Early Morning Riser
What’s the difference between ritual and routine? When is it a prayer and when is it just proper form? Efficient breathing? When does a habit become sacred? Does it need a doctrine? A theology? Hymns about souls and rejoicing and kingdoms and conquering and reigning? Chants about fathers and spirits and ghosts and sacrificing sons? basement potlucks with seven layer dips? Uncomfortable pews? Getting up too early on a Sunday morning? Yes, it needs this. Could it be that one defining characteristic of the sacred for me is a refusal to stay in bed? A need to be upright, alive, active, present in the world?
Morning Routine, spring 2017
Wake up at 6. Feed dog. Make coffee.
Write some while drinking the coffee.
Eat: cheerios, banana.
Wash face, brush teeth, wake kids.
Put on running clothes
and running shoes.
Go outside.
Walk some.
Run!
Shoelace Ritual
I imagined how a priest might put on his vestments before going to celebrate the Eucharist, doing it very mindfully. So I would approach running the same way if I put on my shorts and T-shirt and then pull on my socks and make sure that there’s no creases in them, smooth them out and pull them up just right and examine my shoes to make sure there’s not any pebbles or dirt inside and lace up the shoelaces very carefully and double-knot them and simply just pay attention to what I’m doing. And so to the extent to which I can prepare my mind and my body to receive, then I think I’ve prepared myself for both the run and for the prayer (Roger Joslin).
Right after
I tie my running shoes, I
Tuck the bows
Under the laces.
Always. It helps keep the
Laces from coming untied.
Habit
1. a costume characteristic of a calling, rank or function (Merriam-Webster online dictionary)
2. the garment worn, the very structure of body life (Mary Oliver)
Attire
1. Black shorts with white trim. Not black as
Coal, they’ve faded in the sun. The
Drawstring is gone too. It was a pretty bright blue. Now
Elastic is all I have to keep the shorts from
Falling down.
2. Green
Headphones, if I’m listening to music, and
If I am, that music usually includes a
Justin or two: Bieber or Timberlake. My
Kids wouldn’t
Like me to admit that,
Mostly because it embarrasses them. “Here’s something to look forward to: when you’re 42, almost 43,
Nothing embarrasses you,” I say.
Other favorites to listen to: Barry Manilow,
Prince. 3. A
Quick-drying tank top, either in black or blue. I
Really don’t care which.
Sometimes I wear a green tank-top, but it’s
Thicker and not quick-drying, so only if the temperature is
Under 70 degrees. Otherwise it’s
Very uncomfortable.
4. White ankle socks, with an orange
X on the heel, at the end of the word, “Power Sox,” and mismatched trim that is
Yellow on one foot and bluish green on the other. 5. Bright blue shoes with
Zero swooshes, only coral swishes.
Running Shoes:
Excellent. Dependable. Cheap. Since I started running almost 6 years ago, I’ve worn Saucony (pronounced: sock-a-knee)Grid Cohesion shoes. $39.99, if you find them on sale, which I always do. I think my first pair were version 4. Now I’m on version 10. An intense blue with coral swishes. Great for someone with a “neutral”, as opposed to pronate or supine, foot strike and a super wide foot. I used to be envious of Scott and his fancy and brightly colored $100+ shoes. Why can’t I find cool, high-tech shoes like that to fit my foot? But for the past several versions, my bottom-of-the-line basic Sauconys have been available in more than boring white or gray. I’ve worn bright orange, teal and now a deep blue.
Baseball Cap:
I have a used-to-be-kelly green but now is briny green or olive green or sweaty green or I-should-be-thrown-away green twins baseball cap that I bought at a twin’s game years ago and now, after many adjustments, fits just right on my head, even when the wind is really blowing, and that I wear whenever I run but that is fraying at the top and is causing me distress because I love it and don’t want to get rid of it and fear that there will never, ever be another cap as great or that is as faithful in keeping out the sun and capturing the sweat so it doesn’t run down into my eyes as this one that has been snugly, but not too snugly, on my head through thousands of miles and dozens of running and triathlon races.
Starting out
Put on your shoes and go outside to
Run. Start slow
And stay relaxed.
Your breathing should be steady and
Even. Focus on finding a
Rhythm and letting go.
Composed and recorded while running and speaking into an iPhone:
At the beginning of my run, just as I try to steady my breath, I try to calm my mind.
Running Log Entry: What a beautiful morning for a run! I reminded myself, before leaving the house, to listen today. Birds. Cars, Crunching feet. The most unusual sound was a group of kids singing…what were they singing? Some popular song that I almost, but can’t quite, remember. They were on the other side of the river road, near Minnehaha Academy. I’m not sure what they were doing, other than being loud and joyful. Oh…I also heard water emptying out of the sewer pipe, just below the path. It wasn’t quite gushing, but was doing more than trickling as it traveled down the slope of the gorge.
Renewing the Sacred
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places (Wendell Berry).
Every run begins the same. Leave the house. Turn left, then turn left again at the end of the block. Walk one more block. Start running towards the river. Reach it after 3 blocks. Now a choice: left towards downtown or right towards the falls. I usually choose left and about 4 minutes later I visit the trees—the floodplain forest—down in the gorge. I renew the sanctity of the place as I run above it, reverently checking the progress of the leaves and attending to the view of the river that is either revealed or obscured by a veil of green.
Breathing
…before inspiration was used to refer to breath it had a distinctly theological meaning in English, referring to a divine influence upon a person, from a divine entity (Merriam-Webster dictionary online).
Running Log Entry: Recently I read an article about using breathing to prevent injury. It’s a form of rhythmic breathing, where you inhale for 3 steps and exhale for 2. The idea is that as you exhale your core destabilizes, which puts extra strain on the striking foot and that side of the body. If you trade off which foot you land on when you exhale you can distribute the strain more evenly between your left and right sides. I might try it. I’m paying more attention to my breathing lately, but I usually don’t count the breaths.
In 2 3
Out 2.
In belief,
out doubt.
Come in joy
leave grief.
Embrace love
not hate.
Be here now
not there.
Listen well
don’t speak.
Be open
not closed.
Chanting
Composed and repeated during franklin hill turn around runs.
In 4/4 time, with 4 foot strikes per measure, words spoken on first three beats:
there’s a path
there’s a path
that was closed
that was closed
up until
up until
late last fall
late last fall
In 4/4 time, with 4 foot strikes per measure, words spoken on beats 1 and 3:
there was
a hill
there was
a hill
that I
climbed up
that I
climbed up
now that
I’m done
slow down
the run
now that
I’m done
slow down
the run
Giving Thanks
In the Qur’an, multiple times, God puts thankfulness up there after believing in God, and being thankful is constantly one of the most important things. And when I’m running, I feel like I’m actively expressing that gratitude — first of all, by being able to use my limbs and the faculties that God gave me to run. And also, I’m outside, and when my strides are comfortable, and I feel like nobody’s looking, sometimes I’ll sort of spread my arms out and just think, “Thank you, God. This is beautiful” (Sarah Khasawinah)
Form, mid-run
Sometimes when I run
I breathe in deeply.
As my chest rises
so does my heart
and my head
and my shoulders.
I feel vast
expansive
generous.
I am open
to love
to joy
to possibility.
I want to spread my arms wide
and embrace the world.
But I don’t.
It takes up too much space
and would alter my gait.
Instead, I shape my feelings into a smile
that spreads across my face
and extends all the way to my toes.
Attending
Past the feel-good vibes, past the delusions, my attention moves outward: I’m intensely aware of the cadence of a bird’s song, cherry blossoms weighted-down after a rain. Things light up and I experience an interior stillness that somehow syncs me more profoundly with the exterior world (Jamie Quatro).
Running Log Entry: Lately I’ve been running without headphones more, listening to my breathing and the sounds around me. I’ve also been trying to allow for silence in my running. To not shut everything out with a playlist or a podcast. I like it. I like listening to the crunch of my feet and how that sound changes depending on the condition of the path. I like picking out the different bird sounds, even though I can’t identify them, as I’m running above the river. I like being able to hear people greet me and to respond with a “hello” or “good morning”. And I like listening to the wind and coming up with words to describe its sound, like “sizzle” or “static on a tv.”
Congregating
Running Log Entry: I didn’t wear headphones so I was able to hear the birds and when other runners and walkers said good morning to me. I estimate that I greeted around 20 people. There was one stretch of the trail where it felt like I was saying “good morning,” “good morning,” “good morning,” over and over again.
Offering
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came (Wendell Berry)
I almost always end my run at the 36th street parking lot. Then I walk home the four blocks. I drink some water or an energy drink and stretch. Sometimes I take the dog for a walk. Then I sit down in front of my laptop and write a running log entry. I try to remember what I experienced on the run. I might start a poem about attention or try to remember what I was thinking about or make a list of what I noticed.
Variety of Sounds, a list
Birds that pecked, cawed, squawked, chirped incessantly, honked, cooed and rooted around in the dry underbrush on the edge of the bluff.
Cars that plodded, swooshed, revved, thundered, puttered and hummed as they ambled on the river road or passed overhead on the bridges I ran under or rushed hurriedly on the freeway that I could only faintly hear at the halfway point of my run.
Branches that thrashed against the iron fence when I accidentally hit them. That cracked under my feet as I ran by. That rustled vigorously when a squirrel climbed on them in the tall tree across the road and more gently when the wind caught hold of their dry and brittle leaves.
Critters that barked, screeched, thumped and noisily plodded through the vegetation near the riverbank.
Sandy debris that crunched under my right foot and rubbed against a small pebble that had become lodged in the slightly worn tread of my shoe as I ran up the small hill, just past the Lake Street bridge and that cracked under the heavy wheels of the cars that drove over it. Mulched debris that absorbed most of the sound of my striking foot, converting its usual sharp thwack into a dull thud.