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being for the occasional musings on running by the author of the books


Go. First word, best word. Go. Go and keep going. Go until your time is up, which it soon will be. Like life? Yes, just like life. What brings you to this run? God, the universe, history? Let’s call it luck. It doesn’t matter. Here you are. Have you arrived? If you are practicing, you are practicing what? If running is devotional, you are devoting yourself to what? Commitment—same question. Do you come to running to meet yourself, to acquaint with facts, with biology, with body? To confront reality, to prepare for death? Would you say that when you chase after yourself, you elude yourself, too? Legs on a snake, ouroboros on the run. Only running, really running, may you arrive at the Hindu notion of lila—to play is to play. So, go, play. I said go. What are you waiting for? Go. I said go.

I rise to meet the sun sounds like something a runner would say if he wanted to impress someone most likely himself I rise to meet the sun he says proudly summoning the life and renewal —and truth? yes!—and truth he’s sure are inside him I rise to meet the sun he writes again starting to wonder if enough is enough already if his running shorts still fit Could he still do it he wonders could he find his shoes in the back closet could he stop writing about the sunrise long enough to go and in his words “meet it” Worry not, reader, our runner is brave, bold he can and he will meet the sunrise first thing tomorrow very first thing Get ready

Feet don’t hurt until they do

I might have found this out years ago Reading Wittgenstein But I’m a slow learner Better with bones than books No stress Fracture The doctor can confirm in the x-rays But that doesn’t mean There isn’t one there he says Leading us Deep into the Rumsfeldian territory Of known & unknown unknowns But the territory I want to explore isn’t abstract It’s Portland Where I’m registered to run the marathon In two months For the first time In twelve years Seven hard miles On fast cement And no shoes Is the only metaphysics that matters Now I don’t doubt My pain I can’t Run or find my way home To the unknown known Of Portland rain some fall When feet meet ground & there is nothing more Not to know

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