That last part has been the result of 8 months of therapy with the only person he could trust fully considering that he had not horse in the race. Once he realized that he was punishing himself for his attempts at making himself a better person to appease hidden jackals who would just pounce upon him as much as they would breathe. As a result, he changed his regiment from running under the hot summer sun to running on empty streets occupied by the primordial roaches the size of shoes and an actual raving man muttering secret alphabet that would make Philip Lovecraft's xenophobic hearts melt.
He wet his yellow bandanna, the only thing he wore that was not black and tied it around his head, still wondering if he's going to regret not soaking himself. At first, the bandanna helped keep his braided hair in place as she worked out, or at least it tried. Yet now with running at night and the need of cooling off with the humidity being a bother now being worse off than years ago it offered some cooling respite and often times he had removed it only to feel the once cold water turn steaming hot. Now with his night runs it helps to offer some visualization to prevent any harm. Even though he ran at midnight and cars were scarce he didn't want to find some rogue car running into him while he crossed streets that now traffic resembled places where the skyline did not blind the stars out.
Running in South LA, think Compton, Lynwood, South Gate areas, you have to resemble as much as what you want to resemble. Meaning that people usually expect runners at dawn or even mid day in parks and green areas, wearing all the paraphilia that would associate them with their past time so that most onlookers can understand that they are simply running, as in this case. Sadly living through LA in the 80's and early 90's, you honestly have to overdo it when it comes to skin color and area. In those years, he learned that sport jerseys were associated with colors despite how much you love the team. Even Raider gear in LA held an almost neutral color for Latino bangers and even if you have a mind of stats and records willing to share with others, it was best to not dress and be considered a person of interest. Sadly, doing so had changed from being unseen by the rougher element of your neighborhood to police. There had been an increase of black men and a few black women harmed by police and a few Latinos that the media are busy ignoring. So there were no taking chances. he will look his part, run on the street whenever possible while not distracting imaginary traffic, and even wave at them in mid huffing breath while approaching them slowly yet carefully.
Oddly enough, they had waved back numerous times already accepting that there is some sort of a lunatic running at midnight through South LA. It has always been a plan to out weird others into leaving him alone, and, as usual, if you can stun someone with confusion and awe before they can act it may buy you some time to survive any potential altercation. So he learned not to behave the same as others, but to stand out as simply being odd. That one guy that you seem to focus on for a moment before realizing there was no point. There lied safety.
Once certain with the prerun prep, he walked outside into a nearly slumbering night as he walked towards the main street. The majority of the people here worked long days and hard hours and would be awake once dawn became evident so there was no revealer walking about in drunken stupor or child birthday party that later on morphed into loud music with accordions, drinking from multipacks, or dj lighting. Everything was dead on the main street also, with shops here shutting down at 8 the latest and markets at 11. What remained of traffic were people arriving home from long days or even from class. Even the bustling coffee place on the corner that seemed to swallow up the street with idiot drivers making the most foolish of choices in order to order a coffee with chocolate in it and a reminder of life beyond "la Frontera".
He waited at the light waiting for it to turn allowing him to cross as he noticed it kept cycling past him, ignoring his plea to cross and allowing the dwindling traffic to just speed by. He didn't want to cross the empty street out of some sort of respect of the rules, yet waiting two minutes for the light to change on an empty street seemed silly to him and began to cross, midway the light began to register his need for change as he arrived on the sidewalk with it finally approving his request of a safe crossing.
Facing the now closed clothing shop, he began to stretch in front of it using his reflection as a reference. They just remodeled these shops here to have more visibility and view while running out previous business with a barber shop and this very trendy clothing shop that catered to one digit dress sizes with bulimia issues. The majority of the mannequins in front wore something ghastly and almost trampish, if he could still use the word in not shaming anyone's sexuality needs. Yet the clothing was awful and he wondered who chose to wear something so blatantly explicit without any coyness or even fashion sense. Mesh and even lace, as Madonna and Cindi proved can be a great boon to offer a tempting look of cleavage and thighs, but mesh boob window is a bit too blatant. Even Powergirl would question its purpose. So he nodded and would remark a good outfit on a tiny mannequin as a rarity while making sure limbs were in line with stretches and range of motion.
He took a minute to find a song he could start out to as a cyclist whizzed by towards their destination. Once found, he raised his watch to read the heart monitor strapped to his chest to get a clear signal to begin. In a choreographed movement of years of running, he hits the mp3's start button as soon as his watch registered his heart rate all the while starting off his run. Tonight would be 4 miles. Since integrating these longer runs into his running he had seen an increase of stamina and strength. There was a time where half a mile would have him winded and even a time when TB took too much of his ability to even maintain enough stride to catch a bus. Knowing that running would always be his weak point, he militantly pushed himself to it while taking in data in order to analyze each run and the collective behavior. It helped keep his weight in check even before learning how to count calories and eat enough to support his daily efforts. No matter how bad it was to restart or how he felt each run was a waste he had enough data to understand that each effort, no matter how clumsy or pointless had a cumulative effect that always pushed him towards better. That his best run was an acclimation of numerous bad ones.
Some runs were hard and taxing where he was forced to stop at several points to regain his breath and other where he involuntarily evacuated his stomach contents into a bush or curb. Some had him so exhausted that he had to shuffle the rest of the distance home. Yet with enough trust in his calculations, he always relied on his watch to let him know if his heart rate was too high or if he could push himself a bit more to max. Three years of this labor and he could trust how much he could endure and when he needed to take it slow. He knew when his heart rate would reach a false high and would drop back down before steadily reaching his max. Most importantly, he knew when things were wrong and when to stop even if he had to fight the urge to keep going. His obsessive data crunching and practice came to benefit him.
This was the start of a good run, even for a 4 mile. There were three main goals to each run: his first checkpoint, the 1.5-mile mark, and his sprint mark. The first was at the first corner turn and early into his run. Yet it determined how much progress he had made. If over 4 minutes, he was out of practice and would need to keep going, if less he was not only in stride with his conditioning, but it was a great predictor that he would cut his time by a few more seconds if lucky. The second was almost past midway after the first checkpoint and was use to determine his VO2max. He was aiming to at least 40 ml*kg/min as it was before, if not higher and a great assurance that he was in great cardiovascular health. The last was the last corner he would turn that left him with less then a 1/4 of a mile left to his run and was ran if there was anything left within him. Some days there wasn't and other days he pushed just a bit more. It was his way of making sure he gave everything for that moment. This was usually when he needed to evacuate his stomach.
The first checkpoint was at 3:35 and was instantly amazed. He hasn't hit that time since three years ago and 20 lbs lighter. He kicked in slowly to make sure he continued his progress, holding back just enough not to burn himself out. If he was simply going for the 1.5-mile point he would have burned it, but 3 miles and tonight's 4 demanded pacing. This run had a light that normally would stop him for 30 seconds to allow traffic access to City Hall and the shopping center and library, but at this time there were no cars and he could simply pass it by or at least lessen the 30 second time. Afterward, his 1.5-mile point would be in visual proximity after the 7-11 and rounding the curb. It was exactly in front of the door to a convalescent hospital across from a catholic hospital his grandmother stayed before her health took a turn for the worse. They kept her too long and only released her when the infection took place and have her return days later. he advised his family to investigate and to speak to a lawyer, yet his family was too distraught to take his words seriously.
He hated that hospital. He had his reasons and he hated that hospital. He notified friends and family to never take him there nor should they ever go. They left a bad taste in his mouth and every time he ran by if he only hoped the people there were being treated correctly rather than to let "god sort it out". His grandmother was healthy and even regaining her strength to walk once more when they took her in for an unneeded surgery that led to the end of it. They even begged for her children to "let her go" stating that she suffered enough, even though she would interupt the doctors and tell them to fuck off. Way to go, grandma, way to go.
Crossing the long light that shone green in the empty street it hit him. There was a small pop in his left thigh, almost as if someone threw a small pebble at him. Immediately every warning and alarm rose in his head as he knew he pulled a muscle. It was a ham muscle, not a hamstring exactly as he somewhat recovered from the awkward slowing and imbalance. He pushed on carefully to at least make the 1.5-mile point, but his thigh registered silently among the heightened amount of hormones and cortisol within him. He knew he could probably push beyond the pain and instead of a 4 mile he would do a 3 and it .....might be a good time. His thigh contested that assumption. His speed slowed by half as he took a few more steps to hit 1.5-milemile point and came to an abrupt halt. Stopping his watch and slowly trying to move his thigh in order to understand how bad it was and how much worse it to push that bit more. It wasn't great, but it ended his run. It would probably take him four days until Monday to run again. With that he found a suitable range to walk back and hoped that the endorphins would be enough to take him home.
It was a shuffle at best. More than a zombie, but less than a teenager crossing the street while eying you to try and run him over. Passing by the 7-11 he noticed the Sheriff's car parked and even wondered if he should chance at asking if he could get a ride. They're supposed to protect and serve, no? Yet, the week had been marred with two more deaths at police "fear" and assumption that he simply decided to continue to shuffle towards home. He didn't have money to make a call and there were no phones on the street to make said phone call from. Even then, everyone had their personal phones now and they didn't have a LAN line for 8 years now and he could not remember a number if his life depended on him, which this was pretty much as close to possible. So he shuffled towards home down MLK.
Well, it was a colder night. He was happy that he didn't soak his clothing for this run since walking slowly in this weather proved that his sweat was more than enough to drop his body temperature. If he was running this would be a great boon. Since he wasn't it started to chill him and knew he needed to hot shower soon. There were the moments he hated. There were the times when the imaginary Jackels would pounce from the trees and tear him apart. He was hurt and there was not much he could do, but shuffle. He always had this dread of being helpless. This feeling would only allow those who could not reach him before to set eyes on him now. It's why he originally would have kept running and been home earlier than this point while tearing enough damage to ensure he could not run for three weeks. He stopped only after much conditioning and experience that 4 days were better than a cane and 21 days to use it and still he wanted to take that chance despite of what he knew.
In his experience, when you were hurt you were tossed aside. The lame animal trying to keep up with the pack with elitests prancing ahead. Sometimes they would slow down and mimicked concern and even pull it off if it wasn't for their plastic smiles and annoyed tones wanting you to "go faster" instead of realizing that this individual was already pushing themselves injured. He always stayed in back, called himself the tail and spent time with those who struggled with what seemed easy to others. He gained their confidence and trust and even told the same plastic smiles to fuck off and let them be. IF they need to run ahead do so, but they will not run faster because they can not. Few understood. Most make feign hurt and run off with their ilk. Tonight, no one would run back for him. No one will notice he is hurt and shuffling in sweat soaked clothing towards a warm house. No one will stop and he was more then used to this.
This was his normal.
He pondered on the comments of some articles, despite what people say about never reading the comments. He read them from areas such as Toronto and places in Minnesota and even armpit Texas which claimed the dead men this week deserved their execution simply because they could not find that ability of submission. That they died as the thug they seemed and not as the parts of society that depended on them. Blanket justification on how people with more melanin simply did not have the intellect to understand that their actions caused their death and everyone who faces off with Blue deserves their outcome. Some would respond in manner short of insulting them as what they are: bigots who have never ventured into areas where they have never been dominant in numbers. Places where anyone of color dread being stranded simply because the people of the area are the threat. These people simply laugh at any logic that questioned their behavior and simply stated "IF THEY WERE THERE" to every answer.
IF THEY WERE THERE they would have shot them down immediately. IF THEY WERE THERE they would have taught these thugs a lessons and respect. IF THEY WERE THERE they would have put some fear of god into them and teach them how 9 mm will reduce animals to nothing. IF THEY WERE THERE they would uphold the law and the right given to them by the 2nd Amendment that they will always side with Blue. IF THEY WERE THERE they would have challenged their Black Lives Matter thugs with the fact that Blue kills more WHITE lives then black ones. IF THEY WERE THERE they would teach these animals not to contest the WHITE MANS LAW and that they better get used to it because ONCE TRUMP IS president.....
...and about there is where one can not read any more. At that point, it's just a hair too close before someone calls them a racist and them feign more insult being that they are 'Merican and they this or that and you can almost see the post bleed in confederacy and only need Pepe to show his green smile in nazi brown. ONCE TRUMP IS always comes up. As if it gives people free reign to bring back the lynchings as they were before or the concept that somehow they had lost rights or even want it to go back where the nigras didn't kneel but did their little soft shoe dances that Paula Dean so loved.
IF THEY WERE THERE weren't when the gang wars hit in the 80's. I was. IF THEY WERE THERE were not present to how congress condemned the people caught in the middle as almost savages instead of their own citizens whom needed help, who needed Blue the most. A decade had to have passed before people would not bother calling for Blue because they would not arrive or they would and the wrong people pulled aside. Blue increased their arms and aggressiveness as they stopped you, and questioned you not to ensure you were safe but to contest that they were the biggest gang about. Crips and Bloods and any other subsided only to have Blue as dominant. It's saddening that the "Stop the Killing" movement did not stop, but simply become "Black lives Matter" or any other group who realize that the majority of their youth were either killed or sent to prison rather than college or any other form of social advancement. Prison boomed. Military hardware boomed. Was it Blue or SWAT? It didn't matter since the streets became safer for Blue, yet worse for people. Maybe everything began soon after 2000 when the first camera phones hit the line. Perhaps it took photo resolution to improve for people to realize that Blue has a heavy hand. Rodney King didn't get assistance with VHS tape so perhaps Samsung or Apple are to blame?
IF THEY WERE THERE never lived these streets, but boy, do they like to visit the area in order to get to Disney or Universal Studios. IF THEY WERE THERE have an idea of Baywatch and The Fresh Prince if there is a need for a more acceptable nigra, but people trying to make a hustle in Compton or Watts are no a blip. THEY, always THEY instead of the residents of or our citizens or even people, THEY need a better work ethic! THEY need to do this or that and act like this or that, never realizing that this community has been abandoned when the first dark people moved from across the river to these nice neighbourhoods. There historic neighborhoods regressed into Crenshaw or McArther Park or The Jungle rather than their worth. It would take a new generation of people to move back in and make downtown livable again. To make these historic places worth going once you priced everyone out.
IF THEY WERE THERE people like their guns. They enjoy their insurance of safety and masculinity when people over here were shot many decided they didn't want them IF THEY WERE THERE people know that life is better with their gun because at any moment they realize something is not to their liking they can change everything with a trigger squeeze. You can stand your ground and state you had to. IF THEY WERE THERE would only take out their caliber freedom machine and pump rounds into the problem until the problem stopped moving. And if more comes they will continue to defend their idea of what freedom is.
All of this made him laugh as he shuffled the dead streets. He still had 6 blocks to go and it was already close to one in the morning. The irony of if he only continued to run he would have gotten home sooner weighted on him heavy. Yet he continued to shuffle without increasing the harm. He did feel defenseless, yet you could not talk him into holding a gun. He's been on the wrong end numerous times. Some by haughty fools believing it's instant power and others by terrified hands who simply want answers too scared to ask. Instead, he worked out, ran and looked menacing. It was more than enough back them. No one messed with you if you looked like you can deliver some damage. Yet, even when he was at his 128 lbs stature he walked some of the roughest streets through some of the hardest people and they moved or he moved. It didn't stop him and it didn't scare him. Outside of being at the wrong place at the wrong time during a drive by, he never feared the streets that were supposedly dangerous because they were his. He didn't feel the need to be badass because these were his friends. He was never one of the IF THEY WERE THERE people because he was here. Mind you, if he was stuck in the area of IF THEY WERE THERE people, he'd have something great to fear, but the streets were people too old to work who picked up cans for money and small children walk to school never put him in a negative light.
He knew they were bad elements to people. And sadly they either got their worst in a pool of their own selves or in a prison. When they returned it soon because rare for those down with a cause to return to the life. They had kids. They had bills and they needed any prospect not negated to them to find work to make things better. Sometimes you see the old OG's and it's sad when they relive glory days much like Viet Nam vets did. They need a therapist not Blue on them. We focus on punishment rather than redemption and it made us to who we are now. People having to live with the IF THEY WERE THERE people waiting for ONCE TRUMP IS.
Once he was close enough he was able to see the seafood restaurant was closed for the night. It was more than a year ago when two large men walked in demanding protection money and leaving with the owner's life. Blue came when it did and nothing was seen of it. Why would it? People came out and mourned when I never been. It's mentioned now considering he would have ended his run in front of their doors. Now the closed building offer no sign of life. Even with the death of the owner it continued and it flourished despite of some act of monstrous selfishness. That's life here. Caught between a horrible act and Blue. Tomorrow they will make ends meet and hope for less of days where lives are taken. As for Blue? Why not pay for security instead of having the worse to come at a time they think it best. I have friends that are Blue. I find it sad. I don't know if they find it sad or if they are allowed to. Either way, this is how life is. No gang wars. No narcos or bald ethnic men shooting machines of murder onto the streets. Boring enough to confuse IF THEY WERE THERE people.
Then again, darker shade of skin might just be all they need.
So sad. So sad.
It was 1:35 am when he finally arrived and walked over to the kitchen. He swallowed two painkillers and sat in a hot shower until he was feeling warm enough to get out and flexible enough to see how bad it was. He slapped some ointment on the area and went fast to sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day and he needed to heal in a world where people made certain assertions towards places they have no idea and people they can comfortably state is not them so therefore not good.
He survived the mean streets with no weapon, injured and in need of warmth and sleep.
A wall.......people want a wall.
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