WHEW...SO WHERE WAS I?

Oh yeah, I was training for a marathon. Still doing that. Knocked out my 12-miler at 5:00 on a Wednesday morning. I say things like that, sometimes, just to exert some sense of superiority. Truth is that I'm not really any better than you. I just enjoy doing stupid things to my body. We're gonna start calling this TEAM BEARD because I have the most righteous Forrest Gump face apron right now.

(pause for gulp off a Santa Fe Pale Ale...goodness)

Plan is to knock it back once more this weekend and then let it shag all the way until race day and shave the night before. It's col' nasty right now.

Training is going well. Well, it's going better. Tuesday night, after returning from Juarez, I took to a six miler and ended up straining my foot. It hurt so bad, I had to stop and rub the foot. It felt like someone drove a nail through the top of my foot. We legged out the rest of it, but only ended up totalling four miles. It was a horrible attempt. This was near a week after my last run. My mind was eager, but my body was unwilling.

Tonight went much better. It was a reassuring run, to say the least. The foot ached a little, but recovered by the second mile. By mile three, my foot pains were a thing of the past. Kool Aid made the run. It's been too long since we've had a good run together. Looks like most of our scheduling problems are starting to iron themselves out. We'll do 14 on Saturday morning. For those scoring at home, that's a half marathon. Jury's still out on the new shoes. First run out in them, I had foot pains. Not a good start to our relationship. Still have probably 60-75 miles in my Lunarlite trainers.

Ran to White Stripes tonight. Rare that I don't run to hip hop. White Stripes hit the spot.

I ain't no friend hoarder on Facebook. I really only let the best in.

Still don't like Dodge Neons and, yes, hip hop is dying. I don't even connect with the music anymore. Either I'm getting old or the music just sucks. I was at Enterprise renting a car the other day and this girl was all meanmugging and working her best ruffneck look. Her phone rang. It was some rump-shakin' mess that you hear on the radio. She showed the girl at the desk her identification and she was 16 years old. Girl was born in 1993. Girl wasn't even born until the end of the Golden Age. By the time she could even understand the music and it's context, Big Daddy Kane was getting lifetime achievement awards by the armful and Grand Puba was slinging another solo record on Koch. Girl's whole style is the art of imitation. She doesn't even know what she's reppin'. Like Jeru said...she play'd herself.

Left the country and the Red Sox were in the playoffs. Came back and they were out. That was quick enough. At least I didn't have to suffer through it. Knew that it would be a string of miracles if the Sox were to make a serious run at the title. I mean, really, I don't think anyone's making it past the Yankees. They went out and bought the talent. I might disagree with it, but seems to be working for them. Here's to the Angels. They got their work cut out for them.

Listening to Gang Starr's Daily Operation. It always tends to put me in a nostalgic mood.

So, I went to Juarez to build a house. Went with 10 others from my church including my lovely wife. Truly a hardhitting experience. Our Missions Committee gets hit alot with comments like "we have enough people at need right here in Texas, why must you go all the way to Mexico?" Trust me, after seeing it firsthand, it's tenfold once you cross the border. And, as my brother said, "God didn't create borders. We did." Juarez needs some serious help.

Time has cured many of my right wing tendencies, but I grew up in the panhandle of Texas. You're brought up going fo 'self. Helping out Mexico? Really? C'mon. We got our own problems. And most of our problems are because of them. Just keep them out. That's the Texas way. Build a huge ass fence by a river and just dare them to cross.

Here's a few facts. In Juarez, guns are illegal. With guns being illegal, where do you think they're getting them? Bingo. Estados Unidos. In fact, they make really good trade bait for drogas. Yep. Cocaine. Heroin. Marijuana. It's Mexico's biggest export and we're their biggest client. We're locked into a long-term relationship with Mexico where one societal ill feeds another. We allow them quicker kills and, well, their love is mutual. They ship a million more drug habits into the States a week. Do the knowledge, kid.

Also, in Mexico, public education runs out at the young age of 12. Then you gotta pay for it. So what happens when you're a young tike in a family of seven and your parents make only $110 combined weekly? Think you're going to get secondary education? Nah. You learn how to say your ABCs, subtraction and how to wipe your butt and then you're sent to fend for yourself. That's a sixth grade education. How much did you know when you left sixth grade? Maybe you knew the rules to kick ball. That was probably about it.

And, while the druglords are no longer ruling the streets, it's federales...about ten deep in the back of a Humvee with AK47s slung over their shoulder...and they look no older than 18 most of them. The border crossing was an absolute bummer. They made us unload our entire trailer and open up everything so they could see all of our possessions. It took about an hour thirty to make into the country. Then, you drive around Juarez and you think this is what you're protecting?

Really, Juarez is about as harsh of elements as you'll find. Not only is the poverty widespread and clearly indiscriminate, it's much worse than the States. Our poverty line is still supported by a number of government programs. In fact, the poverty line still affords minimal urban living--walls, air conditioning, a furnace, hot water. That "poverty" in Juarez is like middle class.

We helped a family of seven. Two adults raising five kids...two of which were dumped on them by the mother's sister as she fled town. She's raising them in a house no bigger than a single-stall garage made out of pallets, corrugated cardboard and computer boxes. You could see sunlight through the walls, the floor was dirt and it was built, basically, amidst a junkyard. Rabid dogs ruled the land. That and the relentless sunlight. The weather was cooler, but one could only imagine what the summers are like in that desert land. With only an annual rainfall of nine inches and wind like you can't imagine.

I met a young kid named Francisco. The lone boy in the bunch. He was a spirited kid, but obviously lacking options and experience. He'd mount a horse, beat the crap out of it, the chase a dog or a chicken. He was just rotting away on this land. It's a harsh reality. I can't even imagine waking up every morning to it. No mobility. No job. No change. No connection to the outside world. I brought with me a futbol americana (the more oval-shaped football), but he wasn't so interested. He wanted to play futbol. The round kind. I gave it my best. You could tell he was so eager for stimulation. Made me think about how sometimes I yearn to not have stimulation. I like just doing nothing...well, doing nothing but running. But that's how I get away now. I run from stimulation. Here this kid's out there with me kicking a futbol back and forth like he's been waiting years for someone to come and do this with him.

We built the house quickly. We actual slowed down to make it last and to spend more time with the family. It was all adults because no one wants to send their kids to Juarez anymore. Better for productivity, though. Learned how to make stucco. Not sure what kinda market there is, but think that if the music industry implodes and everything's free, I can always stucco houses.

Met some nice folks for Casas por Cristo. Good organization. Good folks. Whaddup, Brandon. Whaddup, El Tigre.

On the third day, the mother made us "pork." Turns out it was really goat. It was goodness, though. Spicier than the nutsack on a habenero, but it was good.

We left for the border on Monday morning. Never been so happy to be in El Paso. Amazing that, just a half mile north, it's a third world country. It's like night and day. Not only do mission trips to Juarez benefit the participant on a spiritual level, but there's a number of social and political questions that rise to the surface from such a trip. Is our neighbor Juarez also our enemy? Do we help our enemy or just let them suffer on their own just next door? I wonder if the crime rate in El Paso would be where it was if that was, say, Vancouver on the other side. Funny how we waited close to an hour and a half going into Mexico as they checked everything we were bringing in yet to the north, you can barely break speed crossing the Canadian border.

Juarez needs help. That's all I'll say. Don't know who reading this will take action, but guess there's no harm in just saying it.

Jackson hurt his back left leg. Not sure doing what. I think he was trying to dunk on an 8-foot rim and had adviced him that he wasn't gonna land it. Anyhow, confining a beagle to a "crate-like" atmosphere is proving to be challenging. Not because he's trying to escape, but he just tries to sadden you into action.

Tucker, however, is just a bundle of joy. Really because he's too stupid to know any better. That's why I like him.

I sold that Juarez experience really short. Mainly because I'm tired and need to go to bed. I hate going so long without posting, but broham's busy living. Hope you are too. My nephew Parker's celebrating his big number two next weekend. He's the bestest. And he's a big 2Pac fan. In fact, dude's more than a fan.

Friday, homie. Tomorrow, I'll run 14 miles and then pack back some serious Sharkey's burritos, then a nap, then some Texas Tech football as they'll knock off the Nebraska Cornhuskers.

I miss all of you.