Tramps Like Us

Dr. Klion called to congratulate me on my 4:38:17 finish. “Great job,” he said. “You ran an excellent race despite a significant injury. Now, take a well-deserved break. Don’t do anything for at least ten days.” Um… ok. Abbi and I had our post-marathon massages on Monday. Afterwards, as we scarfed a dozen oysters, two…

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This Phantom Limb (Part II)

‘What have you done?’ I thought. Then I started running. Forget the six months of training, or — for the moment — the confidence-shattering knee injury; getting to the start of the New York City Marathon was a marathon in itself. The Staten Island commute began when the alarm sounded at 4:30. Abbi and I…

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Light Up, Light Up (As If You Have A Choice)

There’s no turning back now. Abbi and I hit the New York City Marathon Expo at the Javitz Center last night. We breezed through packet pickup in just a few minutes (dodging wide-eyed first-timers and slow-poke internationals), then grabbed a few Power Gels (you know you’re a runner when you exclain either of the following:…

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This Phantom Limb

I used to scribble a skewed, antenna-wearing smiley face on all of my set lists to remind me to smile during performances. It’s not that I don’t enjoy playing rock shows. Of course I do. It’s just that I’m so busy remembering chords, and lyrics, and gestures, and eye contact that I forget to smile.…

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Cut Me, Mick

Rock ‘n roll is like boxing. This is not a terrifically original thesis, I realize. Aimee Mann has a whole concept album relating boxing to life, set to (duh) rock ‘n roll. The title, “The Forgotten Arm,” refers (as she told me in this 2002 interview), is derived from a boxing move in which one…

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Such Great Heights

The Dewars Lounge in Terminal C of the Southwest Florida Regional Airport is nearly empty. Ours is the last flight of the night. Over beers and sandwiches, I tell Abbi about the round of golf my brother, father and I played this morning. “I tell myself two things before every shot,” I said. “Keep your…

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It’s All Behind You

It’s a rare thing to witness someone you love do something you love to do, but better, and to more fanfare. Such was the case last night when my pals Casey Shea, Wes Verhoeve, and Jeff Jacobson — aka

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In Between Days (Or, “Daysleeper”)

It’s a pre-flight ritual: LAX’s Expedia Lounge, washing down a Xanax with a tall Sam Adams and a sandwich, writing home. I just got off the phone with Abbi, who I called back after a terse, vacant call from the Hertz shuttle bus. “In the event this is our last conversation,” I said, “I want…

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Interiors

I woke up at 5:14 this morning, then tossed and turned and worried until the alarm sounded at six. Will this headache go away? Are these chest pains a harbinger? Will my knee heal? Will I finish the marathon? Am I doing too much? Will I get sick next week? What are the lyrics to…

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Bittersweet Surrender

Though I deliver this post to you from the stark white, Midcentury interior of my Palm Springs Bungalow, where the sun is presiding over a crystal clear, 90° afternoon, I will tell you in no uncertain terms (with a reticence to sound like a malcontent) that it is all bittersweet (more sweet than bitter, but…

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