I ran for 7 minutes today before calling it quits.
Little dust never stopped me numb.
You liked my shoes, I kept them on.
Sometimes I can hold my tongue, sometimes not when you skip too low my darling.
And you know what your doin' so dont even.
Your just so used to my honey...so used to my honey.
And I think I could live in your world - maybe if I was a better girl.
I wont try and bribe the undertaker when I die.
I'm not sure what your doing or the reason. I wish you werent so used to my honey now.
I've made a friend with the skies, so dont you bother coming down. You have always liked your girlies tight.
I have always liked to watch cowboys ride. And you know what your doing so, dont even...your just too used to my honey now.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
7.5 miles yesterday.
18 miles this am. 17 running, 1 mile walking in 2hrs 35minutes.
12 lap freezing swim.
I wonder if sometimes love floats out the window and goes back in gods hands - in heaven where it began. Its all part of a plan - somehow we never deserved it, didnt expect it, it didnt last, we didnt understand, its a thing of the past, we didnt understand just what we had.
I want it back - just what we had.
My legs are sore - feels good after this long!
18 miles this am. 17 running, 1 mile walking in 2hrs 35minutes.
12 lap freezing swim.
I wonder if sometimes love floats out the window and goes back in gods hands - in heaven where it began. Its all part of a plan - somehow we never deserved it, didnt expect it, it didnt last, we didnt understand, its a thing of the past, we didnt understand just what we had.
I want it back - just what we had.
My legs are sore - feels good after this long!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
A Craving
Good stories can be boiled down into two ingredients: friction and rhythm. Friction is necessary because, alas, only trouble is interesting. Rhythm is the order we impose on chaos, the formal clarity that allows us to know, if only for a few minutes, what we think and feel, and what we want from the world.
Long runs contain plenty of literal friction (thank you vaseline for addressing this delicate issue). But friction is also intangible. I happen to not mind it when someone calls me crazy after I explain that Im moving a little slow because I ran 23 miles before most people roused from their pillows. It gives me justification for the trials I put my body through, for how truly crazy would I be if I did not rise at the crack of dawn to clock my double digits?
The question of suffering comes up often when you discuss running with those who don't care for it. These people assume that discomfort is compounded by the mile. How to convince them that, in fact, the opposite is true, that there are gains not realized in shorter runs? Time, for one - unfettered time, free from all the technological intrusions that have altered the rhythm of our existence and increased, for many of us, friction. Time to work out your problems. Time to listen. Every run has its own sound track, but long runs are symphonic: The rustle of wind through bare autumn trees, the train a mile away through the swamp, the thrum of an interstate so insulated from the green tunnel of a tow-path that it could well be the sea. And there is the internal rhythm to consider, the way it leaves your body feeling exhausted but sublimely sated, as if the time you spent in rhythmic friction had answered a question you did not even know you had.
Sometimes, I'm lucky enough to settle into that state called a "runners high", though that name fails to capture its beauty. What happens to the body and mind when you go long is, like all of life's rewarding treasures, a mystery, and its value is commensurate with its mysteriousness. If I knew exactly why and how a 20-miler worked its magic, I might not treasure it as dearly.
Long runs contain plenty of literal friction (thank you vaseline for addressing this delicate issue). But friction is also intangible. I happen to not mind it when someone calls me crazy after I explain that Im moving a little slow because I ran 23 miles before most people roused from their pillows. It gives me justification for the trials I put my body through, for how truly crazy would I be if I did not rise at the crack of dawn to clock my double digits?
The question of suffering comes up often when you discuss running with those who don't care for it. These people assume that discomfort is compounded by the mile. How to convince them that, in fact, the opposite is true, that there are gains not realized in shorter runs? Time, for one - unfettered time, free from all the technological intrusions that have altered the rhythm of our existence and increased, for many of us, friction. Time to work out your problems. Time to listen. Every run has its own sound track, but long runs are symphonic: The rustle of wind through bare autumn trees, the train a mile away through the swamp, the thrum of an interstate so insulated from the green tunnel of a tow-path that it could well be the sea. And there is the internal rhythm to consider, the way it leaves your body feeling exhausted but sublimely sated, as if the time you spent in rhythmic friction had answered a question you did not even know you had.
Sometimes, I'm lucky enough to settle into that state called a "runners high", though that name fails to capture its beauty. What happens to the body and mind when you go long is, like all of life's rewarding treasures, a mystery, and its value is commensurate with its mysteriousness. If I knew exactly why and how a 20-miler worked its magic, I might not treasure it as dearly.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
My ray of hope
This workout is an ode to Father Lucifer. In my mind's eye, he has never looked so sane. Like rhythm in rain, my footsteps found their rhythm and I had one of the best hour long sweats of my life. This is what running should be about, life should be about and love should be about.
300 stair sprints this afternoon!
300 stair sprints this afternoon!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)