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.