The Misadventures of Mile High Greg

There comes a point where you know something is wrong and you need to seek help.  I figured my tipping point was sleeping a total of three hours in the span of four days. One of the things that makes therapy useful is a relationship.  There needs to be trust and understanding. Knowing that this was essential, I tried to look up my former therapist from Las Vegas, only to find that she has left practice.  I decided to do a telehealth session with a random therapist from the interwebs.  My insurance covers several free sessions, so I figured I didn't have much to lose. I had a virtual appointment this morning with Dr. WTF (name changed, of course). Our session began with me outlining what brought me to our appointment.  The lack of sleep. The feelings of isolation. The lack of optimism. The feeling that I'm always one minor mishap away from losing all control emotionally. Dr. WTF nodded as I described my current state.   She fidgete...

If we line up all the shitty events in my life in the order of their shitty magnitude, I would say the 2015 Breakup Incident is a distant second behind the 2020 Coronavirus Fuckery. The difference was that the 2015 Breakup Incident was essentially the "We need to talk" moment combined with me trying to reassemble myself, knowing that the worst had already happened.  The 2020 Coronavirus Fuckery is like every governor, mayor, and world leader saying "We need to talk" about twenty times a day for days and days and days and days on end followed by me trying to reassemble myself with a growing anxiety over the fact that the worst thing that could happen is still largely unknown. The thing that helped me find a place of recovery after the 2015 Breakup Incident was that I was able to find clear meaning in what had happened.  I knew after many years of false starts and doubt that I needed to finally act on my desire to leave Las Vegas.  Productivity became a coping ...

I've wanted to write something to express my feelings about the current situation.  I've started to plan out what I've wanted to say numerous times only to stop myself.  Why would anyone listen to me?  As a collective, I think we have reached a point of saturation when it comes to information and feelings.  I am starting to wonder if there is a contest for being the most coronavirus-pious and if I am somehow losing because I haven't changed my Facebook profile picture to a slogan about staying home or that I haven't shared a tutorial about how to fashion a mask from a discarded Doritos bag and a pair of broken earbuds.  (Mind you, these are both serious things, but they are at the end of my patience scheme.) I care.  I want this to end.  I'm also ungodly worn out over a situation that feels like it has no end.  I've always thought that inspirational quotes were pure bullshit, not because I believe in constant negativity, but I was always ...

It’s September 2. It’s the fourth anniversary of the “We Need to Talk” conversation with the ex-boyfriend. The fact I remember this means I probably should be berated about moving on. (This is sarcasm.)  It’s not like I put a recurring event on Google Calendar that says “Remember Shitty Ex” on this date from here to eternity.  It’s more like small details bring back the memories. It used to be a barrage of anger, now it’s more remembering the rawness of the emotions I felt.  I’ve learned through my professional work to help children that triggers that lay just under the surface are part of the nature of trauma. I’ve now recognized that my trauma is valid, despite being continually told to “move on” in ways that were both well-meaning and ways that  showed a complete lack of empathy. “Move on” became a loaded phrase to me, but I could never quite explain why. About six weeks after the break-up, my boss at the time called me to essentially chastise me for being...

The concern troll has arrived!  I recently snapped a funny picture of a brewery sign while out for a run and put it in my Instagram story.  Someone replied, "Stop joking about beer.  It causes all your body problems.  You might be amazed at what would happen if you put in just a little more effort to be healthier." I think every person with body and weight struggles has met the concern troll at least once.  “I’m worried about you. You know, if you just (exercised more/tried a little harder/ate less), your problems would all be solved.” The reality is that the intentions behind these types of comments are tone deaf at best and really cruel at worst.  This is my list of advice to the concern trolls: WHAT I EAT AND DO ISN’T YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS: It’s almost as if any fat person has to demonstrate that they are surviving on a diet of air, celery, and water to prove that they are worthy of not being judged.  Go out for a friend’s birthday or occasio...

Intention is important to the message. However, when the intention isn’t clear, the receiver of the message is going to fill in the details. Honestly, I’m not sure if I would be offended if a diet bar came with my order of XXL t-shirts. I’m often hungry after work when I get my mail, so I might be excited for a free snack. At the same time, being a larger gay man, there is a long history of trauma associated with my body and my weight. I feel as if it’s important to mention the gay male part here, as it plays a role in these past traumas, and research in body issues and eating disorders highly suggests I’m not alone. I’ve had some really horrible things said and done to me that were directly in response to my weight. It fueled my healthy desire to be a runner. It also fueled an unhealthy relationship with food and disordered eating that has taken me seeking professional help to improve. I still receive comments about my weight that are direct and nasty. Back in January, a...

This is an official and largely comprehensive list of things that cause me anxiety: 1. I somehow leave the shower or sink on and leave the house for an extended period of time, coming home to a flood, 2. One or both of my headlights are going to go out when I’m driving and the police will somehow find all the cocaine I have been transporting in my car, despite the fact I’ve never used or sold cocaine and I’m unsure of how I would obtain it even if I wanted it. 3. I am going to get bit by a rattlesnake while trail running or hiking. 4. Kaiser Permanente will refuse to cover the medical expenses from said bite and I will end up living in a dumpster. 5. If I ever become famous enough to publish these blog entries as a book, Kaiser Permanente will sue me over number 4. 6. That the cute, but likely straight guy I am checking out at the bar will catch me in the act. 7. That the cute, but likely straight guy I am checking out at the bar will catch me and turn out t...

Mindy Kaling is my spirit animal.  I made that decision this evening while reading her book.   I’ve sorta wanted to read her book since about noon today when I found it sitting forlornly in the 800s Dewey Decimal section of a Denver branch library.  I’ve learned this is where the humor books are kept and I always hope to luck out and find a David Sedaris title I’ve yet to read. I did find one, but I decided to save it for later.  I guess Mindy wins by default. I hope she never reads this in the fantasy version of my life where she and I become friends because I’ve watched 3.5 episodes of “The Mindy Project.” I was desperate for physical books and I’ve been unable to find most of what I intended on reading this summer outside of an e-book. I made an attempt to get all cozy with my iPad, but reading e-books still brings back traumatic memories of my online master’s program.  I feel like I’m suddenly going to need to cite and annotate any text that I read ...

Several months ago, I received a wedding invitation for two old friends of mine who met at one of my running clubs. This isn't the first time I've experienced a run-through (or run-off) wedding. I've been to lots of run clubs.  By conjecture, I should be married.  I'm not.  I believe this is horribly unfair.  I am aware I am being slightly dramatic in this sentiment.  However, my essay, my rules.    This brings up the huge (and often frustrating) difference in gay dating versus straight dating. Straight people get lots of spaces where they can meet other straight people with similar interests. This isn't to say that all straight people magically walk into a social setting or Trader Joe's or that dive bar that serves shitty PBR down the block and emerge in holy matrimony.  Plenty of straight people have had to suffer through Plenty of Shit and OkStupid.  However, the law of numbers are social structures are greatly in favor of all y'a...

As an avid long distance runner, I have had my share of misadventures with feces in my day.  I still feel a certain sense of guilt over what I did to the bathroom at the Summerlin Kohl's while training for the Grandma's Marathon in 2013.  (I will spare the graphic details, but you can only imagine.) I've also had my share of conversations revolving around misadventures with feces with my fellow runners.  For some reason, near-misses of the poopy potty variety are just a way us runners can bond.  Because of this, I have a high tolerance for stories of poop, where other bodily fluid details, especially blood, cause me to cower in the fetal position in a corner.  However, even with this level of tolerance, I have my limits. A few weeks ago, I volunteered to work an aid station at a marathon training run.  We were stationed near a county trailhead along the Platte River Trail, strategically next to a porta-potty.  However, the county had been behind on...

Denver is under a Blizzard Warning for the umpteenth time this winter.  I'm fairly indifferent to winter as it exists in Denver, as even at its worst, a Denver winter is nothing like the uphill-both-ways-Amy-Poehler-vortexes I remember from my youth in Minnesota.  Plus, a good snowstorm gets me out of work (with pay!).  This is a very significant positive. The downside is that every time it snows, I am convinced that I must purchase a new car.  I envision my little glorified golf cart sliding through intersections and perhaps off a cliff, leading to my premature death.  This is a problem because I am far too pretty to die.  It's also a big problem because I would be really quite lost if I encountered a cliff between my apartment and my workplace.  (As far as I know, cliffs of death are not a thing in the City of Denver.  I think it is because Mayor Hancock can't make parking ticket revenue off them.) Once the snow clears, I am reminded that ...

I recently pulled the trigger on booking a solo trip to Europe.  I've long been comfortable with doing things on my own.  Whether it's attending a concert, going to the movies, grabbing dinner, or travelling within the United States, I'll pretty much do it on my own without a second thought.  I've twice moved across the country to places where I knew next to no one and being comfortable on my own was a way to ensure life didn't completely pass me by when my social circle was limited to non-existent.  Even as I've reached a point where I feel my social network is the most complete that it has ever been in my adult life, solo adventures are still a regular occurrence.  However, there was one adventure that I was saving.  I have never been to Europe.  I figured my European adventure would be my honeymoon, right before my future husband and I buy a mid-century modern home and adopt a dog. All these fantasies and daydreams come to a screeching halt wh...

I decided to visit Denver's newest brewery today.  I won't mention it by name, but a quick search of "Westword" would reveal my location. My brewery visits are usually solo affairs where I end up communing with my laptop and occasionally creating things of great importance. This place was crowded, which is to be expected given its new status, and there were children everywhere. The sight of youngsters in a brewery has always been something that bothers me. Breweries are places I go to get away from children and I become upset when my inner zen is ruined. I do like children, which is important given my career choice as an educator. However, I struggle in environments where there is no structure and children are allowed to run wild. (I considered this thought while a child screamed "Paw Patrol!" while running around my table for the fourth or fifth time.) This is made worse by the lack of authority I have in these environments. I can’t tell the children...

As an avid runner, a klutzy eater, and someone who has dealt with hyperhidrosis as a medication side effect for years, laundry occupies a particularly troublesome place in my life.  It's rare that I can re-wear anything, even if I've only had it on for a couple hours and moving into an apartment without in-unit laundry facilities has made my all-consuming relationship with dirty clothes all the more challenging. Couple this with the fact that I own an excessive amount of clothes, even after the application of the ways of Marie Kondo (apparently everything brings me joy), and the fact I've gone through an horrendous few months a work, where I've been left with little free time, and dirty laundry was beginning to occupy every corner of my tiny studio apartment.  Really, when leisure time is at a premium, would you rather do laundry or go to run club?  Run club usually come with beer (and occasionally bar trivia), so it obviously wins out.  Plus, laundry was not going...