Preparations started the night before. Running jacket, shoes, pants, shirt, socks, hat, watch, ear buds – all placed near the front door to minimize obstructions and maximize propulsion, Out-The-Door.
4:30 am. I trudge down the stairs. I step out the door, barefooted, in shorts and a short sleeved white tee-shirt. A soft wind carries the smell of a black and white, a skunk, pre-dawn smelling salts. I inhale to clear the lungs, 39° F bites.
The Tiger clutches the cymbals with both hands, opening his arms wide and slams. The noise, ear-splitting. He repeats and repeats. Crashing. Slamming. Piling on.
Stay at it. Slow it down. Breathe. Quiet the Mind. Chant.
Tiger separates from the body and ebbs higher, higher, and higher until reaching a crest. Salt kicks up in the mist where I stand, separate, still. The ebb makes its last gasp, the fight now gone, sighs and then releases.
The flow drowns out the maelstrom with a white foam of good feeling, sizzling on the shoreline for seconds.
The bone ache returns, both knees.
The right shoulder throbs.
The concrete is cool on the toes, the skin tingles, I’m shivering from the torso up.
Seconds. But Enough, for now.
I step back into the house, I kick my shoes out of the door way. I watch them tumble and come to rest against the wall.
Time Check: 0 miles. 2 minutes.
- Inspired by: “One minute was enough, Tyler said, a person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection. You wake up, and that’s enough.” ― Chuck Palahniuk,
- Photograph / gif: Your Eyes Blaze Out
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