Category: Running Log

aug 18/SWIM

4 loops
lake nokomis open swim
70 degrees

Wow! Almost perfect conditions for a swim. Warm air, cool but not cold water, calm. Bright. Nearly impossible to sight the orange buoys, which no longer bothers me. From shore, I was never able to sight the third buoy and it took me until the fourth loop to swim to it without having to sharply adjust my course. I was determined to “crack the code” of this course and I did that last loop.

The course was long, which I like. Part of the reason I couldn’t sight the third orange buoy was because it was so much closer to shore and the little beach than it has been all summer. The green buoys were far out and closer to the boats and the cedar bridge. A fun challenge, trying to see them.

10 Things

  1. bubbles below the surface from my hands
  2. bubbles on the surface from other swimmers’ hands? bugs? fish?
  3. a plane flying high and parallel to the water
  4. nets of vines floating, getting stuck on my shoulders, trailing down my leg
  5. pale greenish yellow water
  6. some shiny thing, distant, near the little beach — a new lifeguard boat? a car?
  7. a seagull’s white wingspan high above
  8. the bright sun illuminating the orange buoy, unseen until I was almost next to it
  9. a paddle boarder crossing my path
  10. stopping mid-lake, hearing the rhythm of other swimmers’ stroke

bodies and zombies: Right now, I’m reading the third book in a horror trilogy by the awesome writer, Stephen Graham Jones: The Angel on Indian Lake. The badass main character is a final girl, Jade, and the story takes place on Indian Lake. Yesterday I was reading a section that involves zombies surfacing in the lake, then marching out of it. As I swam in lake nokomis I thought about dead bodies and who/what could be down beneath me in this opaque water. My thoughts were mostly abstract and disconnected from anything real, but I did occasionally think about the high school football player who drowned near the little beach almost a decade ago, and the young girl who drowned near the white buoys off of the big beach 2 or 3 years ago.

bubbles and bugs: During the first loop, swimming into the sun, I noticed bubbles on the otherwise smooth surface of the water. Were they bugs? I suddenly was reminded of Lorine Niedecker’s line in “Paean to Place”:

He could not
–like water bugs–
stride surface tension

The final Sunday open swim. What a wonderful season! I’ve averaged 80 minutes for my swims. 80 minutes in the middle of lake, never stopping to touch shore. So much time pretending to be a fish or trying to be a boat!

aug 17/RUN

12 miles
franklin-ford-past hidden falls
66 degrees / showers

12 miles! It took a long time, but I did it. And, other than needing to go to the bathroom, I felt good at the end.

For the first 2 miles, I ran alongside a 1/2 marathon race. Three things I remember: 1. the loud slap of a fast runner’s feet, 2. another fast runner calling out as she passed slower runners, on your left, and 3. near the top of franklin someone from the race was playing music — Sia’s “Cheap Thrills”

Throughout the run, it rained. Not all the time, but in brief bursts. Mostly light and refreshing, but near Hidden Falls the sky unzipped and I got soaked. For the last half hour, my shorts were drenched. Yuck!

Heard the rowers near the beginning of my run, saw Dave the Daily Walker at the end. Also at the beginning I was passed by 2 runners, one was shorter and did most the talking (and mostly about running), the other was tall and agreed a lot. Saw these runners again about an hour in, and then near the end. They must have been doing a long run too!

The view of the river from the ford bridge was beautiful: blue water framed by green trees. The view of the gorge near Hidden Falls was also wonderful. I couldn’t see much, but I could feel the openness.

Between miles 6 and 7, I passed a woman who was breathing heavily as she ran. When I stopped for a minute of walking (I was doing run 9 mins, walk 1 at that point), she passed me. Then I passed her when I started running again. I was worried that this would keep happening and that I’d hear her wheezing and gasping behind me for the rest of the run, but she turned off when we reached ford. Whew!

Aside from getting drenched at mile 8, the weather was good for running. The on and off showers were refreshing. Running near Hidden Falls, the sun came out from behind the clouds for a minute, and it got hot. I worried that the rest of the run would be too wamr, but then the clouds rushed in and I got soaked.

For 10 of the miles, I listened to the rain and other runners and the falls. Then I put in my winter playlist for the last 2 miles.

aug 16/SWIM

3 loops
lake nokomis open swim
66 degrees / drizzle / mist

Open swim is open through drizzle and rain — as long as it’s not thundering or pouring. I’m glad because I enjoy swimming in the rain. Today there was a soft, steady drizzle. Much of the world was gray — a grayish white sky, gray-green-blue water — but some of it was glowing orange (3 buoys), yellow (lifeguard boat/jacket), and green (2 sighting buoys, a swimmer’s safety buoy).

image: Nearing the orange buoy — an equilateral triangle, glowing ORANGE! Everything else gray, washed out, smudged.

The water was cold and buoyant and, after the first loop, choppy. I felt strong and fast and like a machine — a boat cutting through the water, heading straight for the buoy. 1 2 3 4 5 breathe right 1 2 3 4 5 breathe left. Between the green buoys, when the water was washing over me on my left side, I breathed only to my right. 1 2 3 4 breathe right 1 2 3 4 breathe right 1 2 3 4 breathe right. Breathing only to one side seems strange, unbalanced, intense.

image: Heading to shore at the end of my third loop, watching a swimmer ahead of me. All I could see was the green dot of their cylindrical safety buoy, bobbing brightly in the gray water.

10 Things

  1. a thick mist just above the surface of the water
  2. getting briefly tangled in a floating vine mid-lake
  3. flinging a leaf stuck on my arm mid-stroke
  4. waves off to my side looking like swimmers
  5. a big splash in the water but no swimmer around to have made it — was it a fish jumping out of the water?
  6. orange buoys in a straight line
  7. a dozen other swimmers with yellow, pink, and green safety buoys
  8. sweet solitude, stroking through the mist
  9. one swimmer doing backstroke
  10. another swimmer using their safety boat as a float, turning their face up to receive the rain

I stopped a few times in the middle of the lake to adjust my googles or sight the buoys or take in the solitude and silence. So quiet and empty. Heard a few sloshes but otherwise, nothing or Nothing. Wow.

As we were driving back, I told Scott that another great thing about open swim was the hot shower afterwards. Ah! It’s the only time I take a long shower. I love standing there, rinsing off the muck, feeling the heat of the water on my warm muscles.

This was the last Friday swim of the season. Next Thursday, open swim ends. On Friday RJP moves into her dorm. FWA returns of campus on Sept 2. Then, Scott and I are empty-nesters.

aug 15/SWIM

4 loops
lake nokomis open swim
78 degrees

There was a chance of scattered thunderstorms tonight so I wondered if open swim would happen, but the weather shifted and I was able to swim 4 choppy loops, some of it even with sun.

10 Things

  1. cold. water
  2. fluffy clouds
  3. translucent bubbles
  4. a duck crossing my path near the big beach
  5. the orange buoy looking like a moon, faint and far off
  6. choppy water — breathing only to my right for long stretches
  7. lake water with a soft green glow
  8. a few vines floating by
  9. swans and sailboats
  10. the most popular color for safety buoys tethered to torsos today: bright pink

I can’t remember if I posted this bit from Nobody before, but I’m posting it again as something to think about while I swim:

if only my eyes could sink under the surface
and join those mackerel shoals in their matching suits
whose shivering inner selves all inter-mirrored
all in agreement with water
wear the same

wings

I’m thinking about how opaque the lake water is, how I’ve only seen a few fish, and never a group of them shivering or shimmering, how my eyes are hardly involved in lake swimming. Okay, they’re involved, but to a much lesser extent than one would expect.

question: do I want to be in agreement with water?

With all of the swells and choppy water, I was not in agreement with it today. Or was I? I didn’t mind swimming into walls of water, unable to see, stroking harder, lifting my head higher. I don’t want the water to be this rough all of the time, but sometimes it’s fun, like today.

aug 14/RUN

8 miles
ford-franklin loop
70 degrees / dew point: 64

Oh that sun! Too bright and warm! Advice for future Sara: get up earlier and pick a route in the shade. The sun sapped my energy and made me sweat even more than usual. Dripping ponytail, wet shirt, damp face. Had a few brief thoughts about cutting the run short and crossing at lake street, but didn’t. I remember reaching that bridge and hearing a voice in my head whisper, there’s no turning back after this. I’m proud of myself for continuing with the run. Did it get easier? I’m not sure, but I didn’t think about stopping again or doubt that I could keep going, and the last mile felt good, like I could have run longer.

On the warm-up walk before starting my run, I walked over dozens of acorns on a neighbor’s sidewalk, under their huge tree. As I walked, I could hear more acorns falling. I wondered if one would land on my head (it didn’t). I’ve been noticing the acorns for the last couple of weeks, hearing them hit garage roofs and the alley asphalt while sitting on my back deck. Usually the acorns begin falling at the end of July, so mid-August is a little later for me to start noticing them.

All I remember about crossing the ford bridge was that I had just started and I was already overheated. So hot in the sun! Running (and walking) across the franklin bridge, I looked for rowers (none) and noticed the sandbars just beneath the surface and the current, moving fast. It reminded me of some lines I read from Gave by Cole Swensen:

from Gave/ Cole Swensen

You walk alongside the river. No; you walk always with. Not down, or along, or beside. And you can’t help but measure–is it moving faster? And does that mean each molecule of water? Or does a body of water form internal bodies, pockets that move in counterpoint, in back-beat, in eddies? And does the surface ever move? Or is it something underneath that does? Of course, yes, the molecules of water that form the surface must certainly go forward, but does that mean that the surface itself moves too? Then what is a standing wave? What stays? I watch a large branch being carried down by the river, and then a kayaker, moving faster, then turn to walk back upstream like I’m walking into the arms of some thing.

I haven’t thought much about the distinction between being with and beside. I like beside as next to, and imagine it as a possible form of being with the thing you are in proximity to — a new way of being in community with others?

Reading through a great article about Lorine Niedecker, Dwelling with Place: Lorine Niedecker’s Ecopoetics, I’m wondering if a focus on with, and not just beside, is partly about seeing the river as another community member, not a thing/landscape/scenery you walk beside, but someone you walk with. And now, reading the CS’s lines again, I’m thinking of the idea that the walking with the river is describing how the water is moving too, so you’re not just walking past something that’s next to you.

I’m also thinking about the Sheldrake quotes I posted at the end of yesterday’s entry, on stability and flux and how we (bodies) are processes, not just things. Some of CS’s questions seem to be getting at this, wondering what part of the river fluctuates, and what part of it is stable.

aug 13/SWIM

5 loops
lake nokomis open swim
80 degrees

Another great swim! When I checked the water temperature on the parks water quality site it was 73 degrees, but I’m skeptical. This water felt much warmer than that. Swam for 90 minutes without stopping. So far, I’ve been in the water 11 hours in August. Will I make it to 24? I told Scott that my “swimming, one day in august” might be approximate, which is fitting for me.

10 Things

  1. a dragonfly
  2. at least 4 swan boats crossing the course
  3. scratchy vines — ouch!
  4. bubbles, looking like the ones in Scooby-Doo, illuminated by the sun
  5. backlit green buoy, unseen until right next to them, and then only as dark forms
  6. the never-nearing, Poltergeist hallway orange buoy
  7. ducks being tormented by an annoying kid
  8. 6 seagulls, perched on the light high above, pooping
  9. 2 far off swans, glowing a bright white
  10. leaving at 8, the lake was lively, full of music and people and a joyful, relaxed energy

Thought about the geometry of water as I swam: lines connecting the course, sharp angled turns around buoys, equilateral orange (buoy), isosceles sail.

Here are some passages that I heard in June on the Poetry Off the Shelf podcast that I’d like to remember:

fields of stability through which matter passes

. . . all life forms are processes. Like you, like me, like the cells, the matter that makes up my body today, it’s different matter from the matter that made up my body a few years ago.

So we’re kind of fields of stability through which matter is passing. And all life forms are like that.

Poetry Off the Shelf: A Stone Worth Addressing / Jun 18, 2024

more like a stable whirlpool than a rock

. . . you can’t step in the same river twice, and so that’s one of the founding maxims of modern process thought. So we ourselves are like rivers, the matter is flowing through us, but we remain in our shape. So we’re more like, from this perspective, we’re more like a kind of whirlpool, like a stable whirlpool in a river than we are like a rock in that river.

Poetry Off the Shelf: A Stone Worth Addressing / Jun 18, 2024

balance between habits and flux

And we need both forces in our lives. And sometimes we get trapped in the flux, trapped and dizzy with flux. And then it helps to come back to find some kind of regular habit, some routine, something that can ground you and hold you stable.

Sometimes we get trapped in valleys of habits and calcified modes of thought, and then helpful to play a wrong note, do something completely different, throw yourself out of that, catapult yourself into novelty to get out of that. And certainly, I find that my health, my state of being, depends on these forces being in some kind of balance.”

aug 12/RUNSWIM

4 miles
trestle turn around
60 degrees

4 miles without stopping to walk and negative splits on each mile. A mental victory! That’s good because marathon training is getting serious now. A 12 mile long run this week.

A beautiful, cooler morning. Sunny and still. Quiet and calm. I tried to see the river, but the trees were too thick with leaves and the railing at the trestle was just slightly too high to see anything but sky. Heard 2 different coxswain’s voices and tried to imagine the rowers slapping their oars on the water. One of the coxswains called out, 22 — 22 strokes? 22 seconds? Greeted Mr. Morning! who seemed a little subdued today — not morning! but morning. Noticed an empty blue sky, a black sweatshirt tossed behind a bush in a neighbor’s yard, and a black baseball cap with an Addias logo on a retaining wall. Wondered why there weren’t any stones stacked on the ancient boulder — did a wind blow them off?

overheard

1: one runner to another after running up Franklin hill — I think my quads are okay

2: someone coming out of the portapotty to their companion — I’m glad it was clean!

3: a kid on a bike to an adult walking while looking at their phone — do you like walking 20 miles?

sharks

There is no such thing as shark-infested waters, in the same way that there is no such thing as a child-infested school. You cannot infest your own home. Fear is, of course, a great good. It can be a form of wisdom. But if we could reorient the sentiment–and direct it, for instance, toward those humas whoese vested interests lie in persuading us to acquiesce in the living world’s destruction–we would fare better. Beward an ExxonMobil-infested State Department; beware a fossil-fuel-infested politics. These are dark times, and there are many things to fear. But none of them are found swimming udner a vast sky as the waters around us warn and empty.

The Fin and the Fury / Katherine Rundell

swim: 6 little loops / 3 big loops
cedar lake
82 degrees

Finally, a chance to swim at cedar lake again! Perfect weather: calm lake, warm air, sun. The surface of the water was smooth. Below, the water was opaque. I couldn’t even see my hand. Got tangled up in some sharp and scratchy vines. Noticed some birds soaring high in the sky, some canoes crossing the path. Before the swim, I smelled cigarette smoke. After the swim, weed. The water was more than one temperature: almost bathwater warm, then freezing, then no temperature at all.

aug 10/RUN

10 miles
lake nokomis and back
61 degrees

10 miles! It’s been some time since I ran 10 miles. I can’t run it as fast or as effortlessly as I did back in 2017 or 2018, but I did it, and it wasn’t bad, and I don’t feel terrible. Each week, I’m getting a little better and mentally tougher.

Sunny, cool, calm. I liked the moments when I was able to run on the soft dirt, on the boulevard or beside the paved path — the feel of fine grit under my feet, the sound of it shushing — sh sh sh, it is time, now, for the deepening and quieting of the spirit.

Heard a coxswain’s voice, below in the gorge. I just realized that I usually write, “heard the rowers,” but I hardly ever hear the boats or rowers talking or oars cutting through the water unless I’m down in the gorge, next to the river. What I hear is the coxswain’s voice and I think, Rowers!

I don’t remember seeing the river, but I did admire the beautiful blue of the lake. So blue! So inviting! The lake was crowded — some people walking, running, sitting, other people preparing to set up the course for tomorrow’s ywca tri. Halfway around the lake, I started hearing sirens, more and more of them. A few minutes later, I saw them parked on the road, lights flashing. I’m not sure what happened, but I hope everyone’s okay.

On my way back from the lake, I passed by a coffee shop where we used to get coffee when we lived over here. The outdoor seating was full of people. I liked listening to the buzz of conversations — no intelligible words, just the pleasant, relaxed sound of a Saturday morning in the summer.

10 More Things

  1. a roller skier’s wheels — squeaking, sounding old or rusted or rickety
  2. a fine mist above the falls
  3. a runner blasting some music as he ran by — can’t remember what he was listening to
  4. a view of the water from the bridge: a stretch of sparkles
  5. ducks, taking over the water at the little beach
  6. a little kid to his dad at the beach, can I throw a rock in the water? dad: since no one else is here, you can
  7. turkeys! 4 of them by the overlook, a kid calling out to his dad, turkeys! turkeys!
  8. a few seconds later, a dog barking at the turkeys
  9. a group of runners listening to “treasure” by bruno mars
  10. Mr. Walker-Sitter! sitting on his walker next to the fence on the edge of the trail

aug 9/SWIM

3+ loops
lake nokomis open swim
60 degrees

Cold again this morning, but at least there was warm sun. And, I had enough time to take a long hot shower when I was done. Maybe it was because the water was colder, but I felt faster, more buoyant, strong.

It was calm the first loop, but by the second, rough, choppy. The lifeguards opened the course late — well, I never heard them open it. After waiting 15 minutes, we all just started going. They wanted the orange buoys to be perfectly in line, which was not necessary, or even possible. Their desire for perfection did not extend to the green buoys; they were way off course. The one closest to the big beach wasn’t close at all, and by my third loop had drifted even farther away.

image: Most of the time, it was sunny and bright. A few times, the sun was covered by clouds. Once, as it went behind a big, fluffy cloud, everything went dark — the water, the air. Not only could I see it, but I felt it: heaviness.

feeling: Rounding the first orange buoy for a second (or was it third?) loop, I suddenly felt strange, out of it. Light-headed? Dizzy? Not sure. I began to worry that I wouldn’t be able to make it across the lake and then felt the anxiety spread, warm tingling from my toes to the top of my head. I pictured foamy water in a pot about to boil over and then imagined the water slowly retreating. My anxiety dissolved.

Dissolving made me think of aspirin which reminded me of a line from a poem I posted on here on 22 may 2020, Push the button, hear the sound / Helen Mort:

Can you hear the aspirin of the sun dissolving?

Thinking more about the word dissolve — did my anxiety dissolve? Do I dissolve in the water? Not quite. I think there is a better word for what happens to me.

…watching a replay of the women’s 10k open swim. That current in the Seine! Yikes. Rowdy Gaines is talking about how before they cleaned it up, only 3 species of fish could live in the polluted Seine. Now, there are 36 species.

Yesterday, we checked out RJP’s dorm room. Bigger than the ones at Gustavus. The bathroom was bright, with orange and yellow tiles. She seemed to like it. She moves in 2 weeks from today. Wow!

aug 8/RUNSWIM

4 miles
minnehaha falls and back
62 degrees

Cooler! I’m looking forward to fall running. It’s coming. Today’s mental victory: I didn’t stop at the spot I always stop at, but kept running up the hill and out of the park. Heard the falls gushing and the sewer pipes dripping, but my favorite sound was the rush of wind through the trees. It reminded me of my family’s farm and the glittering leaves of the aspen trees in the front yard. Sometimes, I really miss that farm and the late 90s – early 2000s version of my family. Everyone alive, almost all of us together for my birthday and the fourth of july.

10 Things

  1. roller skiers — at least 2, one coming up from behind, then turning towards wabun park before they reached me
  2. shimmering water spied through the trees near the overlook
  3. a kid kicking rocks in the parking lot, an adult calling out, I just have to pay for the parking. Wait there!
  4. the summery, sweet and fresh smell of a certain type of tall grass near short wall with “The Song of Hiawatha” etched on top — did it almost smell like cilantro? I used to smell this same grass in front of an apartment building running up the marshall hill
  5. a few spots of light on the double bridge
  6. the creek, just before spilling over the limestone ledge, was high
  7. the faintest spray of the falls as I ran by
  8. birds singing in stereo — by the gorge, in the neighborhood, across the street
  9. a cloud-free blue sky — bright blue, not bright blue
  10. a neighbor’s boulevard garden, filled with tall grasses and flowers and something tall and feathery that looked and smelled like dill — can dill get that tall?

Watching the Olympics — not at night, but during the day, getting to see (well, what I can see, sitting close up to the tv) the events in their entirety, nerding out on the rules and habits specific to each sport. My favorite new-to-me sports: kayak slalom cross and dinghy sailing. Wow.

A year ago, on 8 August 2023, I wrote about Mary Oliver and her swimming poem:

Recited Mary Oliver’s “Swimming, One Day in August” in my head as I swam the last loop and realized something. She writes:

Something had pestered me so much
that I felt like my heart would break.
I mean, the mechanical part.

The mechanical part? I realized that her heart breaking is a good thing here and that her mechanical heart is the one that follows the beat of organized, tightly contained time, broken down into hours and minutes and seconds so we can be as efficient and productive as possible. Yes! Swimming in the lake can break me open and out of time’s rigid boxes.

I want to think about this breaking open and stepping or stroking? out of time while I swim.

swim: 5 loops
lake nokomis open swim
68 degrees

Brr! The water was warmer than the air temperature and wasn’t too bad for most of the swim, but that last loop! The cold creeped in. First my hands, then my feet. I was in the water — didn’t stop — for an hour and 25 minutes.

Rough water: starting the loop, swimming towards the little beach, I was almost swimming with the current. Mostly the water pushed me forward, occasionally it pushed me off to the left. Rounding the far orange buoy, I swam into the waves/swells. We (the water, me) didn’t fight, but it was difficult to see or sight, and I often had to breathe to my right. I wasn’t trying to rhyme so much in this last sentence. The final stretch between the last green and the first orange was the calmest — a reprieve before beginning another loop.

I did try to think about Mary Oliver and the mechanical part of my heart breaking. I thought about rhythm and my steady stroking and my (hardly ever) stopping. Then I thought about how I had no idea how much time had passed — 30 minutes? an hour?

I’m writing the swim part of this log entry the next morning. Can I remember 10 things from the swim?

10 Things

  1. loose vines, briefly clinging to my cap — not slimy or scratchy
  2. something in the water, out in the middle of the lake — water milfoile?
  3. seagulls!
  4. ducks!
  5. opaque water — I don’t remember the color, except for that it was not yellow
  6. puffy clouds in the sky, one off in the distance, near the parking lot, looking almost like a plume of smoke
  7. planes!
  8. movement out of the corner of my eye — usually a wave, sometimes a swimmer
  9. a sailboat on the edge of the course with a white sail
  10. finishing the swim, having a brief conversation with someone: hello. what are you doing? / I’m swimming across the lake. / why? / because I love to and there’s an open swim club. / what’s that yellow thing behind you? / it’s a safety buoy so I can be seen. I carry my phone in it. / oh, thanks for talking to me!