Matthew Gallaway

On the Speed Limit

Sadly, the passage of time had once again dictated that the anniversary of my birth had arrived. Turning ___ years old was a bit of a shock for the reasons everyone talks about. Aches, pains, memories and photographs of similarly aged people who once seemed SO OLD, and so on. But instead of worrying about the trajectory, I tried to focus on smaller pleasures, such as the forsythias at the park.     

Every year, the forsythias mark the unofficial start of spring, when snow and cold are mostly relegated to the near past and distant future, and I start to think about pulling my running shorts out of the closet, where they have been folded up since that freakishly warm week in January. And every year, I go this overlook and take the same picture while I dream of parking lanes being replaced with bike lanes protected by stone walls and raised garden beds. And then I put my camera and dreams away and think about other things. 

This magnolia will be covered in white blossoms in a week or so, and it will be breathtaking, but I also like it now, when I can see the architecture of the gnarled branches. 

'It's been a cool spring, which I hope brings a cool summer.*' -- the white magnolia 

*unlikely

Most years, I'm ambivalent about daffodils. They just seem a little too bright and friendly for the world at this juncture. 

But this year, maybe because the weather has been so cool, or maybe because I'm older, they seemed a little more dignified than I remember. Maybe they're growing older too. 

As always, I was entranced by the heather. It's interesting to me how some things never get boring, and finding these things is maybe part of accepting the indignities of age. There has to be some space for wonder. 

The heather garden is always perfect. 

Notes on Frank and Bill

This week was cold, but flowers are starting to bloom. 

I think a lot about how plants spend all their time outside, living and growing out of the ground, and I feel like we don't give them enough credit. 

Stephen refuses to watch 'The Last of Us' because I made him watch 'The Walking Dead' for way too long after it got bad, but I've been slowly getting up to speed. I wanted to see the gay episode that everyone (on Twitter) was talking about. [Spoilers ahead.] If you haven't seen it, Nick Offerman plays a survivalist who in the wake of the zombie apocalypse happens to have a house full of ammunition that allows him to create a fortress; one day, Murray Bartlett wanders onto the property and falls into a hole. Nick takes pity on him and feeds him, and Murray, after figuring out that Nick is secretly gay, moves in. The two men fall in love and spend the next twenty years fighting zombies and bandits, gardening, and painting. They both love Linda Ronstadt <3. Eventually Murray gets sick and the two men, after spending a final day together, kill themselves with painkillers and wine in a double suicide. 

The episode was far from perfect. It relied heavily on stereotypes about masculine and feminine roles that are instantly tiresome, the wigs and makeup were horrible (but no worse than the usual fare), and of course there's the problem of introducing gay characters just in time to kill them off. Did they marry each other on the day they died? I can't remember. It doesn't matter. Overall, I liked the episode and found its depiction of gay life compelling in an important way that is so rarely done with gay characters, namely these men were able to create a very satisfying life with each other (and some arts and crafts) with almost no desire to assimilate into the society from which they had fled. (Murray Bartlett *does* make some connections over the radio with another community and they have lunch with a few people, but that's about it.) 

Admittedly, the society they refute is terrifying and broken and infested with zombies and criminals -- not to mention completely unwelcoming -- but is that so different than reality? You tell me. Metaphorically, it worked. I could relate to them, is what I'm saying, which almost never happens when I watch television, except in very attenuated ways that I'm sure are familiar to most gay people, given that we learn from a very young age to never see more than a tiny slice of ourselves in popular books and movies. 

Anyway, I would like to see more gay characters who do more refuting and less assimilating, but this was a good start. Refuting is our greatest strength, and it's rare for the mainstream industrial complex to acknowledge it. 

It's hard to believe that another spring is here, but I welcome it.

Racing Central Park (Recaps)

I made it to Central Park not long after the sunrise. The race wasn’t slated to begin until 8:30 but I needed to pick up my bib by 7:30.

I knew I was in the right spot when I saw the train of portable toilets. #dread

After I got my bib, I had to wait for an hour. It was cold and windy, but at least it wasn’t snowing. I tried to savor the slow movement of time.

The leaves of this tree rattled in the wind like a tambourine, which is why it is commonly called a ‘tambourine tree.’ 

Other runners were also milling around. Not too many people were talking, because we’re all used to living in our heads. 

I took a ‘before’ picture and then removed my outer four layers and hat and put everything (including my phone!) into the bag check.

The race started on time and we all set out, probably a little too fast as always. But it felt good to be running instead of standing around in the cold. Here’s a picture of me trying to reel in a much younger runner who earlier in the race had irritated me by holding a conversation with her friend as if they were having tea (they both had British accents) while I was using every bit of breath just trying (and failing) to hang on. When I saw her again around Mile 8 or so, I thought ‘well well well, if it isn’t Miss Chatterbox’ and took some satisfaction in passing her. But when I finished, I saw her lounging around with a hot chocolate and bagel, so she must have re-passed me without my noticing it. This is what competition looks like at my age!

This shot is about fifty yards from the finish. I wish I could say that I blew past this guy, but as soon as he saw me on his shoulder, he just skipped ahead and left me in the dust. I need to work on my finishing kick. (Among other things.)

Overall, my time wasn’t too bad, considering that I’m officially old I’ve just started racing again, and it was a cold and very hilly course.

Here’s me, happy that the race is over and oblivious to the poppy seed in the middle of my teeth that I picked up with a bagel and hot chocolate at the finish line.