Tag: headphones

sept 22/RUN

20 miles
bde maka ska and back*
52 degrees

*river road, south/minnehaha falls/minnehaha creek path — past lake hiawatha, lade nokomos, the bunny/lake harriet/william berry parkway/bde maka ska and back

20 miles! The first half of it was fine, then I had some unfinished business and no porta potty for miles. I had to wait 3, or was it 4?, miles before I reached one at lake harriet. Then I went to another one at bde maka ska. I should have returned to the lake harriet one again before heading out into the porta potty dead zone, but I didn’t. Soon, it was difficult to run, so I did more walking than running for the rest of the time. Finally at the lake nokomis pickleball courts, another porta potty! As I waited to use it, I appreciated how lively and crowded it was: packed pickleball courts and playground. It’s great to see people using the park so much. In terms of the unfinished business, why is it such a problem? It is the cliff blocks I’m taking every 3 miles?

I listened to a cozy murder mystery — The Marlow Murder Club — which seems like a pale imitation of the Thursday Murder Club, but was a good distraction. I took out my headphones between the bunny and lake harriet and listened to the creek and a wailing kid.

20 Things

  1. sparkling river water through the trees
  2. heard, not seen — laughing kids across the creek — joyful exuberance
  3. minnehaha creek — first calm and flat, then bubbling, then gushing
  4. the path by nokomis, which was closed for the summer, has reopened — no more running on sharp gravel!
  5. early, around 8:30, the pickleball court was already filled
  6. a few barks from a dog, then a strange, terrible whining noise that I think (hope) was a machine and not an animal
  7. a hopping squirrel — so graceful and fast, moving across the shaded grass
  8. 2 adults, an upset kid, and a stroller under the bridge
  9. more slashes of red, but not much color anywhere else
  10. heard, not seen — more laughin exuberant kids playing at the creek at the spot where the tall, pedestrian bridge crosses over to the other side of the creek
  11. lake harriet was crowded — difficult to dodge walkers with dogs coming both ways
  12. a beach with no buoys, an empty lifeguard’s chair
  13. a woman adjusting her hiking poles, almost whacking me with them
  14. taking william berry parkway to reach bde make ska, running down a steep hill
  15. a striking contrast: waving blue water with bright green grass
  16. images of butterflies imprinted in the sidewalk
  17. a honking noise, sounding like a big ship — what was that?
  18. a flotilla of sailboats, all with white sails
  19. a real bunny hopping through the grass / a bronze bunny beside the creek path trail
  20. a single, small leaf, floating under the duck bridge as I crossed it

20 miles was difficult and uncomfortable, but not terrible. I can definitely go farther in 2 weeks. During the last mile, I kept smiling, proud of myself for what I was accomplishing and how far I’ve come since getting injured during marathon training in 2017.

sept 17/RUN

5 miles
bottom of franklin turn around
70 degrees / dew point: 63

So much sweat! The bill of my cap, the end of my ponytail, the tip of my nose dripping before I finished the first mile. Ran 3 without stopping, then walked until my heart rate was down to 135. Started running again to the metronome at 175 and finished with my winter playlist — time for a new playlist!

I liked running to the metronome (through my headphones, from the metronome/tuner app on my phone). I was able to match my foot strikes with the beat fairly quickly, but it took a few minutes for it to lock in. When that happened, I could feel the transformation from the edge of the beat (just before or after it) to the deep center of it. My foot strike seemed different, more solid and strong. The beat sounded different, less generic and more connected to a physical source (my foot). And I felt different, inside the beat, no longer a body but that steady clicking sound. Very cool.

It’s not quite the same, but I’m thinking of myself as Annie Dillard’s bell being struck. Also, Emily Dickinson and these lines:

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here –

10 Things

  1. slashes of red in the bushes
  2. a pinkish-orangish clump of leaves
  3. almost all green in the floodplain forest
  4. a shimmering circle of light: the sun on the river through a gap in the trees
  5. a steady stream of commuting cars
  6. mostly overcast, with occasional sun, enough sun for me to see my shadow as I walked home
  7. at the beginning of my run, a for sale sign in a front yard, by the end of my run, it was gone
  8. running down franklin, the trees were a yellowish green
  9. at least one roller skier — maybe 2, unless it was the same skier
  10. the bright, generous smile of a woman walking past me

Yesterday, I came across this cool poetry project, The BardCode Project:

In the BardCode Project Gregory Betts has analysed and mapped the rhyme patterns within Shakespeare’s 154 sonnets. Shakespeare built his famous sonnets by a unique sound pattern of rhymes in the final syllable, the tenth column, of each line. Betts asks, and answers, the question: What was Shakespeare doing in the rest of the sonnet?

The BardCode project maps out the full sound pattern of rhymes in all ten columns across all of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Colour coding these sound-codes results in a visual text rich with the sonic patterns of the poems. Suddenly, for the first time, you can see the BardCode.

BardCode Projects

sept 8/RUN

18 miles
river road / minnehaha creek / lake harriet / lake nokomis / minnehaha falls
56 degrees

18 miles! I’m tired now, but it wasn’t terrible and I felt good for much of it. The last 4 miles were harder, but not impossible. When I finished, I felt like that was all I could do, but I know I’ll be able to do more when I run my 20 miler in a few weeks. My average pace was 75 seconds faster per mile than last week during my 16 miler. Nice!

While I ran, I listened to Death on the Nile. Almost 3 1/2 hours of it and the main character hadn’t even died yet! Well, her body was just about to be discovered when I turned it off at the end of my run. Maybe I’ll listen to the rest of it on my 20 miler?

I think this is the first time I’ve run all the way to Lake Harriet since I was training for the marathon in 2017. As I ran, I thought about how grateful I am to be still running and to have another chance to run the marathon. It’s taken 7 years, and almost 7000 miles, to get here. Wow!

18 Things

  1. a crowded trail, with lots of runners and 2 roller skiers, under the ford bridge and nearing the falls
  2. creak creak creak — the sound of the wood on the duck bridge as I ran over it
  3. several dogs barking frantically on the other side of the creek
  4. the bronze bunny — no scarf or t-shirt or anything on it today
  5. a rushing, high creek at one spot, a calm sparkling creek at another
  6. passing over the creek on a tall bridge, looking down at the rushing water
  7. hearing some kids laughing on the other side of the creek, crossing and bridge and seeing them jumping around
  8. loud cheers at Lake Harriet — a running race — decided to turn around early to avoid it
  9. a person sitting on the wall of the weir near lake nokomis, fishing
  10. 2 more people fishing on the shore of the lake nokomis — one in a portable chair, the other on a cement bench
  11. a paddle boarder in the water just off the little beach
  12. giant images of monarch butterflies on the pickleball fence for yesterday’s monarch festival
  13. view from cedar bridge — lake nokomis in a blue shimmer
  14. a young kid on a bike, waiting at the top of the hill near 28th. after I passed by, he called out to his friend, it’s clear now, you can go!
  15. running over gravel near nokomis avenue, my foot striking down on a sharp rock — ouch!
  16. encountering 2 surreys near 38th
  17. an event — maybe sponsored by Friends of the Mississippi River? — at the welcoming oaks. there were tents and people and signs and (maybe) ice cream
  18. after finishing my run I could hear drums playing across the road at the welcoming oaks

added an hour later: I just remembered the sound of the wind in the trees. In certain stretches, it sounded like water falling. Briefly I wondered, is that wind or water, but then I noticed that where I was there wasn’t any water that would make the noise. No falls or ravines or seeps. A beautiful, comforting, calming sound, that wind!

sept 2/RUN

16 miles
lake nokomis — 2 loops / minnehaha park / ford bridge
60 degrees

16 miles! My longest run ever, I was slow, it was difficult, I walked a lot, but I did it. Ran over to Lake Nokomis and around it twice, then took minnehaha creek path to the falls park all the way to the fort snelling trail. Turned around, ran over to the Veterans home, through Waibun, over the ford bridge, up to the overlook, then back over ford.

For the first hour, I listened to the gorge, the creek, the lake, and people I encountered. For the rest of it, I listened to an audiobook — Anthony Horowitz’s Close to Death. One of the characters in it is named Andrew Pennington and it took me several miles to pay enough attention to process that and realize that it was a reference to “Uncle Andrew” — Andrew Pennington in Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile.

16 Things

  1. at one spot, the creek was bubbling, burbling, gurgling
  2. at another spot, it was rushing and gushing
  3. and at a third spot, it was glittering in the sunlight
  4. a small yippy dog across the creek — heard, not seen, so I guess it could have been big but it sounded small (and annoying) — losing its shit for a minute — yip yip yip yip yip
  5. a fishy smell at the lake that was surprisingly pleasant — smelled like summer or vacation
  6. the lake water was blue and flat and empty
  7. encountering another runner with her dog on the creek path — she called it, What are you training for? me: the marathon her: good luck!
  8. the pickle ball court was full — thwack! thwack! thwack!
  9. from the cedar bridge the water was smooth with just one bright spot from the sun
  10. one kayak gliding across
  11. a group with fishing poles, kindly waiting for me to pass before crossing the path
  12. crossing the parkway under the mustache bridge, avoiding where the asphalt had erupted — huge, ankle-twisting craters
  13. the flowers at Longfellow Gardens! Orange, pink, yellow, red, soft green! Wow
  14. Waibun park was full of Labor Day visitors — at picnic tables, the splash pad, on the playground
  15. heading down the short hill between ford and the locks and dam no. 1 — the few patches of light were glowing . . . pink — 14 miles into my run, was I hallucinating? No — the light must have been filtering through some reddening leaves
  16. 2 women with dogs, stopping and kindly waiting for me to pass before crossing the narrow duck bridge

It was crowded on the trails, but I only remember how kind people were. Waiting for me to pass, not hogging the path, calling out encouragement.

Like I mentioned above, my pace was slow — over 12 minutes/mile, but that’s fine with me. The marathon is not about time, but pushing through and proving I can keep going when it seems too tough.

Recently read:

I feel like poetry is going on all the time inside, an underground stream.

John Ashbery

I’d like to do something with this idea of the underground stream, especially in relation to daylighting — the process of bringing streams buried in concrete and under city infrastructure back into the light.

added, 3 sept 2024: I forgot until today something else I’d like to remember — seeing steam coming off of my face, looking like my breath, the combination of sun, humidity, a warm body, and cool air (I think)

aug 26/RUN

3.1 miles
river road, south/north
77 degrees / dew point: 75

Heat advisory. Today is one of those days that makes me glad that fall is coming, especially since I can’t swim anymore. I’m looking forward to cooler runs — please come soon. I heard a pro runner say once that humidity is a poor man’s altitude. I wonder, since my body doesn’t tolerate humidity well, would it be the same with altitude? Probably.

Today is RJP’s first day of college classes. It has worked out for her to regroup and not stay in the dorms until she’s ready because her dorm doesn’t have air conditioning. Even if she was enjoying the dorm, she probably would have come home until the heat breaks anyway.

10 Things

  1. exposed roots everywhere on the dirt trail, difficult to navigate
  2. one short stretch of the trail had loose, sandy dirt that my feet sunk into
  3. forecast predicted partly cloudy, but the sky was cloudless and burned a bright blue
  4. car after car after car on the river road — this is often the case at 8, which is when I started my run
  5. loud waves of cicada buzz
  6. noisy bullfrogs and crickets in the marshy meadow just past the ford bridge
  7. more bikes than walkers or runners
  8. the dirt path into the small wood by the ford bridge: a deep, cool green
  9. a flushed, sweaty face
  10. a woman in a big straw hat and a pink something — I can’t remember if it was her shoes or pants or a shirt; I just remember pink — sitting on a bench, her back to the gorge

today’s view from my window

On august 26, 2023, I wrote about a big spider outside of my window. She’s back. She’s huge. And she’s just hanging there in mid-air. I know there’s a web, but I can’t see it, so I like imaging she’s levitating. I was going to write that she’s not moving, but then the wind stirred her, and then I noticed a small fly caught in her web. Soon, she crawled to it and now she’s doing whatever spiders do to their prey. If it didn’t hurt my head to stare and try to see what is happening, I could watch her for hours.

I looked for a Mary Oliver poem about spiders, but instead found a blog post talking about spiders and their patience and referencing a poem by MO that I haven’t read before:

The Messenger/ Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
     equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand. 

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
     keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work, 

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
     astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here, 

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
     and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
     to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
     that we live forever.

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 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.

july 31/RUN

5.2 miles
bottom of franklin hill and back
77 degrees / dew point: 72

I’m ready for this heat to break. That was a hot one! Difficult to keep my heart rate down in this humidity. But, it wasn’t miserable and I’m pleased with the run. I stuck to my plan and didn’t feel terrible at the end. Heard the rowers, smelled some tree that reminded me of the farm, greeted Dave, the daily walker.

Overheard, one biker to another: Their boss is on strike, so they don’t have anyone to lead them. I think he was referring to the park workers painting the fence on the bike path, above the tunnel of trees. Are the park workers still on strike? I thought they reached an agreement. Looked it up and yes, they did reach an agreement and are back at work.

july 29/RUN

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

  1. 4 or 5 stones stacked on the boulder
  2. the blue graffiti under the lake street bridge is not letters, but shapes of some sort
  3. a park worker on a big, lawn mower/tractor, whipping around trees, cutting the grass
  4. hello friends! — greeting the Welcoming Oaks
  5. a mother yelling at her kid — Carly Jane (or something close to that), put your legs down NOW!
  6. river water moving fast — I could actually hear it flowing south
  7. another park vehicle with bright headlights, trimming trees next to the trail
  8. gushing seeps in the limestone below the U of M campus
  9. a radio blasting out of a car window — didn’t recognize the song
  10. 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.

Other sources to remember:

Cole Swensen and bridges

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.

july 23/RUN

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

  1. started by running north through the neighborhood: the guy who usually sits on his stoop and smokes wasn’t there this morning
  2. smelled breakfast — sausage, toast — as I ran by longfellow grill
  3. between lake street and franklin it was difficult to see the river — too many leaves, only the occasional flash of blue-gray
  4. nearing the trestle, voices — rowers below! heard, but not seen
  5. 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
  6. honking geese (I think) under the franklin bridge
  7. the river was brown and half clear, half streaked with foam
  8. 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
  9. 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
  10. 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?

  1. only one or two globs of algae
  2. the water was olive green, or was it lentil green?
  3. the sun was lower in the west and muted because of the clouds
  4. no vine or twig encounters!
  5. no sailboats, either — was that because there wasn’t any wind?
  6. a wet-suited woman swimming a fast freestyle, then stopping to sight, then fast, then power breaststroking
  7. feeling something up ahead disturbing the water, then seeing it, finally: a breaststroker’s powerful kick
  8. at the beach, people with picket signs, park workers on strike and/or park worker supporters — I support the park workers!
  9. 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
  10. 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).