germany

a time of cotton t shirts, soccer practice, blue oyster kult and being an officers kid in a foreign land. we lived off base because my mother would have none of being trapped behind a military gate guarded by machine guns and sand bags. a wall separate communism and freedom only 150 klicks from where i lived. my dad had little time to spend at home. one thing he did often was come home and run the old country roads outside of our little german town. if i wanted to hang out with him, i had to run as well. this was how it started. not as "exercise" but a chance to spend some time with my father and really try to earn a little notice. it was on these runs that my dad first treated me as someone other than his son. talking about running and the history of the german country side we ran through was his chance to teach me as someone other than his child. it was like he was narrating. he wasn't fast, but his endurance was never a question.

we had one tv channel available that broadcast in english. armed force network (afn). one night my dad wakes me up around 1 am and brings me into the living room. the tv is on and he has popped popcorn. "son, this is the boston marathon". it was there while watching greg meyer run away from everyone that i learned the story of phidipiddes and the battle of marathon. 10 year olds don't get to share much time like this, so it was special. it was also the first time i can remember ever being up past midnight. (in a household where 20:30 sharp was bedtime for kids every night, this was a big deal. it was like getting away with something, with permission from the general himself. ) i grew up, grew rebellious. he grew more stern. the runs together stopped.

i've run boston before. this year held strong meaning for me. emotions are very strong right now as i look back and remember...

rumble

(photo by gtach)

gliding the metolius with three beautiful sisters in my wake. the rumble was not really on my radar considering the recent workload but i wanted to see how the body would react with the cumulative fatigue of the journey compounded. that, plus, there were temps in the 80's forecasted for sunday. i am behind on my heat training. the valley was still availed to snow and hail this very week. states is a summer race, so why not stimulate.

good crowd. fast dudes. pace was hot from the beginning despite my attempts to get in front and slow it down a few times. finally let the group go. pushed after the "grunt" section to try to bridge back up to the separated leaders despite protests from my legs. came upon a long dirt road and had my spirit broken by the reality of their lead. took care of the body and throttled back. found my legs again late and pushed hard the last 30 minutes to stop the bleeding and hit the line 4th for the 34 mile, snow shortened version of this oregon classic. rod ran strong the whole day and kept jonny kick flip in check so he could take second. the gucci crew represented well with 3 in the top 7 and two aid station captains on course. good to catch up with folks. twinkies and swine at the finish. ran into maureen, a former asheville resident who resides in p'town. got stories of copper canyon from jen and billy. killed the legs. spread my arms out and ran up the burms on the turns. good fun, my peoples.

black pharoah

dispatch from the troop historian...

i live too near the slaughterhouse.
what do you expect? silver blood
like chattertons? the dankness of my hours
allowed no practiced foresight.
i hear the branches snap and break
like ravens in a quarrel,
and see my mother in her coffin
not moving
quietly not moving
as i light a cigarette
or drink a glass of water
or do anything ignominous.
what do you want?
that i should feel
deceived?

(the green of the weeds in
the sun
is all we have
it's all we really have.)

i say let the monkeys dance,
let the monkeys dance
in the light of god.
i live too near the
slaughterhouse
and am ill
with thriving.

slipper lip

liquid movements fill my mind and my motion. engaging the diaphragm during deep breathing while laying, quivering on a musty yoga mat. following the tunnel of LED through a solo night run of urban proportions. hopping highway barriers. careening down rocky banks. squishing atop moist bark while only a single goose amongst a flock raises her head and watches you glide past. feeling freshly pumped up slicks rolling silent and fast on a bike path abandoned by the sleeping masses. a tail wind for the return trip. loopy pumping of the path past the river and sweeping turns taken at speed. sweat mixed with the fragrant aftermath of the arc welder. random epiphany; "loving people is not about controlling them. that's not what it's about" as if i needed to have that said aloud to know it rang true. quick stop at the jiffy mart for some late night banter and a bullet of ninkasi. stayed long enough for dew to bead up on everything but my leather saddle. shoved off for home with deep sleep in mind. final satisfaction found in not setting my alarm clock before clicking off the lamp. there is no sleep you can look forward to more than that sleep.