Fourteen

Before and after my run on this rainy Easter Sunday.

I'm drowsing a little bit this afternoon, post-run, post-big-brunch, settled in the glow of endorphin and accomplishment.

The RunRaleigh Half Marathon is two weeks away and I had shirked my long runs for the past two weekends.  I set out today to run at least 12 - and maybe more, if my legs would cooperate.

Rain was falling when I woke this morning, a light drizzle from a gray sky. Thankfully, this was a warm(er) spring rain.

I wanted to completely zone out, shush the nagging constant chatter in my brain. Mute it into a hum that was indistinguishable from the falling rain.

It took nearly an hour - somewhere between the six and seven mile mark - for the quietness to come. But come it did, unrolling like a blanket to match the gray skies. The running was effortless today, my lean legs carrying my knowing feet over so many miles of pavement.

My right Achilles tendon started whining a little the last few miles, protesting the addition - but a little whining was not going to stop me today.

One final loop in my soon-to-be-old neighborhood. One final loop carrying me over a new threshold.

14.02 miles ran today. How thankful I am.

The Shining

I first listened to this song sometime back in Chicago, in college - one of the many CDs borrowed from my friend Meg and slipped into my Discman, slipped into my jean jacket pocket, and toted around on the El or while I walked the streets.

Maybe it's because this March in NC is reminding me of spring in Chicago - the fickleness of the season, sunny and calm one moment, bitterly chilly bordering on freezing the next - and this song makes me smile with remembering that this moment of conflicting weather patterns will soon pass.

Yesterday after an early run, I found myself lying on the deck in the backyard of my soon-to-be-sold house. It was still chilly outside but stretched out on my back, I felt the sun begin to warm me.

Faith pours from your walls, drowning your calls
I've tried to hear, you're not near
Remembering when I saw your face
Shining my way, pure timing
Now I've fallen in deep, slow silent sleep
It's killing me, I'm dying

To put a little bit of sunshine in your life

Soleil all over you, warm sun pours over me
Soleil all over you
Warm sun

Now this slick fallen rift came like a gift
Your body moves ever nearer
And you will dry this tear
Now that we're here, and grieve for me, not history
But now I'm dry of thoughts, wait for the rain
Then it's replaced, sun setting

And suddenly you're in love with everything

Soleil all over you, warm sun pours over me
Soleil all over you
Warm sun

Confluence of Good Vibes

A heart-felt and well-timed email from my father; a shared quote from my aunt; a lovely dinner with friends; followed by a beautiful sunrise, good news, and a PR on a 10K.

Tomorrow is the Ides of March, which was the beginning of the new year to the ancient Romans.

The winds of change are blowing - in recent times they have been both bitterly cold, and I shudder and turn from them, as well as warm and balmy, and I have turned my smiling cheeks towards them.

My wise father wrote to me yesterday:

The IF hinge is a counterproductive coping mechanism that we all use, but, one we need to understand and learn about to control.  It looks like this:  what IF – IF only, where IF becomes the pivot point in our lives.  When we are in a state of distress, we tend to grapple mentally with IF questions and these questions push us either “back” in the past or propel us “forward” into the future, both areas over which we have no control.  The past is done and unchangeable, the future is never certain. 

Now, there are certainly times when asking what if questions is useful for planning, and preparing for contingencies, but those are what if questions of a different nature.  The “what if” questions on the IF hinge are all rooted in fear.  When we are emotionally challenged it is an especially important time where centering, and living mindfully “in the moment” is critical.  It gets us away from the IF hinge and focuses us on the here and now and reorients our appreciation of the gifts we have presently in hand, not the things we perceive we have lost or perhaps never will have. 

So, I encourage you to recognize the IF hinge that may be vexing you and gently set it aside.  [...] Try to find your happy thought.  Or thoughts!  There are many of them if you look – it could be a beautiful sunrise or sunset, a bird (one of my favorites), a song, a poem, or just the breath filling your lungs.  You are never alone and never will be.  Trust that thought and throw away the IF thoughts.  

Many days in 2013, I have felt myself walking around with a sob half-choked in my throat. The slightest thing - happy or sad, distressing or uplifting - triggers tears that I cannot hold back.

And I am learning to be okay with this; for what a release to just tap into the feeling of the moment and then, let go.

To be overjoyed by pink clouds at sunset.

To be saddened by redefined relationships.

To be delighted by a field overrun by clover flowers.

To be frustrated by petty arguments and judgements.

To be tickled by the sight of a waving daffodil.

To know that this universe is beautiful and strange and I have a place in it, whether I know precisely what it is at this moment or not.

Stormy

A rain storm swept across the coastal plains of North Carolina today. The first rainstorm of spring 2013.

Yes, I know spring doesn't technically start for another week or so, but with the arrival of Daylight Savings Time this past Sunday as well as the emergence of daffodils and hyacinths in my front bed, I contend that spring is SPRUNG.

Tonight I ran an easy four miles under these crazy clouds. Beautiful and frightening, not unlike the thoughts in my head.

There's all kinds of stuff brewing there, but nothing so crazy to prevent me from seeing the beauty of the moment.

When I ducked into The Morning Times in Raleigh on Sunday, I saw they had changed the artwork upstairs. Wren Bruton's photographs from across America and Canada were beautiful. In his artist's statement, he concluded:

I dedicate this show and this journey to not losing what we love the most. When we see our past times on the horizon growing smaller it is up to us to chase after our passions, grasp them, and not let them slip away.

Well put, sir.

When 12.5 miles = contentment

Oh, spring. I have missed you.

1. Coming into Raleigh; 2. Pedestrian walkway; 3. Badass sycamore near Pullen Park. 4. Saucer magnolia in bloom; 5. The Morning Times; 6. Post run grub = "The Best Tuna Sandwich" and best.cappuccino.ever

Night Sky

I've been discovering some new blogs recently. Specifically, I devoured post after post of Melina's The Wilder Coast a few weekends ago (which I found through Kelle's Enjoying the Small Things, which I stumbled upon from Rachael's Kincaid Parade, which I linked to through Melissa's Dear Baby, which I followed a thread from Emily's Daily Garnish, which (and this is the last) I found one day while Googling "How to get rid of a sinus infection before a half marathon" roughly two years ago - no joke).

Melina is a girl after my own heart - an adventuresome, winsome storyteller with a nice flare for sarcasm, good alcohol, and living life with her eyes wide open.

Melina is friends with a lovely lady named Nici, who writes Dig This Chick from her home in big sky country Montana.

Nici's husband Andy is, among other things, a painter. He painted this:

Copyright: Andy Cline

If I had $3700, I would buy this painting. (And if I had another $1500, I would buy this.)

From the beginning, my eye was involuntarily drawn to this painting's portrayal of the night sky. To the inky blue bordering on blackness, broken only by pinpricks of stars. Then down towards the warm, glowing cedar shingled home. And back towards the night sky.

The deer? They add the extra little something that makes the painting pop.

But I can't get over the pulsing strength of the house against that night sky. I want to walk silently up the walkway to those four steps, to climb the stairs to the small windows.

To peer out the windows, glass of Malbec in hand, and plumb the depths of that big night sky.

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Maybe this painting resonates so strongly because my last several evening runs have found me under the weight of the same kind of sky. So vast and immense and heavy with the years, decades, centuries, eons of time preceding me; so impenetrable and dense with the seconds, minutes, hours, and years of the unknowable future to come after me.

That there, in that present moment, under that weighty sky, I am just a ponytailed runner trodding a familiar circuit, seeing familiar stars.

Bluebird skies

And just like that, it's March.

I know I checked out for the last little bit of February.  Things are afoot in my world, largely of my own making, and I'm flitting around a bit like the male bluebird I saw today during my long run.

I also recently started using Instagram (@erinwouldratherwalk) and have found myself turning towards capturing the visual, rather than the verbal.

Specifically, I've been taking pictures of the clouds and I drive to and from work as well as some slides I bought from an antique store in Raleigh.  Best I can tell, they were all taken between 1953-1955.

I am deriving a ridiculous amount of pleasure out of looking for opportunities to showcase these gems.

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It's continued to be chilly in NC, despite a brief warm up that fooled all of the flowers. I have a few hyacinths that have popped up and the daffodils seem a bit bewildered by the 30°F nights. My long run today was late but it was still only 38° and I welcomed seeing those bright yellow spots waving in the brisk wind.

I was largely happy with today's long run. I broke out a quick 3.5 miles yesterday and wasn't sure how well today would go - but I wasn't interested in looking at my watch today. I covered it up and just ran.

I've signed up for the RunRaleigh Half in April and am hoping to take a second stab at breaking 1:50:00. If I can keep up these kinds of LSD runs - and if the cool weather holds out - I may just have a chance.

But ah, North Carolina, you are a fickle state. I will plan for the worst and hope for the best.