Runner. Grounded. Epilogue.

~ Live & Learn

photography, portrait,black and white

4:45 am. Wednesday morning. Hump Day.

I lay in bed. I glance left to the window. It’s dark. Quiet.
Zeke nuzzles closer.
I close my eyes.

What’s it going to be? 
1/2 way back. 3/4 way back. All Better?

I ease out of bed. And inhale.
A twinge. A bite. A grimace. An exhalation.

Let’s call it 75%.
Bit of grade inflation but we’re going with it.

I dress.
I ease into the car.
The icicles on the eaves dripping.

Yes. Make it be Spring.

10:00 am meeting. Annoyances are whispy, floating in a thin ibuprofen haze in an otherwise cloudless sky. 10:14 am. Left eye begins to water. A fountain with intermittent spurts. The corneal abrasion roars out of remission and is shooting flares. 10:30 am. In the car, heading home. One hand over eye. The other keeping the wheel between the lanes, driving well below speed limit behind a semi trailer truck. 11:30 am.  Sitting in darkness. Taking conference calls.

Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore; Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more. (Homer)

5:35 am. Thursday. Fever?

I pop 3 Extra Strength Tylenol. And start pounding on emails. My left elbow tingles. I pull my sweatshirt up. It’s swollen, baseball size and throbbing. WTH? Where? How? Why? Thoughts race. We’re in a bit of a rhythm here:

Left lower back.
Left corneal abrasion.
Left elbow.

When it doesn’t feel right, go left.
And, if it doesn’t feel left?

37 thoughts on “Runner. Grounded. Epilogue.”

  1. If you can’t go right or left, chances are you’re going forward, albeit slowly. GIve yourself a chance to heal would you please? This post hurts to read, so I can’t imagine how much it hurts to live with. Easy as you go David, some things won’t be motivated by your impatience or insistence. They’re going to heal in their own time.

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  8. take your time and head right up the middle. slow and steady. go around if, and when, you need to. listen to your body. trust in your instincts and follow them through. they are impossible to ignore and will always reveal themselves in a myriad of ways. as you have seen and felt. feel better, d.

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    1. Vicki, thank you. Insightful: Center. I came across this poem that seems to align with your words:

      You are not going crazy.
      You are beginning to fold up in your own single way.
      You feel your edges move toward the center,
      your heart like a folded blanket unfolding
      and folding in with everything contained…
      …you feel it, you fold it, and for a while now,
      it will quietly rest.

      ~ Naomi Shihab Nye

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