Wednesday, March 24, 2010

march 17th --> march 23 2010. prayer, running, painting.

march 17th
ran eight miles, across downtown from parking deck through library and homeless stragglers to Greenfield lake park and the perverts and junkies and alligators. . . . . . felt strong and enjoyed the hill-bursts. no real contemplations, just running through doubt and fear.

st. patricks day. 281 miles 81 miles 20 miles.

cake and ice cream with family (kyote kas mom who is visiting) following an excellent meal of corned beef, red potatoes, carrots and mustard. you got to love crock-pot cooking!

march 19th 2010.

envy. envy seems to be the lesson of the day. with others projecting against another’s life, them projecting on someone else’s, one is never really present for one’s own life.

the spiritual-emotional trespassing is a difficult tolerance, and tolerance is an struggle recently. hence a double opportunity for growth. . . . . rebuilding tolerance and an awareness of my tendancy towards envy.

prayer is first a thought, a confession or a vision, but ultimately it is an act or a sequence of actions.


gator trail will not happen as the cutoff for registration passed yesterday. I am a bit disappointed but know that this is something I can shoot for next year, with style and grace that would certainly be absent this year. I will continue building base miles and make another good run happen, likely including the three lakes trail marathon in Greensboro later in the year.

thoughts of hemingway, spain, trout fishing and the stream behind the house where I lived in banner elk, nc. no run but depression.


march 21 2010. a fun run y’day with my wife, on the first official day of spring, with kyote in the jogging stroller and a gorgeous day. two miles and a coupl’a yard sales as we circled the neighborhood. kas bought a cracked-glass vase.


today I hit the pavement at 8am and ran a solid sixteen miler across trails and Rogersville road over salt marsh bridges and misty fields where two horses stamped and chewed grass and then the ICW and finally the beach, where I was reminded of monet in Normandy and thought of van gogh cause of the painterly effect of the sun across the rippled ocean surface. . . . . back home through the cement-leg kicks of the marathoners (quintiles marathon at Wrightsville beach this weekend, though I missed out) on final or second-to-final loop and water and water and sun on my back. . . . need a hydration belt.

environMental was my mantra for a while. . . . something. . . . . a little kitschy and catchy at the same time.

fucking brahms; his string quartets. just massive.

march 23. is running my personal wabi-sabi perfect state? have I answered the metaphysical question haunting me since college: why paint? what ego-centric narcissist feels the need to act upon others’ senses with their own creations and visions? what desperate solitude & isolation pushes the individual into a violent act of creativity. . . . visionary pleads. . . . what is the point of art but ultimately an aesthetic fascination, thus a vanity? is art escapist or shamanic? (I am excluding fashion as art and the fashion of art. . . . the “canons” of art history are the monopolies of the individual’s mind and blinding. fashion is consumerism and capitalism and ridiculous.) and what is the highest form of art as an act of honest shamanic introspect?

running pushes the body mind and spirit. . . . environment meets invironment and painting approaches that threshold, stands at a nexus though falters in its capacity to move beyond. painting is always restricted to the internal vocabulary and image-repertoire and therefore its own solipsistic series of associations, UNLESS one believes that God (or a higher power) can and will directly act upon the creative self, and thus one serves merely as an empty vessel into which a diety-form pours the languaged creation. yet what is the ecstacy of art? perhaps no answer but the Act. . . . again. to Act is to reach for something higher, a work of contrition.

there is no hierarchy in things of the ephemera. back to more tangible facets of Act and Prayer. . . . . wish I had a farm to work—energy invested yields energy ie. work = food. . . . another blog in another mind.

tedd corbitt. . . . . man alive. 100 mile weeks?!!

six miles, an easy pace across d-town, PPD through d-town to Greenfield, scattered with zen pauses, then allergy pauses near and in the park itself. a pretty day although windy. blight filled much of the middle run, was rampant with nesbitt court and wright street and marstellar and even Greenfield itself was populated with creeps, thought of dybek’s Chicago chronicles. . . . back down fifth st. to third to boardwalk by front street and the many empty windows of the business district. bars, tattoo parlors and empty store fronts. a few good restaurants, including where I work. . . . . the cape fear swollen and powerful passing without judgement beside my heaving body. the river the river the river.



have commenced setting up a creative workspace in the home. canvases lean on walls and sketchbooks fan out by cds of mahler, Schoenberg, and the mad complete string quartets of hadyn. . . . . the pogues and ace of bass.

(half marathon at river towns, pa at beginning of may?)

311 miles in 2010. 111 miles in march. 22 miles this week.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Hallucinations, Visions and a new blog entry.

march 12, 2010. running with hallucinations.

yesterday was a helluva run. somewhere around 12 – 13 miles, from my home to Wrightsville beach and back. the first half was humid from the recently passed storms, with the sun lifting steam from eastwood road. running and running and running, a purely physical act, a wholly physical awareness on this stretch. . . . I had one gu gel drop (surprisingly tasty), as my energy began to wane. the heat forced me to ditch my jacket, stashing it off a wooded trail. I finally passed the ICW over the (slippery) draw bridge, to the park where I swished some water and one gu gel drop, turned back into the breeze. it wasn’t a quarter mile that the drizzle began, as the gray of the northern sky darkened, then blurred out, then the downpour was battering me. my shorts and shoes were immediately soaked, my shoes suddenly two pounds heavier and my gait sloshy and irritated. nothing to do but run. the rain and wind cooled. fifteen minutes later I came into my trail entrance and grabbed my jacket, the rain continuing. . . . I cut back through some neighborhoods, away from traffic noise, and began to really zone in on mental aspects of the run. I watched the end of my asics, seeing the toe box kick and land and roll, kick and land and roll. . . . . the rain was steady and hard and I began to watch the rain drops falling from my hair, my arms, my knees. I began to see the individual crystal drops sling from my feet, four or five pure drops from each kick. I watched them dissolve into the asphalt, the puddles, the grass, to be absorbed back into the land, quartz seeds. I saw the whole syncopated motion of the rain, representing the dynamics of my body, as it fell from me in different trajectories and directions and fell away. and I kicked with various levels of the hip, with the bottom of the lungs, with the knees, a strange dance with the rain. and I was drenched. and I could taste the clean rain. it was ecstatic.

this hallucinogenic period lasted perhaps two miles, and then the weight of my shoes, the additional pressure of the sides of my feet from my swollen shoes material, the abrasion of my inner-thighs eleven miles deep and still a good distance from home, rudely ripped me back into the physical act. crossing Market street was deadly as ever, precarious, and I finally popped across and into the home stretch. showered and rehydrated, I spooned up some hot beef stew with hot coffee and relaxed out with some avett brothers & iron and wine. . . . . work would begin soon enough.

the packets of gu gel indicate that they enhance strength, endurance and focus. my focus kept reminding me of the film Jesus Son in which crudup’s character, on a smorgasbord of drugs, says of his ride through a storm: “I knew every rain drop. By name.”

I have started experimenting with the gels as I am looking at longer runs. specifically I am looking towards the gator trail 50k at the end of this month, uncertain whether I can be ready so soon. . . . more to come!



III. march 15 2010. disappointment at steve haydu lo tide run, daylight savings long run with s. and j.
# of miles this year: 273 month: 73 week: 12

anton krupicka. . . . . scott jurek. man alive.

thoughts of running the woods behind my grandparents house when a young boy. I would cut a sheath outta bedsheets, shove my dull rusted machete into the sheath (normally it would cut my poor threadings within five minutes of hiking), and venture into the woods. a narrow creek, called seven mile creek, divided the woods, with steep red clay banks and overgrown construction paths. it was the late 70’s, and charlotte was young and proud, and our little stretch of undiscovered beauty called concord was innocent and pastures and pastorale. in these woods I discovered and sought god and was brought to a higher awareness than with my grandparents or mother at dinning room tables and churches and other rushed occasions.

this weekend brought the haydu lo tide st. patricks 10k, brought my goal-time of 43 minutes upon completion, only to learn that the timer was (evidently) for 5k runners, five minutes staggered. while I am still confused but no longer resentful at the deflation, my actual time was 48m yielding a 7min 36s pace. my efforts that day reflected a huge improvement over my first 10k (run for the chowder 2007), also in Carolina beach, and were pleasing considering I made a wrong turn (not that it cost me much time) and was pushing a wall from the second mile on . . . . was a one-mile-at-a-time type run. the heat was punishing the second half of the run and I’ve written enough about the run.  though i must mention, finally, the fact that this was one run where the volunteers smoked, even though this event is a cancer benefit and promotes health awareness. . . .

that was saturday, and we pushed the clocks forward one hour after a busy shift that night. the “spring forward” factor was not considered when I agreed to a 12 mile run sunday morning with j. and s., and I found myself pushing into shoes at 6h30 am, my body’s 5h30 am, having fallen asleep at about midnight. . . . my run started smoothly, was good to see the guys pre-sunrise sunday morning, and away we went to Wrightsville beach. s. fought nausea as last night’s wine boiled outta his hips and stomach and legs. j. spoke of his recent reading and his little girl and the upcoming 10k in Richmond, where some eight thousand people will run (literally) shouldertoshouldertoshoulder (sounds horrible); it is the second largest 10k in the country.

light began seeping across pines and marshes and grocery stores as the first three miles passed with little issue other than a cold wind pushing against us on a surprisingly chilly 50 degrees. but push into it we did, to the beach where the sun was burning the churning ocean-mouth and wind pushed the spume into slow sprays and the few moments paused made the run worthwhile. meanwhile water was necessary, and we paused at the salt-marsh long enough to cool off, then get cold, then realize we were cold and wet and running back into a cold headwind. legs tightened and breath constricted and the ninth mile passed at the corner of Eastwood and Military Cutoff turned us into the new sun. a dark storm collected in the northern sky, which formed a full rainbow at mile 10. a double rainbow formed briefly, a brief respite, and the toll of miles and limited rest and etc. brought my quads and my calves into a concrete stiffness and my legs began failing the pace s. and j. carried easily ahead. I lagged. then the strange pain in my right foot kicked back in—like a lateral muscle on the sole getting ripped on the final movement of the kick, seemingly off of the second toe. I lagged. and I lagged worse. eventually I finished with my friends congratulating me and giving me high fives and just good comradery even if my running isn’t at their level.
back home where kyote and kas and myself cleaned up, had asiago bagels and dark coffee, enjoyed the sunny sunday.














(ky and best bud everett at their respect one year and six month b-day celebration!)the rainbows were awesome, the ocean burning new under the first sun of the week was inspiring, but the run was the fourth circle of the training inferno. . . . I am doubtful as to my aptitude of completing the gator trail 50k in two weeks, less than two weeks as I write this monday morning. and I lost another toe nail over the weekend, the second to go this year! oh the sacrifices!

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

dredging dunes and dreaming of farms. . . . .

a dozen miles across summer rest loop to shell island and back around. warm sun with cool wind. beach and trail and woods and puddles and I remember less specific thoughts than the impression of my thoughts—the swatch of the mental theater. . . . did think of impressionism as a modern paradigm, appropriate to the nature of my blog. maybe post-impressionist? never mind. . . . .

mindscapes while running today included visualizations of prime number topography on the number line. . . . . Mandelbrot sets of sand and dune and sea formations . . . . . the aleph and the sand and wasn’t infinity once defined as the number of sand granules in the world? and wasn’t it like 2^77 or something strange like that? I should revisit that. . . .


the aum or the ohm and the Buddhist community in Brunswick county just down the road.   a run on their land?


I have to take a moment and praise the Brunswick nature park where the run for ray was held. . . . this is a new park, and the trails saw more action that day than ever before. a nice natural habitat, though I do believe a paper company had been through here maybe ten or fifteen years ago and simply replanted much of the land with evergreen (quick regrowth period) and whatever seeds found their way into the soil. . . . . but town creek cut through the land with a beautiful vista onto black river and a fine kayak launch- the kind with rollers so you launch dry—was built barely a quarter mile off the main entrance road. oaks and dogwoods, pine and spruce all grew from the very fertile dark soil of the hilly terrain, with sand folded into some of the other areas of the park.  ultimately: the hours of hard work and toil earned the southeast coast a wonderful new park.


while I am in this mode of contrition and acknowledgement, my wife takes the cake for giving me hell. but I must also admit that she is the one who pushed me outta the bars into the running paths. the transition was brutal, ungraceful, and frustrating (for both of us), but in running, just for today, I found a tremendous spiritual satisfaction and thus a personal growth. an emergence. albatross became the phoenix.

I began running with kas in the early days of our relationship. after work, and in early morning, she would get me laced up & zipped up and put me on the hills and wooden slats of the boardwalk. crisp breath and coffee and shallow, clotted lungs and torment and agony and the path was not an easy one. soccer lungs had long collapsed, though my legs remained strong and capable. I followed her merciful pace into a longterm commitment.   methadone and miles. . . . .



during this time I smoked. kas was an ex-smoker who outran her nicotine addiction, and she was adamant about my aptitude to quit successfully. so eventually I did quit, two years ago. my lungs are still weaker than most, and in fact were weak as an infant. . . . . the abdominal muscles that work the lungs in long runs have strengthened significantly, and my lungs have adapted to longer runs. I am well and whole and running, and frequently with kyote in the running stroller.  i take aspirin perhaps once a week for lower back aches-- usually work related.



march 7th. 2010.



geoff roes. jeez.



sunday. work has been very busy, unusual for this time of year, and the life-investment of my job has been enervating and frustrating. . . . seems I have either plenty of time or plenty of income, but never both simultaneously. a good run was due, and I was forced by prior commitments to run solo at 8am to finish by 10, so I ran from the house to the beach and back, in vast morning sun and a total of around 13 miles. . . . ran kas to her hair appt. and kyote and I had irish oatmeal and seattle coffee at Atlanta bread company and read some magazines. . . . . eventually kas finished and we went to trysports and bought my new shoes, asics gel-nimbus 11, the same shoes as last, though 25 dollars more (even with 20 dollars off). . . .





Range of Rage. march 9, 2010





eight miler took me round the beaches and the dunes were trampled beneath dredging machinery. . . . . a little railroad earth for the drive home (a long way to go). once home, water and water and haydn’s opus 33 string quartets, third and fourth of the set of six.


asked off for march 27th, the day of the gator trail 50k. figured I’d give it a try, getting off that is. . . . run 31 miles, grill out on our new grill, watch a film. . . . . have a spring saturday with the family. if I can walk. still many preparations and obstacles to clear however. did use up the rest of my dick’s sporting goods gift card for some gu gels, some clif bars, and a hammer gel, just to experiment on some longer runs. hydration and nutrition remain absolutely foreign to me, so the research and efforts begin in earnest for long runs.




memories of banner elk, elk falls, lees mcrae, wooly worm festival. . . . . deep gap mountain homes. . . . all the majestic beauty of the Appalachians. summers in amish country in Pennsylvania. Gettysburg. back to the nc mountains & the parkway.



many thoughts hover around visions of my farm—my future working farm. . . . . . for creatives who have strayed. work, run, eat well, see the cycle of their food and thus provide them with fundamental meditations, and let them heal their inner pain. my farm. . . . . a healing commune and a dream far, far in the future I fear. first step farm. robert frost.  always been a dream of mine, to establish a self-sufficient community. . . . . a healing space.  something between a working farm and a monastary. . . . . never mind.

This year's brought 243 miles of runnin'.

carolina beach state park and greenfield park, two local treasures. 

happy trails y'all!


Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Storms, the Shore, Masochism and Boccherini.

A dark run today, march the second at 9h04am until ‘bout 10 am and burnt my nipple-flesh off again as the storm-toothed wind ripped at face and bare legs and the course pushed outta wrightsille beach park and followed lumina up to masonboro inlet and then down the the cookie dough coast where the ocean churned fiercely, perpetually, Godly, and I meditated on her white-broth laughter and the wind would then howl against the ears and nothing heard but my own thoughts and the southern blare of the gusts and a storm is prowling across the Carolinas and we are again en route for winter precipitation and this cloud-curtain forming interesting roscharch tests (gopher heads, an inverted sunset in arizona) as seven miles milled out by post-pikermi (four days later) legs, and the feet started burning the blisters again as salt-sweat was rubbed into nipple-wounds and sometimes running is simply a masochistic act to be endured, completed, documented and then showered the hell off. but meanwhile I exited the coast due to bulldozers by j. mercer’s pier and a few other runners to wave at and just no real sun, all cloud filtered and vague like winter normally is. . . . . guts and meat-tenderizer feet and bleeding nipples and seven miles ended in a Boccherini fifth symphony parachute as I returned home in the warm civic.

finishing run for ray 13 miler. . . . . gnarly.