Monday, April 17, 2006
Boston!
Cold!
Must've been nice.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Lalalalala
During any given run, I'm apt to be feeling:
a) good and strong--not only physically, but in the head as well. On these blessed, all-too-rare occasions, the whole *me* is engaged. The mechanics of my body are smooth and methodical, and I'm fully able to appreciate the mental effects of this fluid movement. My thoughts take on the energy of my limbs, and ideas that otherwise would have little chance of getting off the ground suddenly seem that much more workable;
b) okay--not great, but I'd managed to make it out the door, and I'm comfortable enough, chugging along and checking my watch every few minutes (too often). My breathing's fine, my legs aren't heavy, and I'm not wondering why the hell I'm doing this to myself. I am, however, kind of bored, disengaged mentally; or
c) cru-u-ummy. Were it not for the vision of paved trail beneath my feet, I'd swear I was slogging through, you know, quicksand. Any second now, I might trip and cry, so heavy and uninspired are my feet & legs. Here's where 'why the hell am I doing this to myself?' enters the scene, a question that, needless to say, I won't be answering any time soon.
I'd estimate that out of ten runs, three qualify as some degree of (a), two as (c), and five (b). Numbers I can live w/. Of course, the goal is to score as many (a)s as possible, and while the tone for most runs is set early on, I've found that w/ some strategic mediation--w/ music--it's possible to reset that tone, or what I predict will be that tone. But, while the trusty iPod might enable a (b) to become an (a), no amount of mediating will grow a (b) from a (c). Crummy runs are crummy runs, through and through.
Still, I'm confronted w/ a bit of a dilemma: uh, music. The very source that dangles help. See, somewhere along the way I got it into my head that to run in the company of tunes is to treat running less seriously than it deserves to be treated, to engage in a less pure form of the sport. It may have been something I read or something I heard, perhaps it even came from Pops himself. Then again, I may have hatched the thought myself; running in silence, alone w/ one's thoughts, is clearly the most natural way to go about it, and a ready homage to the early, technologically-ungifted harriers. Plus, I've found that listening to anything but nature/city sounds while running often gets in the way of organized, creative mapping for me--like when I'm trying to sort through a story plan or idea--which is a major reason I run in the first place.
I continue to feel this way, although I've learned the value of making the occasional exception. Take last Sunday: I was scheduled for a nine/ten miler, yet standing at the door, I wasn't feeling it. This lack of enthusiasm is far from uncommon and I usually just suck it up and head out, but I made a last-minute call: In attempt to dodge a potential (b)--yet w/ the understanding that if a (c) was due, the gesture would be lost--I reached for the player. Not the first time, but novel in that before I'd always reserved it for speed workouts alone. (Justification: Intervals are rarely enjoyable. With music to mask the ragged breathing, which is a major psychological ruiner for me, I can trick myself into considering them tolerable. Also, since I'm sure not to write in my head due to guaranteed discomfort, I'm not risking much.) Letting the Pod decide my playlist, I hit the road. I strode to the sounds of Madonna, Jeff Buckley, OK Go!, The Bangles, Magnetic Fields, Radiohead, James Taylor (no shame)... Didn't seem to matter who was crooning in my ear--it was working. Especially thanks to Thom Yorke and a particularly distracting song that begged repetition: "Stop Whispering." I was on First running past the Trump Tower when the music & Yorke's voice started building, climbing toward that rockin' climax.
...And my mother say we spit on your face some more
And the buildings say we spit on your face some more
And the feeling is, that there's something wrong
'Cause I can't find the words and I can't find the songs.
Stop Whispering, start shouting
Stop Whispering, start shouting...
After a few rounds of this, I inadvertantly picked up the pace, energized by Yorke's liberating words. Politics felt appropriate, and I realized the timeliness of this particular piece of music. Sure, following the 2004 election, the whispers turned fast to perfectly audible chatter, and there's since been plenty of shouting, but what's been the culmination? More shouting? How great to see a final, decisive, collective 'no more!'? As one block turned into the next and Yorke grew increasingly insistent, the picture became clearer: With each new story outing the latest lie fed us by our beloved Administration, a singular voice rising, rising (sta-aaart, shooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-oooutinggg)... until poof, an answer.* Yeah yeah, wishful thinking, but the imagery was so strong & logical, Yorke's cries such a prompt.
As has been the case the last two times I've used music, "California Stars" came in just as I was slowing to a finish. This will nearly always be appropriate, as what wouldn't I give to lay my head on a bed of California stars after an especially grueling workout? Little. (Regardless, the song is amazing.)
Impure? Maybe. But very satisfying--a real (a).
*Someone please explain impeachment logistics to me. Clinton? But W lied under oath the day he was sworn in as president. Clearly, I'm lost.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
test
As I head out the door for a measly 8-miler...
At this very moment my buddy's running the Whidbey half, my pa the half. Thinking about you, M and Pa...
