Sunday, March 27, 2011

gator trail 50k-- prelude and fugue, book one.

Haydn string quartet cycle, opus 33. sketching between pushups (with kyote climbing across my head) trying to keep ideas and images in pre-thought state, pure and instinctual, impulse-driven:  unjudged (unfiltered). but a simple act of expression seems an impossibility. . . judging the image-in-process is denying the image. moving on.

i've decided that tomorrow's ultra is like dropping acid: its going to be long, its going to be strange, and I may see some shit that isn't there. My body will ache and it will suddenly not ache. I will want to push and I will want to drop back. I will want it to be over. I will have little option but to finish. Interaction with others will be kept to a minimum afterwards to think things over. I may have to remind myself that this is not a permanent state, nor is it a natural state of being. And the mind may fold back on itself to reveal interesting things.
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trying to figure out how to eat a banana at mile ~18



Well the Gator Trail Run 50k slung me into the guts of Lake Waccamaw for five 6.2 mile loops, composed of four miles circulating into a two mile out-and-back, and it passed with strength and endurance. A pace of eight-fifty minute miles felt smooth and perpetual for a solid 4h 33 mins on the trail, landing the fifth position. I ran with a talented runner named Mark and he glided through the pace with wholesome encouragement. My body ran well, my mind juke boxed random excerpts of marley and velvet underground, and I had no poetic thoughts or spiritual insights other than driving forward, a purely physical event.
before as gathering gear.
I will write more later but now I must waddle into work.