It's all Mind

I listened to the Phelipidations podcast today talk about a Finnish long-distance runner from the early 1900's, a gold medalist, and like all great people, a tragic and triumphant figure. Many many years before it became fashionable to think so, this guy felt running was all in the mind. We know, as runners, just how true that is, while we work incessantly at the very mechanics of our sport; the constant attention to food and water, training and goals, the gear, the goals, the times, the trials...yet the perseverance that makes all of us get out there day after day is a critical component. Not a lazy bunch. Not dependent on vast armies of support teams, we tend to be loners, solitaries, who revel in the privacy of the run, the sanctity of our inner life which no one can disturb as long as we keep on the move. The blessed relief from having to deal with anyone else's pain but our own.

I switched things up a bit this week. The new Brooks 'Ghosts' were so good as I began the week that I kept running each day, finishing out with well above 50 miles for the week after Saturday's very long loop. I continued west on Griffin this time determined to find a better way to cut down towards my mid-run stop at the Stirling Publix- and found one. Looping under the Turnpike and taking a left on Wilson, a beautiful country road took one amazingly long stretch past old Davie money houses set on the canal, as peaceful and beautiful a road as I've found in a long time; room to stretch out my stride and practice the opening of my body and mind before finding that store at the bottom corner. I was exhilarated and exhausted in the extreme heat and only halfway out. I looped back at Davie Rd and began the snake-like slog back through the Seminoles, over to the park which was my last pit-stop before the stretch home on Thomas, which was so long, sometimes so exhausting, that I completely forgot about the time.

Then came the visit to the cemetery, and the sad little marker, Mom's anxiety episode and refusal to get out of the car, and the few brief moments I had standing by the pads of grass that did not look as green as the rest to ask, Please Dad, please help. I'm all alone in this. Help me help her. And feeling that dull ache from days of feeling the unfolding of death with Ted Kennedy and the thousands of mourners who thanked and honored him compared to the mysterious dearth of company as we laid my fallen hero to his rest. Hardly time to leave the tiger's eye stone, to commemorate his courage to live, at all, through that last year of hell. To say 'I understand' to his isolation, fear, rejection and anger; understood because I was feeling it too. I was shy to talk, to say, to reveal my anger, my ache, my fear.

As we drove out of the cemetery I only wanted to get Mom home so I could go on to my own day. Sunday was a big blur of motionless emptiness peppered with chores, fattening comfort foods, and early bed. My expectations for today's run was zero. The prospect of training, of a race for christ's sake, a MARATHON seemed as unlikely as going to the moon.

So late out, with the sun already on the rise, I began slow hobbling jog over the overpass. All the way to my first stop on Griffin everything hurt, including my heart. I was determined to complete a normal 10 mile loop and had little heart before the podcast came on the the line "It's all Mind"...from the Finnish runner. I had to laugh to myself how the same old messages keep coming ad nauseum. At the bottom of every hole I fall into, the same few words are thrown to me like life-lines to remember, I can change, I can make it happen, I can change my mind.

It wasn't intentional, but by the time I crossed Stirling and began the long stretch down to Sheridan and my next stop I found a rhythm and was feeling strong. I picked it up again after my last Anderson park pit-stop and with one swoop down Park kept a pace and gait that I haven't felt in a long time, easy, comfortable (well, relatively speaking), and with as much energy as I needed to bring it in.

So maybe it was the chocolate chip cookies. Or the outpouring of emotions all week. Or maybe the mantra hits me just when I need it, the kernel of universal truth that unlocks the stuck door in my head. I trust. I try. I keep putting myself out there to test my every reserve. I don't know how others do it, how much they hide behind their hopes and ambitions. Maybe I have too, over other things. But this one thing, this running, has enabled me to put it to the test everyday. To declare myself a contestant in the race of life. Put me in coach, I can run it. I can make it to the end. For the first time today I thought of the marathon not as something I might be able to complete but as something I WILL complete, and pictured the full throttle excitement of crowds, friends, family welcoming me into their midst. I am so there. I am ready to go. I will be ready to run.

Welcome Home, Senator Kennedy

For my entire life I have come up under the shadow of the Kennedys. I was 13 when the President was assassinated and the subsequent death of Robert shortly after was a milestone event in my life. I was galvanized then, with MLK's death in the same era, to become the radical, non-conforming, anti-establishment lefty liberal progressive I am today. Amazing that I work for government, but maybe, like Ted I find my way into the heart of the beast as a system's buster. Which is good and necessary. It is Teddy and Robert and John, and Martin and the countless other martyrs who took a bullet or took on the hottest issues and ideas of our era who pave the way for the rest of us. I am in awe of the legacy they leave as we now begin to traverse a new time. As Sen. Kennedy passed his torch to the current President, we held our collective breaths praying for safe passage for this most radical of choices. The spirit of social justice nation lives on in our endeavors to change, change change the climate of fear, hypocracy inequality, injustice...

It may have been hot and unforgiving out this morning, but I knew deep in my heart that when I turned the news on something was happening. Don't ask me how I knew. I thought maybe a disaster, weather event etc. Little did I guess such a notable passing.

Welcome Home, Teddy, your brothers, friends, family and colleagues await you. Feel the rush of relief as earthly pains and tragedies melt into the satisfaction of lifelong accomplishment. Your legacy will live on in hearts like mine. Thanks and farewell.

Road Rage

The pressure has been building, there's no doubt. As one project/goal/task completes, the endless list of others calls. As energy ramps up into the swirling dance of chaos upon us, it feels like we never cut a break; everything takes effort, time and constancy. The Universe staggers on its course of upheaval and transformation. No one said birth would be easy. No one asked to take it on the chin.

My advent into the pre-dawn day is met now with the back to schoolers, filling the roads with more traffic, more kids, more noisy, nasty sounds and exhaust. I am not a patient person. My philosophy is, if I respect the rules of the road then I have every right to be out on them. You, the bigger faster cars, must look out for me. On the quest for big miles, there is no way sidewalks will do. The open road is my preference always.

Not everyone agrees apparently. I am getting my share of motorists who feel it is their duty to 'school' me. That's when I realize the inner rage, which has been on a low slow boil, is ready to burst. Please, don't get in my way, don't muck up the works, don't pollute my mental field. I am willing to fight for my space, my power, my stand. Do not underestimate my resolve.

The magic at Park over took me as I dug into the rhythm of that long, straight stretch towards home. I was sans ipod, so the chatter in my head kept running the same few song lines over and over. I created a mental image of the pyramid-Holon as well as the space where Ba and Ka overlapped and played with the idea of how moving through that zone creates the mix of energies which helps to pull the etheric into the physical body. Maybe that's another reason why the run is so therapeutic. By the time I passed the last light, I was on point- still striding despite the heat and fatigue. The new shoes, my 'Ghosts', were everything I hoped- better room, greater comfort, and they took me into the last mile with confidence and ease.

I have 2 10 miles loops in a row, solid ones. The rage has settled back into its slow boil, losing some of its steam into sadness and resolution. There is still deep joy at the fingers of dawn greeting me on the initial overpass. And pride when I drag my hopes and dreams back home at the finish. If we keep recognizing how we feel, what we do takes on new meaning. We power our efforts with tears, and sometimes we cannot tell if they are sorrow or joy.

Morning Run

I did not sleep enough or well....all week it feels like I'm fighting a deep-down fatigue that seems to emanate from some well of emotional reserve that seeks outlet, and is finding little space to crawl out from the mountain of sadness I get stuck in. I am adopting a "be kind to myself" attitude, and crawled out of bed at 6 determined that a good run would help shake up my system. As I began the slow and creaky jog to the overpass, fingers of pink dawn penetrated the slate-blue night skies, barely lit with a sun soon on the rise. Something about those tendrils of color sent a thrill down my spine; not quite rainbows, but unexpected shots of color nonetheless...they seemed to want to remind me to look up, be prepared for more unexpected surprises to come...

It didn't get any easier. My ankles and feet were protesting and I couldn't find comfortable footing. By the time I hit Park and that long straight stretch towards home, I lost track of time. This has been happening more lately, out on the longer loops, the distortion in my sense of time ballooning the trip to feel like I'm gone half a day, gone to another world, truly lost in space.

Maybe this is my coping mechanism, or maybe the wobble in planetary adjustments means more warping of the space/time continuum all the way around. It wouldn't surprise me to know this is par for the course...and all sentient beings are having challenges in staying grounded while the ever-unfolding transition spins us all around and around.
Those footfalls are meant to hold me and help those bones of mine sync into one another as they traverse the roadways. But sometimes even 3 dimensional flesh and blood is as ephemeral as air, clouded with the colors of our every hope and dream.

Hurricane Season '09

The shreds of TS Ana kicked up pockets of big wind and rain squalls this morning, not enough to cancel the run, but just enough to cool off the heat and provide a bit of variety on the loop. The first squall came through as I dipped into the Griffin Publix, and the second wave skirted to my east. Florida is home of big weather. Hurricane Bill, which is gathering itself for major status appears headed to the north Atlantic. I don't know how we're doing it, but so far this year, it is remarkably quiet.

I couldn't get Mom off my mind. Last night I dreamt of a black and white dog I had (since I had many I wasn't sure which one) which I realized was sick or injured. In between the clients and work, my residence (which was different in the dream) I tried to juggle getting this dog out to seek care. If this wasn't a commentary on the situation, I don't know what is. As I sought a good rhythm in my gait I kept thinking about Dad and how much is left in the wake of his departure. I felt heavy with responsibility and asked him please, can you take care of mom? Help her along her way...? She looks at me behind those cloudy eyes while I look back and try to reassure her, take your door, it's there. I try to juggle the many balls in the air to get her care...will I do a good enough job...will she make it peacefully in to her own finish line?

I recognize my own drift in resolve, the part of me that gets fatigued with worry and the endless list of things to do. For the first time in forever I thought, why run? Will I really do this the rest of my life? Or will this, too, fall the way of other pursuits, my so-called avocations, talents and abilities....? I don't want to think there are endings for me, but a pause in the play of my spirit. If sometimes I write, and others make art, or if running is the thread that holds me together, does it really matter which way my soul seeks to express itself? I try not to judge the outcome, but it's difficult when the passage of time challenges us to keep up the momentum of lifetime pursuits. The old artists had it right, always. Nothing gets in their way. The muses will hound them morning and night to channel the spirit of Big Forces making their way in the world. We must heed them, listen, and open up the arms of our creativity in whatever means they choose. We must be ready to go.

The Fastest Man (we know of)

Yoga Day

I watched Usain "Lightening" Bolt, from Jamaica, become the world's fastest man as he nailed the 100 m in 9.58. The World Championships in Berlin are being held in the same stadium as Adolf Hitler's era in 1936. History keeps being made in many ways. I was splayed out on the floor after my own long run earlier in the day, the long loop over to the beach was my best one yet. For no good reason except that I got a pretty good night's sleep, the integrity of my body was there. One stop at the head of the Broadwalk and it was full out down to the bottom, cutting over to Hollywood and winding our way back up through the old neighborhoods laying silent and serene in the Sunday morning.

It was good to know my body had it together to manage what has been a painful slog with some ability. Now do it twice....! When I run the week-day loops I remind myself that not so long ago, I was cutting smaller circles in the neighborhood and feeling triumphant at 3, 4, 6 milers. Just as I sent the transcripts into the State to request an exam date for licensure I had to remind myself there was a day when I had no supervision hours and no classes....and now, the finish line is in sight.

Everything moves along if we just recognize it...the pull and push of our energy is often out of sync with the steady progression of momentum itself. One way or the other, the passage of creation and dissolution moves us through the world. It is Mind which thinks of itself, judges itself, appoints itself ahead or behind.... but what is the gauge? The Universe is poised to move itself into a new stage of manifesting
its own wonderful story. Are we part of its tragedies or triumphs? Can we escape the destruction of what must pass to make way for rebirth? I have faith, even as I get tired. But my body, which responds in a way beyond my control, 'knows' the inner link to larger forces. And it's all taking me along for the ride.

Nailing 50

Hard to believe that despite everything I am 'on schedule'...nailing my first 50 miles per week this week, and increasing the long run by a mile or so...just enough to kick my ass, but not so much that I couldn't finish the beach loop Sunday.

It's good to have a team. Our routine now is using my 'coach' on the bike while I run, which helps keep me focused on running and not "where is the next rest stop?" According to 'Coach' I had a few very good stretches where I managed to keep a good pace, and didn't crumble into a heap. Even though we'd started out just after 6 AM, it was oppressive and baking hot coming up through the old Hollywood neighborhood. Realizing I do TWICE of what I did yesterday is what I'm aiming for...can my legs, my heart and willpower juice up to the level of at least completing 26.2 in one piece? Where should my expectations be?

You run your own race. No matter how much coaching or training plans, it all comes down to that conversation in your head when you just want to quit. Everything in life is about this conversation. Getting the umph up past the inertia that wants to spread itself like a blanket on the ground. I needed that too, though. Hours of recovery watching movies, the news, Bill Maher....more sleep than usual. Better nutrition.

It never hurts to have a little love to smooth the way. The loneliest long distance runners still need their team. My heart swells knowing there are many standing with me no matter what I do...who wait for me at signposts along the way or cross my path just when I need a boost. The Greater Team is poised to cheer me on and lend unseen hands to help. I acknowledge the enormous effort invested in my endeavors, and the eagerness to see me through.

The Manager of Everything

Read an interesting article about a young uber-runner preparing for her debut in the Olympic trials for the marathon, and her struggles with sleep, maintaining, managing...I had to laugh when I realize I, too, seem to micro-manage what feels like the universe.
Runners are an obsessive bunch. And good thing since we might indulge in other pursuits which would not be so wholesome. We stress over food, sleep, training routines...exercises that will help us run, running that will place us in certain categories, competing against ourselves, our age group, our expectations. Sometimes I see it as another version of spiritual development right out of the ancient playbook. I often see myself as the messenger who traveled on foot from place to place...and by necessity formulated a way of life that took physical and spiritual stamina together to a different level. I often think this accounts for my singularity, my self-containment, and my ability to refer one type of teaching and apply it elsewhere.

Athletes can tap this universal force if they choose. Like everyone else, they tend to forget the powerhouse they are connected to, and the wide open space inside their own minds. This is the zen of the body; not the casting aside, but the embedded nature of spirit. Every part of the run is a teaching moment. Do I stop? Speed up, slow down, hydrate....how do I talk my legs into one more mile? Where is my head on my shoulders...are my feet connecting with the ground?

I passed a runner early on today who was shirtless, taking the grass along side the bike path where I headed towards him. He ran in these long, dramatic strides and held his arms like a dancer...balancing himself through his gait. As I slogged through my own shuffling rhythm I had to smile...there are gods out there running, and there are the mere mortals like me who strive to just be in their world. If I manage the important elements, my heartfulness, my vision, it might just take me to where I need to be.