T-minus 2 weeks

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I bought "Born to Run" yesterday, among other items for the trip. The story of the Tarahumara will make for excellent preparation about everything about to unfold. The Inner Runner, the Inner Artist, the Inner Sage/Shaman....they will all be called out into action.

The passion of my vision is in pretty stark contrast to the reality of my status. The heat and humidity, extreme even by So Florida standards, have put something like a wet blanket over me. My body doesn't want to respond, flow or comply with my training plan, or my will. It wants to protest, ball itself up into exhaustion and wish the race away.

At 3AM, thinking it was time to get up after my alarm stopped and started, I got up and got dressed. Why are all the other clocks saying 3, when the alarm clock says 5:15? I would have headed out, too, but fell back to the bed, clothes on. At 5:15, when the alarm, corrected, went off, I was groggy and sweaty...the line-up of supplements, calorie ingredients and gear was ready. My head felt like twilight zone meets my daily dreams which had taken on an aura of petty but primal fears...burglarizing, protecting and security.

And sure as molasses, the ipod crapping out - again. As I got going, the red hot filaments of dawn were shooting the edges of the horizon ... our first miles out, we headed right for it, and caught the luxurious and surreal blue of the lumescent light on the new ocean- the air pungent with low tide, the birds slow to awake.

I was awkward, sore, my left hamstring had tightened up, and I couldn't reach my gait, which kept hopping away with the flail of my arms. The stop at North Beach was as long as I could suck it up; the chance to stand still, to wonder, what the hell was going on with my body now?

Somewhere in old east Hollywood, I mustered the will to put some paces together; nothing comfortable, just drilling my brain with the idea that no matter what we would be running, and soon. To adjust to the conflict, the torment between body and mind. I prayed that somehow the wings of Mercury would find me despite transplanting north, that despite my lower expectations, something miraculous was available.

The finish, the fight to get there, the story to tell. Opening the way for new roads and races to fan themselves out in the future, just as new opportunities to spread my dreams unfold. The circle we run in the course of the race is just another mandala afterall, and each one stamped with the resonate personality of the runner. We show our colors, our form. We display for anyone to see, our face to the sun. Our arms, our legs, carry the momentum past the line, as we stake the claim for more. The journey never ends.