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rain does not make a lot of sense.

it rarely comes when we need it. and, it’s almost always certain to appear when most inconvenient.

that makes rain rather like surprises.

and, change.

I hate rain. and, naturally, I love rain.

rain is bad. rain is good.

I prefer to run in the rain; a down pour, please.

that might be where pain meets ecstasy.

perhaps rain, like most things, is what we make of it.

so, I’m listening to U2 and Running to Stand Still.

me? I’m running to the light.

peace be to my brothers and sisters.

brian patrick cork

we were back from the Atlanta Falcons game seeing them take it down to the wire to beat the San Francisco Forty-Niners with another field goal win.

I took off for a run at North Park. the turf field has become something of a refuge through the agony that represents Joanne, and I put in a solid five miles in good form despite the pizza I choked down at the Georgia Dome only a few hours behind me.

while I was spinning around the field a growing group of multi-nation footballers (soccer) were gathering. and, as I cooled down they had finished with their easy-going warmups and started putting it one to another. the footwork was at once easy and dazzling. the joy from their hearts shown through their smiling and sweat-drenched faces. some were fit, others almost portly. but, they were all agile and quick – evidence of a life-long passion for “the beautiful game”.

that’s it. the sun was streaking through the trees and mottling the field with pieces of light that made the cooling air seem almost magical. actually it was. just a nice moment where the world seemed to spin smoothly upon it’s axis.

I’m thankful for that, today.

peace be to my Brothers and Sisters.

brian patrick cork

I’m standing here (literally), and I’m claiming a verified miracle.

For twelve months I’ve been in constant agony with the achilles tendon on both sides. The globe has promised to spin off it’s very axis with the alarm and concern this has generated. In fact, you can read about that here: Brian Cork Injures Achilles Tendon Extreme sporting World Draws Collective Breath.

Running has been next to impossible, except occasionally – and, despite the economy, the makers of Baer Back and Body tablets (super-charged aspirin) have realized a banner year with all of it I’ve literally choked down. Every time I sat still for awhile, or slept, they (the achilles tendons) would go stiff, and I carried myself like an old man, hobbling about, with arthritis in his feet.

Then I started running on the turf field at North Park here in Milton (formerly Alpharetta). I could tolerate that and began to carefully increase my mileage again. The scenery is tenuous. But, I allowed myself to be lost in thought (and, to be certain, many of the worlds issues are potentially resolved) as I hurled myself around the pitch for ever longer periods of time. Late last week I looked up from a cooling-down walk when I heard applause. Joanne had come over to watch me on her way to Publix.

That was cool.

Maybe it was a sign.

I started realizing about that time the pain was easing. Then after a run Wednesday, that included my best effort to date, I realized that I was feeling pretty fit, and there was almost no soreness. Today I came out of the shower with nary a hint of discomfort. To celebrate in my own special way, I knocked-out a quick one-hundred push-ups.

Just like that… Healed.

I knew you, collectively, would rejoice with this august news.

Peace be to my Brothers and Sisters.

Brian Patrick Cork

Many of us run, and daily, to or from, something.

Some of you, from everything.

Others just run.

I’m reasonably fit. And, it’s likely I can outrun, and outfit, just about anyone reading this post.

However, I’ll grudgingly admit that even jumping from airplanes into the Jungles of Brazil, just to see if we can fight our way out is mundane compared to this:

I suppose I should add a warning not to try that without the proper training. On the other hand, it’s trying that makes most points. It’s not little league baseball. It’s okay to win. And, you do that by taking calculated risks.

When I was about ten, Curtis Burton the Third and I lifted his Mom’s new silk sheets and formed a parachute (of sorts). It worked good enough. When I came to, it was under the strain of my own Mothers words to the effect: “If you are okay, baby, I’m going to kill you!”

I always think you have to try. So, does this mean we can run from failure? And, do I fear the result of not giving my best?

Recently, one of my Shockers (soccer) squads had a Mom trying to convince them not to play n a pre-season tournament because they might lose, and confidence would be at risk. I was horrified. …possibly offended. Naturally, from my world view, anyway, we marched upon our opponents with vigor. The girls fought their way into the finals. And, so there you have it.

I always try, maybe that’s the point, here.

Peace be to my Brothers and Sisters.

Brian Patrick Cork

So… I’ve been  advised that one can walk away from a family sur name for less than $19.95. You don’t even need a lawyer. Seriously… You can apparently, and easily, access such diabolical documents over the internet.

Some times, more often than not, I might submit that the internet is a portal to the pits of hell. More on that later – else I run the, not unusual, risk of digressing and distracting from another point.

I suppose the story is more complicated. And there are too many ironies behind this post for even me to explore, today.

But there you have it, reader, one of those twists life cruelly offers us. Some expected and girded for. Others with no hopes for such largesse.

I don’t believe that I’ve realized agony like this since I watched Mom fade to black, while in the grips of cancer; dragged into the abyss, unaware that I was holding her hand; and, likely uncaring.

I’ll run far later today. Just to be numb. And, pray for the pain. At least I can make that stop with some element of my will. Another Kobayashi Maru?

I’ll likely refer to Dante’s Inferno, seeking some insight. The Bible rarely works for me.

Meanwhile, I’m listening to Ralph Kirshbaum’s Suite No. 1 in G Major, BMV1007, V. Menuet 1 and 2. And, Sia’s Sunday (mostly because it’s so damn self-indulgent).

On a positive note, I’m taking Haley Anne (thirteen) to the Black Eyed Peas concert at Phillips Arena tonight. It’s lost on her, for the moment, but I think it’s cool that we like a lot of the same music.

So, I’ll also be listening to selections of their work through the day as well.

Peace be to my Brothers and Sisters.

Brian Patrick Cork

I’ve been running most of my life.

There have been District, State and National championships.

Along the way, and as most runners can relate, there have been those sublime moments in the “zone”.

Typically they occur during training. Some times by luck, during a race. Ideally when something significant is at stake. This is why we sometimes train to peak.

I’m forty nine years old. I admit that I plan to run until I am one hundred years old. It’s a goal, to be sure. And, there is a lot that goes along with that in terms of other, and peripheral, goals.

As many close friends are aware, I’ve been fighting two fairly serious injuries, and another challenge. I grudgingly admit all of that has sapped my strength and focus considerably.

However, today I was feeling pretty good. And, my body has begun to knit itself back together – and, I recognize myself. That’s hard to explain. But, many of my training partners, through all manner of adventures, that span almost thirty years, understand. Yes… They certainly do.

So… With a warm sun in my face, and the promise of an easy sweat, I decided to try six miles at three quarter speed. However, it took me less than half a mile to realize that today was going to be one of the really good days. I found that zone; literally caught the rail – just like a glassy fronted wave under a short board. I flew; my feet synced with my heart and a rhythmic staccato tapping on the gravel, as if winged. I considered that Superman, who is my brother in more ways than one, although a son of Krypton, draws his strength from the sun, but it was all mine this day as I sighted, and ran down, no less than five runners on Brittle Road.

Another great memory in front of countless miles, and the expectation of many and many more to come.

Peace be to my Brothers and Sisters.

Brian Patrick Cork

Readers of this Blog know many of the stories.

I attended three High Schools over four years. I ran Cross Country and Track (and certainly engaged other sports, but they matter less – and, certainly follow no relevance to this post) each year striving, straining for the perfect season. The perfect season defined as no losses and sequentially faster times.

My most certain and potent rivals were my mind and my fear.

At one of those schools, each morning, with dread in our hearts, we would ask a certain coach what the training plan was for that day. Too often his mirthless reply would be:

“We run quarters until Cork pukes, or until it’s too dark.”

Knowing, as did the rest, I would never show such weakness.

They would say amongst themselves:

“Cork won’t lose.”

And, so we were doomed. And, would spend the rest of the day dreading that grueling work-out, while cherishing the strength it gave our legs, our hearts, our team.

I ran countless miles in those years (and, run countless more since). Hundreds and hundreds of miles – each one, all, a triumph of will over pain.

But, between many classes, too many to count, I would sneak into the lavatory, just as the bell rung for class to vomit away the fear I felt just waiting for those quarter mile trials of terror and agony.

That same coach would also say to me before races:

“Don’t look back. Not ever over your shoulder. That’s weakness. Instead, keep them in your sights Cork. Lap those bastards. Run them down.”

Harsh and cruel words, certainly.

But often those training days were the rare times when my father would show up at practice and sit in the stands watching me intently, the suns glint alternating off of his Ray Ban aviator glasses and the pair of eagles with lightning bolts clenched in their fearsome claws, emblazoned across the epelets of his uniform. I could see a mixture of sadness, concern and pride etched in his deeply tanned face.

And, I would run harder.

And, when we were home in the more gentle and loving presence of Mom, he would say, simply, quietly, to me:

“It’s the preparation that matters most.”

So, I learned a lesson during each quarter that turned itself into a golden mile to face my fear, set it aside and stride boldly into the pain.

I face my fear. I remember the face of my fathers (I think of them BOTH when my body wants to override my mind). I give it my everything. And, I believe I can’t lose if I choke back that rising bile of fear and doubt and, only, give it my best.

By the way… I still love to run. I am still seeking that perfect season. And, if I see you in the distance, I will run your ass down.

I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For by U2, and Lose Yourself by eminem.

“Do not miss your chance to blow it” – eminem

Peace be to my Brothers and Sisters.

Brian Patrick Cork


blow, puke, vomit, hurl

what’s all this about?

I can’t explain what that damn tree means - or, if it might stand for something.

However, here I do discuss events, people and things in our world - and, my (hardly simplistic, albeit inarticulate) views around them.

So, while I harangue the public in my not so gentle way, you will discover that I am fascinated by all things arcane, curious about those whom appear religious, love music, dabble in politics, loathe the media, value education, still think I am an athlete, and might offer a recipe.

All the while, striving mightily, and daily, to remain a prudent and optimistic gentleman.

brian cork by John Campbell

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"Perhaps victory can be realized best when the heart changes."

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about this particular Theme:

I'll warn you now that Tarski is theme of this blog created by Benedict Eastaugh and Chris Sternal-Johnson. It is named for the logician Alfred Tarski. I'll recommend his papers ‘The Concept of Truth in Formalized Languages’ and ‘On the Concept of Logical Consequence’, both of which can be found in the collection Logic, Semantics, Metamathematics.