R. Dass: “Everything changes once we identify with being the witness to the story, instead of the actor in it.”
6:31 am. September 6, 2014.
76° F. Humid.
He’s wearing black shorts, above the knee.
He has two bands on his left wrist. Both black. A Garmin GPS, tracking time and distance. A Vivo Fit, another Garmin tool, tracking his step count. His head bobs, no, it tics, checking progress on his devices every 30-40 seconds.
His shirt is canary yellow, sleeveless. The sweat stains are darkening his shirt, spilled black ink creeping down his chest.
His running shoes are off-the-shelf new, with hyper-green florescent laces, tied with symmetrical bows on each foot.
His head is down but for the presence of oncoming traffic, when he’ll steal a look up, and offer a wave to the driver who gives him wide berth.
He’s heavy footed. Solemn. A hulking, Dutch plow horse, blinders blocking out peripheral vision. The furrows behind him, turned and plowed over and under and over again.
He has a smartphone strapped to his right bicep. The translucent ear buds are attached to green cables which are clipped to his shirt. His hand moves up to click through sad songs, classicals and love songs and stops when he’s found inspiration.
He has a fanny pack, hidden under his shirt. Black. His hand grabs the water bottle. He squeezes, swallows deeply and pours some over his head.
Another time/pace check. And he plods on.
A faster runner passes him. He exchanges a greeting. He picks up his pace for a half mile, then stops. He stares up to the sky, both hands wiping the sweat off his face and pausing in position momentarily, as if trapping a memory of his youth.
He walks for a few hundred feet, staring ahead impassively. Acceptance or resignation?
Another time/pace check. He continues, and settles back into his gait to finish his run.
There he is: At his last stop, sitting on the front stoop at Home. His shoulders drooped. His head down. He’s locked in on the next droplet of sweat to fall, and the soft bird’s breath splash it makes on concrete below him. One droplet after another, they fall.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip…
Notes:
- Credits: Image – Your Eyes Blaze Out. Dass Quote: A Dream Within A Dream.
- Related Posts: Running Series.
Nothing touches me more than when you write. The writing held the rhythm of his stride, the pacing of each drop of sweat. Love it. Write more my friend, write more.
Thank you Mimi. I always appreciate the support and the kind words. You and your words mean a lot to me.
I felt the heat, the exhaustion, the entire run. I was there with “him.” Love this!
Thank you.
A great video clip, David! The Dutch plow horse flash was quite effectual, particularly when taken together with the matching green shoe shoelaces and cables. The subject seems quite likeable and immediately draws empathy from the viewer. Well done!
Thank you Helen. I appreciate the kind words.
David I totally agree with Mimi, I love when you write… you have a gift my friend
Awww, thank you Tina.
I like your own writing best.
Thank you Anneli. Your thoughts and those of others here remind me of this quote by Joseph Epstein:
Exactly!!!!
the drip, an unstoppable leak. the flow of time and wear and struggle. and so it goes…..dripping……
Yes…that’s it Beth.
WMS, WMS. Pal, I am telling you, you have the cadence down–building momentum, a temporary set back, then another surge…like waves lapping the shore. You have a book in you, my friend, I am sure of it. 🙂
Awwwwwww. Let me stop there, after my sincere thank you.
I love to read your writing, and especially about running, as I am a beginner, determined to keep up with it year-round. Scary thought for me with the rainy season on the horizon here in Oregon.
I’ve been running since June, and although I know I am improving both pace and distance, I still can’t run a 5 mph pace!
This morning I ran a pace mile, gave it all I got, and ran at 4.75 mph. Ugh…how is it that no matter what we have, or have achieved, the desire for more and better remains?
Smiling. Thank you.
Keep at it Debra.
I find that I live your last sentence. “No matter what we have, or have achieved, the desire for more and better remains?” I live this life. Right here.
Thanks David! You are one of my inspirations to keep at it.
Like everyone else here, I love your stuff. You know this. You are this. You give it back to us.
Thank you Sandy. I appreciate the kind words.
I agree with the others, David, your writing put me on the road with him. In running parlance, he’d be a Clydesdale (the category for large, tall male runners; the women’s category is Athena. It is a separate award category in many races). I couldn’t help but feel he’s missed the point somehow. All those gizmos attached to him like life support tubes. I run to disconnect. The steps, the pace aren’t the goal, the run is the goal.
Smiling. I wish. The Clydesdale is me, and the gizmos are mine. And I need to find the light. 🙂
Beautifully done! I was taken inside my life and reminded that I felt like that often. I had the best tools to help me gain the success I wanted, but ultimately it was just the exhausting effort and the will to push on that carried me through each challenge.
Yes, beautifully stated. Thanks for sharing.
Yes…to everything already said here. You take us with you, my friend. 🙂
Thank you Carol