It’s amazing how good a few lunges and squats can feel,
Simple exertion to take the edge off of being lazy.
Not many, maybe just about ten of each does the trick,
Letting there be a sense of accomplishment, a moment of youth.
Of course, when that is preceded by a bonking run
The kind where heat and humidity crush a spirit
Only about eight tenths of a mile from home,
It’s no wonder the squats and lunges work their magic.
It’s those moments of failure that let the successes feel so good,
Nothing like a few easy calisthenics to get the blood flowing,
To set the mind to dreaming again about another run
Where an outcome is certain, success, failure, or denial.
Taking one day away
Too all the aches and pains down
“Take another, kid”
Getting off my feet
Letting muscules recover
Has been a blessing
A mental struggle
Shutting down effortlessly,
A body needs rest
Taking a rest day
Not just for Sunday
Time of day really matters
Miss a morning run,
Pay for it in the afternoon sun.
That’s when the feet barely patter
Lungs hurt a ton
Making the time little fun
So at daybreak cut the chatter
You’ll know when you’ve won
Because the exercise will be done.
I took a page from my dog today,
Played hard then wasted the rest of my time
By sleeping and WATCHING GOLF!!!
Some would snidely say that the two don’t differ…
Finally, some sports to watch,
Albeit without the fans,
Which is okay because I don’t have to hear
The chuckleheads yell, “In the hole.”
The day was looking like a zero
On the afternoon effort level
When an email came that a big box company
Has a squat rack back in stock.
My middle finger hovered over the buy now button
Until I came to my senses,
Checked in on my Flow State DNA profile
And remembered that I like to build things.
Only right now I don’t feel like spending money
Which included the thought of buying more wood
So I dismantled some shelves in a college quality cabinet
Then reassembled them into a stoic’s bench press.
Six pieces of wood, nine screws, and some rearranging
And now we can bench press,
And eat, and pay for all the other stuff we need
Like internet tv so I can watch some more golf tomorrow.
The prompt asked me to describe my favorite hiding place. I don’t have a lot of places that I go to get away. Running, biking, and swimming are things that come to mind as hiding places. I get lost in the rhythms of the exercise and only hear my breathing. It happens when I’m alone or running with the group. At least that’s how I remember it when I ran with a group. It’s been nearly three months.
Thinking about it, though, I think my hiding place is deep inside. It’s that place where imagination and nothing intersect, kind of an active meditation. I went to my fitness center, I mean basement yesterday, to spend ten minutes meditating. I got out of the habit of daily practice back in February and the mood hit me. Figuring that my brain would be all over the place, I set the timer for ten minutes. Two minutes passed before I heard the voice say that it was time to end the meditation. Even I was surprised by how quickly I drifted into wherever I was…I’m going with hiding.
That’s my hiding space, the deep places the mind goes when the flow hits…
Imagine my confusion
On this hazy morning at 10:30
When I’ve already taken a nap and
As the music coming from my cheap bluetooth speaker
Was the opening to A Tribe Called Quest song
Deeply buried in a running playlist,
But it was Lou Reed who started singing.
Is that how my parents felt when Little Richard sang?
Were they expecting Pat Boone?
A travesty there, at least “Quest’s” song goes somewhere good,
Not so absurdly vanilla.
The early Sunday haze has been enough,
To keep me hobbling, wobbling, not falling down,
But too non-committal to lace them up
And keep a pandemic inspired streak alive.
Yet, the welcomed mix up did something to my inner being,
So psychological and new age there, eff that,
I’m woke, up from whatever self-inflicted waste I was in.
Somewhere there’s a boat about to be picked up,
Maybe I’ll sing Quest, Lou, or Little Richard
Because there’s no confusion in a day
When music does its thing.
I’m not sure how many people I ran with today,
All of them were dead,
I don’t say that smugly,
But it’s true,
I was running in a cemetery.
I get weird ideas running there,
Hands reaching out,
Me waking the dead with my heavy stepping,
Them down there partying
In some underground disco grotto
For the deceased.
I don’t mind running there,
I wonder how they all ended up there,
Illness, natural causes, the virus of the time.
They span generations from the 1800s
All the way to now,
Hopefully my running postpones joining their grotto.
So Bayard, Banta, McFarlan, and all those Clouds
I run lightly in your presence
Not wanting to bother your rest
I’ll see you in a few days
For now, entertain the squirrels
And that one crow over by the Mendenhalls.
Rain comes tomorrow
Roads wetter than I want them
A basement session