Unless I get out the door early, I don’t like running outside on the weekends. Too crowded on paths already narrowed by snow and ice. So I biked and ran in the basement. Watched the HOKA 100k challenge live online as Jim Walmsley tries to break the world record for 100K (currently held by Japan’s Nao Kazami 6:09:14/ 5:56.5 mile pace for 62.2 miles). Good god. Almost 5 hours in, he’s still holding on, running with blood on his shoulder–he clipped his shoulder on the edge of a fence early into the race. Hard core. Then I listened to my audio book as I ran. I decided to do a relaxed 5k. It’s getting easier to run longer on the treadmill. It will never be as fun or inspiring or invigorating as being outside, but it’s still the chance to move and not feel trapped in my restless body.
Before I starting working out, I memorized Emily Dickinson’s “Snow flakes,” partly because it’s supposed to snow later today. Such a fun little poem! I learned that this poem is only 1 of 3 (out of 1780) poems that Dickinson titled. Cool.
I counted til they danced so their slippers leaped the town — and then I took a pencil to note the rebels down — And then they grew so jolly I did resign the prig — And ten of my most stately toes are marshalled for a jig!
I love the energy and the surrender to the delight of falling snow and her word choices: jolly, resign the prig, stately toes, marshalled a jig.
a moment of sound
Playing with Delia in the backyard, walking up the deck steps, then opening the door to let her in the house. I hear a few birds as the snow begins to fly on this cold (20 degrees/feels like 10) afternoon.
5K 45th ave, north/32nd st, east/edmund, south/edmund, north/36th st, west 7 degrees/ feels like -3
Last week I said I would much rather it be colder with clear sidewalks, than warmer with icy sidewalks. That was proven today. As I was saying to Scott, you can always add layers to be warm, but you can’t do much to make uneven icy paths safer–yak trax work, sort of, but not when the ice is jagged and filled with ruts. Hooray for sun and not too much wind and mostly empty streets and a soundtrack of birds and clear, cold air and new Presidents getting shit done!
Encountered only a few walkers, no runners (I think) and one biker. Heard lots of birds. Smelled some smoke as I ran on Edmund. Noticed a foot wide stripe of faded white on the edge of the street–what’s left of the salt used to treat the road. The stripe stretched for a quarter mile or more. Once I realized it was only salt stains and not a thin sheet of ice, I ran on it. Heard some park workers and their chainsaws, trimming trees above the gorge. Yes, a better view! I should remember to stop during my run and go check out the river. I miss it! If I can’t run right beside the river for long stretches, at least I can admire it for a moment.
a moment of sound
Earlier this morning, sitting at my desk in the front room, I heard a black capped chickadee calling outside. Quickly, I got my phone to record it. It wasn’t until after it stopped that I realized I had forgotten to push the record button. Bummer. Still, I recorded some other birds and a bird or a squirrel or something knocking on wood or an acorn. You can hear the tap tap tapping. Towards the end, you can also hear my 17 year old son, yelling out from his room (behind a closed door) to his friends online as they prepared to raid a base or something like that on whatever online game they were all playing. He was yelling the whole time I was recording, but this was the only bit of it that I can hear on the recording.
Jan 22, 2021
I am almost positive I have posted this poem before, but I would like to memorize it, so I posting it again.
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among the long branches. Thus having prepared their buds against a sure winter the wise trees stand sleeping in the cold.
I guess I’m turning into a wimp this winter because the sidewalks looked uneven and icy and the wind was howling, so I decided to stay inside and work out in the basement. Actually, I think it has less to do with being a wimp, and more to do with it being harder to run in the road and the sidewalks than on the river road trail and harder to avoid people and harder to stay motivated to run outside when I can’t see the river or the gorge. That’s okay. I don’t mind running inside a bit more this month–hopefully just this month.
Watched some races while I biked, and listened to an audiobook, The Sinister Mystery of the Mesmerizing Girl, for the first half of my run. For the second half, I listened to a playlist and recorded video of my running. With my right knee prone to subluxations and my left hip and lower back often sore, it’s helpful to study my form. I think I need to do a better job of setting up the camera–either that or I really hunch over with my shoulders. Maybe I should try checking my form from the side too? It’s fascinating to me how, over almost my 10 years of running, I’m slowly learning how to accept and take care of my aging body. Oftentimes it sucks to have to worry about all of these aches and pains, but it is also very helpful and satisfying to learn how to work with my body instead of being afraid of its failures.
a moment of sound
I recorded today’s moment of sound on my driveway, back near the alley, in a spot sheltered from the wind. It was very windy. The loud whooshing sounds are not traffic but the wind rushing through the trees. If you listen carefully, you can hear wind chimes (my favorite) and water dripping off of the eaves on my garage (not my favorite). At one point, there’s a pop or a creak or a crack–some siding or wood fence contracting.
Balance checkbook. Rid lawn of onion grass. “this patented device” “this herbicide” “Sir, We find none of these killers truly satisfactory. Hand weed for onion grass.” Give old clothes away, “such as you yourself would willingly wear.” Impasse. Walk three miles a day beginning tomorrow. Alphabetize. Purchase nose-hair shears. Answer letters. Elicit others. Write Maxine. Move to Maine. Give up NoCal. See more movies. Practice long-distance dialing. Ditto gymnastics: The Beast with Two Backs And, The Fan. Complain to laundry any laundry. Ask for borrowed books back. Return junk mail to sender marked, Return to Sender. Condole. Congratulate. ” . . . this sudden shock . . . “ ” . . . this swift surprise . . . “ Send. Keep. Give. Destroy. Brush rub polish burn mend scratch foil evert emulate surpass. Remember “to write three-act play” and lead “a full and active life.”
5K 2 school loop 20 degrees/feels like 11 sidewalks: 80% slippery, uneven ice road: 1 thin strip of pavement
Yes! I ran outside today. It was cold. It was too crowded. It was icy. But I managed to stay warm in my layers, almost always keep a safe distance, and not fall. A great run. Fresh air! Trees and birds to admire! The ability to alter my pace without worrying about falling off the treadmill!
Lots of birds out today. I wanted to stop and record a moment of sound under a tree with a calling (crying?) bird, but it was too crowded. I don’t remember seeing many runners, only lots of walkers. The two women who annoyingly take over the entire road, spread out in a way that it is impossible to not get too close to them, were at it again. Sigh. I know I’m lucky that I can still run outside and almost always avoid other people.
Anything else? Noticed a few people skating at the rink at Hiawatha–the same rink that someone was just making a few weeks ago and that I featured in my moment of sound earlier this month. I didn’t see the river, or the Daily Walker, or any turkeys. But I heard the wind rushing through some dead leaves on a tree, a delivery guy grumbling as he left a house, and my labored breathing as I ran directly into the wind.
Most of the time, when the sidewalk was too treacherous (or tretch, as I like to say), I could find a strip of clear pavement on the road–usually near the edge, but sometimes in the middle. A few times, there was no escape from the very slick, very rutted ice. I’d stutter step and try to slow myself down gradually before carefully walking until it was clear. I bet I looked funny or ridiculous or foolish to someone watching. I don’t care. I didn’t fall and I got to be outside without a coat, moving and breathing and occasionally flying for 30 minutes!
Today I am doing okay. The trick is to avoid thinking about insurrections or more violence to come. And to believe that the inauguration will be a success and we will be able to celebrate it and cry tears of joy and not terror. And to forget that the pandemic is getting much worse. The trick is to remember the river and vaccines and Major and Champ and fresh air and exciting creative projects and how great lemon water tastes and sun (which is shining right now) and the black-capped chickadee that greets me almost every day.
a moment of sound
Today’s sound is from the backyard. Right now, we have 2 or 3 inches of crusty, icy, packed snow, which makes for a delightful crunching sound as you walk through it. This is one of my favorite winter sounds.
Very wet outside today. Sloppy and icy, the temperature hovering right around freezing. Yuck. Decided to stay inside today and bike and run. Watched a race and then checked the news while I biked, listened to a playlist while I ran. Ran more than I thought I would. Heard songs by Taylor Swift, Harry Styles, Billie Eilish, Justin Timberlake, Demi Lovato, Adele, Miley Cyrus. Mostly avoided thinking about anything, but every so often thoughts about impending violence and possible civil wars and how many people are at risk, and which people are more at risk, crept in. What a terrible time. I mentioned to Scott last night that we need to engage in a lot of public grieving (and reckoning) after all of this is over–Biden should establish a national day of mourning, I think–maybe an annual one.
At the end of my run, as I did my warm down walk, I recited Robert Frost’s “Dust of Snow” from memory. I couldn’t remember the line, “a change of mood.” I said “a better mood” instead. I spent a lot of time yesterday reciting this poem over and over again, working on getting the meter right. Why was it so hard for me to remember the correct lines? Not sure. Also not sure why meter is so hard for me to get right. I can’t seem to hear what’s stressed and what’s not.
a dust of snow, jan 15
a moment of sound
for jan 14: yesterday, I took Delia the dog on a walk when it was just starting to snow. We walked 4 blocks to the gorge, checked out the ravine, and then walked right above the rim to the overlook at 34th st. So beautiful. You can hear Delia’s collar jingling and snow falling on my coat, some cars passing behind us, and several birds: the “chickadeedeedee” song and a woodpecker drumming away + some other birds that I can’t quite identify.
jan 14, 2021
for jan 15: today’s moment of sound was recorded after my workout on my back deck. The crinkling noise is hard pellets (graupels!?) of snow falling on my coat. You can also hear the drip drip dripping of melting snow in a gutter. How delightful and strange and not that common in January to hear falling and melting snow at the same time. And there’s a loud rush/roar sound of city traffic from a freeway. It’s hard to believe, but we live more than a mile away from any freeway. The sound is traveling far today.
So warm! And not too much wind! Tomorrow, snow. Running down 32nd, at the top of a small rise, I could see the gorge ahead. I decided to cross the river road and stop at the edge of the bluff to record my moment of sound. I stood in the snow and looked through the bare branches at the open water. Brown and ice-free. Too warm, I guess. In this moment, you hear an occasional car, some birds down in the gorge, my feet crunching in the snow, the hum of far away freeway traffic. I remember there was a bark from somewhere as I stood there, but I can’t hear it on this recording.
jan 13, 2021
Things I Remember
A whole gaggle of kids playing on the snow banks at Cooper School, making lots of noise as I ran by
A stupid squirrel, running out in front of me, forcing me to stop
Hardly any cars in the parking lot at Minnehaha Academy–are they doing distance learning now?
Admiring the beautiful river, thankful that I decided to stop and stare at it for a minute
Someone way over on the river road trail, speeding by on an outdoor elliptical bike! At least I think it was–I turned my head to look but it was too hard for me to see. The whirring of the wheels sounded like one, and not a bike, but I’ve misheard things before. I’ll choose to believe it was an ElliptaGO and continue to wonder, how does it handle icy, slushy trails?
Earlier today, I did 30 minutes of Yoga. Right after finishing, when I felt the most relaxed and buzzed from the amazing stretching (it almost always feels so good!), I recorded Snow-flakes:
snow-flakes, jan 13, after yoga
I also recited it a little as I ran. While it was easy to match my feet up with the first line–“Out of the bosom of the air”–the second line was hard–“Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken.” I’ll have to try it again.
5K 43rd ave, north/32nd st, east/edmund, south 29 degrees sidewalks, some roads: 99% slushy snow-covered
A great day to be outside in the warm sun! Not as great a day for the ankles–so much soft, slightly slippery, slushy snow. I didn’t slip or twist my ankle, but my legs felt sore trudging through the half melted snow. It was worth it to be outside, breathing in the fresh air, noticing the river sparking on the water piercing through the floodplain forest. What a view from up on edmund! What a great opportunity to forget about all of the uncertainty and awfulness happening right now–at least for 30 minutes.
As I started running, I was reciting Longfellow’s “Snow-flakes.” Did I make it to the end? I can’t remember; I was focusing too much on avoiding icy patches and keeping my striking feet soft and my ankles loose.
For my moment of sound, I stopped less than 10 minutes into the run, at the edge of Cooper field, to record some chatting birds and one annoying blue jay (I think. Here are some blue jay calls for comparison–the blue jay call is the worst, overpowering everything else). I also managed to capture a few instances of this rubbing sound–first at 22 seconds in. Not sure what someone was doing to make that noise, but as I approached the corner, a minute earlier, I thought the noise was a dog barking by the church. I almost stopped to try and see what was happening and record it, but decided to keep going. But then the birds were so delightful (except the blue jay) a block later, that I stopped anyway.
jan 11, 2021
Speaking of birds, scrolling through my Safari Reading List, I found this lecture on YouTube that I’d like to watch/listen to sometime soon: Dickinson’s Birds
While I was running, House Democrats announced their intention to impeach Trump for a second time. Yes. Very necessary.
3 miles 43rd ave, north/32nd st, east/edmund, south/edmund, north 20 degrees
This morning, right after I woke up just before 7 it began to snow. Only a dusting, but enough to coat all the sidewalks and the street. Time for my yaktrax! A nice and slow run. Bright white, but without any sun. Heard a black-capped chickadee doing their 2 note call near the gorge. Also smelled smoke at the same spot on Edmund. I think it’s coming from someone’s fireplace–or backyard? Saw a few walkers–no skiers or bikers. Lots of cars on the river road. Was able to keep a very safe distance from anyone else. No slipping, only lots of crunching. I bet my legs will be sore tonight and tomorrow.
Halfway through my run, I stopped to record a moment of sound–mostly because I wanted to take a brief break. Happened to stop about 1/2 block away from someone railing against Trump. It’s heard to hear, but if you listen over the roar of the wind or traffic or city buzz or whatever is making that loud hiss, you can hear him say “Trump” “get them all” and later, “Melania.” What a strange, terrible, exhausting yet hopeful, promising, revolutionary time we are living in.
Still lots of snow on the road and the sidewalk even though it’s been above freezing most afternoons this week. The uneven, sometimes sloppy, trail makes my legs more sore, but I don’t mind it too much. I slipped today on a patch of ice as I ran up from the road to the sidewalk. I didn’t fall–or even feel like I might–just felt that brief loss of control. I couldn’t get that close to the river but I was able to catch a very brief glimpse of it through the trees as I ran on the highest part of Edmund. It looked white and covered–is it, or are there still open spots? No sun to make it sparkle or dance. It looked flat and still. Listened to a black-capped chickadee–it was difficult to hear over the roar of the city. It has been so loud these last few days–is it the air quality? What does humidity (80%) do to sound? I looked it up, and yes, humid air makes sound travel farther. I think I heard some helicopters–does it have to do with any protests? Anything else? Noticed someone over on the river road trail wearing a bright orange shirt–or was it shorts? I can’t remember now. Heard someone (thankfully 20 or 30 feet away) vigorously coughing. Saw a few dogs–identified them more from the clanging of their collars than actually seeing them. Felt strong and fast and happy as I headed back north on Edmund.
a moment of sound
I like the idea of doing a moment of sound everyday, but I don’t always want to run everyday and I only want to post on days when I run (mostly for the calendar so I can quickly glance at it and see which days I ran in a month, and which days I didn’t). So I’m trying to figure out how to post the moments. For now, I’ll post the non-run day moments of sound on the next running day (how boring was that explanation, future Sara?):
For yesterday’s moment of sound, I was sitting on the deck, with only a sweatshirt on, feeling the warm sun on my face, listening to the snow melting off the eaves. Such a nice moment!
jan 5, 2021
For today’s moment of sound, I stopped right after I finished running (listen for my heavy breathing). For the first half, I stood on the sidewalk, holding my phone out, listening to the birds and the roar of a plane. For the second half, I started walking and sniffing and making the delightful sound of crunching snow. If you listen carefully, you can hear the crunch sound change a little as I move from mostly snow to a stretch of ice.
jan 6, 2021
Yesterday, while cleaning out my safari reading list, I found this great poem from last year–or the year before?
Even you are responsible to more than you. My daughter likes visiting the pet store. It’s like a zoo she says. She wants a calico she can walk with a string. On the way home she says do we sing poems before we light candles. ‘Not to see by but to look at.’ On one level, the mind doesn’t impose order. The mind doesn’t impose order. Order presumes priority. Good credit score. A forwarding address. My bills accumulate in empty spaces. My subject position won’t stand still. On one level, we are not casual acquaintances. Imagine we are pressed upon one another. For a while we lived on the second story above The Leader Store just down the street from The Woolworth, which still had a griddle and a soda fountain and smelled of melted butter. I am not nostalgic. No need. I can still remember the photographs. I am a frame. Sometimes a window enclosing and disclosing. We take the subway to the museum exchanging yous through the tunnel and into the terminal. Imagine we are pressed against each other. ‘Mingled breath and smell so close’ The silver doors. A cell membrane. You are a witness only to what you admit. Some words emit so many possibilities they threaten to burst. What is light. What is rain. Now a metaphor. Take two and answer in the morning. We look and do more than look. My daughter says you talk with your eyes off. Why should everything we see interact with light. I am counting clouds destined for Florida. I moved the store here. This is inescapably common. Where is here. Will you pray with me. Pray with your feet on the pavement. When she was born we didn’t know if she would ever walk. Now my daughter says my whole body is a winter storm as she leaps across the couch cushions. No digging out. The self is a reintegration of exponential apologies—a crowd of people in multi-colored coats holding handmade signs and choosing to sit or stand in the same world. After you. No, I insist. After you.
Some favorite lines for today:
I am not nostalgic. No need. I can still remember the photographs. I am a frame. Sometimes a window enclosing and disclosing.
My daughter says you talk with your eyes off. Why should everything we see interact with light. I am counting clouds destined for Florida.
Favorite parts of words: the ts in tunnel and terminal, the pleasing rhyme in admit and emit,
5K 43rd ave, north/32nd st, east/edmund, south/edmund, north 28 degrees 75% slushy, soft, uneven snow/ 25% bare pavement
More wonderful winter running! Warmer today. The path wasn’t clear–sidewalks, roads, the trail–but I didn’t care. Had to run closer than 6 feet to 2 walkers while I was running on the trail, which bothered me, but I ran by so fast and it was outside so I didn’t care. It’s difficult in the winter because it’s hard to move off of the trail with all the snow piled up on the side. Guess I won’t get too many river views this winter–or at least until it gets colder and keeps more people inside.
Things I Remember
Two people by Dowling Elementary, shoveling snow and breaking up the thick slabs of ice on the road, right in front of the school. I wondered, were they volunteers? Were they preparing for kids to come back to school? Are Minneapolis elementary school kids going to return for in-person school soon?
Turning around at 42nd, I noticed a few snowflakes. I hadn’t expected it to snow so I thought I was imagining it or there was stuff coming off of a branch above me. Soon, it started to snow a lot, covering the ground with a thin, mushy blanket of wet sludge. Falling, the flakes were hard and small, like little bullets or missiles aimed at my mouth. I choked slightly at least twice when I swallowed them. A few years ago I did some research on snow so I used to know the different types of flakes. I’ll have to find my notes. As I type this entry now, it is sunny and clear and there is no more snow.
Several times I heard some interesting sounds and I thought about stopping to record my moment of sound, but I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep running, so I waited until I was done and recorded the moment by my garage. 2 of the places: 1. on edmund, in a sheltered spot, in front of some fancy houses, near my favorite little stand of trees, the cottonwood three, I wanted to stop and record the chirping birds. 2. Again on edmund, close to 42nd, running past a van with its radio on, hearing some rock song mixing with a few power tools, a plane overhead, and the snow hitting the pavement.
Caught a glimpse of the river through the trees before turning off the trail to avoid a pack of walkers. I think I saw more big chunks of ice on the surface.
a moment of sound
I recorded this moment of sound after I finished my run. I thought that it might be quieter and more shielded from the city noise and wind back by my garage, behind the house, in the alley. Not sure if it was. The hum of the city is so loud! My main focus for this sound was the little pellets of snow falling on my vest–that’s what the soft crunching noise is–but I also captured some kid losing her shit down the block and some awesomely wet footsteps in the snow at the end.
Jan 4, 2021
In honor of the surprise snow shower this morning, I’d like to memorize some snow poems for the next few days. Here are a few I might consider:
update, a few hours later: I looked back in my notes from February 2018 (also, my log posts from February 2018) and figured out what the little hard pellets are called: graupels.