Running. With Blood.

~ Live & Learn

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:

 

46 thoughts on “Running. With Blood.”

  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.

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  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.

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  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.

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  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.

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  16. Pingback: Moments of Reflection | Humoring the Goddess

  17. 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. 😢

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  18. 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.

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    1. 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

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  22. 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.

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