blizzard

A broken man takes his two kids out after dinner into the snow. It is a storm, a blizzard. They bundle up from head to toe and head out onto the sidewalk. There are church bells sounding a seasonal hymm, and wind. Distant voices. it is dark. Quiet. But ultimately brooklyn, the brownstones with living room lights glowing and black ornate caps shining above the street lights.

I force the boys into the sled and we start off. Just to get the kids some fresh air. To get me some fresh air. The housing-and-city-and-job--as-life woes have turned me soft, have got me thinking about wine at improper times of the day.

Outside I trudge (they glide) as I pull them slowly over the thin layer of snow and ice. It is the best winter can get in the city. Nowhere to schlep. No noise. No pressure. Its beautiful out. They call for me to go faster. And I start to run. At first it is typical exhausted parental duty. I am forcing myself to do something for my kids so they can win. Their shouts of glee echo as we pass amused folks on the sidewalk. Then I feel something inside of me start to break - like the fucking grinch's heart or something - and I keep running. In fact, I sprint. We're on 8th ave and I am running for my life. Zach and Theo are freaking out with happiness, shrieking. I am hauling ass. My body is taking it. I run until I physically cannot. I walk to catch my breath and they want me to go fast again. They start yelling 'go dada go! Go dada go!'. And I tell them to keep saying it. And I go.

I'm now less sprinting than lumbering. A man in a huge jacket rumbling, heaving down carroll street. A crazed man running at breakneck speed. I stop again to rest and I can barely breathe. They chant again, 'go dada go! Go dada go!' I swallow hard, and I tell them to keep saying it as we sled. To say it over and over. Can you do that for me guys? Can you? They agree. I go again.

Uphill, Sterling from 6th to 7th. I am a sled dog. The boys are chanting. My breathing is more weezing now, and -whack- I pull a calf muscle. It seizes up on me like a fist. Like a hammer to the back of the leg. But instead of stopping, it drives me further, faster. I'm speed limping over the snow as the kids are laughing, shrieking 'go dada go!'. I am breaking through something. Something invisible. Something important. We get all the way back up to 8th for the final stretch back down st johns. I am sweating and I cannot focus. My leg is wounded. I look up into the sky and give a 'whoop!'. Then again, louder. Then I yell like fucking captain kirk up into the endless black sky. A howl. A ginsburgian howl. And then I head, in great pain, down my sidewalk, flinging the sled behind me. Over the bumps and ice. I can barely breathe. I am in pain. I am sprinting like I am being chased.

We get to the stoop. My two boys ramble up the stoop and go inside and yell to mama how much fun they had. We strip off their boots and coats and snowpants and she gets the hot chocolate ready. I limp toward her, just shy of wild eyed and I take her in my arms, gather my breath, and say, as serious as I've ever been,

'I didn't come here to lose.'

And she hugs me and barely missing a beat she says, 'I know you didn't.'. And then I kiss her, and say to her, to myself, and to whomever, to god,

'I came here to win. I came here to fucking win.'