Friday, January 27, 2006

This Morning's Run

It usually takes about seven minutes into my run before my body and mind separate, before I experience what some have called the runner's high. Indeed, Sarah Willet writes in the highlighted link that:

What Yiannis Kouros says, is that when he is running for a long enough time his body and mind separate. Other runners have experienced this same type of thing. One English teacher stated that during the last one and a half miles of the Ice Age Trail run in 1994 he ,"found myself running far faster than I had all day; I wasn't even conscious of my feet touching the ground as I crested the knoll ahead of the finish line. I wasn't running; it was as if something much larger than I was running me." Generally, most people claim that a runner's high is when the mind takes over the body and the unconscious leads the mind. Yet, there are many more aspects that people attribute to runner's high.

Yes, with my IPod earplugs secured and my shuffle cranked, I ran 2.5 miles this morning. Not far. But, far enough for me. And, as I ran, not only did I get lost (as I do during each morning run) in the music, in the words of the music, but also in the flashes of thoughts about life, the world, love, death, the past, the future.

Less than a quarter mile.

Dubya's democracies: Iraq and Palestine. The Koran. A constitution based upon the precepts of the Koran. Hamas "democratically" takes Palestine.

Dubya's dictionary: democracy=theocracy. That's okay with Dubya, by golly, by gee. "Bring 'em on," the little guy said, as he strutted and stuttered and buttered the toast of his "base," which he characterized as the "...have mores." Not the "haves" but the "have mores." Tee Hee.

More than two-thousand American men and women returned from Iraq in boxes. How many Iraqis dead or maimed: 30,000? 100,000?

Day after day another Momma's crying
She's lost her precious child
To a war that has no end

John Fogerty, "Deja Vu (All Over Again)"

Slightly more than a half-mile.

I attended my 91 year old Uncle's funeral in Oklahoma City on Monday of this week. I can tell you that I was pleasantly surprised to see that my father's side of the family--the aunts and uncles and cousins--actually appeared to be absolutely committed to the good will and well-being of their extended family. Now, I've got to tell yout that most of my immediate family is dysfunctional or, at least, our familial relationship is dysfunctional...mostly. So, the few days in Oklahoma with family who really cared about one another was refreshing. (Oklahoma City itself is still the absolute pits.)

My Uncle Murlan rejected the stringent requirements of my grandfather's Church of God in Christ participation and rebelled at an early age against what, I'm sure he believed, was not the intent of Jesus. I believe he later accepted the Baptist's interpretation of things "holy" instead.

Hear the trumpets, hear the pipers

One hundred million angels singing

Multitudes are marching to the big kettledrum

Johnny Cash, "The Man Comes Around"

At a mile.

Life really has a way of just moving along, with or without you. I guess that period during which I worked on my degree and then headed for the Army, married and divorced, managed public swimming pools in Denver and then, finally, moved west, young man to California... I guess that period in my life was one of discovery, of just simply figuring out who it was I was. And, I do regret that summer when my sister said, "Come on down," to Lamar and work on (her husband's) cattle ranch. I should've been a cowboy.

I should've been a Cowboy

I should've learned to rope and ride

Wearing my six-shooter riding my pony on a cattle drive

Stealing the young girl's hearts

Just like Gene and Roy

Singing those campfire songs

I should've been a cowboy

Toby Keith, "Should've Been a Cowboy"

A mile and a half.

This queer issue. This marriage issue. This "hot button" issue that James Dobson of Focus on the Family and all the rest of the fundamentalistic Christian wingnuts have jumped on like a dog on a bone, is something that, I believe, will be viewed by generations to come as something as absurdly irrelevant to the human condition as trying to figure out how many angels are able to reside on the head of a pin.

Why are you scared to dream of god
When it's salvation that you want?
You see stars that clear have been dead for years
But the idea just lives on
In our wheels that roll around
As we move over the ground
And all day it seems we've been in between the past and future town
We are nowhere, and it's now
We are nowhere, and it's now

Bright Eyes, "We Are Nowhere, And It's Now"

2.35 Miles

David. We will have twenty-four years to celebrate this November. He was twenty-two when I "...grappled him to my soul..." in a smokey, loud, leather/levi bar in downtown Denver. Love? Yeah, it was love. Still is. Definition of love? Hell if I know.

You're beautiful.

You're beautiful.

You're beautiful, it's true.

There must be an angel with a smile on her face,

When she thought up that I should be with you.

But it's time to face the truth,

I will never be with you.

James Blunt, "You're Beautiful"

2.5 Miles.

The truth was the angel's.

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