I was standing by the window that early morning, just like I did every morning in those years. The sky was often dark and cloudy, the window streaked with last night’s rain. In the evanescent glow from the street lamps I watched the same impossible nightly show…
These pasts remind me
that there are markers to follow,
Pathways in the foothills, the blowing grass, past misted lakes,
I am born Wolf.
I am so very tired.
Night slides into day on the ridge line,
Dirt and distance, dust and sweat
The spiders and the snakes, the dope driven demons of my nights are gone for awhile.
It will be all right. I will be all right. I am all right.
It is a new chapter
a new day breaking
it is always always darkest before the dawn
what’s yours will come to you
and, “It’s all over now
Baby Blue”-Bob Dylan said that.
If I don’t show up for the grunt work, work my way through the night snakes and demons, there is no dance to dance under the Ali’s lights. So it is on me to get well and get back at it.
It’s in the eyes. What it is varies from runner to runner but make no mistake: it’s there, and every ultra runner has it. Distance. Stillness. Fear. Acceptance. Exhaustion. Joy. Time.
“They don’t know,/ they can only guess” is how most mornings feel these rainy spring days. I’ve been sleeping badly for weeks, beset, it seems, by a rolling dream journey.
The zoo is always open. Until it isn’t.
I have no choice but to leave what is done behind and make the best of what is here for me to do. And like I used to do in the middle of long runs, suddenly, inexplicably to me, sometimes I cry.
Getting off the Facebook chatter highway is related to many things, not the least of which was my growing sense of wasting my time in useless political debate for my own personal satisfaction. The issues we face as a nation are too big for a Trump-like aggrandizement of self.