A new conversation with the page has started.
symbol, the lens, the massive metaphor you’ve waited for, the terrestrial and paradis…. the flight, the voyage, the map, the gem trove, the story, the song….sense, happiness, LIFE.
Running is THE Answer. Solution, sight, beat, magic. Answers and more answers, keys and invitation….
Done with dinner, kids in bed and me not far behind.
No wine. Waking at 4 or before. Running at gym. Was going to do a “Garmin run”, running on the street for however many miles I wanted to put up, but I just don’t enjoy running when it’s dark.
So without excess analysis, speed work on belt. Hoping for ten. I’d settle for 8 or 9.
Tired, to bed early.
In the morning, new intensity for tuning lifts off.
Mike starts with the normal morning tasks. But he sees them differently. With more love, more curiosity, more pace intention and momentum. Mike tells Self that today will be let to go as it will and Mike will step in only when demanded, and by step in he means grab the wheel and steer in direction different.
Mike gets the necessary items for day done with surprising speed. He does in fact surprise himself. He says to Self he’ll be more farouche in his creativity and composition habit for day. And all days forward going. Misses class, still can’t believe what happened on Wednesday happened. Well, he can ‘cause it was raining dozens of cats and double-dozens of dogs. He needs coffee, he needs to walk around, he needs to itemize and inventory everything, be more calculated, or calculating, tally and examine his calculations.
Weather today, not making much impact on Mike’s perspective. He writes down three aims, visions, for day– A thousand words, run tonight, shorter sentences. Quite simple, to the point, contained and contributing to Personhood and character coherence. More than self-coaching or education, instruction, or even discovery or exploration. Self-sight. Being participatory in his read of Self. Self, always needing capitalization. You need to see Self as something prominent if you’re to progress, he says to Self. Mikes smiles. He finds something. And that’s another aim… always present tense. The Now is Godly, is God, is all Gods and Goddesses.
9:04. Mike gets another cup of coffee. His first here at office but third for day, morning. The morning with everyone walking around happy it’s Friday and excited about the Quarterly meeting and assembly, food trucks later, and of course beer. Mike vows to Self that beer will not be had. Not only does he not drink beer very much anymore, the marathon was much closer than he estimated. He needs to get into runner mode, extremely extreme runner mode. Get new clothes for race, go for run tonight, at the horrible least 7 miles, 10 if he can. He tells self that he will have sparkling water, and if there’s none in the tubs of ice he’ll buy one from the market, perceive it as a running expense.
Mike remembers that he has Monday and Tuesday of next week off. He will run both days, over ten miles each run, and NO treadmill. The morning sings more to Mike, encourages him more, has him centered and centralized in his own eye and poetic abide.
The office, Sonic as a company and character and business poetic voice has him feeling not so much fearless or invincible, but directed, set, assured he will get whatever he sees. His sight is strengthened by Self, Sonic, the day, the way of ways in the morning and approaching day. Mike tells Self that he will see his aims for day, that there is no other Road. The marathon’s closer, 40 is closer, the new year’s been here for now 18 days. Storm, Mike says, “Storm loudly and make music never before put to sound, to anyone’s ears or eyes, any senses.”
Not the kind of run I wanted. Don’t see morning as loss, though. In any respect or touch. I did sleep through the 04:00 bell but woke by the 04:10. Tally win. Went to gym. 5 miles and some-hundred calories which I don’t emphasize but always interesting to see what kind of number I can put to board. But why didn’t I get to 9 or 10 as I yesterday dreamt? Water…. should have had more water yesterday and last night. Then, stretching. Pain in right leg, up by hip is easy warning that stretching be more emphasized in my running life. Here I now sit, though, post run, writing about running and what I want next. Pushups throughout day. And, more or less fast till 4 when guests start showing for Thanksgiving. Hard to not be hard on self for the run, but I can’t do that. As a runner, or the type of runner I want to be going into the two marathons first half of next year, I have to analyze. Deconstruct. 1, more water. 2, more stretching. 3, more core work in abdomen, pectoral, general center and sternum. Then, don’t start so fast. I know that had something to do with my 5-mile stoppage. I need to juggle the splits and intervals, speed stretches of the run.
Waking early is the answer to so much in anyone’s story. Even if it’s to wake early and be solitude-sown with your own thoughts. Waking early, earlier, is a demand that should never be ignored. More than a mere requirement.
Part of the business of running, waking at this hour. 05:38 and the running writer is WIDE awake. Typing on phone ad I don’t want laptop button pushes to wake the babies. Sipping cold coffee from the tumbler in car. Not much left. Sip slow, I tell myself. Don’t wake kids. My thoughts now go to vision, visions attainable then dreams that are still attainable but a bit distant.
Just caught self looking at word count. Why do I do that? Self-scolding after. Don’t do that, either. I fixate and form more focus in the Now. Where I am and what I’m doing. Cognition of character. What I want. How a writer approaching 40 will attain it. IT. Same thing they wanted before seeing Road. Narrative atop narrative encouraging more writing. I want coffee but coffee itself tells me to back off. Conversation last night with student, how my words reached her, showed her some benefits to trying new practices and approaches. Making me think…. what I have to do. Doing it today. Thankful for the Now, the craft, words collection, meditation. Here in the kitchen after a run with which I’m anything but thrilled.
I did it again. Looked at the goddamn word count. Same way I kept looking at how much time I had into my run, and how many miles. Qualitative and quantitative combatting for my attention and priority placement. Just write, I tell Self as I do students in the room with me. Measuring the day, not so much planning it while sitting here, drinking whatever’s left in this tumbler. Thought, stay thinking I tell myself. Keep your cogitation in a constant constant. It takes me to papers, papers I have to write. On literature, writing, thought itself. No more numbers, I order
05:47, 8. Now what. Sit on the couch. This tall boy chair is not so accommodating with this ache I hVe in right leg by hip. Now feeling tired. Don’t think I can fall asleep with the coffee I’ve allowed prance in circulation. And I don’t want to sleep, anyway. I will write this whole bloody day. Wine at table, family, appetizers, hopefully rain.
Just realized I left a book at work, on desk in my quasi-cube. Co-worker called it “my cube” the other day and I almost said something. Hate that word, cube. Reminds me of the Napa job, at “the box”. Forget it. Or not. Contributed to story…. The book I’m thinking of, want to read a bit of it. May be able to look it up somehow online but that’s not the same thing at all. That’s not reading. It scrolling, or skimming. Not even sure if it’s either one of those, honestly.
More than writing about running, I’m noting what I notice in health’s composition. Me– music, running, reading, writing, speaking and sharing ideas (not so much “teaching”). What I’m doing now I see as healthy. Not spending these early hours, this time here (now on couch), scrolling through some media feed social or other. But, with thoughts. My thoughts. This room, this day… now.
One of the guys with whom I work in field talked to me recently about taking more time to Self, establishing more rhythm in his daily motions and walk, speech, interactions with people inside and outside company. If you wake earlier, you will be allowed this. You can see more. You feel more and understand more of Self. You not only need to bring yourself to this place, but you have to desire it honestly. Not necessarily with purposes in mind, but just desire it for YOU.
Tired. Need to go to bed earlier. And again, drink more water. What if I were to close my eyes right now– Do I deserve that? I only ran five miles. STOP SAYING THAT. I switch my speaking pace and containment. On couch, looking around room…. hear nothing. No movement upstairs, no rain, utter sound void. Sniffle, hope no one heard that. Waking early, even this exhausted or tired rattle through my arms and face, eyes, has me pushed to more narrative, prose…. my running story. Anyone’s story.
Stomach. Telling me not to ignore it. Thoughts telling me to stop thinking. To lay down, rest eyes. Or, just sit quietly. After I…. no, no coffee. Sniffle again. Think I hear one of the kids. Writing over? I think.
Run eyes, core with storm, roaring and growling, a deep torque. I move.
Tomorrow waking up when I was set to, today. To gym. Ten miles, on tread. Would be my record. Deciding to write more about running and the psychology around running. And if not the psych to it then the practice and habit and maintenance of that practice and habit of being a runner. 9:05. Will be in bed by 10. Sipping a wee bit of Zin before calling the day, day much more euphonious and melodic than prior.
I see self running in Europe, in China, in Yosemite and Yellowstone. Yes, doing “the Boston” as so many that have brag about. After class tonight and after talking to a student that thanked me for my instruction this term, with her getting to specifics like writing and other ideas offered and habits that I stress, I know tomorrow has to be past what’s connotative with Thanksgiving. Not some Turkey run I’m going on. I’m going to test self on that belt. Ten miles. Maybe a wink more. Then, when home just after 6, I’ll register for that Marin marathon.
I remember when I first started running, running seriously, when working at Kunde with my friend Bonnie. We’d run Lawndale all the way back down to Highway 12, just west of Landmark Winery, and then along 12 back to base. When she couldn’t run with me I’d go solo. That’s when I saw something in running. The peace, the obsession, of course the writing material…. I’m a runner. I won’t be able to run like this for too much longer, I reason. So I have to throw self into the running moment, run faster than time. Or try.
Tired from day but I can’t slow. No. 9:13. Wine not saying much to me, but thoughts of waking at 4 or just before do. How I’ll feel walking out to car, then driving up San Miguel, along Coffey, up Hopper then right on Airway, left on Industrial…. I’ll start at 6.2, then raise the hard-deck from there. When done, I’ll thank self I did what I did.
and did this.
Hope you’re having the same type of day.
Let ‘100’ students go early. Came to adjunct cell, and here I finally get a breath. Meeting after meeting at work, among other surprises, but I maintain my character composition and ready for tomorrow’s 4AM rise. I’m doing it. Going to write each step in this effort. Even the failures. Even the falls and follies. Now I collect, I envision me on that treadmill, hitting mile 8. Has to be eight miles. I figure if I get there by 4:20 I can with no problem or impediment get to my 8. Eating light tonight, especially after late lunch in field with Brandon, Chinese place I haven’t been to since I worked at the store next-door when it was still Long’s. When I was in graduate school. That long ago. 2004. Now I feel old. The run tomorrow will have me feeling young. And that’s not really the aim, just a change of habits. Even if I wake early and don’t work out, I’ll have risen early, and more than likely written something for either this blog or some poem, some chapbook idea, something.
4AM. My new topic. Wine is still there, here with me in my writing back and forth, but the hour of 4AM and what I do in a day, how I make use of every hour, every minute in those hours, now for example I could have very easily left campus and went somewhere for a glass of wine which I very much saw myself doing. No, though. I came here to write. That’s not to say I won’t have some wine after, maybe a glass at Whole Foods bringing in the Sonic of Burgundy journal, scribbling a bit, planning my run tomorrow and the marathons I plan on doing next year the year I turn 40.
No more concern for turning that age. Age, something numeric and having no contingency on quality or Personhood, behavior, story itself. Yes, my body may not move as it could when I was 16 or 18, 21. But, note what I wrote, “may not”. I can see myself waking tomorrow, having fallen asleep in running shirt, shorts. I put my shoes by the door, laces untied and spread to sides of shoes. All I have to do is hop in them, grab keys and wallet and GO. When there, stretch, then fly. Have music cued. Listen to music I’ll run to while driving there, the 24 on Industrial. I’m ready, after talking at lunch with Brandon about a change he made in his lifestyle and character way recently. And then someone else, a couple weeks ago, telling me the same. Then someone else…. My turn, now.
Ce soir, bed early. Writing should be done during day, morning. Always. Night should be meditative and preparative for day next. Always. The students, hope they’re using this time in some productive and creative way, and if not nothing I can do. I can only do for my story, ME, my health. 8 miles. Walking back to the car after the eight, I can already feel that air, see the sun still repressed and suppressed by night prior. Sky still purple, air feeling like colors I see— streetlights and stars, parked cars, little winds. All congratulating me, embracing me after when I just did, what I’ve started.
24 hours of fasting. Cause? Didn’t eat at all really, yesterday, then got Chinese takeout from an amazing restaurant down the street–or, down San Miguel then to Waltzer, then Marlow and Piner–and had a bit too much. Not a revolting amount, but too much for such a desert of a stomach. Having coffee on floor, and thinking about everything. Work, this house, my car, writing… I’m very much at the drawing board. And I think I found something. An idea first birthed in my fascinations of having my own wine label and tasting room. Too afraid to write it, as I don’t want it hexed. But I’m working this morning, not wallowing. Not me. Not this poet.
Just realized fasting won’t last 24 hours as I have dinner plans at parents’, later. Just eat light. Little to no wine, and only wine. More water. Want that full marathon later this year. But I have to train more. I know. Tonight I’ll make it to the gym. Run, maybe diversify with some weights. Wine is a symbol of life, and I would purposefully contend health. At the drawing board, I’m seeing more, more… Today, my day off, but not letting it be any kids of ‘off’. I will stay at this drawing board till I’m not thinking about everything as I now am.
Off to run for an hour. Real speed work in tread.
Writing daddy does what he can before composition of new 365-page book.