2014 began when Gizmo injured his leg so badly he needed a painful (and expensive) operation. I was so crushed over his heart disease that I tried to spend more quality time with him. Part of that quality was spent at a pet food store which had a cat who played with Gizmo. Gizmo usually didn't play back. We'd drop by while running Mom around and get the cat wound up. So in the middle of play, when Gizmo was very excited, I accidentally dropped him. He yelped in pain, and started hopping on three legs. I rushed him to the doctor where they diagnosed a ruptured ligament on his back left leg. I could've left him like that for the rest of his life or paid a lot of money for a 90% fix. I chose the latter. The operation was very painful for him, and the worst was when I took him to Mom's that night after the operation. Sitting in a room full of delicious food, all he did was remain in his cage and stare. I coaxed him out on his stitched, shaved leg, and when I tried to urge him back into the cage, he could not clear the two inch step up into his kingdom. He struggled and struggled and could not push himself up high enough. It took him six weeks to be out of danger and almost good as new. That was good enough for me, so long as he was happy. I was tired of carrying him on his daily walks, and I knew he was too. But when I did, he'd give me an occasional lick on the nose to thank me. I loved that part.

        In February I lost my favorite living uncle, Horace “Copper” Rainey. He was the one who would always wait on his porch and wave to me when I raced the Southern Indiana Classic Marathon, even though he was barely able to walk. The marathon was canceled in 2014—how interesting. Besides my uncle, I also lost a coworker, Madeline, after a long fight with cancer, dealt with the ups and downs of Diane's terminal illness (but as I write this she is still kicking and screaming and I'm hopeful), and my friend Cindy's cat, Rosey, who was also Gizmo's friend, passed away. My cousin Rita had a serious stroke, and my friend Cathy lost her father. It was as if God was showing me the future wasn't guaranteed for any of us, but it did end with some new life.

        I try to think the best of people in my life, but in the case of my lost fiance' Amy and Westwood Church, I realize I should've made an exception. What really stands out in this whole journey with those people is when I allowed myself to think horrible things about those people, then put the love of Jesus on and reached out in a spirit of forgiveness and reconciliation, they turned their backs on me time and again. My horrible thoughts turned out to be the accurate ones. I thought too well of them. That's where I made the mistake. But I finally got closure on March 28 with an uncomfortable meeting with Amy and her mother--yes, she actually brought her mother! This closed a horrible nine year chapter with Amy, Mary Lou, Steven, Jerry and Westwood Church who, in the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald are "careless people" because they are insensitive and thoughtless. Sometimes I think the world's problems aren't created by evil people, just people who don't know what love is. Now I just wish they'd all get into the Partridge Family bus and drive 3000 miles west. They were my family and I loved them, but they spit in my face. God commands me to love--I turn them over to Him.

        On June 14, I forced a 5K race, picking this particular one because they guaranteed fitness shirts for late entries. I needed fitness shirts. My friend, Diane, had been asking me when I was going to race again. I'd spent a few days with her in May, seeing what it was like to be in the company of a lady who wasn't an aunt or my mother, someone I could talk to, someone who got me and I hoped, I got. She was a former competitive swimmer, full of fire, and very ill. After a few questions about racing, I decided good or bad, I needed to race for me, and her.

        It started with a kamikaze first mile which turned out to be my fastest split in 16 years (slightly downhill). With no ideas, no tactics, the funnest thing was to run like I had a pit bull on my heels and go out with a bang rather than starting slow and fading. I led for a few hundred feet and pulled out a 4th place. I gave my medal to Diane. She earned it.

        I raced four more 5K races, two 10K's, two half marathons, an 8K, a 5 miler, and a 15K, each one just a little faster than last year. Feeling I was capable of it, I tried for a repeat win at the Fido Run in September, but due to an absent race volunteer at the first intersection, me and the second place runner Jerrod went 1 1/2 miles off course and ended up finishing in almost over 12 minutes behind the winner. I tried to retaliate by pouring a bottle of water over the organizer, Karen, but she deflected it. I still won my age group! Karen made me take the medal. Medals and trophies have become somewhat of a joke to me. I have a pile of them in a back closet, looking like some web-supported inspiration for Mad Max's Thunderdome. I like to disassemble them and make mutant trophies. I won a trophy this last summer that was one solid piece of steel, something that might come in handy for a superhero to take out his or her arch enemy.

        I poured myself into some minor redecorating of my house in July and August, which I made up as I went along. I stooped to the level of selling plasma to make a few extra bucks, and found the people there were very friendly. It turned out to be an enjoyable experience. Had I started giving out addresses, Facebook page names and email addresses, I'd have a room full of people with holes in their arms and smiles on their faces, singing songs of the motherland with me! I know many will look down on someone who donates plasma for money, but one thing I've learned in life is that I need to stoop now and then or I'll be knocked down. And how else am I going to appreciate when the Lord lifts me up? Besides that, screw you.