Tarmac Meditations

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Hurrying Near

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Went to the track this morning. Did some quarter mile like  repeat stuff. Felt old, tired, stiff, wore out and, finally, pretty good. Remembered that I was never a track star or even “real good”. I just showed up. A few weeks ago someone asked me how fast my quarters were that morning. I fudged an answer. It felt like a loaded question, full of challenge, too much like the old days of “let’s see who’s got what” bullshit. He is nearly 50 and puts in big miles and hard track workouts. I haven’t seen fifty in quite a while. And big miles/hard track workouts have become something that no longer mean what they used to mean. Simply put, time doesn’t stand still. Truth was, I hadn’t looked, I had been happy just to be there, to be able to do them at all. Me, the young fool, thought he was going to live forever, ride hard and die young. The old fool, me, knows better, is aware that “Time’s winged chariot” is “hurrying near” with each passing sunrise. I reckon a few very slow 400’s with Flash and Bigfoot and Merlin(they ran way faster) is a fine way to start the day and indeed, to keep on keepin’ on.

Civic Stadium #24

Photograph by Michael Lebowitz ©2012

Tarmac Meditations-Track Work on Election Day

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high school scoreboard and flag

Met M and R at coffee shop. The rain was light but steady, as much mist as rain, gentle, warmer than expected. Walk to the track. Straights and curves today. For me my fourth day with steady output. Came back later to take a picture of the flag on election day. Did not bring a tripod which limited my range of choice. Got what there was. Will likely go back another morning. On the way back to the car I remembered coming home to the US nearly ten years ago. I went to get my license renewed at Motor Vehicle Branch in Denton Texas. A big haired, bored, Texas gal took me through the paper work. Finally she looked up, said we were done but for one question. What party affiliation did I want to list on my voter registration card. I told her Democrat. After another minute or two she handed me my license and my voter registration card. I could drive legally in the US, approved by the State of Texas my license said and I could vote legally in the 26th congressional district in the Great Lonestar State. It was just another  Texas-hot day in June, but there in front of me was a battered, slightly crumpled guy, standing in front of the MVB window staring at two slips of paper with an amazed look on his face. I saw him looking back at me and it was only then that I noticed the tears rolling slowly down his cheeks,. The gal who had driven me over from the rehab joint I was in at the time came up to me and asked if everything was all right. :”Yeah,” I said, “I guess.” and I handed her the papers. She looked at them for what seemed a long time. “Welcome home Michael, glad you made it. ” she said and then turned away and headed back to the car. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t referring to Texas exactly, more like home from 30 plus years living abroad and more than that locked into drugs and alcohol. Yeah I said to myself, long time comin’ and wiped the tears away. Funny thing how the biggest moments, the end of the longest journey, can be marked by a little scrap of bureaucratic nonsense. Already voted by mail as we do here in Oregon, but before I did I took my now out of date Texas voter’s card out of its resting place in my desk drawer and renewed acquaintances with it; I remembered a big haired ol’ gal in a Texas motor vehicle bureau and said thanks y’all, my time to go and be counted.