Have you ever found yourself behind the wheel after a long night of driving... You almost fall asleep, but suddenly wake up to half of your car on the shoulder of the road, just about to hit the guard rail. You suddenly open your eyes, swerve to the left, gather your senses and start to pray. You can barely breathe, but those little short breaths you take at a now rapid pace are more valuable to you than the car you almost totaled.

Now, take that feeling, the overwhelming feeling of relief, fright, adrenaline, and joy, and just imagine life after that moment. Whether it’s a short 10 minutes of emotion, or a few days of getting over such a traumatic feeling, just sit and feel what I’m describing...

Now, imagine spreading that feeling over a year’s time.

Tonight, as I write this, I feel like I’ve been given a second chance at life, but at the same time, I feel like I’ve earned every second of it. It’s difficult to describe in words, but I’ll do my best.

I.

I can tell you a story you may have already heard. It’s a story about change. It’s not like all that stuff you see on TV about people who used to be here and now they’re there. Ok, maybe just a little, but it’s different because it’s about me. It’s about a guy you may already know… Steve. You remember… that guy who seems to be happy. He always laughs and makes everyone laugh, whether at the expense of someone else, but more likely, his own. He’s the guy that buys the drinks and pays for dinner. Or, maybe you may remember that time he told you that the Deluxe Roll from Mikimoto will "change your life!" One way or another, you probably know him.

Well, about a year ago, that may have been something you and I did not have in common. You see, Steven Brolin was the last person I really knew. I didn’t have time for him. I was too busy with life. I had my family to take care of: a schizophrenic father who was too delusional to admit he was sick, a schizophrenic brother who actually was compliant with his medicinal regimen and was 6 years past his last hospitalization, and a mother who completely and utterly devoted her life to the care of her family.

My role in the family was defined on that summer day in 1988 when my dad’s life was threatened and his mind was lost forever. You would think my brother, my elder by four years, would have naturally been the next “man of the house.” My mother, on the other hand, knew something no one else did. She knew his fate, probably from birth. She knew he was different and needed special consideration with every decision she made in life. I, nor anyone else in the family, could really see this back then, but she knew. So, next in line was me, an 8 year old who knew nothing in life but school, video games, and an innate ability to generate laughter.

From that day, I became the one my mom turned to for assistance, with bills, medical issues, and even mortgage issues. To me, helping out with adult matters was cooler than anything at the time so I didn’t hesitate. As time passed, we learned how to live life without a father, even though he was still right there. His extreme paranoia kept our lives apart from our home and our friends and family away. He wouldn’t even let us go to school or allow my mother to get a part time job to help with the money. We had to buy groceries using our bicycles or one of those foldable buggies. We could drag it with one hand while we rode our bikes to the store with the other hand steering the bike. I can even remember catching the bus from junior high, stopping at the Schwegmann’s on the way, and picking up groceries for the week.

I don’t want to discount my brother’s involvement in our childhood. He took it rough. You see, he loved my dad the most. My dad held him high as his son, whereas I was always "my mom’s kid." My dad gave my brother all of the attention and the paternal teachings and care, while I watched and wondered why I was treated differently. It was as if Toney was supposed to be the only child while I was the "mistake." Ironically, turns out, this assumption was recently validated by my dad himself! So, with that in mind, I helped mom with chores and whatever she wanted me to do. But, Toney did all of the cool father/son stuff. He got to be involved in my dad’s short-lived grass-cutting business, aside from his job with the City of New Orleans. I was too young to cut grass, which was probably true in hindsight. My dad enlisted my brother in renovating the double shotgun house in Gentilly where we grew up, but I wasn’t allowed to help, since I had to help my mom. Then again, my brother had it hard, especially when he didn’t meet my dad’s expectations, as did I. I remember one time my dad beat me for "making" the 2x4 piece of wood he used to spank me with, break, during a spanking. My dad was awesome! Ask my mom about his mistress when I was 3 years old. I doubt she’ll tell you anything. But, I’ll say this. One time, we got into a huge fight, where at one point of the fight, I had my dad in a corner and I asked him to apologize to my mom for his mistress or face death, and, predictably, he chose the latter.

Obviously, I hold a great deal of resentment towards the bastard of a man; however, my father is the closest example of the effects of bad Karma. My ill will towards him ended the day we got him into the nursing home facility in St. Francisville. Now, he lives a life guided by nurses amongst the voices of his senile peers, as well as those in his head. He tries to escape as often as possible and longs to come to a home he has yet to see in person. And, quite honestly, I do want my father to see the house we live in now. I want him to see where we’ve come and how our life turned out. I also want him to see that it had nothing to do with him. I want him to know that despite his life and his past, we have come quite a long way from that double shotgun house in Gentilly that is now an empty lot, thanks to Hurricane Katrina.
I have grown up since then, mostly by taking the path everyone made for me. Fortunately, it was the right one. I went to the best schools I could have. And, to this day, I praise my high school with as much credibility as I can provide. So much have I learned from Ben Franklin I could not find anywhere else in my life. I went through academic hell and an absence of a social life. I took tests and wrote essays on almost a weekly basis. But, every moment of stress, worry, and panic helped produce the skills I needed to become who I am today. Yet, despite the adventure my childhood provided, I was never taught the most important lessons in life and I never figured out who I was and what I wanted out of life. I was too busy with everyone else.

II.

A year ago, I was a 30 year old man. I lived in a recently purchased house in the nice part of town, the part of town where you didn’t have to lock your door at night. You didn’t expect gunshots on an apparent schedule. This part of town was where families were raised and children played on playgrounds and baseball fields. Houses were beautiful and landscaping was commonplace. The only thing the residents seemed to worry about was their lawn being too unkempt after a week’s worth of rain. My family was finally taken care of, but I was still taking care of family, a new one. And, she fit right into my life.

She needed me. She needed me to fix her like I fixed everyone else. And, I spent 3 and ½ years fixing her. A few days later, she was done, and quickly moved on to the next man. I was left alone, with a toolbox full of the best wrenches and screw drivers, but nothing or no one to fix anymore. I looked down at myself and saw a chest, stained of blood and wet with tears. My face looked tired and my eyes bloodshot. I had only the strength to breathe, and when I closed my eyes to rest, I could hear a song play in my head.

This song sounded beautiful to me, but it brought out the most intense pain and emptiness. I would lay there in bed, looking out at the moonlit sky, completely immersed in the moment. The music would continue, trying its best to sway my heart into longing for her back. But, when it stopped playing, I looked at the sky and thought of myself. Completely surreal and foreign to me, but I felt something new. For once, I felt so much pain that I began to actually worry about my well-being. I saw my chest, bloody and exposed, but instead of collapsing to the ground and sobbing my breath away, I looked for a means to fix my wounds.

Nothing in my life hurt as much as this, which is very difficult to explain. You see, I’ve been through more pain than most people I know, through situations that would make most struggle to find reasons to continue. It’s as though I was used to it. I’ve been to the hospital so many times with my brother in restraints and OPC papers in hand. I’ve come home to find my father in his room with another woman. I’ve even seen my brother being sent to the hospital in one ambulance, and my mom simultaneously being sent in another. But, when it came to matters of love and women, I remained completely and utterly vulnerable. And, when she left me, I became completely and utterly wounded.

Before we started dating, I was already scarred and jaded with women and relationships. Over and over, I saw the "asshole" with the most beautiful and sincere women. Meanwhile, I remained defeated in my attempts to use chivalry and manners to get women to at least acknowledge my presence. Yet, they turned to me at every opportunity to get advice on their one-sided relationships. I was always the "best friend" and never the "boyfriend." So, as I was strung along, the "asshole" continued to use women like a pair of socks.

When I first met her, I saw all of her red flags, which was years before we actually began dating. So, when we met again, I was cautious and guarded. Regardless, she had the uncanny ability to turn those red flags into a beautiful red dress that would entrance any heterosexual man into a hungry puppy looking for its bowl of Alpo. Needless to say, I found myself trying my best to help her break through my thick walls. After a few weeks, she broke through and I fell in love. Three and a half years later, here I was, bloody chest, wounded heart, and faith in women shattered. I knew what I was getting myself into, but I couldn’t stop it from happening. It was as if it was supposed to happen exactly that way. Fate brought her to me to break through the guard and teach my heart how to love, and, unfortunately, how to hurt.

Now that I was completely wounded, I had no choice but to figure out a way to heal. I never had to, and I really don’t know why. I suppose I never put myself into such a precarious situation as a relationship would do, and she was the mother of all precarious situations. I didn’t know what to do, but throughout the rough times, I found myself seeking therapy in the run.

III.

I ran before. Every time I had problems that couldn’t be solved the old fashion way, I ran. But, I was nowhere close to being in shape for running. I was fat and my body did not like it. I was on blood pressure medication, acid reflux medication, and I even had to sleep with a machine at night so that I wouldn’t stop breathing in my sleep. Well, this problem was by far the worst, so I ran the most.

As the days and weeks went by, I found myself turning to music and exercise to get my mind off of the pain. This may make sense to most, but for me, this was new. You see, I haven’t had many heart breaks in my life, so the recovery was a learning experience. After such a long relationship, I felt as though I was at rock bottom. I had nowhere to go but up and for me, that way involved pain of the physical nature. I thought that the best way to teach myself was to expose myself to the pain I was always afraid of. And, with this personal challenge, I was able to instantly measure progress and success. I started running with my iPhone playing music, but also with an app that tracked my distance, time, pace, and a map of the route. This app gave me the statistics I needed to gauge my progress, and I kept seeing better and better times. Along with this was the feeling I got after every run. I felt exhausted and spent. My muscles burned and my bones ached. But, I also felt an enormous sense of accomplishment and pride. Along with that came the mental and emotional clarity. I was literally too tired to think of her and too physically hurt to feel any emotional trauma.

The holiday season didn’t help me much with recovery. Thanksgiving was one of her biggest moments. She had a big family, but most importantly, she cooked a feast fit for royalty. Her food was among the best I’ve ever eaten, and Thanksgiving was the example. Then came Christmas, which used to be filled with her family, mine, and everyone else in between. It then became empty and lonely, regardless of what family event I attended. I grew tired of explaining to people my “theory” as to why she left and how I was doing. I didn’t want to talk to anyone or go anywhere. But, I continued pushing forward with the run. I then started going back to the gym. I was always into weight lifting, but never took it serious. I never really had a reason to. But, the best way to bounce back is with strength, and I began to train with weights to gain that strength. My body was always framed for muscle, but I never gave it an opportunity to build it.

In dealing with the pain, I looked for advice. I didn’t turn to my friends too much, but what I did turn to was eBooks on relationships. Yeah, I know…that’s probably the nerdiest thing you could imagine, but I cannot deny my nerd side. One of the eBooks I read was about "getting her back." It described how people in relationships get and maintain the power. The most poignant quote from the book was "The power in a relationship lies with the one who needs it the least." That quote summed up everything I witnessed in my 20’s, with the asshole, the crying girlfriends, being strung along, and wondering why nice guys kept finishing last, if at all. I was tired of being nice, but for her, I was, and all it led me to was more pain and frustration.

So, what was I to do? I ran. I ran because it was a miniature example of "getting over" someone after each run. You go through the initial shock, pain, sweat and agony... then you get used to it, and finally, you feel so accomplished for going through it all. And that was motivating and therapeutic. And, Each time I measured my runs, I was able to see as clearly as the sweat on my shirt how the running got better and better. Nothing was more motivating than finishing a whole mile, than a whole two miles and at the same time, doing it faster than the time before.

Don't get me wrong, I did experience stuff new runners do, like nagging shin splints and plantar fasciitis. Yet, none of these issues discouraged me. They got in the way, but I still ran. After 6 months, I pushed myself to run a full 4 miles nonstop at around a 10 minute mile pace. It was a huge milestone for me, both physical and emotional. You see, I did the Crescent City Classic back in March, but I didn't finish the full 10K (6.4 miles) without stopping. I was accustomed to running in the outdoors with the heat and pavement, but the race had obstacles such as hoards of people to dodge, and water stations that I used, which cramped me up. So, for me to run the 4 miles at Lafreniere Park non-stop, I was beside myself. I knew I could physically do it, but the psychological barriers one gives themselves can prevent or push, and usually, if I ran a track, I would run the length of that track. But I did the length of this track, twice!

When I started, I ran a mile in about 13 minutes, 30 seconds (on average). After a few weeks, I could run that mile without stopping. I used to run around the apartment complex where I lived, but this time, I chose Audubon Park. The track was roughly 1.8 miles around and I made myself complete the entire length of it before stopping. On a good day, my total time would be around 22 minutes, which put me at around 12:45/mile. I want to emphasize my starting point as best as possible. For those of you who don’t run, all of this talk is meaningless. However, I’ll try to get you to visualize. A fast walk for a man of 6 feet would be around 4.5mph. This would be you walking to the point where you would want to start trotting to maintain pace. I ran my miles at around 4.7mph. That’s not running. That’s barely jogging. That’s just trotting. And, at 275lbs with no clothes on, I could only do trotting.

Today, I can run 6 miles in 64 minutes, nonstop at a 10-11 min/mile pace and 4 miles at a 9.5min/mile pace. What a difference a year makes! Next time I try a long run, I will do a full 10k. Soon, I'll look to train for a half marathon, and go from there.

IV.

You would think that after a few months, I’d have the time and the motivation to finish this blog. Well, obviously, I’m lacking one or the other. Or, perhaps, I’m lacking both? I have a slot for every minute of my life so far, and for those moments that come up, well, some of those slots get ignored and the consequences dealt with at a later time, when I have none.

At the same time, the completion of this blog has left me with so much pressure, mostly self-inflicted, but I just really want to convey at least a taste of the overwhelming emotion that I’ve been feeling, and the words that I attempt to type are far from what is necessary. I continue to look at myself in the mirror and see someone I still have yet to become completely accustomed to see. Although, don’t misunderstand my "unfamiliarity" with "dissatisfaction".

I see a grown man in the mirror. This man is ridiculous. He looks exactly like me, but much more slim, fit, and, toned. He’s awesome, and despite the separation I automatically give myself, I can feel myself in this new body. It’s completely impossible to describe, but imagine a brand new pair of shoes. You’ll bet your ass you’ll walk slowly, carefully, and delicately during the first few times you wear them. That’s how I still feel in this new body. I love every moment in it, don’t get me wrong, but it’s still "new." I flex my muscles at every opportunity, and I look forward to wearing T-Shirts that wrap my muscles in a subtle, but extremely noticeable way. I look forward to each and every moment I get in the gym, because I know from firsthand experience that each of these moments add up to a sum of growth, enhancement, and reward. I love who I have become, physically.

Emotionally, I am not yet sure. I’ve spent the last year learning who I am, but also, learning who not to be. I have gained an immeasurable amount of confidence. I speak differently, dress differently, and even pay attention to the little things I ignored about myself in the past. I can walk into a meeting at work with such confidence, that before I even speak, the client feels complete trust in what I have to say. And, I am not afraid to say anything anymore. I used to be a master at saying what people wanted to hear, but not what I wanted to say. Today, I have become a master of saying what I want to say, regardless of what people want to hear, and that lesson is probably the most valuable and rewarding one of all. It is unbelievable how it changed me from holding in bitterness and resentment to feeling relief and reward for letting my feelings leave me in a stream of words from my heart, through my voice. It's a wonderful feeling to be completely and utterly honest with everyone, especially myself.

However, I've also realized lately that I have learned new techniques to not only be confident, cocky, and aggressive, but to also avoid vulnerability and expression. I have become an expert at masking my feelings under a façade of spunk and humor. I have buried any hope of loving someone under the guise of protection from pain. I told myself before I started dating Ashlee that I would never let someone get close to me again. I had become jaded towards love and women, and when I was 27, I had been defeated with the battle between the nice guy and the asshole. A relationship was something that no woman could possibly persuade me into venturing into, until she came along.

So I learned how to go back to who I was at 27, emotionally. I could never un-learn the lessons shown to me in the last 5 years, especially those of this year past, but put me in a room full of women who wish nothing more than to show me the love that they think I deserve, and I’ll show you a master martial artist, who can dodge and maneuver around any and all attacks towards my heart. I could fight a battle of 10 men and win without a doubt in my mind. There is nothing any woman can tell me right now to convince me that love is for me. I have been sharpening this sword for the last year and the last thing I want to do is to put it back in its sheath and rest it on the shelf. I have been conditioning my technique so well, that I can meet someone with the initial intention of a strictly physical relationship, conquer that person, and move on without the blink of an eye, just like the rest of the assholes do on a day-to-day basis. It works, and for me, too well. There is no reason to stop this! Why do I want to allow myself to become defenseless? Survival is for the fittest of the fit, and I’m getting ready for the Olympics!

But, lately, I’ve been met with a challenge that I am not ready to take, because it doesn’t involve just another fish in a sea of prey. This could possibly be the one they warned me about, you know, the one that would come along while I was playing the asshole and walk away without me even knowing the potential behind what could have been. So what do I do? I’m not finished polishing my skills. Not only that, but I still have yet to figure out who I really am, emotionally. I need to figure out why I chase love down the skewed paths of my past, and why I seek love where others already know to stay away from. Why am I so vulnerable, even when I think I’m the least bit? I need to find those answers for myself, or I will never find true happiness and love will just pass me by like the weeks it took me to finish writing this blog.

And that’s where I am today, over a year from someone else. May he rest in peace.

PS.

I'd like to share with you some revealing pictures I'd never share with anyone, until now. The following are before & after pics of my journey from pain to progress:

30 Seconds to Mars - Alibi seems to be the song most suited for my year..