Tag: no headphones

july 24/RUN

3.1 miles
2 trails
73 degrees

And the week of heat begins. A few days ago, the high was expected to be 103 on Wednesday. Now just 98. Still too warm. I could feel the heat in my run this morning. Harder to breathe. Even so, running feels better. My knees and hips don’t hurt. Hooray!

Listened to kids and cars and birds for most of the run. Turned on “The Wiz” for the last mile.

10 Things

  1. the energetic din of kids getting dropped off for camp at Dowling Elementary
  2. “Uptown Funk” playing on the playground at Minnehaha Academy — I could hear “too hot” through the trees as I ran past. I wondered if it was the edited version or if some kid might go home tonight singing “hot damn”
  3. passing a woman walk-running with her dog on the short hill down to the south entrance of the winchell trail
  4. as I write this entry on my deck, I can hear one of the kids next door whining or whimpering non-stop inside of their house. I am almost positive it’s a kid, but could it be a dog? wow
  5. the water was a burning white
  6. haze hovers above the water’s surface — it looks so hot!
  7. calling out excuse me and thank you! as I passed 3 walkers spread across the path
  8. flying fast down the hill into the tunnel of trees, everything a blur
  9. up on edmund, farther from the river, hearing the faint voices of rowers
  10. no roller skiers or overheard conversations or regulars

july 17/RUNSWIM

run: 3.05 miles
2 trails
60 degrees

Another cooler morning. Sun, low wind, good air. I’ve cut back on running this month because my left hip is tight and my left kneecap has been shifting in the groove a little too much. Plus, I’m swimming more. Oh, and I had to take several days off because of COVID. And then, of course, we (much more Scott than me) moved Scott’s dad out of his apartment and into assisted living. A strange month.

Listened to the cars, blue jays, a few rowers, and an adult instructing some kids on bikes — you’re biking uphill now, so you should shift gears for most of the run. For the last mile, I put in my headphones and listened to Camelot.

10 Things I Ran On/Over/Around

  1. soft, dry dirt
  2. grass
  3. concrete
  4. dead leaves, still intact
  5. dead leaves, half mulched
  6. dead leaves, mostly mucky dirt
  7. asphalt, only a few cracks
  8. asphalt, rubbled
  9. limestone steps
  10. tree roots

10 Living Things Encountered

  1. a runner with her dog on the winchell trail
  2. a walker from behind — excuse me excuse me right behind you!
  3. the voice of a rower drifting up from the river
  4. the voice of 2 women walkers drifting down from the road
  5. the fee bee of a black capped chickadee
  6. a group of bikers — an adult + several kids
  7. an older male runner
  8. a young female runner
  9. someone emerging from the porta potty, rubbing in hand sanitizer as they crossed the trail
  10. a screeching, moaning, whining voice coming from an alley — a raccoon? a dog? nope, a kid in a stroller

swim: 3 loops (6 small loops)
cedar lake open swim
79 degrees

A great swim! Not too windy or wavy or crowded. I barely saw the buoys but it doesn’t matter at cedar. People swim everywhere here. I thought I saw my shadow below me in the water. Is that possible? No fish, but a few birds. Every so often the sun reflected off the water and everything glowed. Today’s reason it’s wonderful to swim in the lake: I don’t need to SEE (as in, fine detail, fast focus, clear images) to navigate. And, my way of seeing — forms, relying on big landmarks, not panicking when things don’t quite make sense — helps me to see as good, or probably better, than most normally sighted people.

july 11/RUNBIKESWIMBIKE

4.6 miles
bottom of franklin hill and back
63 degrees

What a beautiful morning! The first 3 miles of run felt good. When I stopped to walk up the last quarter of the franklin hill then started running again, my left knee and hip felt tight. I wonder if I need to cut back a lot on my running and focus on swimming and biking for the rest of July?

10 Things

  1. roller skiers! 15-20 of them all in a row — the clack of the skis, the click of the poles
  2. rowers! didn’t see them, but heard the bullhorn and the coxswain instructing the rowers
  3. a glimpse of shimmering water through the trees
  4. someone sleeping under the franklin bridge
  5. the sh sh sh of soft, sandy grit under my feet near the trestle
  6. several bikes flying past me on the way down the franklin hill
  7. greeting one runner as I passed him from behind — good morning!
  8. bright yellow and green shirts on runners I encountered
  9. a woman walker in a bright pink sweatshirt
  10. passing a woman running who was listening to some guy talking — was it Ant? Stage 10 of the tour de france?

That was difficult to come up with 10 things. Was it because the run was difficult? I’m distracted?

Listened to the traffic and my breathing as I ran north, Camelot as I ran south.

bike: 8 miles
lake nokomis
74 degrees

Biked with Scott to the lake. Nice! We took the trail on the way there, the streets on the way back. The streets were less fun — too many bumps and holes that I couldn’t see. Just a reminder that I bike so well on the trail because I’ve memorized the path, every curve, crack, bump.

swim: 3 loops
lake nokomis open swim
75 degrees

The first loop was smooth, fast, no swells. Excellent. But by the time I started the second loop it started to become choppy. No worries. I happened to notice that they had placed the first green buoy out farther than they usually do. Nice — since I saw it, I didn’t get off course at all. I might have seen a few silver streaks below me in the water — fish?! Saw some swans, lots of yellow buoys tethered to swimmers, a couple planes. No ducks or seagulls or geese.

favorite stretch: after rounding the last green buoy, swimming parallel to the beach, heading towards the first orange buoy and the start of another loop. Such a cool sight, seeing the orange buoy far off.

Glad I only did 3 loops. As I exited the water, I realized it was raining — sprinkling. It’s funny how hard it is to tell that it’s raining when you’re swimming.

Anything else? Only remember feeling/seeing vegetation once: at the start of the swim, heading towards the orange buoy for the first time, I crossed over some milfoil growing up from the bottom.

An excerpt from a new book, Elixir, about water: In the Ladies’ Pool

july 6/RUN

4 miles
minnehaha falls and back
65 degrees

A cool morning. Great for running! Ran a little longer than yesterday. Started on Edmund but crossed over to the river road trail at 42nd. Felt good on the way there, a little tired on the way back.

Encountered walkers with dogs, a roller skier, some bikers, a noisy truck, a few other runners. Thought I heard a little voice at the falls say, she can’t hear me! Imagined she was talking about me. Wondered what she might have said, then imagined responding playfully, yes I can! A few minutes later, walking up the hill, I watched that little girl and at least one adult almost get stuck, trying to pedal a heavy surrey up the steepest part. I considered stopping to give them a push, but I thought it would be better to keep my distance. Gave a woman directions to the pool at Wabun. Avoided tree roots, wiped the sweat from my face, wasn’t able to see the river — too far away.

Listened to cars passing by and the strange rumble, buzz, whirr of a giant machine running south. Listened to “Camelot” heading north again.

COVID DAY EIGHT

Feeling mostly okay, just a lingering cold — not stuffed up, but needing to blow my nose a lot. Ready to be done wearing a mask in the house. Just a few more days! Could I possibly still be contagious?

Today is Scott and my 27th wedding anniversary. Because we’re still both sick, I don’t think we’ll be doing anything fun. Bummer. Oh well, at least we can quarantine together.

july 5/RUN

3.1 miles
turkey hollow
68 degrees

A beautiful morning! Birds, sun, breeze! Ran twice as much today as I did yesterday. By the end, my legs felt like rubber, but my breathing was okay and I didn’t feel light-headed. I’m continuing to avoid people by running in the dirt trail between edmund and the river road.

10 Things Heard

  1. cardinals
  2. black-capped chickadees
  3. crows
  4. blue-jays
  5. robins
  6. kids playing at minnehaha academy — laughing, yelling, clapping
  7. blasting from a radio: “HandClap” from Fitz and the Tantrums
  8. the wind in the trees making the leaves shimmer
  9. construction sounds: rumbling, scraping, buzzing, roaring
  10. [put in “Camelot” for the last mile]: “I Wonder What the King is Doing Tonight,” “The Simple Joys of Maidenhood,” and “Camelot”

COVID, DAY 7

Physically, I’m almost feeling normal. Mentally, I’m tired of this strange isolation and nowhere-to-go-ness.

Duh: So, even though he tested at least 4 times and got a negative result each time, Scott has COVID. Last night’s 5th test was positive. We both should have realized that, with his symptoms and contact with me, he had to have it, but my very first test was instantly positive so we assumed that if he had it, his would be too. He wasn’t quarantining, so we’re hoping the kids won’t be getting it next.

In related drama: FWA has his driver’s license behind-the-wheel test in Austin today. For a few dark moments last night, we thought he might have to cancel it, which could mean waiting months for another testing time. update: He passed!

current mood: worried (about an ailing parent and unmotivated (or differently? motivated) kids, being an irritating Mom) + impatient (can this quarantine be over, please, I want to go back to open swim)

Found this poem this morning. Reading this first verse, I already liked it, but when I read the “about this poem” section, I fell in love with it.

Oak Skin/ Kris Ringman

Every wood I’ve stepped into
has a watchful crone, a witch whose skin
resembles the bark of an ancient oak. 

She spins her wool by moonlight,
she threads her fingers through the moss,
and knows exactly which mushrooms to pick. 

I don’t need my hearing to feel the changes
in the wind when she slips out of the gaps
between the rocks and the trees, her voice 

I feel in the roots I step on, in the stones
I try to avoid with my bare feet that always
manage to bruise me, test the calluses I’ve grown 

with each stride I’ve taken through these trees.
I’ve sung to her beneath the arms of the beeches
reaching towards the birches, though she never 

listens to me. I imagine she laughs at the tune
I cannot keep, before moving on, gathering weeds
by the stars, mixing potions to use on people 

like me, who would walk into her arms gladly,
wishing she were an old aunt I could visit to learn
everything about this world she keeps to herself.

About this Poem

“As I slowly lost my hearing from the age of six until twenty-one, I spent more and more time in the woods and wild places where my deafness has never mattered. This poem is a homage to those places that I am still enthralled with and the never-ending magic of the forest I wish I could learn and share with other humans.”
—Kris Ringman

Yes! I go to the gorge/the river/the lake because my vision loss doesn’t matter there. I’m not constantly reminded of its loss or my limitations. On the trails I know so well, I can see or, when I can’t, I don’t need to.

june 21/RUNSWIM

3.25 miles
2 trails
69 degrees

Ran earlier today, at 7:15. A little cooler, quieter. For the first few minutes, I recited Alice Oswald’s “A Short Story of Falling” which I memorized yesterday. Ran south on the grassy boulevard between edmund and the river road. Crossed over at Becketwood, then ran down to the southern entrance of the Winchell Trail.

Listened to the gentle whooshing of car wheels. the clicking and clacking of ski poles, and birds for most of the run. Put in a Bruno Mars playlist for the last mile.

After I finished my run, I recited Alice Oswald’s “A Short Story of Falling” into my phone. Only messed up one line (I think).

10 Things

  1. click clack click clack
  2. the rambling root spread across the dirt trail
  3. the steady dripping — more than a trickle, less than a rush — of the water falling from the sewer pipe
  4. the soft (not mushy) blanket of dead leaves on the winchell trail
  5. the sharp sparkle of the light on the water
  6. shhhhhh — the wind passing through the leaves on the trees
  7. the soft roar of the city underneath everything
  8. the leaning branches have been removed — thanks Minneapolis Parks People!
  9. an almost exchange of the You and I — me: right behind you, excuse me an older woman with a dog: mmhmm
  10. no bugs, no gnats, no geese

wordle challenge

3 tries: front / brine / crane

front runt stunt blunt hunt shunt grunt redundant
brine sign fine line shine dine design unwind spine twine
crane explain refrain detain rain insane

front

frontispiece:

1

a: the principal front of a building
b: a decorated pediment over a portico or window

2

: an illustration preceding and usually facing the title page of a book or magazine

brine

Cliché/ V. Penelope Pelizzon

Its back and forth, ad nauseum,
ought to make the sea a bore. But walks along the shore
cure me. Salt wind’s the best solution for
dissolving my ennui in,
along with these protean
sadnesses that sometimes swim
invisibly
as comb-jelly
a glass or two of wine below my surface.
Some regrets
won’t untangle. Others loosen as I watch the waves
spreading their torn nets
of foam along the sand
to dry. I walk and walk and walk and walk, letting their haul
absorb me. One seal’s hull
scuttled to bone staves
gulls scream
wheeling above. And here… small, diabolical,
a skate’s egg case,
its horned purse nested on pods of bladderwort
that still squirt
BRINE by the eyeful. Some oily slabs of whale skin, or
—no, just an
edge of tire
flensed from a commoner leviathan.
Everywhere, plastic nurdles gleam
like pearls or caviar
for the avian gourmand
and bits of sponge dab the wounded wrack-line,
dried to froths of air
smelling of iodine.
Hours blow off down the beach like spindrift,
leaving me with an immense
less-solipsistic sense
of ruin, and, as if
it’s a gift, assurance
of ruin’s recurrence.

crane

“The Crane Wife” parts 1, 2, and 3 from the Decemberists

swim: 1 small loop (1/2 big loop)
cedar lake open swim
88 degrees

First open swim with FWA at cedar lake! A great night for it: calm, clear, not too crowded. The buoys were up tonight. Hooray!

june 19/RUNSWIM

5.1 miles
franklin hill turn around
71 degrees

Warm again this morning. I need to start my run sooner. I heard the coxswain below instructing the rowers, but I forget to look for them as I ran down the franklin hill. I don’t remember looking at the river at all. Did I? I was too distracted by people — bikers, runners, walkers.

Best part of the run: heading down the hill, feeling good, someone else running up the hill called out, looking strong! I called back, you too! Her words made me feel good and even stronger. Such a kind gesture. I started thinking again about these small exchanges and how they give us the chance to be both an I (who recognizes) and a you (who is recognized).

Listened to rowers, birds, and cheering runners as I ran north. Listened to Hamilton on my headphones on the way back south. it’s a blur sir

wordle challenge

6 tries (with a hint from FWA): chirp / doubt / smoke / flank / wagon / KAZOO

In the morning

when the birds chirp
doubt goes up in smoke
delight outflanks grief
and regret hitches a wagon ride
out of town.
Only the faint buzz of his kazoo lingers
then joins in the cardinal chorus.

swim: 2.5 big loops (5 little loops)
cedar lake open swim
88 degrees

The first open swim at cedar! Wonderful. The water wasn’t too choppy or cold. Everyone was (mostly) swimming the right way. No leg cramps or worry about swimming off course.

10 Things

  1. the beach was packed with people
  2. the water, which is usually clear here, was opaque
  3. a few silver flashes below me — fish?
  4. stopping near the beach for a minute, I looked down in the water and saw shafts of light
  5. itchy vines, floating into me
  6. I swam over one vine floating horizontally and it felt like I was getting a full body scan
  7. many of the vines were attached — at both beaches I swam through a thick forest of underwater vegetation
  8. no buoys, only lifeguards on kayaks set up in the middle of the lake, which was no problem for sighting (at least for me)
  9. 2 different paddleboarders crossed right in front of me
  10. birds flying over the lake above me — I couldn’t tell how big they were

june 17/RUN

4.6 miles
marshall loop to cleveland
67 degrees

Nice to be home and able to run this loop after a few days away, moving a parent out of an apartment in one city and into another in another city. Wasn’t sure how it would feel to run up the marshall hill, but it wasn’t too bad. I remember noticing things as I ran, but now I can’t remember what I noticed, except —

screeching bluejays, leaves on trees shivering in the wind, voices floating up from the gorge, sparkling river water, a sandbar emerging from just below the lake street bridge. Bikers, walkers, runners

almost getting hit by a bike (my fault) — not sure how close it was; my body didn’t tense up in panic, so I’m guessing it wasn’t that close. It happened because my eyes/brain can only see one thing at a time and I was distracted by some stopped bikers who looked like they were going to cross, but weren’t. Why weren’t they crossing, I wondered, thinking maybe there was a car that I couldn’t see (it’s happened before).

a shell with 2 rowers on the river, the bells at St. Thomas chiming nine times, sprinklers, tree roots, hard-paced dirt, almost losing my balance on the edge of the east river trail but managing to stay on the path, looking strange to anyone who might have seen me, I’m sure

Listened to birds, voices, my breath for most of the ran. Put in a Bruno Mars playlist for the last mile.

wordle challenge

4 tries: tough / beach / march / ranch

tough: and the grass was as tough as hemp and no color no more than sand was a color(I Remember/ Anne Sexton)

beach: from Dan Beachy-Quick (This Nest, Swift Pasterine) in april 24, 2023 entry

the eye sees
also through the ear a double infinity

march: Dear March — Come In — (Emily Dickinson)

branch: from Winter Branches/ Margaret Widdemer

Clear-cut and certain they rise, with summer past,
For all that trees can ever learn they know now, at last;

june 14/RUN

3 miles
2 trails
67 degrees

Ran on the dirt trail between edmund and the river road heading south, then down to the winchell trail for the way back. A good run where I mostly ran slow with a few stretches of fast.

Listened to the water dripping, the cars gently whooshing, giant mowing machines whirring on the way south and for most of the winchell trail north. Put in Lizzo for the last mile.

9 Things I Noticed

  1. the water was blue when I had a clear view and a blinding, shining white through the gaps in the trees
  2. another friendly exchange and shift from I to You when I thanked a pedestrian for moving over for me: Thank you! You’re welcome!
  3. couldn’t hear the water dripping below 42nd because of the dizz dizz dizz of a giant machine up above
  4. the same almost fallen branches, leaning over the winchell trail
  5. rowers! never saw them, but heard the coxswain prepping them on what to do in a race
  6. lots of cars steadily and gently moving north on the river road
  7. birds birds birds — didn’t see them, only heard them
  8. wet dirt on the trail — was it dew or did it rain last night?
  9. lots of bikers and walkers — less runners, no roller skiers

wordle challenge

3 tries: plaid / write / crime

3 poems:

plaid: The Plaid/ Edna St. Vincent Milay
write: How to Write a Poem/ Laura Hershey
crime: Severed Head Floating Downriver/ Alice Oswald

june 12/RUN

5.45 miles
franklin loop
61 degrees

Cool-ish this morning. Sunny, a little wind. Good running weather. If I had gone out when Scott did, at 7, it would have been great running weather. It was in the 50s then.

As I ran north towards the franklin bridge, I suddenly wondered, have I run the franklin loop since the snow melted, when I could run on the walking path? I didn’t think so. [I was right; I looked it up and my last franklin loop run was april 6th.]

Running over franklin bridge, the river was blue with flecks of silver that I could barely see from behind the railing. Not a single rowing shell. No big paddleboats either.

Running over the lake street bridge, I didn’t really look at the river. Instead I watched a worker in his orange and yellow vest standing by the railing. What was he doing? It took me a little time to put the scene together: the worker was standing at the railing on one side of the sidewalk. On the other side of the wall, parked on the road part of the bridge was a truck with an arm that reached above our heads and over the edge of the bridge. I assume someone was in the bucket below. My first thought: are they inspecting the bridge and is it about to collapse? As I got closer to the worker, the truck, and the arm, I saw another guy standing near the truck. He seemed to be letting the first guy know when it was clear (meaning, after I had passed by). Why write this tedious description? Partly to demonstrate how my vision works. I imagine a normally sighted person could take this entire scene in with one or two glances. I have to stare for 20 or 30 seconds at least, slowly putting together what I see. As best as I can remember, here was my thought process:

hmm….that guy up ahead has a bright orange and yellow safety vest on.

Does he work for the city, or is he some random walker being extra careful?

Is he taking a break, admiring the view, or doing something else?

He’s not peeing off the side, is he? No, of course not.

Oh, there’s an arm from a truck reaching over — they’re working on the bridge!

Can I run by, or do I need to turn around?

I’m sure many people have some of these thoughts, but if you can see “normally” they probably come all at once and are answered almost instantly. My thoughts come slowly and sometimes get stuck.

wordle challenge

3 tries: first/ drown/ wrong

the first time she almost drowned, she knew something was wrong.
First, drown the mushrooms in white wine. There’s no wrong way to do it.

When you first jump into very cold water
it might feel like you’re drowning.
A shock, a heaviness, panic. Something seems wrong.
It is.

at first, a burst
in a gown, you might drown
any song with a gong will be wrong

There was an old lady on first
whose cheesecake was always the worst
she’d bake it so long
that the texture was wrong
and all of the berries would burst

first burst worst rehearse reverse cursed
drown down frown renown found clown town crown
wrong song long bong gong along oblong elongate

There was an old lady on first
who always believed she was cursed
convinced she would drown
at the hands of a clown
she wandered the streets in a hearse

The lady on first was so cruel
she drowned all her cats in the pool
her heart, it was wrong
it sang a bad song
and tasted like boarding school gruel

Like yesterday, I could spend a lot more time with these words, trying to come up with something, but I’ll stop for now.