4 miles
river road, north/south
30 degrees
100% loose snow
Loose snow. Difficult to move through. For almost all of the run, it was fine. I was careful, deliberate, light on my feet. On the last stretch, running up that a hill, I ran faster to pass a woman with 2 dogs. She was walking fast and I was irritated? Was she doing something worthy of irritation? She and her dogs were walking in such a way that took over most of the path and forced me into the uneven snow. And, she seemed to speed up as I neared her, like she was racing me. Not long after passing her, it happened. I rolled my ankle in the loose snow. oh shit, I exclaimed. It was fine for the rest of the run, and it seems fine an hour later. I’m RICEing (rest ice compression elevate) to be safe. To increase the odds that all will continue to be fine, it’s time for some fun with medical terms: RICE
R I C E
- routinely, I crave eggplant
- rust is corroding energy
- rapt, I consider everything
- rippled ice concerns Edgar
- reciting Issa causes enlightenment
- rabbits implore, cancel Easter!
- rooted in creative excess
- restive, impatient, contrary, edgy
- rude individuals can’t empathize
- ribald, irritating, caterwauling, egomaniacs
- Rosie is counting elements
- Rankled, I cry, Enough!
- river island causeway eddy
Other memories from the run: the bells of St. Thomas playing a Christmas song, but which one?; crows cawing steadily, and syncing my steps to their song; several cars swinging wide to avoid splashing me with the melted snow; waving twice at a guy in a red jacket — once on my way north, then again on my way south; stopping several times to walk when the snow became too soft and uneven; small splashes of yellow dotting the snow, some bright, some faded; the road was bare and wet, the trail was not; feeling strong as I lengthened my torso, stretched out of my hips, opened my chest, and increased my cadence.
On This Day: January 5, 2025
Found these beautiful lines from the wonderful Carl Phillips while revisiting 2025’s January 5th entry:
Moving With: Carl Phillips
What if, bet-
ween this one
and the one
we hoped for,
there’s a third
life, taking
its own slow,
dreamlike hold,
even now —
blooming in
spite of us?
(from “Sky Coming Forward”)
Moving with Li-Young Lee:
for those three
primary
colors: staying,
leaving, and
returning.
(Big Clock/Li-Young Lee)
Found this delightful poem this morning. I thought about the contrary crows when I heard the crows by the gorge.
Birds on Statues/ Cole Swensen
On one side of the pond, a woman heads west in stone, while on the other, it’s a man heading east, but with the same extravagant gestures of headlong flight—one leg thrown back and both hands launched forward. And sometimes it’s on the tip of one of the lifted heels that a pigeon sits, and sometimes it’s on a thumb, but usually it’s on a head, often one on each, making a mockery of the phrase “in headlong flight.”
Though now they’re rebuilding the pond, so they’ve drained it, with the odd result that the pigeons have gone and have been replaced by crows. They too particularly like to perch on the statues’ heads, but, determined to assert their alterity, they make sure that they’re always facing backward.