Tag: morning

july 7/RUNSWIM

4.25 miles
monument and back
71 degrees
dew point: 64

Hot! I’ve never liked running in the heat but now that I’m taking lexipro my heat intolerance has increased. For some moments of the run I felt great, other moments I didn’t. So I walked some, ran some, and walked again at different stretches.

10 Things

  1. I kept seeing orange flashes — a sign, a cone, a tree marked for removal
  2. kids yelling and laughing outside at a daycare attached to a church
  3. the river from above, on the bridge, heading east: brown, and looking shallow — were those sandbars I was seeing near the surface?
  4. trickling water out of the limestone below the bridge
  5. the sound of shadow falls, falling
  6. a kid’s voice rising from the ravine
  7. construction on the other side of the lake street bridge — orange cones, trucks, yellow-vested workers, the buzz of equipment
  8. the river from above, on the bridge, heading west: blue and covered in the reflections of clouds*
  9. click clack — a roller skier
  10. seen, not heard: a dog, by the clanging of their collar

*stopped at the bridge overlook to take a picture of the clouds reflected on the surface of the water. Is it just me, or does this look like an impressionist painting?

a view from above the river: gray, corrugated water with reflections of clouds and trees
river with clouds, 7 july 2025

the color of water

How to Read Water is fascinating. Here are some things I’d like to remember from the chapter on color:

The colors we see in water depend on the brightness and angle of the light and the water’s depth, as well as what’s on, in, and under that water.

How to Read Water

something to consider: are you looking at water, or something in or under the water, or a reflection on water’s surface. Is it the color of water, or the color of the ground beneath the water (a puddle), or the color of cloud on its surface? What angle are you looking from?

. . . in many circumstances when we think we are looking at the water, we are actually looking at something different and in the distance. Looking out to the sea in the distance is a great example: What we see in that situation is dominated by the reflection of the sky even further in the distance. This is why the distant sea appears blue in fine weather and gray on overcast days.

How to Read Water

This water looks blue because it’s reflection the sky is one I’ve heard a lot, but I think I’ve always heard it as the reason, not one reason under certain circumstances.

What about when we see different colors — which I often do as I run across the bridge and look down at the water? The different colors are based on how much of the water we are actually seeing. Sometimes I see brown, sometimes blue.

You will notice this if you look for it, but not if you don’t because our brain has gotten used ot this effect and so oesn’t register it as at all peculiar.

something to try: Can you find the area/the moment where the shift takes place from looking only at reflections to being able to see water?

the exact color that can travel furtherest through the water without being absorbed: blue-green color, wavelength = 480 nanometers

Is it a big cloud or Jaws? People often think it has gotten deeper or there are fish around when the water darkens, but it might just be a big cloud.

eutrophication = excessive nutrients — algal blooms reduce light, use up a lot of oxygen, change the color of the water

oligotrophic = low in nutrients, clear

my sparkle friends! “A lot of the particles that see in water will be inorganic, a mixture of mud, sand, clay, silt, chalk, and other substances, each one affecting the colors we see.” Do I see them as anything other than the color sparkle?

Today I’m swimming at Cedar Lake, which is much deeper than Lake Nokomis. It is also more of a “natural” lake than nokomis. What impact do these factors have on its colors and my experiences of them?

swim: 2.5 loops (5 cedar lake loops)
cedar lake open swim
82 degrees

The water by the orange buoy closest to Point Beach was almost hot — so warm! It was a little cooler in the middle of the lake and near Hidden Beach, but not that cool. It was also calm. Not much wind, no waves. A few vines floating over and under and around me. Some milfoil by the beach. I forgot to look at the color of the water from above, but I did look below. Blue-green, a few hints of yellow. Opaque.

10 Things

  1. driving past another part of the lake: the surface covered with green vegetation
  2. clear blue sky, then a few clouds, the more clouds, then dark
  3. the first orange buoy seemed much farther out in the water
  4. breathing to my right, seeing some other swimmers halfway across the lake
  5. yellow safety buoys
  6. something in the sky — a plane? a bird? I’m uncertain
  7. the warm water was buoyant; I felt higher on the water
  8. bubbles around my hands
  9. a line of white buoys at hidden beach
  10. a breaststroker, stroking with intensity — are they trying to race me?

Is that what bothers me about breaststrokers I encounter: that they always look so intense and like they are trying to race me or keep up with me? I think of breaststroke as a chill stroke, where you glide and kick as you travel on the surface of the water, able equally to see above and below. But, there’s nothing chill or relaxed about the breaststrokers i encounter!

Before swimming, I worked on memorizing some more lines from Alice Oswald, this time from Nobody, but I got stuck on the beginning and wasn’t able to recite them in my head as I swam:

There are said to be microscopic insects in the eye
who speak Greek and these invisible
ambassadors of vision never see themselves
but fly at flat surfaces and back again
with pigment caught in their shivering hair-like receptors
and this is how the weather gets taken to and fro
and the waves pass each other from one color to the next
(Nobody/ Alice Oswald)

july 5/RUN

2.5 miles
2 trails
72 degrees / drizzle
dew point: 71

The Tour de France starts today! Hooray! Scott and I are watching it live this year and enduring the terrible U.S. coverage. I miss Orla and Robbie and Adam and Rob and Ant and Nico. Oh well. At least we can watch it. Decided to do a quick run before the thunderstorms started up again. So hot and thick! But quiet, calm, almost empty.

10 Things

  1. the leaning tree 2 doors down our block is marked orange — will they take it down this week?
  2. the tree that fell over the winchell tree last week is still there, blocking the trail — today, no birds surrounding it
  3. dark green trees
  4. pale blue river
  5. white-gray sky
  6. a bullhorn beep then a coxswain’s voice — rowers!
  7. dripping leaves
  8. gushing ravine
  9. thick air
  10. the sound of rain in the trees but not the feel of it on my skin

le tour, day one: some crashes, a few riders already abandoning including Ganna, crosswinds, tight corners, Remco and Roglich already losing time. Bob Roll’s phrase du jour: put the hammer down. A sprint finish: Jasper wins (boo), Girmay gets second

Yesterday, in a ramble about rumors and whispers, I stumbled upon a tentative theme for the month: the language of water. First step: read/skim How to Read Water.

Here’s an interesting bit I’d like to remember:

. . . ponds and lakes are far from permanent; rivers will tend to grow naturally with time as they do their own excavating, but the opposite is true for still water. Unless ponds and lakes are given some help, they will all eventually return to land, It starts with algae, then the rushes and other shallow water plants getting a foothold, and this allows sediments to gather, water turns to wet mud, and a reinforcing cycle begins that culminates in the water losing the battle against the encroaching land.

How to Read Water/ Tristan Gooley

Reading through this chapter on lakes, I’m realizing that you can determine the depth of a lake by surface-level clues — ducks and swans = shallower water / cormorants (have I ever seen a cormorant?) = deeper. Clouds over land are different than clouds over water, so in bigger lakes you can tell if there are islands by looking at the clouds.

random: Watching a commercial during le tour, I heard the pairing of grit and determination in describing a brand. I said to Scott that I should write a poem with pairs of words like Grit & Determination, that are frequently together, in which they break up and then look for new partners. What are some common pairings/partners: Salt & Pepper, Shiny & New, New & Improved, Footloose & Fancyfree, In & Out?

july 3/RUNSWIM

3.1 miles
2 trails
72 degrees
dew point: 70

8 a.m. and already 72. It’s going to be hot today. Heard some birds and the coxswain and water trickling, then dropping steadily. The river was pale blue through the trees. When I heard the rowers I wondered how hot they were on the water without any shade.

overheard: an adult runner to a kid biking behind them — you’re doing such a good job!

Wore my bright yellow shoes — the ones I bought over a year ago and have tried to wear several times but always give up because they hurt my feet and my calves. They seem to be working now.

10 Things

  1. purple flowers just beyond the fence
  2. blue sky
  3. empty bench
  4. a roller skier holding their poles up instead of using them
  5. noisy birds near the tree that fell a few days ago onto the winchell trail
  6. a small circle of shimmer: sparkling water seen through a gap in the trees
  7. several stones stacked on the ancient boulder
  8. a small group of bikers — 4, I think — speeding past, one of them wearing a bright pink shirt
  9. a women with a dog stepping off the path near the bench above “the edge of the world”
  10. faint lines of yellow and orange and pink and purple chalk on the 38th street steps

orbit

This morning, another orbit around an idea that I’ve been orbiting for a few years now:

1

He aligns himself and moves forward with his face in the water staring down at the bottom of the lake. Old, beautiful shadows are wavering steadily across it. He angles his body and looks up at the sky. Old, beautiful clouds are wavering steadily across it. The swimmer thinks about symmetries, then rotates himself to swim on his back staring at the sky. Could we be exactly wrong about such things as—he rotates again—which way is up? High above him he can feel the clouds watching his back, waiting for him to fall toward them.

The Anthropology of Water/ Anne Carson

Which way is up? Which way down? Which real? Imagined? Symmetries or similarities?

2

I began more seriously than ever to learn the names of things—the wild plants and animals, natural processes, local places—and to articulate my observations and memories. My language increased and strengthened, and sent my mind into the place like a live root-system. And so what has become the usual order of things reversed itself with me: my mind became the root of my life rather than its sublimation. I came to see myself as growing out of the earth like the other native animals and plants. I saw my body and my daily motions as brief coherences and articulations of the energy of the place, which would fall back into the earth like leaves in the autumn.

Native Hill/ Wendell Berry

Brief coherences and articulations of the energy of the place.

3

Reading Berry, I’m reminded of Arthur Sze’s discussion of mushrooms as poems:

I began to think I love this idea that the mycelium is below the surface. It’s like the subconscious, then when the mushroom fruits pops up above ground, maybe that’s like this spontaneous outpouring of a poem or whatever.

4

Then, I returned, as I often do, to the beginnings of a poem:

Maybe like mushrooms, we rise
or not rise, flare —
brief bursts from below
then returns 
to swim in the dirt…

5

Could we be more like fungi/mushrooms, with their nets of mycellium, than trees with their roots and branches and one trunk? Googled it: Animals and fungi are each other’s closest relatives: congruent evidence from multiple proteins

6

And back to W. Berry and the reversing of wild and domestic:

VI.

our word “domestic” comes from the Latin domus, meaning “house” or “home.” To domesticate a place is to make a home of it. To be domesticated is to be at home.

X. 

But if we were really to pay attention to what we’ve been calling “wilderness” or “the wild,” whether in a national park or on a rewooded Kentucky hillside, we would learn something of the most vital and urgent importance: they are not, properly speaking, wild.

XI. 

Our overdone appreciation of wildness and wilderness has involved a little-noticed depreciation of true domesticity, which is to say homemaking, homelife, and home economy.

XII. 

With only a little self-knowledge and a little sitting still and looking, the conventional perspective of wild and domestic will be reversed: we, the industrial consumers of the world, are the wild ones, unrestrained and out of control, self-excluded from the world’s natural homemaking and living at home.

swim: 3 loops
lake nokomis open swim
90 degrees

Another great swim! Felt strong — no strange calf pain, or feet that feel like they might start cramping, or fear over not seeing buoys. The water was warm and green. The sky was blue with a few clouds. No dragonflies or planes or menacing swans, although there was a lurking sailboat. The far green buoy still looked blue to me, when I could see it as having color. Often it looks like a white dot, or just a colorless dot that I understand as buoy.

I saw pale legs and green globs and a vague orangish red light and sparkle friends and bubbles and ghostly milfoil underwater. No ducks or fish or seagulls. For the last stretch of each loop, I recited the lines from Alice Oswald’s Dart that I just memorized:

1

Then I jumped in a rush of gold to the head,
through black and cold, red and cold, brown and warm,
giving the water the weight and size of myself in order to imagine it,
water with my bones, water with my mouth and my understanding

2

He dives, he shuts himself in a deep soft-bottomed
silence
which underwater is all nectarine, nacreous. He lifts
the lid and shuts and lifts the lid and shuts and the sky
jumps in and out of the world he loafs in.
Far off and orange in the glow of it he drifts

Such great lines that feel familiar when I’m swimming in the middle of the lake.

july 2/RUN

4 miles
franklin loop
68 degrees
humidity: 81%

Started at 7:30 a.m. and it was already hot and humid. That sun! Ran with Scott. We talked about AI and whether or not art was a purely human expression and how, within running circles, humidity is considered a “poor man’s altitude training.” We ran over the lake street bridge and the franklin bridge and above the mississippi rowing club and wondered what the loud buzzing noise below was. Trucks. My guess: doing something with the sewer vents by the rowing club. Scott’s guess: pulling a car out of the river.

10 Things

  1. a single rower on the river
  2. graffiti under the lake street bridge: Stop Hate
  3. cloudless blue sky
  4. everywhere, a thick green veil
  5. all the benches we ran by were facing a wall of green — on the other side of that: an unseen river
  6. 2 runners ahead of us disappearing into the trees — passing the spot a minute later, we noticed a steep dirt trail
  7. the cracked pavement that I’ve been monitoring for years has grown into a sinkhole
  8. the color of the river: brown in the foreground, blue in the background
  9. I don’t remember seeing shadows, just experiencing the cooling effects of shade
  10. beep beep beep — a truck backing up somewhere nearby

We started out doing 9/1, but had to take an extra minute of walking after the second interval. Still, we got outside and moved over 4 miles in the heat. Small victories: we ran more again in the last 2 miles and we ran up the entire section of the franklin hill even though I had initially wanted to walk it.

Found this definition of poetry by Wang Ping. Several years ago, she wrote a wonderful poem about the Mississippi River Gorge.

That’s what poetry is: a wind, a leaf of grass that ties time and space together (Wang Ping).

field

Continuing to think about the visual field test and the idea of my visual field. Today: what is a field? and can I play around with the idea of a field?

The visual field is “that portion of space in which objects are visible at the same moment during steady fixation of the gaze in one direction”; in ophthalmology and neurology the emphasis is mostly on the structure inside the visual field and it is then considered “the field of functional capacity obtained and recorded by means of perimetry”.

wikipedia

A single, fixed view from one direction — the space, and what’s contained within that space that can be seen.

I think I’ll leave thoughts about visual fields alone for now. Instead, I want to turn to a wonderful chapbook I just bought — as part of an entry fee for a chapbook contest — from Driftwood Press: Questions about Circulation

ruins/ Charles Malone

III.

The kitchen ceiling falls to the floor—
soaked plaster, moldy wood.
Hundred-year-old floors warp
something more sinister than time
in the farmhouse.
Plants grow to cover the windows,
the smell chokes
a massive colony of honeybees takes up in the siding,
raccoons come and go from the basement window.

This is the process by which a home becomes not,
a process other than a real estate transaction—
spills, arguments, accidents, cruelties.
You see other farmhouses stripped of paint
ducking behind wilding shrubs and flowering weeds.
The boundary between in and out blurs,
a sign with shameful orange letters on the door.
What action and inaction, what ruins a house
for the body and the lungs and recollection?
Rain, the creep of ivy, the sedimentary accumulation of dirt
this is the opposite of the joy of work.

1

Scott and I recently discovered more seasons of the Great House Revival where people take abandoned houses in Scotland Ireland (oops) and restore them. There are lots of discussions of water damage and rotten floorboards and overgrown yards and critters wandering in and out of basements and kitchens and first-floor (which is the second floor in a U.S. house) bedrooms.

2

Ever since I discovered the concept of re-wilding, I’ve been thinking about my eyes becoming wild again. At some point, my cone cells began scrambling then leaking then scarring then dying. Sometimes, I think of my central vision less like a wilderness, and more like a wasteland. But, there is something wild/feral about the refusal to fix/tame an image. Everything moves slightly — shakes, shimmers, fuzzes, fizzes. Nothing is still.

july 1/RUNSWIM

4 miles
minnehaha falls and back
73 degrees
humidity: 75%

I planned to get up early and go out sooner, when it was still in the 60s, but I decided I needed sleep more, so I didn’t go out for my run until 9. Hot! I managed to stick with my plan for longer than I thought I could, and also to know when I needed to walk a little more.

10 Things

  1. a line of bikes — 20? — emerging from under the ford bridge to turn up the trail right in front of me — nobody called out, runner, to alert the others
  2. a faint spray coming off of the falls
  3. a group of workers — do they belong to the semis parked in front of the park building? — cooling off in the shade
  4. a turkey on the hidden part of the trail that dips below the road — when they saw me, they turned and almost slithered into the vegetation
  5. a sandbag near a drain in the grass, initially looking like a dead animal
  6. a faint voice below — a coxswain, I think!
  7. trickling water at the 44th street ravine
  8. the water fountain on the edge of the park does not work yet — or ever this summer? I’ll have to check again
  9. a tree down on the winchell trail, almost, but not quite, covering the entire trail
  10. a biker’s headlights cutting through the trees where the road curves

As I ran and walked, I thought about my vision tests. First, the colorblind plates. The feeling when I took the test was relief and recognition — positive feelings. Later, more mixed feelings. The loss of a language is difficult. But, failing the test is an opportunity to form a new relationship with color. How to represent that? I’m still struggling.

Second, I thought about the visual field test. I have taken it 3 times, I think — once when I was first diagnosed, once 3 years later, and just last month. You put your chin on a chin rest, press your forehead up against a bar, and look through a visor. You’re supposed to stare directly at a center dot and click a button when you see flashes in other areas of the visual field. How could I represent that in a poem?

I’d like to ask the ophthalmologist who administered my test if I could get a copy of the scan, to see exactly what my field looks like. Then, I might try to map my field onto a poem somehow — or map a poem onto my field. It could be like an erasure poem — an erasure of my own writing? Another idea: instruct the reader to keep staring into the center at the dot and try to see the words in different parts of the visual field. This one could be a series of “images” of the field with words.

As I keep thinking about these tests, here’s some more information about the visual field test.

on this day inspiration

On 1 July 2020, I posted Aram Saroyan’s famous “electric” poem:

I’ve discovered that the best work I can do now is to collect single words that happen to strike me and to type each one out in the center of a page. The one word isn’t “mine” but the one word in the center of the page is. Electric poems I call them (in case anyone starts throwing Concrete at me)—meaning that isolated of the reading process—or that process rendered by the isolation instant—each single word is structure as “instant, simultaneous, and multiple” as electricity and/or the Present. In effect the single word is a new reading process; like electricity—instant and continuous.

Aram Saroyan and the Art of the One Word Poem/ Paul Stephens

And now I’m thinking about my visual field test poetry, wondering how I might find an “electric” word to put in the center. And, could I put some related words in other parts of the field? What about a phrase?

here

I need to think more about what word/s to use. I like here, but it also seems like a place-holder for a more dynamic word. Thought about “don’t look away” or “look here” or “stare” or no word, but a dot or an x or ?

Now I’m remembering Rob Macaisa Colgate’s Hardly Creatures and his series of 3 poems: the first, the original artwork, the second was a replica, the third a souvenir. I could write a “regular/intact” poem, then condense it to fit with my visual field.

swim: 3 loops
lake nokomis open swim
83 degrees

A great swim! One of the orange buoys was missing, but they replaced it with a green one. The buoys seemed to be farther out and it took 3 tries for me to finally swim straight to the final green one. But I did; I cracked the code.

10 Things

  1. loose vines, wrapping themselves around me
  2. menacing swans
  3. military planes buzzing overhead — heard and seen
  4. a nice chat with another regular — an older women I’ve seen for a couple of years. I asked her about the course; she asked me why the water was so cold
  5. pale, marble legs underwater
  6. frog legs almost kicking me
  7. ghostly milfoil
  8. the far green buoy, nearest the little beach, always looked pale blue to me
  9. a squeaky nose plug, leaky goggles
  10. sparkle friends!

june 30/RUNSWIM

2.5 miles
2 trails
73 degrees
dew point: 64

A late start, almost 10 am. Hot! A beautiful summer morning. Sun, soft shadows, sprinkling water, green, blue. I didn’t hear it, but it rained last night. Puddles and mud on the winchell trail. The river was brown and still.

overheard: a counselor to a group of camp kids taking a nature walk — be careful not to brush up and against anything! if you see poison ivy, don’t touch it!

Walkers, runners, bikers. No rowers or roller skiers. A strange sight near the crosswalk to the river trail: a stuck semi at a strange angle — the cab going one way, the trailer the other. What happened?

Above the trail was hot and dry, below slick, slippery, shaded. Voices drifting down. Shadows shifting. Dripping, rustling.

I chanted in triple berries, trying to keep my left and right foot strikes even. Soon, I’d like to pull out my phone and record my running — is it steady, or could I have some strange hitch I’m not aware of?

Was thinking about my colorblind plates again and what feelings taking and failing that test evoked. The snellen chart feeling is anxiety, uncertainty. The amsler grid, more curiosity and wonder and validation/recognition. The Ishihara Colorblind plates? A door opening — not only sudden awareness but a shifting and passing through something that, before, had only lived inside my head. A new understanding.

I was thinking about the dots in the plate. Dots. Circles. Loops. Os.

opening
outsider
outline
Ordovician onlooker
outset
oncology
offering
other
opinion
oath
ornithology
Ooo
ooze
odd
old
obstinate
outsized
ovulation
owl
osprey
oblivion
octogon

opened
occupy
orbit
organic
outcast
official
obvious
oracle
occipital
oak
overt
O!
oof
ointment
oddity
omen
or
outfield
outrage/ous
ostrich
ossify
outage
outstanding

open
online
orifice
onset
organs
outer limits
ophthalmology
olfactory
organization
orange
orchard
Oh!
oaf
ornamental
odor
obscure/d
orphaned
occult
opt/ion
octopus
out of control
outlet
outdoors

For more O inspiration, I’m looking to O/ Claire Wahmanholm. I posted it on here back on 12 june 2020. Here are some of her Os:

once
oil
overgrown
ore
only
oblivion
outdated

operation
opus
olive
obelisk
origin
overrun
oxygen

oared
octave
oval
observation
oculus
oven
ochre

The O lines from The Manic Depressive’s Alphabet / Anahita Monfared:

O is overprescribed! Four years on 250 mg of lithium and four on 250 mg of seroquel, all before you can legally drink

And Rita Dove’s Os that open Ode to My Right Knee:

Oh, obstreperous one. Ornery, outside of ordinary. . .

Does this help me to get any closer to figuring out what to do with my colorblind test? Maybe. Regardless, it was fun!

before the run

Today’s morning reading-while-drinking-coffee was wonderful. Here are some things I encountered:

one

hey, I get it. But look! how much pleasure is on the other side of that which only momentarily torments you! Think about the miracle of the other side, if you can get there, and you can! I get it! There is much we have to do to keep ourselves alive! Much of it mundane and some of it displeasing, but sunsets are cool and if you do enough of the mundane you get to see one of those from time to time! . . . Imagine the other side, the next moment, the thing that awaits beyond what exhausts you!

@nifmuhammad / Hanif Abduraqib

What luck to be alive at the same time as Hanif Abduraqib. So wise and loving. For years, I have been monitoring, imagining, writing about the other side in this log. It’s a real place: the opposite side of the gorge, usually the east side because I run on the west side more. My mother was born and raised on that other side. And, it’s an imagined place — a view, a vista, open space for breathing and being otherwise; the moments when, I don’t want to stop running.

two

Erin Dorney’s project, Question the Body. Very cool!

three

The Manic Depressive’s Alphabet / Anahita Monfared

About this Poem

“In concussion recovery therapy, there is an exercise where you must go through the alphabet, and list words that correspond with the letters as you go. Each round, you are given a theme. These themes can include names of people, cities, countries, foods, colors, and more. Doing this week after week, as I rewired my brain, I couldn’t help but think of the learned alphabets unique to every individual—the ones we inherit, the ones we claim, [and] the ones we try and run away from. From there, I wrote into one of my loudest alphabets: manic depression.” 

The alphabets we inherit, we claim, we try and run away from. Wow!

swim: 2.5 loops (5 cedar lake loops)
cedar lake open swim
74 degrees

A little windier and choppier today. A current in the lake was pushing everyone swimming west to the wrong side of the buoy. By the fourth and fifth laps, I had finally figured out how to stay on course. I kept noticing the sky. First it was blue with only a few clouds. Then half of it was blue, the other half darker. By the last lap: gray. When I reached the shore I realized that it was raining. I had no idea!

No scratchy vines or clear bubbles. No flashes of fish or crazy kayaks. No planes or birds or dragonflies. All I remember is opaque water and occasionally sighting the orange dots and yellow and pink safety buoys tethered to torsos. Oh — and someone/something touching my calf. Most likely another swimmer.

I didn’t think about much as I swam except 1 2 3 4 5 breathe 1 2 3 4 5 breathe. I felt how my right arm has been getting stronger as I swim more and that I could use my tricep to move higher and faster through the water. I was irritated by some swimmers. Raced a few others, most likely without them knowing I was.

june 29/RUN

3 miles
trestle turn around
71 degrees

I would have liked to do open swim today, but FWA and I heading to Austin, MN to see the musical, Hairspray, so I didn’t have time. Oh well, a run instead. I walked some, and flew a lot. Feeling fast and full of energy on the path. I hoped I would see Dave, the Daily Walker so that we could greet and when he asked me how I was doing I’d say, It’s my birthday. And it happened, and he did wish me a happy birthday!

As I ran, I listened to my bday 2018 (2018?!) playlist — a lot of Lizzo and Justin Bieber. Wow.

june 28/RUN

5 miles
bottom franklin hill and back
68 degrees
humidity: 87%

It felt warm and humid today. Difficult. I managed to stick to 9/1 for the first 30 minutes, then I was less consistent as my heart rate stayed elevated. Still, I had some small victories: 1. I ran up most of the franklin hill — more than I thought I would/could; 2. I made it through 3 9/1 circuits when I thought I could only do 2; 3. I ran up a hill and kept running until the end of edmund instead of giving up early.

10 Things

  1. a runner’s bright orange shorts
  2. another runner’s sturdy and strong form running up the hill
  3. the water in the flats: rough, textured, corrugated
  4. 3 roller skiers climbing a hill — the first faster, ahead of the 2 others who were good-naturedly complaining about how fast he was
  5. 5 or 6 runners — part of a team — shirtless and fast
  6. strange construction noises coming from above me on the I-94 bridge
  7. Mr. Morning!
  8. no sign of the tree that fell in the tunnel of trees on Thursday evening
  9. evidence of last night’s rain: a few puddles, wet branches
  10. a very short stretch of deep, muddy tire tracks through the grass between the road and the path

5

humid
today
stick
first
heart
small

would
could
until
early
ahead
still

night
muddy
track
grass
above
noise

Humid today; I was sticky. My heart at first felt small, tight.
If I could, I would not have waited until it was light. I would have left when it was still early, ahead of the sun.
Last night, rain. Now a track of muddy grass. Climbing up, above the gorge, my heart grows, opens, makes a joyful noise.

a thought: not sure how this 5 experiment is working so far. Not that inspiring yet. I’ll give it a few more days.

later, in the evening: I’ve been watching Western States 100 off and on all day. I wanted to make note of an expression they’ve been using. Referring to course records and past splits for runners, the commentators described current competitors as chasing the ghost of the record holder. The lead male runner is trying to beat Jim Walmsley’s course record from 2019, so they keep saying, he’s chasing Jim’s ghost. I find this fascinating.


june 25/RUN

2.5 miles
neighborhood / lake street bridge / tunnel of trees
69 degrees
on and off drizzle

It’s supposed to rain all day today but when I woke up it hadn’t started yet, so I went for a quick run. A drizzle was already happening when I left the house, but I went anyway. I thought the rain might make it cooler. It did not. So hot! There was a lot of traffic on lake street and cars backed up on the bridge. The run was good: I felt strong and relaxed, then overheated and tired, then strong again. I stopped at the top of the hill that starts under the bridge to admire one of my favorite views of the river: always open and wide, even in the thick of summer — no leaves blocking; all the trees are below.

1

Admiring the view, a sudden sense of silver sparkling. A bird leaving a tree? I looked to the side and saw a dark wing out of the corner of my eye.

2

Running over the lake street bridge, I looked down at the water. A rower, and another rower, and another! All in single shells, parting the water and leaving lines on the surface. I had to stop and admire them for a few seconds.

3

Near the end, I descended to the tunnel of trees. Suddenly enveloped in a pleasing dark green.

Other things: a biker’s bright yellow jacket; the buzz of kids arriving at a daycare; the faint clicking of ski poles; greeting Mr. Holiday (I think); a walker’s peachy-orange shirt; the honk from a impatient car; a speck of something in the water far below — a stone?; a mixture of moistures — sweat and rain; making note of the tree cover by which parts of the path were getting wet and which were not

5

today
quick
house
might
there
again
under
river
thick
sense
water
sweat
which

rower
shell
green
other
biker
faint
think
peach
shirt
speck
below
cover
stone

under peach cover OR under cover peach
quick! under there
below: water, stone, a river thick with think
today, a shell sense: under cover
might there be an other sense, below stone, under water?
today I sweat in thick green
under green, a faint sense of a stone house that holds water
under think, below sense: river
which biker might sweat water? which, peach stone?

What other fruit might want to go under cover as a peach?* An apple? a plum? My favorite today: a river thick with think

*I mentioned the under cover peach to Scott and he said, like a private investigator, which got me going: Peach is a PI. Because she lived in Georgia for a spell, her former partner when she was a cop affectionately named her Peach. This partner died on duty and under suspicious circumstances (was it another cop? the chief of police? the mayor?). Devastated, Peach quit the force and opened up shop as a private investigator. Each week, she goes under cover to solve a new case. Somehow these cases keep revealing more clues — they thicken the plot — about what happened to her beloved partner, which puts Peach in danger. Someone doesn’t want her to find out what happened. Will Peach figure it out in time, or will she be silenced like her old partner? This hour long drama would be part of our imaginary Saturday night line-up, along with Cruise Ship Detective (you can never have too many detective shows, right?) and Stunt Bus. Read this to Scott and he suggested that Under Cover Peach be on Sunday nights. He also read me the list we created of other shows:

Hollywood Knights (like Hollywood Squares, but chess)
Doggy Hauser, DVM
Sing or Swim (a singing competition with a dunk tank)
Phantasm Island
Breakfast Club (a new detention crew with Bender each week)

ice dippers

Last night after open swim, Scott and I went over to Painted Turtle for a beer and state-fair quality cheese curds (yum!). Another couple invited us to share a table since it was so crowded. They lived by lake harriet and after learning that I was a swimmer, asked if I’ve ever swum in the winter in one of the ice holes at lake harriet? What? I was not aware that such things existed! I looked it up, and I might have to try it this year! Minneapolis Ice Holes: New Dippers

Did some more sleuthing and found out that there’s a club at lake nokomis too: Nokomis Bifrost. The hole is located north of the little beach. This upcoming winter, I’m doing it! I’m hoping FWA will try it with me — he loves the cold.

update: I asked FWA and he wasn’t too enthusiastic — I like the cold, but not cold water, he said. When I mentioned it to RJP, she was intrigued. I think she might try it with me!

june 24/RUNSWIM

4.75
veterans home
64 degrees

The heat broke. Yes! Still overheated by the end, but much easier to run in the 60s than the 80s. Did my 9/1 again. About 2 minutes into the third segment of running, nearing a steep hill, I briefly contemplated taking another walk break. Then I remembered that I took an extra walk break around the same time yesterday. This might become a habit, I thought, so I decided to keep going. Make it to the top of the hill. Make it to the parking lot. Make it to the bench above the edge of the world. Then I was at 9 minutes. Victory!

Before I went out for my run, I revisited CAConrad’s TL;DR and their advice for listening:

listen to the most immediate sounds in the building. Let the layers reveal themselves, shifting to what you hear further away, then further.

When you feel you have heard everything, wait. Sit there a little longer, listening for the faintest of traffic in the sky or a faraway rumble.

As I ran, I listened for the the layers. Running above the falls, on the other side of the creek, I tried to listen to what was beyond the soft rushing of the water over limestone. Cars, a train horn, birds, my foot steps. I tried to listen for voices at the overlook. Did I hear any? I don’t think so.

10 Sounds

  1. a car, whooshing by me on the street
  2. a few pebbles crunching under the wheel
  3. the soft knocking of a woodpecker
  4. kids laughing on the playground
  5. the creek, tumbling over rocks
  6. the soft rush of the falls
  7. scraping — someone working on the new trail below me
  8. the clicking of a roller skier’s poles across the road
  9. the sharp clanging of a dog collar
  10. the shifting of a bike gear

what is a tree?

Yesterday, walking on the gravel road that leads to the cedar lake beach, I noticed the husk of a tree — a sad-looking trunk with no top and no branches. When I pointed it out to Scott he said, that’s not a tree. Trees have branches. Even little trees have branches. Running today, I suddenly wondered about a tree’s root system and what was underground. Can that define a tree? Looked it up, and according to several sources, there is no universal or official scientific definition of a tree. The generally accepted idea is that it has a single, thick trunk, branches, a root system.

run 5

broke
still
again
about
third
steep
world
cedar

below
heard
water
think
wheel
creek
trail
beach

skier
break
might
extra
habit
bench
sharp
thick

I have a third wheel habit.
again, water, my break below.
a beach bench thick with habit
trail-think, creek-think, beach-think: one is still, one sharp, one thick
world — break what broke again
steep bench habit
beyond the linear layer, a wheel world could be heard

floating again

I returned to Anne Carson’s Float today and found many delightful things in her pair of lectures, “Uncle Falling,” including this:

Uncle Falling / Anne Carson

I like to write lectures. My favorite part is connect-
ing the ideas. The best connections are the ones
that draw attention to their own frailty so that at
first you think: what a poor lecture this is–the
ideas go all over the place and then later you think
but still, what a terrifically perilous activity it is,
this activity of linking together all the threads of
human sin that go into making what we call sense,
what we call reasoning, an argument, a conversa-
tion. how light, how loose, how unprepared and
unpreparable is the web of connections between
any thought and any thought.

CHORUS 1:
Here’s a thought

CHORUS 2, 3:
Here’s another

CHORUS 1, 2, 3, 4:
How about getting from here to there

CHORUS 4:How about spending some time in mid-air

CHORUS 3:
Much depends upon the fact

CHORUS 2:
that one falls

CHORUS 1:
or one does not fall

swim: 3 loops
open swim lake nokomis
80 degrees

A wonderful night for a swim! Warm water, hardly any chop, no glaring sun. So many sparkle friends and bubbles and muscles being worked. And, a ferret on the loose? The lifeguards caught a ferret and kept asking if anyone was missing a ferret. I felt strong and fast and free — no worries about getting off course. Who cares? A great swim.