own seats. The guy who was originally next to me has relocated. I have the window and aisle seat to myself. Alone. Soon, my sister will join my wife, son, mother and brother in Turkey. I will truly be by myself in terms of immediate family all being 8000 miles away.. And with Father gone it's going to feel extra weird. I'm a person who loves to be independent, to answer to no one, a solitary Lone Ranger/Assassin type.. But this next few weeks might be tough. Then again, it might be an opportunity to really focus on work and on racing with a minimum of distraction. I'd better make the very best of it.
11:26 pm: I'm going into and out of light sleep while my mp3 player blasts my brains out. Current selection: Green Day's Jesus of Suburbia. Just before that Papa Roach. Foo Fighters' Best of You follows. Three hours left. More wine? More sleep? This journey takes forever when you're by yourself.
12:28 am: just returned from a walk to the back of the plane to do some stretching and a visit to the lav. I did 20 miles of climbing Saturday, in the rain. It didn't really hit me until yesterday, but it feels like I've really hurt my lower back- like there's a knife in there being twisted against bone. Of course it didn't help that I did another tough climbing ride Sunday with the locals. Smaller group this time, but a more interesting route. We climbed up to Gundogdu, plunged down into Kursunlu and followed the coast to Guzelyali/Burgaz. Past my uncle's summer house and onto the four mile climb up Old Mudanya Road. Then a nice flat ride into the city and home. My friends Zafer and Murat were both Kings of the long climbs- I summited third on both of them, solo. But on the rollers on the coast, they weren't as fast as me. The fatigue from the previous day's mountain climb and the lower back pain really made it impossible to match pace with these guys on the big hills. I don't mind. On the run-in to the city of Bursa I put the hammer down and had it wound up to 35 mph on the flats. Only one could follow me and pull through: Murat. So he's good on the climbs and on the flats.. He's the latest addition to Millwork One Racing. I gave him a kit and our little team has just become international! Two Murats are better than one. One caveat (which I happen to love) is that Murat is a spitting image of Steve Buscemi. Good man.. I look forward to mailing him some more team schwag when I get home.
2:08 am: about 1/2 hour until we land at Logan. I am craving sushi enough that I may stop at Haruki on the way home, if it isn't too late. Will I be too tired to race at Ninigret on Wednesday? What am I pre-registered for this weekend? I don't even remember. The plane is finally beginning to descend from 40,000 feet. The coloe scheme of this airline seems to remind me of something.. Like the gold and silver uniforms of a certain New England racing team.. Now to decide whether these Lufthansa blankets are nice enough that I want to swipe one.. Might come in handy for using as a race day kilt.
All the above was during yesterday's flight to Boston. I'm now back at work.. And so tired.
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15-1/2 hours..

Until my flight to Frankfurt.
The past two weeks seem like a bad dream. I still can't believe my Father is gone. I haven't had any emotional breakdowns since the funeral- the day that I more or less cried all day. I leave for home tomorrow by myself while dear wife and son stay behind for five extra weeks. I'm pre-registered for 16 criteriums in four weekends, so I have my work cut out for me.. Not to mention all the unsolvable knots I need to untangle when I return to work- two weeks away from a construction position is an eternity.
It's gonna be an interesting summer.. But.. I feel lost, as though my North Star has been extinguished.
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Be Home Soon

It's a shame that I was too naïve to realize until now that "Most people are Dicks", applies no matter what country you're in. Our car is extra filthy, in spite of the rains which have fallen recently. You can buy a cup of boiled corn-off-the-cob at the mall for 6 YTL.. What does that cost them? Ten cents? Armani t-shirts for $219.. Lacoste polo shirts for $239.. Crappy Chinese made Nine West stuff for about 10x what we pay in the US.. A walk through Turkey's malls is an exercise in gratitude for the cheap prices we pay for premium stuff at our outlet centers, TJ Maxx and Marshalls.. My wife's DKNY t-shirt which she paid $15 for: found at the mall here for 120 YTL (about 100$) who can afford this stuff? And even so, who is retarded enough to pay this much? Show me who and I will show you an insecure and hollow shell of a person who deserves to be slapped hard.
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Long climb up Uludag

Distance to top: 20 miles
Vertical Rise: 5400 feet
Duration to top: 2:09
Rained almost the whole way up!
Only a 5 percent average grade, but after 10 miles of climbing, 5 percent starts to feel like 10.. I recorded the elevation profile with the Polar. Brother followed me up in the car. We have pictures which I'll post next week.
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Steep Climbing

Went out at 8 am this morning.. No real plan except to go for 3-4 hours and include some 30 second intervals at CP6 with 30 sec spin recoveries.. The wind took me in the direction of Mudanya, which makes no sense because the wind was blowing hard off the water.. Went up the 3 mile climb of "Old Mudanya Road", with views that never fail to make my jaw drop. The descent into Mudanya sucks balls- the road is rough as hell- making it impossible to gain any speed. Need full suspension for that. Where the old road meets the main highway, we go straight and head into Guzelyali/Burgaz.. Which takes me past my Uncle Orhan's house as the road winds it's way along the coast towards the town of Kursunlu. As luck would have it, my uncle's wife was out on the front porch. She's 70 and didn't recognize me until I took my Rudys off and said "It's me, Murat". They heard the news of my father's passing from my aunt in Istanbul.. Anyway.. Uncle Orhan and his wife had arrived a couple of days ago from Germany. They worked their entire lives in the upholstery division of the Opel factory in the Frankfurt/Koln area. He's the oldest of seven siblings- my dad being the middle child. He's 73 and very healthy. He's also self published two books of poetry. She's 70 and had four daughters with my uncle- Canan, Seyda, Lelya and Semra. The youngest of these cousins being 39 years old. All are in Germany. All have divorced at least once. Uncle had gone out to buy supplies- the summer house was ina state of being unpacked from the winter.. A water view from the balcony that makes me quite jealous.. They bought that condo 38 years ago- I love that place. The water used to lap the base of the building, but that was before thwe entire beach was infilled and cement poured to create a giant ferryboat landing.. The view is still excellent though. After a hot cup of Nescafe and some small talk about my dad and uncle's sibling rivalry, I excused myself and continued along the coastal road towards Kursunlu. Not only steep and winding, rising 150 feet then plunging back down to sea level every so often.. But with a view to die for. Once into the coastal town of Kursunlu, I asked how to get to the village of Gundogdu, which is where I climbed from the other direction last week. A sharp right hander and I'm on a brick paved road rising before me like a wall.. Unlike the four mile climb we did that day, this time the pitch was a lot steeper, reaching the same peak in only three miles, and starting from sea level. The first 1/2 mile was the hardest- it rose 400 feet. The next 1/2 mile was less brutal, but the end of the first mile marked about 600 feet. Three mile point at the top was 1200 feet total rise, but this included a few short dips downward which had to be re-ascended. Toughest big climb around! I can't say enough about the view at the top. You just have to see it to believe it. Makes all the pain worth it. After the four mile descent and after I got on the flats leading into the city, I did my 30 second CP6 intervals.. Most of them anyway. Thanks for reading.

Pay 10 times more in Turkey

We just saw a hard side Samsonite suitcase in a classy mall store- same as we bought at TJ Maxx for $80..
Price in Turkey: 795 YTL (about $700)
I told the sales girl and she rambled on about how this one was the lightest in the world blah blah.. Whoever buys that thing for 795 YTL should be skinned alove for their idiocy.
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Training Day

Going to skip forward a few days and just tell you about my club ride this morning with 30 other Bursa cyclists. Only about 7 or 8 road bikes and the rest were all mountain bikes. We took a main highway- six lanes wide- broad shoulder- completely open to the wind- you can see for miles and miles in all directions- long 2-3 mile big ring climbs that rise gently enough, but which grind you to dust and have you wanting so badlly to drop it into the little ring and ride like a weenie. This road hurts. We were on this highway for quite a while, strung out at times in groups of 2 and 3 and 4.. Per my resolution of a few days earlier, I had my game face on and pounded everyone into submission on every climb, stringing them out single file until 300m before the top, and then accelerating over the peak, solo. The fire in the belly was burning brightly today.. This motley group of bikers was populated with three strong juniors, elite mountain bike racers, road masters who used to race, road masters who still race, a guy who can ride a wheelie for miles, people I raced with as a junior back in 1989, a couple of 50 somethings and even a 60 something. My LOOK 486 attracted lots of attention, as did my rear hub and Powertap.. A couple of the guys looked really - how should I say - poor. Riding really tattered and poor fitting clothing and riding hand me down federation bikes with 7 speeds and down tube shifters. One of these guys was strong as a bull..
So we rode to the end of the highway and after regrouping we went onto a country road for about 5 miles- into a little village where we raided a tea garden and took over the place. Someone bought a huge warm loaf of country bread and two kilos of soft country feta cheese. Everyone ordered hot Turkish tea. Bikes sprawled out everywhere. Good food, good company, good weather.. It all adds up to a very memorable and enjoyable ride. On the way back I hit a pothole large enough to swallow a small child. I swear I hit it so hard that I saw the fork flex enough for the tire to hit the frame.. Both bottles went flying. One of the cages is kaput. Changed the flat in 5-6 minutes and we headed back out of the country village and back onto the highway. I stopped to pee and everyone got a 2 minute gap on me. They had said they would take it easy and wait for me, but judging from the fragments of the group which I began to catch up to, they were working hard to make it harder for me. A few grabbed my wheel along the way, so by the time I caught onto the tail of the roadies who were pressing the pace, I had a tail of 4-5 guys with me. Feeling good, I rode up to the front and uncorked a hot 2 minutes to the top of the hill. Only three others could follow, but none could pull through. We were doing 34 mph on the flats between the hills. Up the final climb, I pulled for the first half way up, let the others pull through, and then hit it hard again over the top. Only one could follow, but I rode him off my wheel in the last 100m of the climb. I'm not beating my chest over being faster on the road than a bunch of mountain bikers. I just had a good time that's all. This ride was great for my morale. Overall we did 60 miles in about 3:10, but this doesn't include about 20 minutes between flatting and peeing. Thanks for reading.

Almost turned to scrambled eggs when my front tire blew!
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Friday Funerals are the Best..

..Is what people keep telling me.. And that my Father is very lucky and very loved by the Big Guy for this reason. We've been to City Hall, we've ordered the food and drink for 100 people.. We went to the cemetary and picked a spot.. We (ten of us) carried him down the stairs from the third floor in a casket.. We took him to the mosque where he was bathed one final time- and yes of course I insisted on being present and helping out.. Now he's back in the casket, staged in front of the mosque (which is not a casket in a true sense- it's used only for transport) as brother and I wait for Friday prayers to end. When they do, people will flood out and surround the casket and pray some more. After that it's a short trip to the cemetary, where everyone who wasn't here at the mosque (the women of the house) will be waiting. I'm told that the way it works is that my brother and I get into the grave and help lower Father into it. He's wrapped in three seamless pieces of white cloth-that's it, there's no casket. Strangers are walking up and praying, squeezing our hands. My eyes are bloodshot and raw. I probably look like I will be next to go.. While my younger brother Ali is as poker faced and calm as a Hindu Cow... Wife has been falling apart a lot. She and my Dad had a special father-daughter bond.
It's bright, sunny and 80+ degrees, just like every day is here in Mudanya, just like California. I'm looking forward to my next bike ride, my next race, and every one which follows.. Because I have this far fetched hope.. That Father will finally and easily see how hard I try.. How seriously hard I work to be the best I can be.. He'll excitedly stand with a clenched fist as I wind up a finishing sprint and attack and open up an unclosable gap..
I'm delirious.. Dreaming.. I miss him so much..
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Thank you..

.To everyone who is reaching out to me on the blog comments as well as privately. I've given up on answering everyone individually, for now. I'm blown away and eternally grateful.
We're about to leave to go and choose a site for Father at the Mudanya cemetary. He loved it here by the ocean.
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After

It's 2am. We planted a few seeds and news spread like wildfire. Before you know it, phones are ringing like crazy, the doorbell is chiming non stop, and people are flooding the house to pay their respects. I'm tired- laying down in the same room as Father's body. He's covered head to toe. His two big toes are tied together and a strip of cloth is tied around his head and chin to keep his mouth closed. The balcony door is wide open and the room is chilled. We have pepsi bottles in the freezer which will soon be ready for use as ice packs to keep Father cool long enough to carry him to a mosque in the morning for cleansing and preparation for burial. Per islamic requirements, he must be in the ground before sundown the following day. Tomorrow after morning prayers, a short invitation to his funeral will be read via speakerphone from the minaret. (This is being repeated at another mosque in Bursa also) After Friday prayers at the local mpsque in Mudanya, those who want to can then join in a quick stand up prayer outside the mosque, around the coffin. From there we proceed to the cemetary where his site has already been prepared and we lay him to rest. Per tradition, everyone in attendance is encouraged to throw a few shovels of soil into the grave, until it's filled completely. And then begins a period of mourning and group prayers at the house.. Etc etc. I'm going to try to take a nap..

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Lost Him

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Whose Nightmare is this?

I keep thinking about what a nightmare this situation has become for me and the family.. Then I come to my senses when I consider that Father is the one who is really living in a nightmare right now, and then I want to punch myself and jump off the nearest bridge for being such a pussy.
If I knew that I would live for another 40 years, I'd happily split them 50-50 with my father. We'd go into the dark together, 20 years from now.

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A new day

It's windy enough this morning that there are little whitecaps all over the water, which we have a clear of, from father's apartment balcony.
He's hanging in there. I told him repeatedly that my brother will be here today. His breathing is getting labored. He hasn't taken any food or drink in the last 40 hours because every drop of food causes a gag reflex and a fit of coughing on phlegm that has nested in his throat. He used to be able to clear it and spit but not anymore. The IV doesn't work either- it goes for ten minutes and then backs up and blood is everywhere. His veins are all shot from the chemo treatments.
We're just "getting ready" for the inevitable at this point. I'm emotionally drained. Last night I sat with him and told him I love him very much, that I always have.. That he's my champion and hero and not to be afraid..
Damn.
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45 minute spin

That's all. Barely 100 watts. Rode past my uncle's waterfront summer condo in Burgaz, which he has owned forever. Nobody home, or at least I assume so- no Opel parked out front with German plates. Even if he was home, I'm not sure if I would have stopped. And if I had, I'm not sure if I would have been very nice to him. He's the oldest of 7 siblings, and he hates my father for a variety of reasons.. Mainly because my father insulted him while in a drunken stupor.. Ironic thing is: When my two teenage uncles used to sneak around getting drunk, my 12 year old father was a witness. Determined to keep him quiet about it, they would pass him drinks too, in return for his silence. And so begins the story of my father's alcoholism. Fast forward 50 years and we find my father on his death bed, and his two older brothers "G-d knows where", and completely oblivious. They can both suck my balls.
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Hondas in disguise

No Accords in Turkey- it's called Legend here. The economical Honda Fit is called the Jazz for whatever reason. Also, I'm seeing a Land Rover Freelander everywhere I turn. I can barely afford to lease one back home.. How do these poor poor Turks afford them here? There's a 100 percent tax on imports.. And limited financing options. You think you're the shit because you leased an LR2 with no money down and can afford to fill up for $4 a gallon? Take a pill. Get over yourself. The vehicle and the fuel is more than double the cost here, while the Median income is only about $1400 a monthn probably a lot less.
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Day 4: climber's heaven

Some corrections.. The main highway which climbs out of Mudanya rises 750 feet in 2-1/2 miles.. The old winding road (that is, the return to Mudanya which I use to get home afterwards) rises to 900 feet (but begins at 200 feet elev) in exactly three miles. I did both climbs again today for the third consecutive day.. And then some.. Today I discovered a road which climbs up out of the valley to a point opposite the city of Bursa to a little "koy" (village) called "Gundogdu".. Which literally means "Rising Sun" or something close.. At the top of this climb, at the fountain of the village mosque, my altimeter read 1200 feet. The view of the city of Bursa down in the valley took my breath away. To see the entirety of a city populated by 2 million.. as though it was painted there by a giant paint brush- something to behold.. My companion and guide on this scenic five mile climb was a 40 year old mountain biker/road race dabbler who had me making 'woman noises' all the way to the top. In fact, Zafer is a bike commuter who climbs this hill every day after work, then doubles back down to get home. I can't say I blame him. The traffic was light, the breeze cool, and the views awesome. He had a backpack and climbed smoother and faster than me in spite of the added weight. Opened a nice gap on me too I don't mind admitting.. Though I did keep him closely in sight the whole way. But.. He does know the road like the back of his hand. My legs are quite sore and achy from all the climbing I've done after taking 6 days off the bike and then traveling 8000 miles. I'll try to return the favor and make him suffer on Sunday's group ride after I've taken some recovery time. Great guy, Zafer. A rare breed indeed, especially in Turkey. I'll take some pictures on Sunday's ride, which I'm told usually goes 120 km. Now that I think of it, today's total climbing was 3000 feet, according to the Polar. Two consecutive days prior, I know I did about 4000 total feet of climbing. So 7000 feet in three days. That's a lot of vertical rise for an over weight guy who climbs poorly.. Last three days I have about 9 hours of ride time and approx 160 miles.. Not too shabby. Tomorrow I take a light one hour spin with no big ring and no hills. My avg HR today was 142. Could not go hard enough due to soreness, to get it higher.. Max HR was only a weak 174.
Father seems to have taken a step backwards today.. All the forward momentum of yesterday erased. The initial shock of when I first saw his emaciation has passed.. But I can't help but feel a certain disconnect from my emotions. It's like a circuit breaker has tripped- it did it's job of protecting me from overload and complete failure. Tears no longer well up when I look down at his broken body. Guilt about my easy-going nature, my 3 hour bike rides.. Guilt rears it's head and pokes me in the ribs occasionally. Must be a form of adaptation. In order for me to be strong enough to feed him by spoon and to keep him clean and to help him clear phlegm and wipe his mouth, certain systems require disabling.
Thursday my brother arrives and maybe then I'll hit the reset button.. Though I must admit that it's easier this way.. And that I am very afraid.
I'm not a religious person.. In spite of my family's best efforts to indoctrinate me.. I'm agnostic. Believe it when I see it. There's maybe probably a G-d.. If so, he's not a participant or an influence on our lives.. For this reason, prayer is futile. Buy powerball tickets man, because that has a greater chance of enhancing your life. G-d can't help you.. And if he did, it would be pretty unfair to all of those who are sick and dying or killed senselessly every second of every day.. Who helped them? Were they overlooked for not praying? Or for not praying to the correct G-d? To me' G-d's more like an apathetic observer.. Powerless or at least unable to show it. I am infuriated by the words "Thank God!" Or "It's G-d's will". For fuck's sake stop giving credit to G-d for your hard work AND THEN giving him praise for tragic events! Stop it. If you triumph, give yourself the credit. If you have cancer, it wasn't "G-d's fucking will" either. Sorry if I offend. I do not mean to indoctrinate and I do not disrespect those with faith- my father is deeply religious. He was anyway- but maybe that's changed..
I don't believe in hell.. Which brings me to the whole point of this rant: I find the concept of Heaven very hard to believe as well.. But in these last few days, for the sake of my father, I'm at least hoping for it with all my heart. Thanks for reading.
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