2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2022, 2023
Today, on March 20, 2022, reading through my past entries, using the On This Day plugin, I am struck by how many of the different years highlight important themes that shape this running while writing and writing while running project: reciting while running (2017), how we think differently in walking vs. running (2018); vision and poetry (2019), and experimenting with limits in form (2020). Here are some highlights to help me remember what I wrote:
march 20, 2017 / 3 miles
I used today’s run to complete my assignment for my poetry class by doing one of Bernadette Mayer’s experiments from Please Add to the List. 2 important things I’d like to remember from my description in the log entry:
- an experiment to try: Run one mile and then, while walking for 30 seconds, talk about what I experienced and thought about while running. Repeat at least 6 times.
- a question to consider: Does the recording of my thoughts count as writing or is it merely the raw material to be crafted into something more polished?
march 20, 2018 / 10K
A few days ago, I stumbled upon a brief essay about running and how it differs from walking:
But the act of running gives me something I cannot get from a walk, and that is total mental freedom. I agree with Kierkegaard that walking is objectively better than sitting, in terms of feeling good. But it is not always sufficient. And although the day-to-day business of writing is closely connected to walking, the business of being a functioning person – for me – requires something else. Running demands that you concentrate on something which requires almost no conscious thought at all. It is a particular kind of thinking which is all about the next few seconds and entirely pragmatic: mind that low-hanging branch, is that dog on an extendable lead, am I about to get mugged by a flock of Canada geese (the nightclub bouncers of the bird world). It also proves that you are more, or at least other, than you think.
Stepping Up to the Page / Natalie Haynes
I like her idea of running as offering a particular kind of thinking and I agree that much of running time is taken up with mundane, immediate thoughts about branches or cracks in the pavement or how deep a puddle is, whether or not the runner I’m approaching will move over, etc.. But, what I also like about running is that flashes of insight happen too–I have really great thoughts. Because of the effort I’m making and my need to pay attention to my surroundings, I can’t ruminate slowly and obsessively about those thoughts. The best I can do is try to record them in a voice memo or write them in a log entry after I’m done. Why is this a good thing? I’m not sure that I can express it right now–maybe something about a need to correct my tendency to overthink things or my love of imposing limits on my creative process?
march 20, 2019 / 4 miles
Before going out for my run, worked on a poem I’m doing about vision and my inability to see when/if people are trying to make contact with me. Mostly I can see people’s eyes–at least that they have them and the whites and the pupils. But I can’t see when the pupils move, when they shift, expand, contract. So I can’t always tell when people are looking at me. It makes reading people difficult.
As I’ve been think/write/research more on vision, I’ve encountered some interesting stuff, including a few articles about Emily Dickinson and how her temporary vision problems influenced some of her poetry, like this poem: Before I got my eye put out – (336) / Emily Dickinson
march 20, 2020 / 3.3 miles
I love constraints and the challenge they offer. Double Abecedarians are especially fun. As far as I know, the classic double abecedarian has 26 lines and either starts each line working its way up the alphabet (a, b, c . . .) and ends working its way down (z, y, x . . .) or vice versa. After noticing how “x-box” both started and ended with the same letter–the dreaded letter x, I decided to try a double abecedarian where each line began and ended with the same letter (so, first line begins with a, ends with a, and so on). So much fun! And such a great way to distract you from pandemics!
Here are a few resources:
march 20, 2022 / 3.85 miles / 36 degrees
Adding this 2022 entry in 2024. As I work on a poem about routines/repetitions (haunts), maybe this could be helpful:
Before my run, I read a short section from Dart. This one was in the voice of the dairy worker (page 29):
to the milk factory, staring at routine thingsDart / Alice Oswald
In the poem, these routine things include
bottles on belts going round bends.
Watching out for breakages, working nights. Building up
prestige. Me with my hands under the tap, with my brain
coated in a thin film of milk. In the fridge, in the warehouse,
wearing ear-protectors.Dart / Alice Oswald
I decided to start my run with this prompt: focus on/stare at the routine things on my run. Here are some of my thoughts:
- the route: Marshall Loop. Not as routine as other routes, but one I do often. North on 43rd ave; right on 31st st; left on 46th ave; right on lake street, then over the bridge until it turns into marshall; up the marshall hill; right on Cretin ave; right on east river road; down past shadow falls; up the lake street bridge steps and over the bridge; down the hill then over to west river road heading south
- ran past the lutheran church on 32nd and 43rd. Heard the congregation singing inside for the sunday church service
- encountered another pedestrian, stayed on the right side as we passed
- wore my usual outfit for an early spring run: black running tights, black shorts, green long-sleeved shirt, orange sweatshirt, hat, headband, gloves
- like it always does after a rain, or when the snow melts, shadow falls was gushing
- reaching the top of the marshall hill, I watched the crosswalk timer countdown and the light turn from green to yellow to red
march 20, 2023 / 3.1 miles / 29 degrees
From 2024: Here’s another one of those, is it a verb or a nouns, that I like collecting and thinking about:
What are the differences between contemplation and day dreaming? And, is it day dream or daydream — is that another instance of me turning a verb (the day dreams) into a noun (a daydream)?