Month: October 2024

oct 12/RUN

5.7 miles
ford loop
52 degrees

Peak fall this morning. Orange! Yellow! Red! Made even more vibrant by the gray sky. Wow! I felt strong and relaxed and dreamy. No sharp lines, everything soft and fuzzy and dissolving into the gray. It was dark enough for street lamps and headlights. Heard the rowers and the clicking and clacking of a roller skier in a bright yellow shirt, a squirrel cracking a nut. Smelled the sewer. Felt a few raindrops at the very end. Crossing the ford bridge, the tree line was oranges, yellows, reds on the st. paul side, but still a lot of green on the minneapolis side.

At the End, There Is Always a House / Sara Eliza Johnson

These days I move from room to room looking for a thing to
haunt. The filaments inside my teeth glow in the dark,
thirty-two beacons no one will see, except the mirror I
return to again and again, hoping for it to swallow me, to
find anything there but my face. Mirror is another word for
hunger. Hunger is another word for dead. Anyone would be
tired of hearing from me, the kind of woman — this repulsive
word — who’ll never have a garden or greenhouse, only a
fridge crisper full of broccoli and kale and lettuce, all
rotting to sludge, bananas on the counter blackening like
frostbitten skin. I used to quarter an apple with such
perfection I could have been autopsying my own heart. The
thing is there’s no way out of this house. Memory circles
like flies. Even the dead need to eat. Even the dead dream. I
left a note in the memory: You deserve so much more than
desire.

Wow, this poem!

oct 10/RUN

5.1 miles
bottom of franklin hill
55 degrees

My first run after the marathon! I wasn’t sure how much I would do, but I felt good, so I ran to the bottom of franklin hill and back, and I did it without stopping to walk. I haven’t done that for several months. Almost perfect weather, calm and cool. Wore my bright orange sweatshirt and managed to take it off while running down the franklin hill. No roller skiers or rowers or Dave, the Daily Walker. But shadows and blue water and fluttering leaves.

As I ran, I chanted: I am flying/I am free/and I am where/ I want to be. I felt some soreness/tightness in my left hip, a slight pang in my right foot, but nothing in my knees.

I tried to think about my haunts poem and girls, ghosts, and gorges. I’m trying to put together a draft to submit for a journal that’s due on the 15th. Like in the past, I’m struggling — too many ideas and threads. I keep getting stuck and lost and in a rut of repetition. I started chanting, girl girl girl ghost ghost ghost gorge gorge gorge.

10 Things

  1. red leaves on bushes — or are they young trees? — at the edge of trail, a red that burned dark and deep and seemed to yell out, I am RED!
  2. yellow leaves, like lemon sugar
  3. orange leaves, with a hint of pink
  4. the occasional dead leaf fluttering down
  5. the sound, somewhere above, of a nut being cracked open
  6. most of the leaves are still green
  7. a stinky, sewer smell above the ravine, a faint sourness
  8. a man on a bench — I think it was Daddy Long Legs — calling out, hello!
  9. a quick glimpse of something sitting under the franklin bridge — was it a person, sleeping? No. On the way back up the hill, I could see it better: stacked limestone blocks
  10. 2 black garbage bags, full, beside the trash can near the lake street bridge — did they come from the gorge?

26 Marathon Things: r-z

river. Crossing the Franklin bridge near 2 other runners, I heard one of them look at the river — a blue ribbon sparkling in the sun — and say something like, this marathon is hard, but we get to see this! And I thought, yes! this is the beautiful river I get to run beside almost every day!

strong. During the last 10 miles of the race, I regrouped. It was still difficult, but I ran more than I thought I could. And every time I ran, I felt strong. Several of the spectators called to me, you’re looking so strong! you’ve got this. Once when I stopped for a walk break, a kind runner passed me, gently touched my back, and said, I’ve been watching you and you look so strong. You can do this! Keep going!

t-rex. At least twice, I saw someone dressed in a t-rex costume by the side of the road. The first time, Scott pointed them out to me, but the second time I saw them on my own. What’s the deal with t-rexes? (I asked Scott and he said the t-rex has been a thing for several years).

unreadable. It didn’t bother me, because I’m used to it, but with my bad vision I couldn’t read any of the fun or encouraging or strange signs that people were holding up. When Scott laughed at one, I asked what it said. Run bitch!

vikings. In past years, I’ve enjoyed watching football, but recently I’ve lost my love for it, especially for the Vikings who always seem to disappoint. Even so, this year they are undefeated, and hearing spectators calling out the score as we ran, 10 – 0, 20 – 0, or listening to the game while they cheered, was fun and distracting and felt very Minnesotan. Scott’s dad, a big vikings fan, would have loved the season so far if he were still alive. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I enjoyed hearing the score; it reminded me of his dad.

walz. At mile 20, you run by gov. walz’s house. I thought I heard someone cheering there and imagined how cool it would be if it were gov walz. I don’t think he was there when I passed by but later Scott told me that he had been outside cheering on runners.

eXhilarated. At the beginning of the race, during the first 2 miles, Scott was so excited. He talked about running this race again and how pumped up he was. I was happy to be there, but couldn’t match his enthusiasm. I was not exhilarated, I was waiting for the moment when it got very hard.

you can do hard things. So much support from spectators. Most of it straightforward encouragement, you’ve got this, you can do hard things, you’re amazing. Some of it slanted: you’re crazy! or look at you out here running and look at me enjoying my bagel! The one sign I could actually read just said, Why?

zephyr*. While the wind wasn’t gentle, it was blowing from the west. In the first mile, it almost blew my hat off. Then it was at our backs. Then I forgot about it until we reached the east side of Lake Nokomis where it was really blowing. A woman’s signs, stacked on a table, blew off and into the road. I briefly thought about stopping to help her then remembered I was racing and should probably keep going.

*I was struggling to come up with a z. Thankfully Scott thought up zephyr, which means west wind

oct 8/postMARATHON

Here’s some stuff that (maybe) only future Sara will appreciate: 48 hours ago, I was in mile 4 or 5 of the marathon, near Bde Maka Ska. This morning, I’m sore, but it’s not that bad. Right after finishing, my calves ached and I limped — waddled? no glimping for me! As I walked, they loosened up, hurt less, but getting up after sitting for a few minutes made them hurt again. Yesterday, I woke up with a stiff left knee and sore obliques. Occasionally my right foot hurt. In the midst of telling Scott about my foot while we took Delia on a brief walk, my right kneecap slipped out of the groove and I had to push it back in. As usual, there was no warning. My sentence interrupted with a shift then a gasp. I’m used to it by now, so are the tendons surrounding my knee. None of us remembered the slip for long. All in all, I’m in fairly good shape! I can’t wait until I feel good enough to get back out by the gorge.

26 Things, i-q

impossible dream. Running between the lake street bridge and the railroad trestle, I heard some singing — to dream the impossible dream/to fight the unbeatable foe — a male voice, lots of vibrato. I thought it might be someone actually singing and not a recording. Wow, I was impressed. But when Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” came on next I decided it was only a recording. When I reached the source of the music I realized it was the house that puts up bleachers every year for watching and cheering. What a party!

jingle bells, the farts version. Somewhere along minnehaha parkway a speaker was playing a version of jingle bells where each note was a fart. I told Scott that we should remember to tell RJP (I did); the two of them love listening to fart playlists on spotify and apple music.

kids. My favorite kid was on Summit. He was holding a microphone that was hooked up to a speaker, calling out, We have to share! It’s my turn to use it now! then, Who doesn’t like mac and cheese?

lakes. Lake of the isles, Bde Maka Ska, Lake Harriet, Lake Nokomis. As we finished each lake, I called out to Scott, another lake done! I wasn’t able to do that with Lake Nokomis because we split up right before we got to it. Lake Nokomis was the hardest lake to run around — windy and long. I remember walking by the little beach and thinking about open swim.

music. There were rock bands and concert bands and drummers and sousaphones and some brass instrument that sounded like a bellowing elk. And music from “official” speakers and make-shift speakers and smartphone speakers. “Eye of the Tiger,” “We are the Champions,” “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” “The Impossible Dream.” A group of runners behind us, changing the words of a Gwen Stefani song to This race is bananas B A N A N A S! In past years, I might have listened to a playlist through my headphones. Not today.

neighborhoods. One of the reasons I wanted to run the twin cities marathon is because the course passes through all of my old neighborhoods. Downtown, not too far from the apartment we lived in when we moved back here in 2007. Lake of the Isles and Bde Make Ska: where we lived the first time we moved here from California in 1998, when we fell in love with Minneapolis. I roller-bladed, biked, and walked around these lakes a lot in my early 20s. Around Lake Nokomis where I swim all summer. On Minnehaha Parkway, only 2 blocks from our first house. The falls, the river road, 4 blocks from my current house. Most of the rest of it, until mile 21 at the start of Summit, followed my regular running route for the last 10 years. Some of it looked familiar, some of it made strange by the effort of running for so long.

other-worldly. Out there on the course for 5 1/2 hours, I was somewhere else. Familiar places became unfamiliar, time stopped passing or passed so strangely with no steady beat. I was no longer Sara, but aching calves, blistered feet, sore forearms, feet moving forward. I didn’t think about poetry or the meaning of life or what to do to help FWA grieve for the loss of his beloved community.

poop. I’ve struggled with constipation for a few years now, and in the last month, it got worse, making my long runs harder. Before the race, I was worried — in a state of preoccupooption as RJP and I have named it. The morning of the race, I couldn’t finish my business before we left. I used the port-a-potty twice before the race and twice during the first 10 miles*. It didn’t help much, but it was enough to prevent any incident that would later be recounted as my “poop story.” Pooping is an obsession for a lot of runners. Ask them about their poop story. At one point during the race, I remember hearing a racer talking to someone else: I read that you need to get up several hours before the race to eat something so you make sure you are able to poop in time. Yes, she said poop, and more than once, and not quietly. You need to poop. I had a bagel so I could poop. I managed to poop. I don’t have a problem with her saying poop; pooping is a wonderful thing and the word poop should be said more, and without shame, maybe sometimes with reverence.

*according to Scott, I stopped FOUR times during the first `10 miles. Yikes.

quest. Post-race, I’m disappointed that I didn’t push myself more, but I need to remember that that was never what I was aiming for. I wanted to be able to start the race, and once I started, to finish, then to recover quickly so I can enjoy fall running.

oct 6/MARATHON

26.2 miles / 5:35:27
twin cities marathon
50 degrees

I did it! It was hard. I was slow, but I did it. And I smiled and sometimes felt strong and had a deep love for everyone else out there — racers and spectators. I never thought of quitting, even though I knew it was going to be a long day when, at mile 11, I had to use the port-a-potty and felt like I might pass out (a combination of constipation and failing to drink enough water in the first 10 miles, I think).

I never cried or neared my breaking point which, as I write this the next morning, is a little disappointing. It’s been a very difficult fall — one kid deferring their first semester of college, the other shutting down in their last year of college. I was hoping to have a big moment of release. It never came. What held me back? I never allowed myself to push closer to my physical limits. If it felt too hard, I walked.

Uh oh. Writing about my disappointment, then talking to Scott about it, I realized something: I want to do another marathon. I want to dig deeper and break down that wall I’ve built around myself — the one that keeps everyone and everything at a (slight) distance. I want another chance to figure out my fueling and my pooping and to not be afraid that my body will fail me.

I am proud of myself and this accomplishment. And I’m grateful to have made it to start and finish line. And, wow, what a beautiful marathon course!

26 Things: a-h*

*Instead of creating a very long entry with all 26 marathon things, I’ve decided to break it up over several entries.

asphalt. For the first half of the race, the road was cracked and cratered and rutted. A few of the biggest holes were marked with bright orange or green spray paint. The asphalt was the worst at Bde Maka Ska.

brrr. The weather was wonderful during the race, but chilly before it started. So much wind! Most people had on extra sweatshirts that they planned to donate at the start line — me too. A few brave runners were in tank tops. Even with extra layers, it was cold. A woman ahead of me in the port-a-potty line who was wearing running tights and a running jacket was violently shaking.

caboose. I was not at the very end of the race — I finished ahead of 450 people — but I was near the end. The winner finished in 2 hours and 10 minutes. I finished in 5 hours and 37 minutes. That’s a long time for people to be out on the course cheering. The spectators were still amazing, but I could tell the energy was not at its highest level. In the last few miles I noticed people leaving the course, their signs tucked under their arms. Walking through the finish area, volunteers were packing up and most of the food was already gone.

dogs. Some spectators brought dogs. The only dog I recall seeing was a GIANT ball of black fur asleep next to a guy sitting in a lawn chair on the edge of the road. I do remember hearing lots of runners calling out, dogs! or puppies! or your dog is so cute! or hi, puppy!

electrolytes. At the hydration stops, you could grab a cup of water or a cup of electrolytes. Almost always, I grabbed water, but once I foolishly grabbed electrolytes. Yuck! Not sure why, but I was expecting something that would taste like Gatorade. It did not. It tasted like salt water and made me feel sick.

finish line. Miles 22-25ish are on Summit, high above the capitol. For the last stretch, you run down a hill, the finish line in sight. You’re almost there!, people were calling out, you can see the finish line! Yes, I could see the finish line, but it didn’t feel like I was almost there. It looked so far away, and it was, until it wasn’t, and I was done and Scott was waiting there for me.

glimping. After the race, I mentioned to Scott that I would probably be limping the next day (yep, I am), and he thought I said “glimping” which led us both to try and imagine what glam limping (think, glamping but for limps) might look like.

hat. At the beginning of the race, we were following behind a guy in a pink hat. He looked relaxed and smooth and Scott said, look for the chill guy in the pink hat and run like him. We were near him until Bde Maka Ska, but lost track of him when he stopped to use the port-a-potty.

oct 5/RUN

1 mile
river road, north to loons coffee
56 degrees

A final shake-out run before tomorrow’s marathon with Scott. My left hip is still a little tight/sore, but I’m believing it will be okay, especially once I warm up and run more miles. It’s supposed to be windy — 15+mph. When Scott mentioned this I replied (and with no sarcasm), great! I can recite some of my favorite wind poems while we run! I am the wind and the wind is invisible. All the leaves tremble, but I am invisible.

Yesterday we picked up our bibs and shirts at the expo and the line to go through security was ridiculously long, stretching the entire length of the River Center then curving through 2 hallways. Scott panicked and briefly wanted to rage quit the line (and the marathon!), but I remained calm and a nice guy behind us started commiserating with us about how long the line was. Scott got over it and the line started moving. Even with the long line, it only took us 15 minutes to get in. Whew!

I am nervous and excited and ready to push at my limits. To be broken open and find out how I respond. To feel grief and delight and wonder and whatever else 26.2 miles will pull out of me.

oct 3/RUN

5 miles
bottom franklin hill and back
50 degrees / humidity: 75%

In 4 days, I’ll be running the marathon! Today’s run was mostly fine; my left hip was a little tight, but I think it will be okay. Otherwise I was relaxed. It was cool, but humid, so I sweat a lot. For several of the miles I chanted in triple berries: strawberry / blueberry / raspberry. For the last mile, I put on my metronome, set to 175, and synched up my feet. So cool! When I lock in with the center of the beat, I know it. I become the beat, or my feet become the sound of the beat. I feel a soft buzz throughout my legs that spreads to the back of my head. I am running without effort — not floating, but bouncing off the ground. I wasn’t locked in the whole time. Sometimes I was ahead of it or behind because I got distracted by another runner, but when I locked in again, bzzzzzzz. I might try putting on the metronome during a later mile of the marathon, if I need some focusing and motivation to keep going.

10 Things

  1. rowers! running north, the coxswain’s voice seemed to be following me
  2. music coming from a bike — I think it was a song by Regina Spektor, but I’m not sure — I almost called out, hey! are you listening to Regina Spektor? I love Regina Spektor
  3. greeted Mr. Holiday — good morning!
  4. more red leaves, some yellow
  5. someone in running shorts standing beside the porta potty. Were they waiting — to use it, for a friend?
  6. a line-up cars — maybe 10 — behind a car turning left onto 32nd
  7. a biker zooming by — fast! — with a kid in a trailer
  8. under the franklin bridge, looking up at an opening above — not for the first time, I thought someone might be staying up there, but I can’t see well, so I could be wrong, and could anyone climb up to it — it’s 15-20 feet up?
  9. running through the dark tunnel of trees, looking ahead and seeing an opening: bright, white, glowing
  10. no sun or shadows or geese or goldenrod or acorns

Today’s Zombie poem:

To Live in the Zombie Apocalypse/ Burlee Vang

The moon will shine for God
knows how long.
As if it still matters. As if someone
is trying to recall a dream.
Believe the brain is a cage of light
& rage. When it shuts off,
something else switches on.
There’s no better reason than now
to lock the doors, the windows.
Turn off the sprinklers
& porch light. Save the books
for fire. In darkness,
we learn to read
what moves along the horizon,
across the periphery of a gun scope—
the flicker of shadows,
the rustling of trash in the body
of cities long emptied.
Not a soul lives
in this house &
this house & this
house. Go on, stiffen
the heart, quicken
the blood. To live
in a world of flesh
& teeth, you must
learn to kill
what you love,
& love what can die.

I want to think more about how darkness and light work in this poem, and the last line about killing what you love and loving what can die.

oct 1/RUN

3.1 miles
2 trails + extra
51 degrees

Finally, fall weather! Wore my bright orange sweatshirt today, which was too warm during the last mile. Ran above on the paved trail heading south, below on the Winchell trail heading north. Sunny, breezy, cool, dreamy. Tree shadows. My left hip was a little sore, but otherwise I felt strong and relaxed. I chanted Emily Dickinson for part of the run: life is but life/ and death but death/ bliss is but bliss/ and breath but breath then life is life/death is death/bliss is bliss/breath is breath then life life life life/death death death death/bliss bliss bliss bliss/breath breath breath breath.

Thought about the marathon and how long it’s been since I ran on the winchell trail and FWA and My Neighbor Totoro, which Scott and I watched last night. Also thought about zombies, which is my theme for October. Mostly I thought about bodies without minds and feeling like you’re trapped in a body and soul-less, indifferent, relentless bodies.

10 Things

  1. heading down to the Horace Cleveland Overlook, I was blinded by a circle of light on the river — so bright! impossible to see anything else
  2. the sharp crack of a squirrel opening an acorn
  3. kids on the playground — laughing, yelling
  4. water trickling out of the sewer pipe at 44th
  5. a few more slashes of red, a golden feeling*
  6. the surface of the winchell trail is in terrible condition — cracked, slanted, cratered
  7. bikers on a bench, taking a snack break
  8. a woman on the narrow winchell trail with a dog, off to the side and facing me, talking on a phone I couldn’t see, saying something about walking after 60
  9. someone sitting on the bench in a blue shirt near the overlook
  10. big trees on the ground, cut into sections and stacked beside the trail

*For the past few weeks, I’ve been seeing trees turning yellow everywhere, but when I mention it to Scott he says that they look perfectly green to him, not yellow at all. Since my color vision is questionable, I’ll take his word for it. I’ve decided to believe that I’m seeing the yellow that is coming, or the slightest idea — the inkling — of yellow that has arrived but only as a feeling or the whisper, yellow. This morning, as I stood at the kitchen counter, about to make my coffee, I noticed the reflection of my neighbor’s tree on the granite countertop. Yellow! Wow, I said to myself out loud, has that tree turned when I wasn’t looking? I looked out the window and checked the real tree: a golden feeling, but nothing more.

Another gold/en thing: Admiring the sun spilling through the treetops, feeling the crisper air, W.S. Merwin’s line from “To the Light of August” popped into my head: Still the high, familiar, endless summer, yet with a glint of bronze in chill mornings. I thought, not bronze, but gold.

some marathon experiments

During and after my run, I had 2 ideas for things to try while running 26.2 miles. First: pick 26 poems I’ve memorized to recite in my head as I run. One for each mile. The problem with this idea is not memorizing all the poems. I’ve already done that. The problem is remembering which poems I picked and for which mile! I imagined attempting to write a list on my arm, which seemed ridiculous and too unruly.

Second: for each mile, notice things that begin with one particular letter. Do this in alphabetical order. So, mile 1 = a, mile 2 = b, etc. I could also make a list of as many words that start with that letter as possible. This experiment might be fun, but it could also get tedious.

In addition to these experiments, I’ve been thinking that I need a mantra and/or a few lines from favorite poems to chant in difficult moments or when I want to be distracted. Yes! I’ll have to make a list today. Of course, ED’s life/death/bliss/breath is on this list!

zombies!

Today is the first day of Zombie month! I’m excited to explore this topic, which I don’t know that much about. Since the marathon is this Sunday and I’m also thinking a lot about that, I’ll ease into zombies this week.

When I think of zombies, I think: relentless, indifferent, hungry, mindless, brainless bodies. And this makes me think of Jaws as a relentless killing machine. Here’s a great poem I found on poetryfoundation:

Jaws/ Emma Hine

I don’t realize I’m starved
for the color until the blood

washes up on the beach.
I’m craving red but still

haven’t seen the creature,
just the quick whip and slither

of its tail in the wake
—and then there I am,

facing the skin side
of the animatronic shark.

The slick apertures of its eyes.
The mythic teeth.

The anvil nose beating
the deck, cracking windows.

The shark, like the moon, is
pockmarked, unstoppable,

never showing its hidden side.
Surely space is just another underwater,

the messages we send from satellites
a bleeding haze of infrared:

This is my blood type,
this is where I keep my body at night,

and I tell no one about the times
my body, taking over,

stands waist-deep in the surf,
some wild need inside me

ticking into place.

The slick apertures of its eyes. Yes — Jaws’ eyes are the worst: huge, empty, black. Is much made of zombies’ eyes? Anything distinctive, or do they just look dead and empty?