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
- rowers! running north, the coxswain’s voice seemed to be following me
- 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
- greeted Mr. Holiday — good morning!
- more red leaves, some yellow
- someone in running shorts standing beside the porta potty. Were they waiting — to use it, for a friend?
- a line-up cars — maybe 10 — behind a car turning left onto 32nd
- a biker zooming by — fast! — with a kid in a trailer
- 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?
- running through the dark tunnel of trees, looking ahead and seeing an opening: bright, white, glowing
- 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.