Let's bring back overalls.

This afternoon I almost didn't go out because I felt pressed for time. With a little encouragement, though, I went, and I was rewarded with a pretty amazing sunset. Take this picture and imagine the glowing intensity.

I only went three miles but I felt solid. Ready for Saturday's marathon? I'm more concerned about getting up early than I am about running 26.2 miles .

I have some wants right now. Some big ones and some simpler ones, and the simple ones I'd like to share. I want to keep cleaning the clutter out of my cabinets and closets. I want to paint the wall in my living room. I want to bring back overalls. I want to put other things on the walls and be more industrious. I want to light more candles.

After my run I put on thick sweats and felt the nice used feeling in my legs.

I laughed some tonight and loved some. Those are good things.

Today was the first cold run of the season for me.  I can't say it was frosty, but it was 45 when I went out with a windchill of 39.  It was chilly enough for sleeves and a hat, to me.

It felt great.  It took about half a mile to warm up and a bit more for my fingers.  My nose was chilled and probably red and I was just comfortably sweaty under my hat and my sleeves.

Cool weather runs are the best when I dress the right way.  It's hard to gauge because it's always going to be uncomfortable for the first at least half mile.  When I do it right, though, I have a cold nose and face and the rest of me is comfortable.  It's a nice feeling.

I ran 6.  The MidSouth Marathon is in Wynne next Saturday--marathon number 7.  I feel undertrained even though I've made all of my long runs.  Weekdays have been really challenging for me.

Look up.

I decided as I headed out this morning that it was a Pandora morning.  The sky was overcast and it was cool, in the 50's.  Perfect.

In the parking lot around the side of Kroger, Ani DiFranco came on and I had to stop, turn up the volume, and dance for a minute.  "Everest."  It made me think of a friend I talked to last week-- and it reminded me of myself, and of searching. 

"So I take a few steps back
and put on a wider lense
and it changes your skin,
your sex, and what you're wearing
distance shows your silhouette
to be a lot like mine"

I've been looking at things through a wider lense this week.  I didn't want to, but I have been, and it does change things.  And our silhouettes are a lot alike, even though we can't usually see the similarities. 

Because the same friend had asked about the leaves in Arkansas, my eyes were open to them.  The light wasn't good, but I took some pictures anyway.  It felt good to stop when I wanted to stop and take my time.

I was standing by the water fountain near Loop Road looking into the park and the trees, wishing that there was any way that my phone could capture what I was seeing, the air tinted green by the leaves, sort of sultry with shade and color.  I knew it couldn't, and then something told me, "Look up."  So I did, and one tree changing color rose thinly above me, surrounded by green and with brightness peeking through at the top.  Look up. 

Truth, I'm thinking, comes in short bursts and, when complicated by life, is rarely simple or absolute.  Sort of like happiness.  When you see it, grab it.  When you feel it, contemplate it.  Write it down and look at it.  See how it feels when you swish it around in your heart. 

I heard another song that I loved with a sweet poignancy: Tristan Prettyman singing "All I Want is You."  I thought about how it feels to know that poignancy and how hard it is to show that to someone else.  You know it or you don't.

 





 

I can and I am.

After skipping yesterday, this afternoon's five miles felt pretty good.  I was feeling down before heading out... Running isn't the source of any strength, necessarily, but it is sometimes the source of my knowing I have strength.  Running down the driveway to the road and around the corner is a steady repetitive reminder that I can and that I am.  My miles are a line that connects me from one day to the next, a line that I might need to follow, to hold onto in the dark.  And it's a line that I draw myself.

I'm operating in fits and starts right now.  I'm cleaning closets and mopping floors.

And yes, I'm thinking.  I'm pausing from time to time to write something down, a line or two that stick in my mind as something true.  I don't know if they are, but they are there and need a home.

I'm asking myself some questions and telling myself some truths.  But I'm also in a fog, sort of disoriented from reality.  Maybe I should stay in it until I'm ready to come out.  More likely, maybe I didn't know what reality was.  That's cliched.  Maybe I was telling myself stories.  I'm always waiting for the time when I will finally get my shit together.

I just took a minute to watch a video and somewhere in there was a reminder of T.  I could really use a dance from her right now.

Be still.

I can run.  I can run and smile at the sky, step away from the water fountain and dance, look up at the sun and give thanks.  I can run and cry, feel sobs escape and tears build.  I can run and laugh, a feeling that bubbles out in gasps of glee.  

I know the feeling in my legs after a good 8 mile run, the warm, glad, alive throb of exertion.  I know the feeling of my steady pace, the breaths that match my steps, the sound of my feet scuffing the ground.  I know the feeling of salt dried on my face and sweat dripping off my nose.

I do not know how to be still.  My mind races when my body is still and when I need to think of nothing.  When I would like to forget and when life would be easier if I could.

The last week has been a tumble in rough surf, upside down and sputtering and choking on salt water, tossed on sand.  I'm well aware of my good fortune, and that even negative things don't mean it's the end.

I know what I'm thankful for.  I know the dozens of places where I've messed up and the ways I can blame myself.  I know my blessings.

I do not know what is going to happen.  I've heard that when you're spinning out of control, the hardest thing to do is to be still.