Tag Archives: tedium

4 miles on January 30

So, on my run yesterday, it was not only incredibly cold, but also incredibly windy. Needless to say, my thoughts¬† raced and sputtered, and the entire experience of battling my way around the park into the wind was cheerfully unpleasant. I saw my old friend, the ferocious hawk of Center Drive, eating a squirrel on the ground. This was the third time I’ve seen this particular scene enacted, and the second time with this particular bird. And so I thought to myself: Is this a sign? Is this predatory bird presenting me with a pertinent metaphor for my current existence? If I am to hawk, then what is to squirrel? Is change afoot? Am I to take a bite out of this thing called life?

Anyway, I soon realized that I had gotten my metaphor wrong. I was not to hawk as squirrel was to my life. In fact, the opposite was true. I am to squirrel and hawk is to, well, I just don’t know.

5 miles on January 25

Not to use this forum as a place to air news of my aches and pains, but I feel something is wrong with me, running-wise. So, I’ve been taking it easy this week, and all my runs have been rather slow, plodding affairs. No matter. I will persevere, I am sure. Of course, this also means that that the voice expressed here — that strange failed Romantic painter who seems to dictate my odes to the false nature of Brooklyn, Virginia, and beyond —¬† has fallen silent.

Also, I don’t know. The park is dead these days. I can’t figure it out. Perhaps someone with more knowledge of the tilt of the earth can explain why the sunrise in December was such an amazing thing — light springing forth from the endless miles of Brooklyn stretching out towards the sea — and this month, the sunrise is an afterthought that follows a long, grating, lightening of the sky.

Ah! What’s this? It appears to be snowing outside. This is a good omen, I hope. I believe Morningside Park will be lovely, and I must be going.

4 miles on January 21

I know it’s perhaps too soon to write this, but with the chill gone, something of the magic of the park seems to have disappeared as well. I ran up and down the stairs on Lookout Hill this morning, but the sunrise never came, and I never really became winded to the point where I felt delirious and exhausted. And then, because I had no reason to linger, my timing was off, and so when I rounded the corner at the top of the park, the sun was already out and all the wispy red clouds had burned off leaving the sky a disconcerting gray. Also, now that I suppose I’m better at running, my mind lacks the pure emptiness that used to come from a combination of cold weather and exertion and the will to succeed. My thoughts are not as scattered.

Despite all this, it must be said that two days ago I caught my breath to see the mist so diffuse along the green ground beneath the still-lit lamps. Over the course of just a few minutes, that mist rises and it disappears and then, all of a sudden, the look of everything is different and clear and bright.  It is a landscape that is filled with the absence of something that is ephemeral.

0 Miles on December 29

Instead of running, I currently face a large editing job and the prospect of more hours in front of a computer. The shadows outside lengthen and fall.

I think perhaps that because I sleep better in Virginia than Brooklyn, I am not filled with the same kind of frantic energy that propels me through the days in New York.

Of course, when anxiety abates, guilt resurfaces.