Imagine my reluctance when I thought of writing three pages in this Topp 75316-canary two top punched notebook. Maybe you can’t imagine my reluctance? Perhaps a brief discourse into the background of the above described hesitation may be of use to you. It may also be of some use to me. Whatever the use or purpose I have an aversion to slowing down the merry-go-round of my life long enough to create literature. After all isn’t this piece slowly turning into literature? With every pen stroke, every scrawled line, every completed page it becomes literature.
Now back to the merry-go-round. I use aversions to avoid things that feed and nourish my soul. I got up this morning and jogged two miles. It was a perfect Seattle fall day for running. Gray clouds, wind, persistent rain pouring. Rain, pitter patter on the little concrete walk outside my front door. Rain, my alibi, my excuse for withdrawing from this mornings Rose Hill two miler. I stood in the safety and warmth of my house watching my alibi slowly erode the concrete stoop. I wondered how many of those drops had come down and run back to the sea only to return here to my house.
I was dressed in my uniform of running shorts and an oversized hoodie. I wore the Unisea cap on my head for maximum rain drop protection. On my feet were the discount shoes made in a third world country run by a despotic dictator. I took a deep breath and charged out the door and on to the running course. ( the author must note at this point it is very difficult to continue this exercise. I have many pressing matters which seem far more important than typing this essay)
Back now to the two mile run. I chugged along a relatively flat course for the first half mile. Then the route went through a gradual decline for about a quarter mile. At the bottom of the decline I was feeling pretty good. I had a steady rhythm and my breathing was very steady. My biggest concern is wondering how I look to all the folks driving by and passing me. I have decided I’m not going to stop and walk any part of this short jaunt. Rather than focus on the zen of running I’m now focused on what I perceive to be the most important part of suburban life, substance and form. Form, perfect running posture, heel down and up on the toes. Arms pumping by my side and straight legs. Head up high and no dropping those shoulders. Form. Form.
This has been one of the great misconceptions of my life. I have this idea that people in their cars are actually watching me jog. Most of these people are on their way to work or the dentist. Rather than think about their own life they are looking out the window and thinking about how that guy looks like Jim Ryan jogging by. Now that the world is watching me I have to face the toughest part of the course.
I’m facing a steep incline to an intersection. Is is followed by a left turn and the long grind back up a hill. I feel like stopping and coughing and walking and wheezing. My arms are pumping as steady as recycled rain drops and I slowly chugged up northeast seventieth street. My sights are set at reaching the heavenly plateau. The intersection was jammed with cars full of dental appointments, procrastinating students and people late for work. Waddling up the hill each car fades from my paranoid fantasy. I have found the true beauty of running. And have now entered the endorphins zone. I make it to the apex of seventieth and coast home with much life to spare.
The rain and sweat have mixed and run down my forehead and into my eyes. I take off the big sweatshirt and enough steam to power a Ford plant is emitted from my shoulders and back. Wow, what a joy! I ask myself this question again. Why do I use diversions to avoid doing things that feed my soul? Sketching these pages has fed my soul.
What have I lost in the process? What dutiful responsibility did I skip? I hope the answer to these questions is obvious. Here I sit in a funky old chair feeling the feeling the lingering euphoria of a morning run. My thighs and calves gently yell when I head to the cooler for another glass of water. A revolutionary voice resonates from the walls. It sounds like a wild coyote calling my soul to come home to its proper place in the Universe.
There you have it three pages, single spaced on 8.5 x 11
huffingpuffpost 