Sunday, August 23, 2009
This is plate 1 of 3, minus the bowl of hot & sour soup and the dessert plate of chocolate cake, cookies and melon slices.
I'd naively hoped that the message curled inside the fortune cookie would address my journey or my appetite but it didn't.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Music & running go together like milk & cookies. Sometimes I leave my player home and let the route mix me up a random soundtrack. Barking dogs, lovesick couples intergiggling, mothers instructing their kids on how to eat melting ice cream cones ("lick fast! faster!") on the canal paths. Rustling leaves, squawking seagulls and cyclists switching gears on the River paths. Car radios and open windows on the street sections of my routes. When I catch a whiff of a song with a good beat my tempo rises like a gas flame and I can almost feel the tune burrowing deeply into my ears. I have begun and ended runs with one song endlessly on repeat.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Please let me know if I was worth it”
"I don’t want to mess with your free spirit qualities. They are who you are, and I found them attractive; I felt completely at home with them. I was surprised that you would agree to my requests (as well as the length of our call that night) and relieved that you rejected them.
If you really want to do things like learn your language and live with your people, why don’t you do that? They are not impossible desires, are they? And put into action, they’d benefit you and your people, wouldn’t they? Nothing holds you back except yourself. You have a forest of possibility growing inside of you. You know that, so what’s stopping you?
You underline your free spirit quality in heavy ink. It can trap you just like a profession or a religion or anything else we cling to for our identity. A desire for freedom and caring for others are not mutually exclusive, any moron can see that. I am half wild myself, but only half, so maybe I don’t know what it’s like for you. Still, I think I get some stuff about you. Yeah, not everything, but for sure I get more about you than you do about me."
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Then the last signs taken in glances: 300m, 100m, and then the final archway dares me and I hold on to my heart so it won't fly away and I jump over the line and yell and then the finisher's medal is around my neck, as shiny as my smile and heavy as my feet. My face a salt lick.
I talked haphazardly with other runners, ate a half poppyseed bagel and drank some protein, stretched on a picnic table, smiled at a man with lilacs tucked fetchingly behind an ear, sank into the park grass, backpack cradling my head, not a care in the world, nothing on the agenda; I had left home, roamed the world like a hobo and returned filthy, spent and utterly blissed out; the body sacrificed on the road like a deer, the tiny yellow bird of my spirit following Icarus.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
I believe that coffee shops and other enablers gain financially from the addictions they cleverly sustain in two populations: office workers and, weirdly, runners. My club convenes at a coffee shop before and after running sessions. Gels and other "energy" sources (I won't call them food) contain caffeine (my favorite is not named Espresso Love for nothing). Caffeine is a marathon drug that quickens the blood, enabling us to do more, faster. Is that the main purpose of running and work? Only tyrants would agree. In defiance of this ridiculous association between my work, my sport and my unconscious desire for coffee, all which work together to make someone else rich and leave me dehydrated of coins and fluids, I am loosening my iron grip on the mug. For the last month, I have been greeting the day with a cup of coffee substitute and I tote a thermos of jasmine tea to drink at the office. I'm trying to wean myself off of the daily dose so that coffee can enjoy a new status in my life, that of a treat, and thus release me from its shackles – a reference to the theme of freedom in my life. We shall see how well I manage. It's a big change. And one day, the tea will have to go, too.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Later, by the butter yellow light of a kitchen lamp,
I bake nutrient vehicles masquerading as
oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Philly Cheesesteak: the ultimate intersection of running and food.
I had never laid eyes on this classic menu item before travelling to its native city to run the marathon. I had heard of it, and had idealized it into a food of mythic proportion.
The day before the race we strolled through a random market and stumbled upon a rowdy crowd of hungry eaters waiting for one man's interpretation of this classic cuisine as he prepared them one by one in his stall kitchen. He pounded the frying meat on the grill until it formed soft strips, which were then shovelled into a submarine bun loaded with condiments. The sandwich in its entirety filled, and I mean filled, the brown bag it was shoved into.
Note the sweatshirt logo of the female customer as she fixes her gaze on her greasifying lunch: "unathletic."