Running. With Blood.

aerial-highway-solitary

Captain’s Log.
Last run: March 13, 2016.  Jesus. 4 months.
I step on the scale. Hope springs eternal.
Flash. Flash. Flash. Bam: 204.6. Exactly the same weight. Well, that’s something.

I grip the Body Glide cylinder and rub it on the nipples.
There’ll be no breast pads for this Hombre after today’s run.
I pause before setting down the magic wax, and look down at my groins.  Are they touching? Can’t be. Must be the way I’m standing. I spread my legs. That’s better, pleased at the separation. Another year or so and you’ll be able to drive a bus between my legs – they’ll be spread that wide.

I’m out the door.
4:57 a.m.
66° F.  Cooler today.
Weather App calls for the sun to rise at 5:30 am.
My Goal: Exceed the 5.38 mile distance in March or run to the Sunrise, whichever comes first.

It’s like riding a bike. You don’t forget how to run. Right. A nerve in the upper left shoulder blade pinches. And this slides down to the lower right back achieving beautiful pain symmetry. Sedentary Suit on the move.  Jesus.

Both groins groan. The pads of the feet cry No! with each footfall. I’m breathing heavy, and this is downhill 0.2 miles in. Jesus Saves.

Running in twilight. Red shoes. Red shorts. Red Shirt. Blood Man. Heart over-pumping, lungs heaving but at least I’m lookin’ fine.

1 mile mark.

Cemetery.

Then, Darien City Police Station.

Baton Rouge. I’m on my back. The bone of his knee is crushing my rib cage.  His pistol is in my face. I need air.  I can’t breathe…

1.5 mile mark.

Church.

Charleston. My eyes pan across the wafer thin page of the Bible – I’m lip synching the reading of the prayer. I hear gunfire. In a split second, the full weight of the explosion lands, shrapnel shreds my chest. Astonished, I fall forward in the pew looking up at Jesus on the cross…

2.3 mile mark.

School.

Sandy Hook.  I reach for a red crayon. I hear my Teacher, screaming in horror. My tummy hurts, my Mickey Mouse shirt is covered in blood. I fall heavily out of my desk, the crayons tumbling to the floor…

3.5 mile mark.

Patrol car on Post Road in a Speed Trap.

Dallas. Black. White. Hispanic. All marching. A beautiful evening. And a quiet protest.  I’m looking forward to getting home for dinner and seeing the kids. My chest is hit with a cannon ball, a meteor falling from the sky, slamming me against the patrol car – in the flash of light, I stretch my hands to touch my wife, my kids…my life. What happened here?

4.8 mile mark.

I click through my playlist and stop.
David Gray pipes “Ain’t No Love” into my ear buds.

Maybe that it would do me good
If I believed there were a god
Cut in the starry firmament
But as it is that’s just a lie…

This ain’t no love that’s guiding me us
This ain’t no love that’s guiding me us
This ain’t no love that’s guiding me us

Time Check: 4.9 miles. 50.3 minutes.

Nap Time.


Notes:

 

Comments

  1. Well written, so much to think on. I will have to let this sit and come back to it later.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Wow, DK…this one stopped me cold….

    Liked by 1 person

  3. All this pain that we can’t run away from – it’s in us, around us. Beautifully, achingly written..

    Liked by 2 people

  4. No words can equate my feeling from this…just none.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Well done. That is all. 💕

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Not the ending I had imagined but I guess that’s the point, right?

    Liked by 1 person

  7. No words… because yours so well placed…so well connected. how you bring us along with what’s going through your mind….

    Liked by 2 people

  8. Oh, David!
    There are fault lines across my soul, where the tectonic plates of my being all meet and you just trembled the whole thing, my being.

    It has been a week from hell, world wide. Only yesterday the thought crossed my mind “Is David, you, going to address this?”
    You have a large platform, so much can be “touched” from where you are.

    The way the greater majority is addressing this is sickening.

    THANK YOU, for going there.
    Not in a million years would I have seen it coming this way.
    Hardly the tip of your iceberg has been seen so far, HARDLY.

    This was real and beauiful. The way you gently tossed your torn flower petals on the current (real) wounds of the fabric of our being.

    Liked by 4 people

  9. so much pain to take in and process. no way to make any sense of it all, we just have to continue to find the good in whatever glimpses we have of it.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. David – thank you for writing this and sharing. We all want a world where you can go for a run and at the end let us know nothing more than how that Body Glide worked out for you. Yet, the weight of our place in time impacts us all. We can not escape it, nor should we.

    Your writing and the imagery stops me cold. Thanks for sharing.

    Liked by 2 people

  11. A way to think about all of this. I’ve been listening to the “Hamilton” soundtrack on Spotify as I do my daily 2 miles. It is so contemporary so timely it makes me cry while I’m walking. How can we make this better? How can we [as a people as a culture] do better? Contemplation on this winds deeper into the wonderful and terrible story of our country.

    Liked by 1 person

  12. You need a new route or some way to flush out all these negative thoughts. The world is in a bad state, How to shake it off? I don’t know. Maybe the well-known people of the world can have some influence by speaking up, but for us “ants” we can only each do our bit to help make the world a better place. It’s like I once said, “Keep doing good things and hope that, like erosion, it will eventually do the job.” But we have to keep working on the side of what’s good and right. Never give up, or the anthill will implode.

    Liked by 1 person

  13. Excruciating for body, mind and soul. Well done!

    Liked by 1 person

  14. Here and everywhere. So sad, David. It seems difficult to breathe freely. Your writing is powerful…

    Liked by 1 person

  15. Thinking…then sharing. Already feeling.

    Liked by 1 person

  16. Great writing and reflection Dave. I think if we decide to step out like you, moving against our fears, our pain, our “what ifs” our “whys” and our “what can I do?” and each do what we are capable of. We can help heal these gaping wounds around the world. 😢

    Liked by 1 person

  17. Life is suffering according to Buddha. Should you continue calling Jesus, not only that you will run like Flash Gordon, you may be able to walk on water. Smiling.

    Liked by 1 person

  18. This is proof that running can be so cathartic. You really touched upon it perfectly. So much to think about and so many difficult things for our minds to try and grasp.

    Liked by 1 person

  19. Great run there. I used to run a lot on my own and music always help the lone runner. I joined a club and runs suddenly become social and I find it hard to run alone. I really want to get back into my “lone” running after reading this.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hi. Thank you. Appreciate the kind words. I’ve never run in a group, and I do think I’d be motivated to run more often if I did. Yet, it’s nice to go when you want to go without having to wait for others. Good luck on the Lone Wolf run – I enjoy the solitude. Dave

      Liked by 1 person

  20. Sara @runultrainspired says:

    Wow. My heart actually skipped a beat as I read your words which is so rare for me. Incredible writing

    Liked by 1 person

  21. clay1waters says:

    I’ve noticed I’m able to avoid some of the injuries you mention in this article by doing interval workouts mostly. Long slow jogging on hard surfaces is exactly when I get injured the most.

    Liked by 1 person

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