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.