A couple of things to note: 1. the original series of posts from this running log included the day of my run in the title, such as A Writer’s Running Log, Day 4. That was 326 miles ago. Put another way, I’ve logged 73 runs since (follow me on Strava, every mile is there). Which is to say I’m a runner, we needn’t count my days anymore; and 2. the original series also included the tag line “I don’t run. I do yoga. And yet…” Obviously, a load of horse shit. I do run. I do do yoga. And so, yeah, here we are.
Which is where exactly?
The tentative, not-ready-to-commit, my-feet-already-hurt-just-thinking-about-it answer is training for the 2019 Brooklyn Half. The certain, excited, feeling-all-kinds-of-possible answer is one run into my Fall running schedule. Which is something I put together yesterday – on a whim. It looks a lot like runs on Monday afternoons, Thursday mornings, with a longer run on the weekend, and feels a lot like new beginnings.
Yesterday’s run – the Monday afternoon inaugural run – was the 4.7 mile loop from my gym to Central Park (the lower Reservoir) and back.
I think because it was solitary and meditative, at a moment when I could use some clarity and perspective, the temperatures have dropped – this summer my runs were pure hell, no matter how early I did them – and best of all, I had two writing epiphanies along my route.
Like words came at me full force, demanded my attention, and forced me to stop in my tracks to jot them down. Something I hate to do, but I did it anyway. I tried to ignore them, ran a few paces, then stopped.
Because I had to.
Because the words.
They’re annoying like that sometimes.
And even though it sounds like I’m grumbling, I must admit – it was pretty sweet. Not like I’m going to get all Haruki Murakami out here on these streets, but hey, you never know. An essay or two might make its way onto the page. At the very least, these blog posts will…