Tag: no headphones

sept 30/RUN

4.1 miles
river road, north/south
65 degrees
humidity: 75%

Yesterday, it was almost 90 degrees. It will be in the 80s all this week. Ugh. I’m ready for cooler weather! I felt okay during the run, but now, after it, I’m wiped out. Thankfully, the sun was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. I ran the entire first mile, then the second with one walk break in the center, and the third: run 3 mins, walk 1 min.

10 Things

  1. 2 packs of male runners, around a dozen in each pack, a gap of 20 or 30 seconds between each — the U of M or Macalester or St. Thomas cross country team?
  2. exchanged greetings with Mr. Morning! He was wearing a bright orange t-shirt
  3. some more red leaves as I descended into the tunnel of trees
  4. 3 stones stacked on the ancient boulder
  5. a steady stream of cars on the road
  6. a man standing above the limestone steps that lead to the Winchell Trail near the trestle, waiting
  7. someone sitting at the sliding bench — have I ever sat on the bench? it looks too precarious, right on the edge of a steep slope
  8. the crack just north of the trestle is still cracking
  9. a bird: cheesburger cheeseburger cheeseburger (a black-capped chickadee)
  10. the Welcoming Oaks are still green

My mom died 16 years ago today. I wanted to think about her on the run, but I was too distracted by my effort and the humid conditions. For the second half of my run and part of my walk home, I listened to my “Doin’ Time” playlist. Some lyrics in the last song I heard made me think of my mom. Time will heal from Time Song/ the Kinks. I thought about how much time has passed since Mom died and how I feel her absence less intensely than I used to. I wouldn’t call it healing; just finding ways to live with the grief.

listing

I want to include some 10 Things lists in my Girl Ghost Gorge collection. Partly because they are part of my practice, and partly because the writing of lists, and the gathering of things noticed that listing involves, is a way to create substance to my ghost-like, untethered self. It is also a way to ease my restlessness. The idea — if I write enough lists, I’ll get tired and/or stop being so restless and unsatisfied. I’m not sure how many lists to do. Maybe 4? One for each season?

sept 17/RUNBIKESWIM

4 miles
the monument and back
72 degrees
humidity: 80% / dew point: 64

More gnats, more heat, more sweat. Ran over the lake street bridge and up the summit hill to the Monument. Ran the first mile, did 2 minutes running/ 1 minute walking for the second mile, and mostly running, some walking for the rest. My right knee was sore because the kneecap slid out last night. I had to pop it back into place by going up and down the stairs. When it slides out it rubs the tendons or ligaments or something and they’re sore the next day. No big deal.

10 Things

  1. a bunch of kids sitting on the sidewalk outside of the church with the daycare — an adult called out to some other adult, I checked the website. They should be picking them up by 9
  2. a gnat flew into my eye — all the way, now the corner of my eye is sore
  3. no rowers on the river, only small waves
  4. peering over the side on the lake street bridge, checking out the sandbar. How far below the surface is it? How deep is the water around it?
  5. the faint sound of falling water at shadow falls
  6. a railing in front of a neighbor’s house, adorned with garlands and lights
  7. several wide cracks on the trail halfway down the summit hill, outlined in orange
  8. running up the summit hill, hearing a biker slowly approaching then creeping past me
  9. checking my watch during a walk break, the numbers blurred and difficult to see — a combination of my bad vision and feeling slightly dizzy/dazed from the heat
  10. the jingling of my house key in my pack, the thudding of my pack against my shorts

I don’t remember much from the run because it was hot and tiring. What did I think about?

Listened to kids, cars, random voices, and a dog barking running to the Monument. Put in my “The Wheeling Life” playlist on the way back. First song up, “Day by Day” from Godspell. In this song., the wheel is moving forward, progressing towards a better relationship with God. Wow — Jesus-rock was a thing in the 70s. The refrain for the song:

Day by day, day by day, oh dear Lord, three things I pray, to see thee more clearly, love thee more dearly, follow thee more nearly. Day by day.

bike: 7.5 miles
lake nokomis and back
79/75 degrees

Earlier today, Scott and I drove by lake nokomis and we noticed that the buoys were still up, so we decided to bike over to the lake in the late afternoon. If the blue algae was gone, I’d swim. So we did, and it was! The bike ride was great, even if it was windy. The thing I remember most about the bike was hearing the twack of the pickle ball at a pickle court on the way there, and a tennis court on the way back. Also: someone mowing their lawn and kids playing at the lake nokomis rec center playground.

swim: 2 loops
lake nokomis main beach
76 degrees

The water was clearer and warmer and slightly less choppy than the last time I was here. Still too many vines reaching up from the bottom. I had to swim farther out in the lake to avoid them. Saw at least 2 paddle boarders, a sailboat, a kayak. No fish, but seagulls. Heard geese honking from the other shore. Some adult was playing with a kid and calling out, Nestea Plunge. Yes! I can still picture the dude standing with his back to the pool, falling back into the water.

Noticed the mucked-up underside of a once red, now pinkish orange buoy. Was fascinated by the bubbles on the otherwise smooth surface of the water. Felt some thin vine tendrils encircling my wrist, some thicker and sharper vines brushing against my leg. I don’t remember seeing any planes, but I do remember some wispy clouds.

sept 14/RUN

4.1 miles
river road north/south
70 degrees
humidity: 88% / dew point: 68

Ugh! Uncomfortably warm again today. A flushed face and dripping ponytail. Was able to greet 2 regulars: Dave, the Daily Walker and Mr. Morning! Admired sparkles on the water, heard the coxswain from below, smelled the sourness of the sewer. I tried to do my “beat” experiment:

mile 1: triple berry chants strawberry/raspberry/blueberry
mile 2: listen to metronome at 175
mile 3: listen to music

I went too fast with the triple berries, then didn’t have the metronome turned up enough to feel the beat. By the time I got to mile 3, I was overheating. After that, it was difficult to run for that long. Lots of walking. I’ll have to try this experiment again when it is much cooler.

For the Girl Ghost Gorge collection I’m working on, I’ve decided to add some You Are Here poems: poems that locate me/the reader in one particular (and meaningful to me) location above or with or among the gorge.

possible you are here locations

  1. the trestle
  2. folwell bench
  3. sliding bench
  4. the edge of the world
  5. double bridge
  6. ancient boulder with stacked stones
  7. franklin hill
  8. turkey hollow
  9. 44th street ravine
  10. 42nd street ravine
  11. 35th street ravine
  12. welcoming oaks

sept 13/RUN

3.25 miles
locks and dam no 1 and back
73 degrees
humidity: 67

Typical September weather in Minneapolis: cool, then hot, then hotter. I went out for my run late because I was watching Vingegaard finally show some panache on the final, ridiculously steep, climb of the Vuelta. Perhaps the most memorable thing about the Vuelta this year were the pro-Palestinian protesters. They disrupted several of the stages, resulting in the shortening of at least 2 of them, including the individual time trial. Mostly they peacefully (I think) occupied the finish line or lined the course with Palestinian flags. A few groups were more disruptive: cutting down a tree to block the road, running down from a hill and almost hitting some of the riders, and today, blocking the road and (possibly?) tackling one of the riders. I support the protesters and their movement, even as I disagree with some of their tactics that put the riders at risk.

10 Things

  1. 2 runners ahead of me, one in an orange vest. when I passed them, I overheard one say to the other, only 1.3 miles left. we can do it.
  2. same runners, later, walking, one to the other: you go ahead, I’m walking the rest
  3. the wheels of a roller skier, sounding rickety and rusted — or was it the uneven asphalt?
  4. leaves floating in the wind, looking like flying birds
  5. pale blue water below
  6. encountering a guy with a dog: excuse me / oh — you scared me, you’re quiet / I’m sorry / no, that’s a good thing I thought: me, the running ninja
  7. a coxswain’s voice below — rowers!
  8. a small peloton on the road
  9. an organized run, probably a 20 miler for the upcoming marathon — participants were wearing orange vests
  10. the tree that was blocking most of the winchell trail has finally been moved

It was tough out there. I chanted a reminder in triples: in the heat/time on feet. Because it’s so hot, I’m not worrying about how slow I’m going, or how much of it I’m walking instead of running. It’s all about just getting out there and spending time moving.

Just discovered this book! I’m hoping I can find it in a library somewhere:

Out the front door, across the street, down the hill, and into Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx. This is how Ben Ratliff’s runs started most days of the week for about a decade. Sometimes listening to music, not always. Then, at the beginning of the pandemic, he began taking notes about what he listened to. He wondered if a body in motion, his body, was helping him to listen better to the motion in music.

Run the Song: Writing About Running About Listening/ Ben Ratliff

sept 11/RUN

4.5 miles
monument and back
60 degrees
humidity: 93%

A mist hanging above the river. A heavy white sky. It looked very cool, but felt too humid. Heavy legs. Not a great run, but still wonderful to be moving through the mist. Noticed more leaves changing, mostly yellow. Heard water falling in the Summit ravine: Shadow Falls. I imagined that it was not water falling, but shadows. Then I thought about myself shedding shadows as I ran. A cool image.

On the lake street bridge heading west, 2 more memoriable images.

First, a single shell on the river, rowing towards the mist. The rower in a bright yellow shirt. I couldn’t hear the paddles, but saw them gliding through the water.

Second, looking down at the shadow of the bridge: dark with a quivering edge. I thought about how all edges I see are often moving like this. The moving edge of the bridge is because of wind on water. The moving edges for me are because of dying cone cells.

bridge shadow, moving edge

Recited some of the chants I’ve been working on:

girl ghost gorge
soft slow sight

saint peter saint peter saint peter sandstone
glenwood glenwood glenwood forMAtion
plateville platteville plateville limeston
glac ial till
glac ial till

In the late afternoon, Scott and I went to the lake. He was planning to take a walk, I was going to swim. I even brought my wetsuit. But, when I went down to the water, I immediately knew it wasn’t going to happen. The water lapping the shore was bright green and the water beyond it looked like green paint. Blue-green algae blooms. Maybe the blue-green algae was only in this spot, but probably it wasn’t. I decided it wasn’t worth the risk. So I took off my wetsuit and went for a walk with Scott instead.

sept 10/RUN

4 miles
river road, north/south
65 degrees
humidity: 87%

Went out for my run later than I’d like because I was watching the final climb on the Vuelta. I was hoping Vingegaard would do something special but sadly he didn’t have the legs (as commentator Christian likes to say). Other favorite phrases from Bob and Christian on Peacock’s coverage of the tour: going from strength to strength, fire power, full cry, and Jonas & co..

The run was a little difficult, partly because of the humidity, partly because of my need for a port-a-potty. Sigh. Oh — and the front of my left knee felt weird — tight? — for the first 5 or so minutes. Even with the difficulty, there were moments I felt strong and bouncy. I did a few strides (sprints, fast bursts) at the end.

Thinking about Girl Ghost Gorge some more, working on triple chants related to rock.

st. peter sandstone
st. peter sandstone
st. peter sandstone
limestone shale

platteville limestone
platteville limestone
platteville limestone
shale sandstone

10 Things

  1. a big orange X spray painted on a tree
  2. another orange x, smaller, painted on another tree
  3. gushing ravine
  4. more yellowing trees
  5. hello friend! to the still green welcoming oaks
  6. tunnel of trees — red leaves on the path, green on the branches
  7. orange construction signs — road closed ahead E. Franklin
  8. click clack click clack a roller skier
  9. ghost bike for June hanging high in the trestle — dried flowers wound through the spokes
  10. the sharp bark of a dog below, on the winchell trail

sept 8/RUNSWIM

4.3 miles
veterans home and back
61 degrees

Fall! Noticed a few more slashes of orange and yellow and some red leaves on the ground. More acorn shells on the trail. At the beginning my knee — I can’t remember if it was the left or the right one — hurt, a dull not sharp pain. I can’t remember when it stopped. Maybe it was when I started feeling the rumbling of unfinished business. When I reached the falls, I went to the bathroom. I’m ready to be done with perimenopause.

Running south, I listened to chickadees and music blasting from a bike radio — I recognized the 70s or 80s rock song, but now I’ve forgotten what it was. Just past the Veterans home, I put in my “the Wheeling Life” playlist.

10 Things

  1. the sound of the rushing creek, 1: just before it falls over the limestone ledge
  2. the sound of the rushing creek, 2: far below, as I ran over the bridge to the Veterans Home
  3. a soft mist rising from the falling water
  4. a half-filled parking lot at the falls
  5. a full parking lot at the Veterans Home
  6. an empty parking lot at Locks and Dam no 1
  7. above on the bluff at Waban Park, a view of the river, the water rushing over the concrete, one white buoy, several redorangepink buoys
  8. an American flag waving near the Veterans Home
  9. strange flashes and a distorted view out of my central vision as I ran across the bridge — a result of facing the sun, I think
  10. soft shadows from the chain link fence on the bridge

While I ran, I chanted in triples. I was hoping to center or ground or locate myself in the time and place. First, berries, then:

I am here/I am here/I am here
I am now/I am now/I am now
I am here/I am here/I am here
It is now/It is now/It is now
here here here/ now now now/ here here here/ now now now

Then, I added a condensed version of some Emily Dickinson:

Life life life/death death death/bliss bliss bliss/breath breath breath

Then:

I am here/I am here/I am here/Here I am
123/123/123/123

Throughout the run, I thought about locating myself and how I might translate that for my project. A list of surfaces? my landmarks? a topographical map?

Reviewing old notes and entries, including 19 may 2025, which includes a bit on context, I encountered the phrase, there or there abouts. I had written it in my notebook after hearing it several times on the TNT coverage of the giro d’italia (the tour of italy cycling race). Yes. When I locate myself, it’s not here! or there. but there or thereabouts. Maybe that could be the title of a poem for the collection?

there or thereabouts

double bridge
old stone steps
ancient rock / stacked with stones
sliding bench
near the fence
under tree
on the edge (of the world)
high above
down below
in the flats
past the creek
wrapped in green
off the ground / in the air
deep in oak
riverside
locks and dam
sewer pipe
steep ravine
brand new trail
snowy path
in the groove
seeping hill
leaking ledge
eagle’s perch
spreading crack

Do I want to do this poem in triples? Not sure. It is how I locate myself sometimes — by chanting in triples about what’s around me. This syncs up my feet with my breath and my surroundings. But, how does it sound? And does it work as a poem?

A new poet to read and podcast episode to listen to!
Translation of the Lilies Back into Lists/ Laynie Brown
Laynie Brown: Apprentice to a Breathing Hand (tinhouse podcast)

swim: .75 loop
lake nokomis main beach
76 degrees
wind: 29 mph gusts

Another swim! When RJP told me the buoys were still up I knew I needed to swim again. Wow, it was choppy, and wow, that water was cold, but it wasn’t too cold and the choppy water was fun. I think there were whitecaps. In one direction, I could mostly ride the waves, the other direction, I punched water. Both fun, but in different ways. Speed from one, power the other. Got tangled in some vines, but nothing I couldn’t get out of. Noticed: soaring and hovering seagulls, held up by wind; planes, bobby buoys, voices, and water rushing over me, water crashing into me, water dragging me forward and sideways. I wouldn’t want to swim in water like that every time, but it was fun today.

sept 7/RUN

3.5 miles
bottom locks and dam no 1
60 degrees / humidity: 59%

What a difference low humidity and less direct sun makes! Today’s 61 felt much cooler. A wonderful, early fall morning. Often September still feels like summer — that is, it’s uncomfortably warm — but this year it definitely feels like fall. It looks like it too. Leaves changing color already. At the bottom of the locks and dam, looking over at the east bank of the river, I think I noticed changing leaves. Not sure what color, just the sense that they were no longer green green green.

10 Things

  1. at the bottom of the hill, the surface of the river was covered with swirls of green-tinged foam
  2. the pedestrian gates to the lock and dam were open — I thought it was closed?
  3. encountering an adult and a kid on bikes having just crossed the road. The kid: why didn’t they stop? the adult: because they were breaking the law
  4. running parallel to a runner slightly slower than me. me, on the dirt trail in the grassy boulevard, them, on the river road trail
  5. down on the winchell trail, admiring the color of the river: light blue and only partly visible through the green leaves
  6. no puddles, but patches of soft dirt and mud from yesterday’s multiple rain showers
  7. near the 38th street steps, another runner emerged from the trees and the part of the winchell trail that travels down to the oak savanna
  8. the strange shuffle of someone’s feet — part-walk, part-run, part-skip
  9. lots of cars parked on the street, lots of people walking towards the river — longfellow’s annual clean up the river event
  10. water streaming out of the 42nd street sewer pipe

girl ghost gorge

It’s fall, so good-bye my obsession with open swim, hello girl and ghost and gorge. I’m hoping to build on the dozen poems I wrote last year and create a full collection. I want to add some different forms and approach my obsessions from different perspectives.

On the way home, a thought, partly inspired by W Berry’s reversal of wild and domestic: my collection of poems / hybrid pieces is about locating myself and making a home beside/above/near the gorge. In a disorienting time — for many reasons, including my vision loss — I’ve been running by the gorge to orient myself, to find a home space, to establish an enduring location.

connections and re-connections: place, family, others, a larger history, the non-human world, my body, a nation (not sure if nation is the right word here, but I’m thinking about the park system and public works projects in the US), past and future Saras.

a flash: somehow bring in the unigrid brochure that I did, or something like it, into the book — a map, a nod to the national parks — would this fit in this collection, or should it be a separate project? If not the unigrid brochure, take some inspiration from the WPA poets hired to write guide books, like Lorine Niedecker. Add in a few entries inspired by that?

Back to the connections/being located thread: I wrote in my Plague Notebook vol. 26: Locating myself on eroding, shaky ground. Too unstable for a foundation? No, but offering a new way of thinking about location and connection and where I might root myself. Not just rooted in the ground, but connected to water and air — the river, the gorge. The location is and is not a place: a specific location with paths and forests, a river, limestone and sandstone walls AND the absence of land that the gorge frames — space, air, Nothing.

sept 6/RUN

5.1 miles
bottom of franklin and back
53 degrees

Another cooler run. Shorts with my bright orange sweatshirt. Ran to the bottom of the franklin hill before I stopped to walk and use one of the few port-a-potties on the route. There used to be at least one more under the lake street bridge, but they removed it. Chanted in triple berries to keep steady and distracted, or focused, depending on your perspective.

Listened to rowers and a beeping bike that I thought might be a bird before I saw it and striking feet, all around. Lots of runners out there this late morning. Listened to my “Moment” playlist once I started running again. It started with U2’s “Stuck in the Moment” and I thought about my latest insomnia rut.

10 Things

  1. a greeting from Dave, the Daily Walker: Happy 100 days after your birthday! Dave is the best — well, maybe not with his math!
  2. dark and green in the tunnel of trees, a circle of faint light up on the hill
  3. at least one yellowish orangish tree
  4. down in the flats the river’s surface was laced with grayish-white foam
  5. someone sitting on the sliding bench as I ran north, their bike propped behind the back of the bench
  6. returning south, the sliding bench was empty so I stood behind it and assessed the crumbling hill and the block view of the white sands beach
  7. finally took the dirt path that cuts behind some benches just south of the trestle
  8. 2 people walking 2 dogs, one person saying to the other something about an unwalked dog needing to be walked
  9. 2 women walking in the flats, one of them to the other: It’s by Ann Patchett. I wish I would have written down the passage.
  10. running on the north double bridge — just past the old stone steps — something caught my eye on the fence. On the way back, I remembered to stop to check it out. A small cut-out of Frump’s head on a popsicle stick with a caption: ‘tator on a stick. I took a picture, but decided not to post it*

*it took me a minute to understand fully the meaning here — at first I was thinking of the state fair, but finally it hit me that tator = dictator. Memories of reading Simon Schma’s Citizens about the French Revolution and heads on pikes being paraded around Paris. A sad and scary time in this country to have a president who foments such violence and violent responses in others.

You

1

A line from Endi Bogue Hartigan’s poem “Running Sentences”:

First the cloud of gnats first the movement through the cloud
and then the body, not a cloud

Something about running through gnats — which I’ve done many times — and the body as not a cloud, triggered past thoughts about encountering someone on the trail and what happens to the You in the time/space between my Thank you and someone else’s You’re welcome when I thanked them for moving over.

2

These were the original thoughts, from a 31 may 2023 log entry:

I had a breakthrough in the second mile as I passed a walker and a dog on the Winchell Trail. They noticed me before I reached them and moved to the side. I said thank you and the woman replied you’re welcome. As I continued running on the steep-ish trail with no railing I thought about how when I said thank you, I was the I, she was the you. But when she answered you’re welcome, I become the you and she the I. Each of us both. Then I started thinking about the space and time between when we each embodied the pronoun, before my I turned into a you or her you into and I. This is the space of possibility where unhitching can happen, when we can be both a you and an I or something else that doesn’t divide and separate or assign us a fixed role — as active I or passive you. A moment when we can experience or behold the is below the threshold of thought, over and above society and its constructs.

31 may 2023

3

And here’s an excerpt from the draft of the poem I wrote:

first movement,
a making

space for each
other, then

a cloud of
Yous to pass

through. Bodies
enter cloud,

cloud enters
bodies

sept 4/RUN

4.2 miles
minnehaha falls and back
53 degrees

Cool enough today for my bright orange sweatshirt! Excellent running weather. I felt strong and was able to push through a few moments when I wanted to stop. Thought about the perception of time during difficult moments, particularly in terms of how to endure it — learning to hold multiple perceptions at once: time on a short scale, day by day, minute by minute, step by step / on a long scale, think beyond this moment to a bigger goal / as in flux, this feeling can/will change again, and again

10 Things

  1. a cool, dark green
  2. far ahead, tunnels of bright light
  3. birdsong — difficult to identify
  4. a coxswain — rowers down below!
  5. kids arriving at school — heard, not seen: excited voices
  6. a roaring creek
  7. every bench, empty — a stone wall, occupied by a person leaning and looking at their phone
  8. tall grass smell: almost like cilantro
  9. sharp, yippy barks at the falls — two little dogs greeting each other
  10. Hi Sara! / Hi Dave!

After stopping at my favorite spot at the falls, I put in my “The Wheeling Life” playlist. Most memorable song today: “Windmills of my Mind” and these lines:

Like a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream

I thought, ripples. Such a great word and image on the surface of the water, or from tall grass in a field, or through the thick leaves on a tree. Later, on my walk back, I thought more about ripples and triples and inklings:

  • an inkling
  • a ripple
  • a flicker
  • a ruffle
  • a whisper
  • a rumor
  • a tumor — where did that come from?
  • a lurking
  • a leaking
  • a speaking — soft, slow, barely audible

added a few minutes later: Early this morning, 5:30 am, I briefly woke up to stretch my restless leg. I noticed a flashing light through the blinds. An ambulance? The police? A fire truck? No. A runner with a flashing headlight running in the street. I’ve never seen that before, but that’s probably because I’m hardly ever up this early. Would I see it more if I were up this early? Probably.