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
a roller skier’s wheels — squeaking, sounding old or rusted or rickety
a fine mist above the falls
a runner blasting some music as he ran by — can’t remember what he was listening to
a view of the water from the bridge: a stretch of sparkles
ducks, taking over the water at the little beach
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
turkeys! 4 of them by the overlook, a kid calling out to his dad, turkeys! turkeys!
a few seconds later, a dog barking at the turkeys
a group of runners listening to “treasure” by bruno mars
Mr. Walker-Sitter! sitting on his walker next to the fence on the edge of the trail
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
roller skiers — at least 2, one coming up from behind, then turning towards wabun park before they reached me
shimmering water spied through the trees near the overlook
a kid kicking rocks in the parking lot, an adult calling out, I just have to pay for the parking. Wait there!
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
a few spots of light on the double bridge
the creek, just before spilling over the limestone ledge, was high
the faintest spray of the falls as I ran by
birds singing in stereo — by the gorge, in the neighborhood, across the street
a cloud-free blue sky — bright blue, not brightblue
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 muchin 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
loose vines, briefly clinging to my cap — not slimy or scratchy
something in the water, out in the middle of the lake — water milfoile?
seagulls!
ducks!
opaque water — I don’t remember the color, except for that it was not yellow
puffy clouds in the sky, one off in the distance, near the parking lot, looking almost like a plume of smoke
planes!
movement out of the corner of my eye — usually a wave, sometimes a swimmer
a sailboat on the edge of the course with a white sail
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!
9 miles lake nokomis (cedar bridge) and back 61 degrees
9 miles! Decided to break it up into blocks of 3. Miles 1-3: easy, no stops / Miles 4-6: run 9 min, walk 1 min / Miles 7-9: heart rate zones. Well, I didn’t really follow it on the last mile; I ran the whole way. Another mile would have been water — especially without water — but by next week, I’ll be ready for it. (3 sept 2024: I’m not sure what I was trying to write here? Would have been harder?)
10 Things
LOUD leaf blower
lawn mower
overheard audiobook line coming from a passing biker: she walked through the airport
an adult yelling at a kid: it’s only 10 am, and you’re already covered in fricking dirt!
sparkling water, 1: the river, through the trees
rowers!
sparkling water, 2: from the bridge, lake nokomis
boats waiting at the dock to be checked for zebra mussels
a pickleball tournament at the rec center — thwack thwack thwack thwack
2 bikers yelling to their friend — Laura! Sue! Laura and Sue turn around and bike back to them. Biker 1 explains, this is the turnoff to go over the bridge. Laura or Sue, oh, it’s been so long since I’ve biked over here
swim: 4 loops lake nokomis open swim 76 degrees
Another great night for a swim! There’s still a blue-green algae advisory, but I didn’t encounter any, only one or two vines. Wasn’t sure how I’d feel after running 9 miles in the morning, but I was fine. Tonight’s 4 loops were on the longish side. Here’s a comparison that future Sara will appreciate:
6 aug 2024: 4 loops / 2.5 miles / 2490 strokes 2 aug 2024: 4 loops / 2 miles / 2212 strokes 28 july 2024: 4 loops / 2 miles / 2276 strokes
The green buoy closest to the big beach was a lot farther south than it has been in the past week. I almost missed it during the first loop. I had to stop and look around. When I finally saw it, it was so far out that I doubted my eyes, almost thinking it might be the sail on a boat. A moment/image: treading water that was calm and flat, everything quiet, no one around, facing the sun, seeing the green buoy to my left looking enormous and far away. A double-take, then cautiously swimming towards it. Difficult to put into words the feeling, out in the lake, when I stop to tread water — such wonderful solitude and peace, maybe it’s not solitude, but a sense of nothingness or an emptying of self, a joining with the water and sky.
10 Things
swimming away from the sun (heading east), seeing a strange red-orange spot in my left goggle
clouds — a feathery pattern
a plane, parallel to the water
a seagull, then a flock of seagulls high above me — I turned my head to watch them as I breathed
orange reflections on the water, near the buoy
sighting the buoy, far off in the distance, emptied of its orange, looking white
not too many yellow safety buoys tethered to swimmers, more orange and pink
another regular swimmer saying to me before the swim, I’m glad you’re here. I thought I was the only one!
a repeated squeaking noise that I couldn’t quite place — my swim cap? nose plug?
3.5 feet visibility — barely a hand or bubbles, nothing below me, swimming in pale green nothingness
My swimming one day in August project update: So far, I have 5 hours 34 minutes 44 seconds of my 24 hour goal. Can I do it? Of course I can!
Kamala Harris has picked Mn gov Tim Walz as her running mate. He’s a wonderful choice. Joy, hope, possibility.
5.5 miles ford loop 73 degrees humidity: 77% / dew point: 62
I thought it was going to be cooler this morning, but I was wrong. Hot, humid, lots of sweating — not moist, soaked. Didn’t bother me too much, and I’m not wiped out now. More progress! Felt strong at the end, like I could have run for longer.
10 Things
rowers on the river, at least different groups with 3 different coxswains
one of the coxswains gave out orders and then changed her mind: no, do this first — take one stroke, just one stroke
3 kids on bikes on the east side of the river — let’s go to your house!
those same kids, a mile later as we all (me running, them biking) reached the overlook.One kid: It’s the Mississippi! Let’s get off our bikes and explore!
3 or more big groups of runners
water gushing, 1: from a storm drain in front of a house
water gushing, 2: at shadow falls
water gushing, 3: the sewer pipe at 42nd
the cool, dark shade under the trees on the way down from the ford bridge
the street lamps were on on the St. Paul side — have people stopped stealing the copper?
a new term discovered: daylighting
In recent decades, these rivers have also rallied a growing chorus of advocates in the fields of restoration, architecture, and city planning who champion an idea once seen as extreme or even dangerous: to bring them aboveground again. This idea is known as daylighting, the exhumation of streams from underground and reintroduction of them to the surface. There is ample research-based evidence for what seems intuitively true: natural waterways—meaning, those that flow through the topography of a landscape and not through a sewer—support healthier ecosystems than those encased in concrete darkness. Daylighting brings benefits to water quality that include nutrient retention, prevention of algal blooms, and overall more supportive environments for a diversity of species. It also keeps clean water out of the sewer system, where, currently, huge volumes of it unnecessarily go through the sewage treatment process, a waste of resources that can also cause sewers to overflow.
“The water’s going to flow where the water wants to go” (Eric Sanderson).
I’ve read about the rerouting and covering over with concrete of creeks and waterways near the Mississippi River Gorge. Looked it up and found this: Daylight Phalen Creek.
The article also mentions, ghost rivers. I want to use that in my haunts poem! Found this cool art installation in Baltimore: Ghost Rivers. I didn’t realize it, but this project is featured in the article!
I’m reminded of Bridal Veil Falls, near the Franklin loop and the underground stream. Here’s an article I found and posted way back in February of 2019: Bridal Veil Falls
An almost perfect morning for a swim: sunny, warm, barely a ripple in the water. Amazing. I couldn’t see the orange buoys, but it didn’t matter. Steady and straight, right to them. On the first loop, something hard bumped into me — a twig? — and, for a moment, I was startled out of my stroking and breathing trance. I thought about what was down below me, imagining some fish swimming up and bumping into me. Then I forgot about it and almost everything else.
As I entered the water, more than a dozen tiny minnows parted at my feet — the fish in me escaping!
10 Things
cloudless blue sky — bright, but not quite cerulean
a dragonfly near the surface — at least I think it was dragonfly, it looked big, but too small for a bird — size is often distorted when looking in the lake
swimming south towards the bridge, shafts of light were rising up from the bottom of the lake
a few planes in the air
both green buoys were easy to sight — bright, white dots in the distance
hardly any other swimmers in the water — in the best way possible, I felt alone
water surface: blue, flat, smooth
stopping briefly in the middle of the lake, hearing the sloshing and rhythmic splashing of someone else’s strokes
after the swim, walking near the bike rack: the solar panels on top of the picnic structure were casting pale orange shapes on the sidewalk
swimming east towards the little beach, the bubbles my hands make were sparkling and glittering in the sun, too sparkling to be real, looking like something you’d see in a cartoon*
*Days after writing this, I happened to be watching classic Scooby-Doo and saw the bubbles I was thinking of:
unreal, sparkly, bubbles-as-outlines
Speaking of bubbles, I searched for them on Poetry Foundation and found these lines:
Its bubbles are words meant for no one. (from In the Aquarium/ Dunya Mikhail)
I like imagining my underwater bubbles as words being released, not as speech intended for any one, but as something else: a letting go? an accident — leaking words all over the lake?
I’m reminded of Alice Oswald’s restless thought bubbles in Nobody released from the body and traveling across the water, there and there and there.
I’m also reminded of Anne Sexton and “The Nude Swim”:
We calmly trailed over them and under them, shedding air bubbles, little white balloons that drifted up into the sun
What patterns do I leave on the surface with my strokes, and how long do they last? What if my bubbles could float above and witness them?
5 loops! An almost perfect night: warm, sunny, calm. I don’t think there were any waves. No green goo, either. They (whoever they are — I’ll have to look it up) tested the water on Monday and lifted the blue-green algae advisory. Hooray! I felt strong and relaxed — except for when I got boxed in between a freestyler and a breaststroker and accelerated for 5 minutes to get clear of them.
I couldn’t see the green buoys at all and got a bit off course in the back stretch on every loop, but I didn’t panic or get upset. In the first loop, the second green buoy was way off course: too close to the other green buoy and too far out to the south. They moved it during my second loop and I had no idea where it was. I ended up swimming behind the lifeguard. I remember not caring and approaching the rest of the swim as a fun challenge: can I manage to do one loop right? My last loop was the closest. I briefly considered doing a 6th loop, but when I thought about my troubles sighting the last green buoy, I decided against it.
10 Things*
blue sky with a few wispy clouds
mostly warm, almost hot, water with a few pockets of cold, which felt great
a few scratchy vines, one forced me to stop stroking to fling it off
menacing swan count: 3
doing a few quick breaststroke strokes and catching a glimpse of something small, but not that small, flying just above the water — hope it was a dragonfly
stopping in the middle of the lake, hearing happy voices at the big beach: crowded
the light! later in the summer, the sun lower in the west, giving everything — water, trees, beach — a warm glow
later, after getting beers at the Painted Turtle, Scott pointed out that a few of the swan boats had lights on them! very cool
real birds — a row of ducks, then a duck and ducklings
menacing kids: 2, tormenting the ducks
from Dart/ Alice Oswald
like a ship the shape of flight or like the weight that keeps it upright or like a skyline crossed by breath or like the planking bent beneath or like a glint or like a gust or like the lofting of a mast
such am I who flits and flows and seeks and serves and swiftly goes — the ship sets sail, the weight is thrown, the skyline shifts, the planks groan,
the glint glides, the gust shivers the mast sways and so does water
then like a wave the flesh of wind or like the flow-veins on the sand or like the inkling of a fish or like the phases of a splash or like an eye or like a bone or like a sandflea on a stone
such am I who flits and flows and seeks and serves and swiftly goes — the waves slide in, the sand lifts, the fish fades, the splash drifts, the eye blinks, the bone shatters, the sandflea jumps and so does water
the inkling of a fish — mostly, all I get in the middle of the lake are inklings of fish: silver flashes below. I’m glad. Near shore, in the shallow water, minnows seem more like inklings of fish than fully realized fish. I love inkling as a hint or suggestion: the inkling of a buoy, a whisper from a fish, orange or come this way or over there
What are the phases of my stroking splash? What will glint tonight at open swim? I thought briefly about these things as I swam, but I don’t remember what I thought. I’ll have to try again on Thursday.
8 miles almost to downtown and back 71 degrees humidity: 90% / dew point: 69
8 miles! I ran first half without stopping, slow and steady. The heat and humidity didn’t bother me too much. I can tell I’m getting mentally stronger. Not too long after the turn around, at the Bohemian Flats parking lot, I stopped for water and the port-a-potty. Stopped at the next port-a-potty too. So glad they were there! I know most runners have at least one terrible poop story, but I didn’t want today to be the day I made mine! Other than gastro issues, the run wasn’t too bad. I was slow, but I kept going and stuck to the heart rate plan: when it hit 168, I walked until it dropped to 135, then I started running again until it hit 168 again.
10 Things
4 or 5 stones stacked on the boulder
the blue graffiti under the lake street bridge is not letters, but shapes of some sort
a park worker on a big, lawn mower/tractor, whipping around trees, cutting the grass
hello friends! — greeting the Welcoming Oaks
a mother yelling at her kid — Carly Jane (or something close to that), put your legs down NOW!
river water moving fast — I could actually hear it flowing south
another park vehicle with bright headlights, trimming trees next to the trail
gushing seeps in the limestone below the U of M campus
a radio blasting out of a car window — didn’t recognize the song
there was a crocheted sweater — orange and lime green, I think — in the port-a-potty at the flats
Cole Swensen and rivering
opening line from Gave/ Cole Swensen
no river rivers
What is to river? I can imagine rivering as the act of being beside and with the river — walking or running — or in it — swimming, rowing — witnessing the river.
Here’s another use of river as verb from swims/ Elizabeth-Jane Burnett
The river is something that happens, like exercise or illness, to the body on any given day I am rivering.
On 16 august 2022, I posted this line from Burnett’s poem, I am rivering, and wondered, could there be such a thing as lake-ing? And how does it differ from rivering?
Rivering and lake-ing and streaming and brooking and creeking made me think of a line from Anne Carson’s “1 = 1”:
Every water has its own rules and offering.
What are rules and offerings of the Mississippi River and Lake Nokomis?
Cole Swensen is particularly interested in walking, both generally and specifically beside the Gave River. Here’s an interview I’d like to read in which she talks about her walks and walking.
Swensen has a section in Gave where she lists different bridges, and “other ways of crossing.” I’d like to archive the information about Mississippi bridges that I’ve gathered — names, interesting histories, etc.
clear water
Skimming through Gave, trying to find the section on bridges, my eyes fell on the phrase, the water is brilliantly clear, and I suddenly remembered watching surfing competition in the Olympics. It’s taking place in Tahiti and the coverage was great. They even had a cameraman in the water. At one point, we got a view underwater of the surfers’ legs sitting on boards. So clear! Such visibility! When I swim in the lake, I can barely see my hand. What would it be like to swim in water that was that clear? Amazing and frightening and a bit overwhelming at the beginning, I think.
5 miles bottom of franklin hill and back 76 degrees humidity: 80% / dew point: 71
Brutal out there this morning. Beautiful, too. Ran 2 miles without stopping then started relying on my heart rate to determine if I ran or walked. Above 168 = walk / Below 136 = run. Tried to stay slow and relaxed and unbothered by other people passing me. It worked!
10+ Things
a large stack of stones on the boulder — 5 or more?
rowers, down below — a coxswain’s voice
bright blue bubble-letter graffiti under the lake street bridge
smell: hot chocolate — in this heat? deep, rich, feeling like winter
overheard: 1 runner to another — and of course, she made all those passive-aggressive comments
a big group of shirtless runners (10 of them?), a smaller group of runners with shirts (5 or 6)
a runner, in all black, including black pants (in this heat!?), steadily running up the franklin hill ahead of me
sparkling water through the gap in the trees
a very tall runner — young, long and gangly legs
roller skiers — 2 or 3 — clicking and clacking with their poles
a big bird, soaring above, a huge wingspan
Thinking about the Mississippi and what it means to me and my practice. Finished a first read-through of Cole Swensen’s Gave — lots of inspiration. And just now, out on the hot deck, I was rereading Alice Oswald’s Dart. I want to remember this passage from the perspective of the naturalist looking for eels:
from Dart/ Alice Oswald
the elver movement of the running sunlight three foot under the road-judder you hold and breathe contracted to an eye-quiet world while an old dandelion unpicks her shawl and one by one the small spent oak flowers fall then gently lift a branch brown tag and fur on every stone and straw and drafting burr when like a streamer from your own eye’s iris a kingfisher spurts through the bridge whose axis is endlessly in motion as each wave photos its flowing to the bridge’s curve if you can keep your foothold, snooping down then suddenly two eels let go get thrown tumbling away downstream looping and linking another time we scooped a net through sinking silt and gold and caught one strong as bike-chain stared for a while then let it back again I never pass that place and not make time to see it thre’s an eel come up the stream I let time go as slow as moss, I stand and try to get the dragonflies to land their gypsy-coloured engines on my my hand
I love her descriptions throughout this section and the gentle rhymes. Is there a way to translate this eye-quiet, slow attention while running? Is it possible — both in language and as a practice of attention? Something I’d like to think about . . . .
7 miles flats and back 67 degrees / humidity: 84% ending in drizzle
7 miles! And I didn’t feel like I was about to die at the end! Big progress. Ran the first 3 miles without stopping, then tried out what Scott did yesterday in his run: zones/heart rate training. Run until my heart rate reaches 170, then walk until it reaches 135. My heart rate is usually between 170 and 175 for all of my runs, so 170 is actually on the low end. I rev high. This worked remarkably well. I felt relaxed and managed to stay around 167 for most of it. And focusing on my heart rate distracted me.
10 Things
started by running north through the neighborhood: the guy who usually sits on his stoop and smokes wasn’t there this morning
smelled breakfast — sausage, toast — as I ran by longfellow grill
between lake street and franklin it was difficult to see the river — too many leaves, only the occasional flash of blue-gray
nearing the trestle, voices — rowers below! heard, but not seen
at least twice I’ve mentioned the orange cat spray-painted on the sidewalk. It’s not a cat, but a turkey. Today I noticed all the feathers
honking geese (I think) under the franklin bridge
the river was brown and half clear, half streaked with foam
a spring below the U of M was gushing — a little waterfall spilling out over the road. Water heard 2 ways: 1. seeping out of the rocks and 2. spraying up from under car wheels
near the bottom of the franklin hill, under the 1-94 bridge, leaves stick out from a leaning branch, looking like a leg to me. Several times I’ve thought there was a person there before I realized it was a tree
cool rain drops on my hot face at the end of the run
Listened to my feet, the rowers, cars, seeping water for the first half. Put in my color playlist for the second half.
swim: 4 loops lake nokomis open swim 77 degrees
Finally, I get to do another open swim! A beautiful evening with no swells and warm water. The first 2 loops were a little intense with a group of triathletes training for an upcoming race swimming in a line. But the third and fourth loops were much more peaceful, quiet. I didn’t stop at the shore between loops, and mostly swam freestyle without stopping, but once or twice I switched to breaststroke and took in the solitude and the smooth-as-glass water and the silence. Wow! Swimming freestyle without stopping, your head barely out of the water, is a much different experience than swimming breaststroke, with your head almost always out of the water. I like it; I feel less like a human and more like a fish, underwater for an hour.
Today’s swim was wonderful but didn’t involve much giving attention to anything other than sighting buoys, looking out for other swimmers, and counting strokes. Did I notice 10 things?
only one or two globs of algae
the water was olive green, or was it lentil green?
the sun was lower in the west and muted because of the clouds
no vine or twig encounters!
no sailboats, either — was that because there wasn’t any wind?
a wet-suited woman swimming a fast freestyle, then stopping to sight, then fast, then power breaststroking
feeling something up ahead disturbing the water, then seeing it, finally: a breaststroker’s powerful kick
at the beach, people with picket signs, park workers on strike and/or park worker supporters — I support the park workers!
leaving the beach overhearing 2 women who just finished swimming: women 1: I think I did more than the race distance women 2: you did double the distance! You can do this! women 1: Yes, I can do this!! I’m assuming they were both training for an upcoming triathlon
no planes or birds or shafts of light or glittering water or sparkle friends
a description of swimming
I cannot imagine a cessation to swimming, to my arms making their endless arcs, my hands gone to paddles, my body propelled forward a pull at a time, my feet feeling more like seal flippers, my shoulders rolling and rolling, and the slow whip of the turn, my head down and the push through the bubbles and blue andthe great intake of air, a breath that keeps a human able to move through water as if we were not gone from our breathable blue past (I will Always Inhabit the Water/ Lidia Yuknavitch).
Did a one-way run to the lake to meet RJP for a swim. Now that she’s 18, she’s old enough to swim across the lake, but she needs to get used to the scary, unsettling feeling of lake swimming, when you can’t see anything and scratchy vines reach up to grab your leg and there’s no bottom to touch. Her first attempt overwhelmed her — staring into a void of yellow, nothing to see in front, nothing solid to feel below. I told her about the first time I swam out to the buoys and across the lake. It was hard and I was scared. I kept thinking about Jaws. I could only swim 1 loop. It’s taken me 10 years to build up physically and mentally to swim as much as I do, I said. Later, when we were home, she said she wants to try again; she liked how it felt after she swam and maybe it wouldn’t be so scary once she got used to it. I hope it works out. I love swimming with her and feel so much joy watching her strong arms cut through the water.
One more thing about the swim: After RJP got out of the water, I swam a loop. If you ignored the algae scum, it was perfect water: still, not cold, empty. As I neared each white buoy, I displaced a seagull from their perch. Seagulls! I haven’t seen them much this summer, maybe that’s because I haven’t been swimming alone, in the morning?
Before meeting RJP, I ran. Hot! Some shade, lots of sun. I felt pretty relaxed for the first 2 miles, then I started negotiating with my legs: Can you make it to the turn-off past the mustache bridge before we walk? How about until we get over the duck bridge? Okay, we’ll take a quick walk break under the echo bridge. And we did, 2.6 miles into the run, but only for 10 or 15 seconds. When I started running again, I thought about how hard it is to notice anything when you’re distracted by the heat and the effort and your legs pestering you to walk. Can I name 10 things I noticed?
10 Things Noticed While Distracted by Heat and Fatigue
park workers out near the trail, moving and weed-whacking
since the last time I ran on the dirt trail between edmund and the river road someone has trimmed the tree branch that leaned over the trail — thank you, park worker!
a little mud, some soft, sandy dirt, scattered tree limbs
water rushing out of the sewer pipe — steady, soft
someone biking on the walking path
the creek was high and tumbling over rocks, impersonating a babbling brook
through the trees, a kayak gliding down the creek — would they stay in until just below the mustache bridge? Does anyone turn around and paddle against the current?
thwack thwack people playing on the pickleball court, hitting the balls hard
a haunting call — was it a mourning dove or a kid? difficult to tell
heading to the water fountain, wondering if that was where the person approaching was heading too, realizing finally that it was RJP — always unsettling when I don’t recognize the kids or Scott
Found this poem that I had archived in a document named, “Reading Links List” a few years ago: My First Black Nature Poem/ LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs. So many great lines. Here’s what I wanted to remember today:
the green clearness. so mud olive I cannot see the bottom.
Mud olive — that’s the color I’ve been trying to name. That’s the mix of yellow and green with a hint of blue that I’ve been seeing as I swim across the lake!
But not this morning. This morning the lake was pale yellow; near the surface it almost looked white. Not nearly as pleasing as olive colored!
Before the run and swim, I drank coffee and looked for inspiration from the few people still on twitter. Jackpot! Found some wonderful poems from Moist (which I’ll save for another entry) and the Ten Muses of Poetry — from the writer, Andrei Codescru, in his book, The Poetry Lesson. I’ve never heard of Codescru — he’s great. I found the chapter his Ten Muses are in and read it. Funny and strange and great. I wonder, would I enjoy taking a class from him? Probably.
The Ten Muses of Poetry
Mishearing
Misunderstanding
Mistranslating
Mismanaging
Mislaying
Misreading
Misappropriating cliches
Misplacing objects belonging to roommates or lovers
Misguided thoughts at inappropriate times, funerals, etc.
Mississippi (the river)
Ending with the Mississippi? Yes!
read / heard / watched
read: Just finished reading this book excerpt on lithub: Kinds of Blue: On the Human Need to Swim. It’s an excerpt from Abundance/ Karen Lloyd. After reading the wonderful essay, I requested to book from the library!
heard: Listening to a 6 part series called Tested, written and recorded by Rose Eveleth for NPR and CBC.
Who gets to compete? Since the beginning of women’s sports, there has been a struggle over who qualifies for the women’s category. Tested follows the unfolding story of elite female runners who have been told they can no longer race as women, because of their biology. As the Olympics approach, they face hard choices: take drugs to lower their natural testosterone levels, give up their sport entirely, or fight. To understand how we got here, we trace the surprising, 100-year history of sex testing.
watched: This short video about Katie Ledecky came up on YouTube for me the other day. As a long distance swimmer, I think Katie Ledecky is amazing. I wanted to archive it for 2 reasons. First, starting at 2 minutes when she discusses how she knew that she loved swimming when she broke her arm and still wanted to get into the water. She even put a plastic bag over her arm so she could. I was thinking about this idea, but not remembering where it came from, when I was talking to RJP about trying to swim again in the lake. When you love something, you’re willing to try almost anything to keep doing it.
The second reason I wanted to archive this video was because of the story about her kid-self and how she never loses sight of the fact that swimming is something she “started just for fun, on a summer league swim team” (video start: 4:08). That idea, combined with the old footage of her as a very young kid, makes me think of Sara, age 8, and how much of what I’m trying to do now, is to reclaim her spirit and try to translate it for Sara, age 50, without losing the fun and the passion and the exuberance I had back then.
bike: 3 miles arbeiter and moon palace books 84 degrees
I was planning to do open swim at cedar lake at 5:30, but I checked the weather and learned that an intense storm would be moving through at 6 — high winds, thunder, hail. Not good for the car, or for someone swimming in the lake. What a bummer! I had a book to pick up at the book store, Gave / Cole Swensen, so we decided to bike to Moon Palace and then wait out the storm at Arbeiter Tap Room. What a storm! Wind, rain, thunder, but no hail. We thought we were leaving after the storm, but as we unlocked our bikes, more rain.