7:29—  GET OUT NOW!  No one in house… hit the pavement before 8!!!  Surprise yourself.

9:57AM.  Back.  And I finally did it.  Ran an independent half-marathon…  finally fucking did it.  Sipping water right now like it’s another race.  1:49:45 total time, 8:23/mile avg, 1539 calories (again, not that cals matter).  But I did it.  I set out to do something and I bloody did it.  AND, starting  new business idea, an extension of 25fitwrit… #indiehalfmarathonerstribe.  Not sure how the business will develop but it’s an idea.  One for interaction and conversation, sharing methods and practices in running, that kind of thing.

Legs a bit sore but not too bad.  I remember at like mile 11.55 or something, thinking, “Why don’t I feel more?  Why am I not hurting at all?” Last time I attempted 13.1, I stopped at 11.33 or thereabouts, my body telling me, quite starkly, “NO MORE.” But this morning I feel amazing.  Frankly, that could have been the best run of my life.  Not quantitatively, but qualitatively, launching before 8, finishing run before 9:40 (I think before 9:30 but I’m being conservative with times— or I don’t know if it’s conservative but I’m rounding up so I know I’m not being self-deceptive).  So here I am, at desk, thinking of rest of day…

Meeting with Blair at 1, at Kunde.  Pick up babies at 3:45, somewhere around that time, then to class… so I have till 11 to write, or listen to music, or do some research.  Maybe drive to Starbucks, get a coffee.  No, that would take too much time, cost more money than I want to spend.  AND, I have coffee here.  So, decreed.  Stay here.  Relax.  Enjoy this quiet, time to Self.  I will.  Just got a second cup of water, this one heaping, and my legs begin to feel a bit better.  Can’t get over how quiet it is in the Autumn Walk Studio.  It surprises me, just as I surprised my Self with the run this morning.  I’m unabashedly proud of it, I’ll say.  And why not.  I won’t be able to run like this forever.  Usually see an elderly gentleman on the far side of Coffey, by what I call “my vineyard”, he with a walker obviously winded, so much so he never says anything back when I offer my runner’s “howdy” (the only time I ever use that word, when I run and cross with people, not sure why… think I used to hear Dad say that to people when we’d pass them on our walks in Annadel, or anywhere else).  Before I reach this sweet man’s stage, I want to be the strongest, most prolific (hate that word, but…) half-marathoner and principle runner I can be.  Think I’m on my way with mornings like this, but I need to keep with the habit.  One morning at a time.

Put on music.  Thievery of course.  Not sure why I even thought I had to specify.  If you know me, you know that’s what I put on.  Another sip of water.. ch…  Checking time… 10:20.  A bit ahead of schedule.  This has to be one of the most prized and productive mornings of my life, or certainly recently, surely.  Can’t be nostalgic or sentimental for too long, have to write.. go from project to project.  Blair mentioned something about checking out a mountain vineyard.  Would be a colorful opportunity to gather content… head spinning, realizing I nearly forgot about the spoken-word piece I started last night with the Pinot.  Starting today, one performable poem a day, ‘for the rest of my life’ like Carolyn See stressed in her book.  This brings me back to the running, has to be an endeavor set till I can no longer execute because of age.  And I’m already 37.  No more deliberation, only action.

Looking at this pen, right, next to the $20 bills.  A symbol, a call, an urgency, a direction.  It’s all in poetry, in free expression, not obnoxiously polished prose.  What I write is not fucking collateral.  It’s a molding of moments, collated to composition, to be read and shared.  This may come across as cockiness.  It is.  Why not now?  I’m 37.  One day, I’ll be walking Coffey with a walker, hating every young bastard passing me for his morning run.

Coffee… coffee on the writer’s brain.  Too comfy in this chair, and I think I may be too lazy to rise, feeling the 13.1.  Shit, and I have a whole day ahead of me.  Just rely on the coffee, I tell myself.  The day can only get better.