Tarmac Meditations #37: Cathedral of Morning Mist

Whether he’s running or not running, Michael’s mind is never far from thoughts of … running.

September 19, 2010

Ran the straightaways, walked the curves. 45 minutes. Fog to the south went from a Japanese landscape with mountaintops in the mist to a Winslow Homer sky. Felt like I was running in a holy place, every step and breath part of the liturgy, a prayer — a morning cathedral in which to celebrate a grey day.

Ate pizza. Feel lousy. Don’t feel like running in the morning. Go figure.

September 21, 2010

Walked. Ran. 100 on, 100 off. 3 x 400. Walked back. Coffee. Meeting. Fence repairs. Miles to go. Promises to keep. Gratitude.

September 22, 2010

Earlier I said I was gonna run later. Then I was gonna lift. It’s now later. Not running. Haven’t lifted. Funny how that works, no?

September 23, 2010

Ran the track again this morning. MB and BG were there as were others who I didn’t know. There was a Russian-speaking coach and her husband training a couple of long striders. It all seemed like memory what with the repeats and the slow getting up to speed, the miler’s stride, the heavy breathing and the sense of something done. That and finishing 10 yards up the track in each and every rep. That felt like home.

September 24, 2010

I thought about running to the gym by the longer route, about 4 miles.Then thought about doing a leg workout or upper body workout. Then thought about whether to have a protein shake before or after the homemade muesli. Gathered some notes about a story to write. Then turned over and went back to sleep on account of it’s Friday, the sixth day and that means a pre-rest day rest.

Sometimes I just can’t help but wonder. Other times, not so much. Today is slippin’ away. ‘Trane and Miles are drifting up from down below. (Must have left the computer on in the office.) It’s quiet now. Serene will have to take its turn. C’mon tomorrow, do your stuff.

Photo Credit

“Misty Morning” Freefotouk @ Flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.