Running

Sunday I run my fourth marathon in Montreal. I'll be glad when it's over. I'm not nearly as psyched as I was for the other marathons. I guess I've learned that two marathons in a span of 5 months is a recipe for burn out. But I'm starting to look forward to the day. Montreal was my first marathon, 2 years ago. That year, Wayne drove me to a direct-line subway station and I made my way, alone, to the starting line. This year Neil's going to come with me to the start because it's a real exciting time, on the Jacques-Cartier bridge, and I want a friend to share it with. Now that I'm done with the big training, I've been running out on the trails a little bit, and that has made me inordinately happy. Once I recover from Sunday's race, I plan to do a lot more trail running, at least until hunting season. While I was running the trails yesterday, I wrote a poem in my head about it.


Finding it Here
Running these trails is the sweetest of selfish solitudes;
there is no benefit to the world in my pulse
no selfless fruit of this labor in my breath
now there is only indulgence
come-as-you-are joy
leaping, climbing, hopping and falling forward
adjusting pace and stride
the delightful ups and downs and twists and turns
of a controlled amusement park ride
muscles and heart and sweat
pounding on dirt, on earth
raspberry bushes, pine trees, poplars and maples, rivers and small streams
moose, bear and owl watch in the silence in the shadows
the silence is the prayer
the precious oneness with the world and everything in it
the quiet companionship of my dog who asks for nothing.