I can almost draw the lines

During my run today, plugged in and stripped down to a tshirt by the time I hit the Nature Park trail, I looked up and my tipped head seemed to slide my senses together. The sun, when it comes out here in winter, is dazzling and physical and disorienting and it hits everything at once. As I turned the corner on the path, I couldn't feel the headphones-- the music seemed internal. Sun struck through moss high in skinny trees and lichen abandoned on the ground-- a surrounding of great green glowing life. Even through slow-motion drips of slushy rain, the sun's touch made my skin warm and I had the sudden impulse to lift my arms for its embrace to wrap around my waist and pull me closer. I wanted to remove clothes to let the sun-touch in.

This is the effect of the return of forgotten sunlight. It floods your veins and shakes you loose from reality's one dimension.

After this run, walking back to my desk, a private song plays in my ears as my long earrings tinkle like a metallic brook with each step I take. I turn my ears and then eyes up to the heartbeat thump of wings pushing air aside as geese swoop overhead in a textbook V formation. Tattoos patch the wet concrete where leaves have given up their ghosts. Each ginger lift of a foot is a a sensation I can't dull on its path up my nervous system to my brain.

Am I a simpleton to be so stunned? These corporeal pleasures are the only stories I have to share. Everything else wilts in comparison.

running becomes transcendental

This time of year is a smeared drop of my heart's blood, sighing through the beauty of yellow tree-shapes as they dance and bow under the sky. The colors dissolve my eyes and emotional boundaries, if I had any of the latter to begin with.

I drove by a copse of the most livid yellow trees last week, the quality of color that sings resonant heat into the heart, and so it was with glee that Cory and I walked over there. Cheery golden sumac leaves littered the gutter, and looking both ways to ensure that no one else was around, I grabbed great handfuls and tossed them into the air. They fell in slowed twirling showers, just as you'd dream they would. It felt like golden sunshine glitter, raining down.

After work I went for a run, the first test of my autumn running mettle. The windshield wipers had gotten a workout on the drive home, but I barely got a taste of raindrops under the threatening sky. The air was damp and sweet to breathe, nobody else was out, and cars gave me right of way because they felt sorry for me out in the rain. It was also fairly warm, just a perfect evening for running.

There's a point in the route I ran last night (my Lazy Route, a three-miler from my house) that always feels good. I'm more than half done, it's a downhill stretch, and there's a peep of the view to the west hills. My stride lengthens, breathing slows its cadence, and my thoughts become more vivid as the physical takes on a mechanical automation.

I noticed crows out, as joyous of solitude as was I. They wheeled in the sky, stretching their wings, winding flight paths for what seemed the sheer joy of it. As my thoughts deepened and lost their verbal sheaths, I thought-- it's the crows and I, thinking the same thoughts. There are no words, but only breath and the sound of the train. We're all stretching our wings to feel the air rush through our feathers. Every thing I saw, I was. My sight transfered my consciousness.

And then I changed course to run back by a house, out front of which I had seen at the start a bag of free calla bulbs. I ran the rest of the way home with both arms clutching the collapsing, wet paper bag. I've not seen so many crows, and crows alone, for a long time.

portlandese

Yesterday, in a stress-induced push to do some hill training, I ran up Mount Tabor. I haven't been in ages, probably more than a year, and I tried to follow the route that C and I used to run once a week on "Mount Tabor Mondays." It took me at least a month back then to work up to running straight to the top without stopping. I remember how painful it was then, deep in my chest, the tight dry air. This time, although I haven't run anything particularly hilly in quite awhile, I made it all the way. I can't say it was easy or felt great, but I felt good afterwards, and it felt picturesque to run in the dry summer grass stained with late evening sun.

This morning, awakening hurt like pushing up through six feet of black earth. I couldn't understand how or why the sound of the alarm was even happening. I was deep in a dream in which I was in a shop on Hawthorne, trying on dresses. A woman who was there with her husband was trying to find a cute skirt, and had tried on every one in the shop. In the dream I gave her directions to Ipnosi and drew a map showing it just down Hawthorne from where we were. In reality it's up on NW 23rd, but no matter-- I dreamt of a real Portland street and a real Portland store! Much the same way that the first time you dream in a language you're learning, you know you're fluent, I realized with joy that I am now, truly, a Portlander. After giving directions to the woman, a younger woman struck up a conversation with me in the dressing room area, asking what I do when I'm bored. She had recently moved to the neighborhood and she said she usually went shopping when she was bored. Even in the dream I had trouble remembering the last time I was bored.

tri-ing

Running is my forte.

Completed my first triathlon this morning, despite myself. I didn't go to bed last night til long after midnight, had trouble falling asleep, and awoke with a start a handful of times to stare at the absurdly low numbers on my bedside clock. Finally, I got up at 5:24am. I had put together most of my gear the night before, but I busied myself with gathering the sorted piles-- swimming, biking, running, afterwards.

Julie arrived, loaded everything into the car, and we were off to Blue Lake. While setting up my stuff in the transition zone (where you leave your bike and gear you'll need for each leg of the race), I was setting out my favorite running socks when I realized that I didn't have shoes. No shoes for doing the bike and the run. Wow.

Luckily we had arrived early enough that Julie zipped back to my house, grabbed my shoes, and brought them back. Since no one but participants can enter the transition zone, she was going to give them to an event volunteer who would put them with my stuff since I might be in the water by the time she got back. After she left I realized that I had set up all of my things in the wrong section, so I moved my bike, helmet, socks, sunglasses, shirt, bags, water, and everything else to the rack with the correct number range.

By that time the first wave or two of the swim had started, and while waiting in line to use the men's bathroom (the women's side was closed-- at an all-women triathlon!) I saw Julie walking up with my shoes. No doubt about it, Julie saved my ass for this event.

Moving on to the next tribulation: the shiny purple strap that comes in the race packet, with which you affix the timing chip to your ankle. I couldn't get mine to snap closed, although Sara's Ironman training buddy, John, mashed it shut for me. During the swim I could feel it coming loose, so I had to stop several times, take a deep breath, and bob in the water while making sure it was still fastened.

The swim itself was long, but not as difficult as I had feared. When I got out of the water it felt good to jog to my bike, putting nervous energy to good use. I toweled off, put on my socks, shoes and helmet, and tucked the timing chip with its strap down into my sock. The bike portion of the race was like being in a cloud-- misty rain, warm and humid. I enjoyed the ride, though, and passed quite a few people-- a big improvement from last year.

When I passed over the mat from my bike into the transition area, to prepare for the run, I didn't hear the telltale beep that lets you know your chip was registered. My chip was gone. I asked a volunteer standing in the transition zone what to do, and she said that I could still finish the race if I wanted. If I wanted! I ran off to tackle the running portion of the event.

So overall I had a great race. I enjoyed each part, I had great people cheering for me-- Fred and Shetha brought Andrew and Gabriel-- an amazing support crew with Sara, Leslie, John, Teres, and all of the other wonderful Luna Chix ladies, and I can't wait to do it again. For what it's worth, Julie said I crossed the finish line at 10:03am.

run for it

I organize a Wednesday night women's running group. It was started by Sara Sitter when she worked at Foot Traffic, a local running store, three or four years ago. It has passed through several hands and now been in my charge for a little more than a year.

In that time, group attendance has drastically declined. Two main reasons are that one previous organizer (from whom I inherited the group) had a baby, and the original organizer started working a job with late Wednesday night hours. I also weathered the final end of a long-dying friendship, during which lines were drawn and sides taken. I do have one or two friends who bridge the gap, with whom I run sometimes, who tell stories and mention the other group, not realizing that we are at odds.

Really, that I am at odds, since I'm the odd one out.

So for yesterday's run, I was very excited that five people responded that they would be running with me. Usually it's just me and one other person, although recently there have been two attendees.

By yesterday morning, two people had emailed me that they couldn't make it. Two other people emailed asking if there would be anyone else showing up, that if not they'd just run on their own. Since there were still three people attending, including the skeptics, I assured them that there were.

Driving to our meeting spot, two more called to tell me they couldn't make it. One had forgotten her running clothes, and one had a late, impromptu meeting.

Traffic was dense, and I made arrived four minutes late at Duniway Track, located next to the YMCA in southwest Portland. I walked around the track to warm up, waiting for one person.

I completed a speed workout, the simplest one I know. It felt good to be outside, working, in the cold black air. Exercising, putting my body through its paces, expending energy through the sheer force of my will.

It was good to have a night alone.

Much later, Erik and I went to the see And You Will Know Us By The Trail of The Dead play at the Crystal Ballroom. It wasn't very good. They took 50 minutes to set up, they do not have very good voices live, and the crowd was more into Blood Brothers, one of their opening bands. I truly do not enjoy time when Blood Brothers' music plays, which did not positively enhance my mood.

At any rate, we didn't go to bed til after 2am, which automatically qualifies as a good night!