Author Greg Martin shares his raw emotional and physical experience with prostate cancer, the early realizations and realities of the disease and his journey forward.
Tarmac Meditations #92: A New Year
Slept a little after the long two days of shooting. Kept waking up in the “arms of a nightmare.” It was cold this morning. Clean. Sad.
War Minus the Shooting
If winning isn’t everything, why do they keep score? ~ Vince Lombardi Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard of all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing violence. In other words, it is war minus the shooting. ~ George Orwell Competitive team sport tends to stimulate […]
Walk In His Shoes
By walking in my Dad’s shoes – by exploring his story – I healed my past and claimed my own path and my birthright – to be a writer and a teller of stories.
Exercise, With a Twist and Shout
You are supposed to laugh, you are supposed to make other people laugh… *with* you. Dance Walk like everybody’s watching. And love it!
Tarmac Meditations #91: Yesterdays
Yesterday I stood around in a room full of people, in a city where I used to live. Many of of these folks I have known for all of my life and some of them for all of their lives. Family. It looked like the same party it has always been, a little smaller, a little quieter. There was someone missing …
I Just Won’t
In working through my own issues, I found I was much more like my Dad than I had realized, and parts of his journey had illuminated my path to healing.
Tarmac Meditations #90: Facing Up To it
I am swimming upstream. Come the end of summer, cool air, touch of Fall, the beginning of the end of things in this cycle, time to take stock, stock up, buy school supplies, bring on the next chapter.
Tarmac Meditations #89: Waddayagonnado
“There is nothing quite so gentle, deep, and irrational as our running—and nothing quite so savage, and so wild.” ~ Bernd Heinrich.
Tarmac Meditations #89: Hurrying Near
Went to the track this morning. Did some quarter mile like repeat stuff. Felt old, tired, stiff, wore out and, finally, pretty good. Remembered that I was never a track star or even “real good”.
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