He says to get back at it everyday,
That dude, the fit guy,
With the bald head,
And the life-credibility
To make all his profanity and practicality
Something to stand on.

Even with my one bad leg.
To get back to running tomorrow,
No limits in my mind, only the soul to suffer
To attack pain and make it submit
To my will,
My terms.

That does not mean showing pain apathy,
It means respecting the process,
Embracing the struggle,
Massaging the pain,
And clearing the mind.
Again, my terms.

Getting older presents new challenges,
Ones that are most likely
The result of being tired,
A kind of bio-physio planned obelescence.

After a week of pushing the boundaries,
A body might need a rest.
From what, though,
Exercise? Eh…
Work? Mos Def…
Limited thinking? Absodamnlutely!

Sleep arrived in bunches last night.
The cellular elves working their restorative magic.
After a morning of chilled vibes and weekend ease
Its back at it, just as hard, smarter,
And without any old man self-limiting thoughts.

Get going.

So attention starved,
So needing of positive feedback,
So lost in the digital abyss,
So reliant on others,
So unable to grind,
Stave off boredom,
Be alone,

To be,
To use a brain,
To find a match
That will start the internal flame
Burning just because
It needs to blaze.
It’s sad that motivation has been extinguished
Or become something we get from others.

Find yours…
Invest in life…
Be a participant.

Assembly line,
The institutionalized boredom
Saps all caring from an individual
Leaving them a tapped out breast
Expressing toxic milk.

Not sure what that means
Because I’ve been teaching about stuff
We were supposed to have learned
My attitude dragging,
My will fading,
My belief that I mean anything to my job
So distant that the Hubble couldn’t find it.


Boxed in, nowhere to go,
Stuck in a state of nerdiness
Where all that interests me
Is what I’m doing right now

As I write, it’s obviously writing,
My ultimate form of puzzle making,
Puzzle solving, or just plain working out
The puzzling nature of life.

Earlier today it was running,
My body begging to stay in bed,
To back down from the cold,
My soul refusing to give in.

So there at mile three or so
I had a choice, stick with half the pack
And dash home for four, or brave the dark
Denying my urge and run with the other half for seven.

I became a runner nerd,
Sucking up every bit of available oxygen,
Soaking through three layers,
And living interested in the example of my running partners.

It’s the day gig tripping me up,
My interest is like the moon, waxing
With ideas about the hope of learning and
Waning in the realities of how uncool it is to be nerdy.

Perhaps I should just preach to the choir
Finding an audience in those who understand
School doesn’t have to be painful,
That learning can happen when people talk and invest.

No financially, but
Mentally, physically, and socially.

Instead, that idea is boxed out,
Pushed aside by perceptions of relevance,
The dopamine delivery system that phones have become,
And the apathy that many display when faced with challenges.

My lunar-like learning cycle will run its course,
It will be pitch black and I’ll be running through a lesson
With the choice to be bored or invested,
Hopefully, I’m still interested enough to write about it.

It was about an hour in before
I started hearing the voices,
Goggins, Hritz, Ferriss, Hubba, Reggio,
Each talking their motivational s#*t,
Each getting pushed aside as the laps accumulated.

It was the first run after a winter of pneumonia,
After the disarray of basketball,
After the excitement of baseball, and
The welcome of pre-retirement practice,
AKA, summer vaca…

The track was the same,
Sixteen laps to a mile,
The old guy with short shorts was still
Teaching old ladies and sounding as if he
Was of the Wink Martindale of kickboxing.

The shoes were new,
Fresh, right out the box,
New Balance, probably about 70% made in the USA,
Which didn’t figure into my purchase,
They just felt good.

So, an hour in,
And the ache of inactivity was upon me,
But the goal was all Clubber, “Pain,”
Because Hritz has been pushing Goggins
And it was time that this aging guy of privelege and avoidance suffered.

The truth is that we all probably go easy
Looking for the economy, the proximity, the most convenient,
I watched a guy wait for a parking spot at Wal-Mart,
The second in its row,
While the third spot was empty as #2 pushed the cart out of the store.

So, an hour in,
The suffering began,
Keep in mind that I was slow, like never had run this slow,
Managing only two laps at a time, then taking a walk break,
Ferriss began suggesting meditation, but I was too far gone for that.

Perhaps though, self-talk is a kind of meditation,
I barked at me for being so lazy,
I encouraged me to keep on going,
I started thinking about the old people down below
And said, I should be more like them for they seemed to not be suffering.

So, an hour in,
Hubba and Reggio, friends, the same
But different, began their ranting about being weak,
Getting old, having lost it,
For awhile I listened, thinking of some comebacks. Nothing worked.

Then, the class below changed,
Two tanned teachers and a slightly younger clientele began their jumping around
Their energy was different, but their schtick was the same as December
When the bug first knocked me down.
I was really suffering, then… and, now…

A buzz on my wrist
Broke my thoughts of new-goal-survival-mode
I looked down to see six-miles down
At an hour and forty-five minutes gone.
Maybe the slowest ever, but back for more challenges.