I love the way cold air feels in your lungs when you step outside. I love feeling like I can conquer the whole world, one step at a time, like anything is possible. I love noticing little things like the way a leaf has fallen in the crack of a sidewalk, or how a neighbor has planted something surprising in their yard. I like how you can learn something about other people just by passing by their home everday (I bet the mailman knows more about us than we'd think). I love how muscles feel the day after you really stretch your abilities- it's a good reminder that I am in fact alive. I love thinking I can't and finding out I was wrong. I love flying around my neighborhood feeling light and strong. I love how 300 calories are used in approximately one half hour, which helps make an occasional indulgence like hagen daaz mayan chocolate ice cream slightly less guilt twinged in my conscience. I love moisture-wicking clothing and mizuno shoes, and little tiny pockets for keys. I love not feeling dependent on a car for transportation, knowing that my legs are quite capable of getting me to where I need to go, that even in the event of a nuclear attack I'd be able to quite literally run for the hills (well maybe not that far; I do live in Lubbock). I like running for a cause and knowing that somewhere down the line, the life of someone with cancer might benefit from all of this. I like having all of that time to think-just think, about anything- being alone with thoughts about the world I've been so mysteriously placed in, and what I should be doing in it, crazy things about how places shape music and feeling and culture, and how culture shapes music and places.....about people I love or things, or how to deal with something I'm angry about, or even just simply pray. There is a wonderful rhythm to running that makes this sort of thing possible, maybe a rhythm like the one when we were in a womb; I don't know. Daydreaming rhythm. Some people meditate best with a prayer rug and silence, or on the altar in a church- running makes the whole world an altar at which to pray. One of my favorite memories involving running includes a large black woman walking around the lake at Mae Simmons shouting/singing "Glory to God, please help my son, praise Jesus." I ran 3 miles around the lake and the lady was still there, still walking, still praying.
I also like listening to new music, or any music, though this sometimes leads to spontaneous dance moves or what I'm sure would seem like odd vocal outbursts to random passer-bys. I like listening to pimsleur Irish one (the cds of which I really must return to the original owner) and learning random Irish phrases while running. I like the energy it brings and the sense of accomplishment it brings, and the challenge to go further (farther? I never can remember this particular rule) which so far I have not reached the limit of. If only my fraking gorram knee would behave properly (watchers of B.G and firefly will understand the full force of my profanity in this sentence).
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment