14 miles
franklin / ford / almost confluence
56 degrees
14 miles! For my route, I ran north on the river road, over the lake street bridge to north on the east river road. Took the franklin bridge back over to the west side and then south on west river road. When I reached the lake street bridge, I crossed it again and headed south on east river road until I almost but not quite reached the confluence. On the way back, I crossed over the ford bridge, ran through Wabun park, down Godrey, back under the ford bridge, down and back up the road to locks and dam no. 1, then north on the river road. The route was a variation on the franklin-ford loop — instead of a loop, a figure eight — combined with the confluence loop. Mostly, I ran 3 min, then walked 1. When it got harder, in the last few miles, I switched to 90 seconds of running, 30 seconds of walking.
For the first hour, I listened to the quiet — hardly any cars, early on a Sunday morning! — and the rowers and water seeping out of the limestone. For the rest of the run, I listened to my “Hello, Goodbye” playlist. The thing I remember most, was 867-5309 and this lyric with a double meaning:
Jenny, Jenny, you’re the girl for me
Oh, you don’t know me, but you make me so happy
I tried to call you before, but I lost my nerve
I tried my imagination, but I was disturbed.
I heard disturbed meaning 2 things at once: the more popular, interrupted, but also, unhinged. Was this double-meaning intended? Not sure, but that’s how I heard it, and I liked the multiplicity of it.
the rowers! As I crossed over the lake street bridge for the first time, I saw them. A speck, a streak, then 3 shells approaching from the south. The first coxswain had a deep voice and was explaining the order to the rowers: male single shells and female single shells together. A few minutes later a coxswain with a higher voice tried to pump up the rowers. A few times, the words became distorted as the voice got louder and more excited. I did hear something about starting at the trestle. I could see the rowers for most of my run north towards the franklin bridge. Oh — I almost forgot — when I first noticed the rowers, it was quiet enough that I could hear their oars slapping the water awkwardly. I could also hear the oars creaking as the rowers lifted them out of the water.
14 Other Things
- a carolina wren — cheeseburger cheese burger
- the gate at the entrance to the no longer used for power plant was locked again
- a shimmering sound — water leaking out of the limestone below me
- the crack in the sidewalk just north of the trestle is getting worse — tall plants are growing out of it at one end, while it grows deeper on the other
- click clack click clack — a roller skier hitting, then scraping their poles
- the sliding bench — shaded, surrounded by green
- on 2 different occasions — a tall man, walking alone, talking very loudly on a phone — their voice echoing
- no tent near ford bridge today, but someone sitting on a tall chair, facing the road, an umbrella giving them shade
- click click click click a walker approaching me, striking the asphalt rhythmically with her hiking poles
- the sky was blue and a little hazy — was it humidity burning off or my bad vision?
- I stopped at a bench above hidden falls to tighten my shoe laces: it was in the sun and empty
- a single red leaf on an otherwise green tree — fall is coming
- the flat, smooth surface of the river as seen from above on the ford bridge
- the reflection of the bridge on the surface of the river as seen from below the ford bridge
That run wasn’t easy and I am tired. My calf and knees started to hurt around mile 11. But, I did it and, an hour later, I’m already feeling better. I will be able to run 16 miles next week.
I’m not putting this in my 10 things, but I could. The grass is not really green, but brown. In some spots in the strips along the river, it is so dry, it’s yellow. I remembered these images of grass, when I read poets.org’s poem of the day by Carl Sandburg. I like his poetry — whimsical and weird.
Summer Grass/ Carl Sandburg
Summer grass aches and whispers.
It wants something; it calls and sings; it pours
out wishes to the overhead stars.
The rain hears; the rain answers; the rain is slow
coming; the rain wets the face of the grass.