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.
“Tame-the-Ti-ger.”
“Tame-the-Ti-ger.”
“Tame-the-Ti-ger.”
“Tame-the-Ti-ger.”
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. Continue reading “Running. Without Tiger.”
