So much life and never with my brain's default mode network.
Unsure if repeating winter moods result in sadder moraines.
To wherever I run.
Time has run out for me. My toes are reaching the half marathon starting line faster than I am able to find myself. My negative form is still here, but I can only assume it is a product of my own loopy distractions. How is it possible to be full on screamo and timid?
I'm writing from a quiet place tonight where my crummy feet do not ping my brain.
Being part of this humdrum society, it is only natural that those sentiments generalize down to me, the individual, and I, in return, am a feedback loop for it. The point for me in running is to revolt against those very generalizations that try to cage away my differences in curiosities and application. Only with the sweatiest of armpits will I be able to nourish my idealism, and build a replica of these myriad thoughts that flash through my attention span. Still, as empowered as I have been feeling thanks to those around me, this software bug in me continuously allows the present to slip by me. The magnitude of it does not impose grand danger anymore as I have been debugging it for awhile now, but it is evaluated weekly through my benchmarks.
Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday are the days in my training that have the most identical stimulus of a race. The pressure, the angst, the focus, and the mental drive can be related to the specified bug from above. Much like, checking mile/pace, I have made a conscious effort to snap out of my daydreams, and focus on the airflow in my nostrils in order to shake off the fear.
At this very hour of my Friday evening, I feel empowered. It has been a long road of feeling weak, and unable to concentrate during my runs. They do not pass by me the way the concrete cracks do. I feel my legs touching the ground more, I hear my breaths fleeting my body, disembodied into every single spot I pass. At this very moment I am content with running. Around February, there has been a feeling in me, that this year, 2019, will be the year I either get close to the threshold I left in my past, or surpass it. Impulsiveness in my running is no longer as intense in the myriad of my being. My patience has been more nourished
Tonight, the paranormal activity in my head is low. Those ghosts at every corner of mind no longer put me at an anxious halt.
On Thursday (08/08), I ascended Interstate 40 from Dallas to dispel my distractions throughout south Utah. Over the past few weeks, it became more noticeable the way my attention trickled down towards time's abyss. This is something that I urgently wish to put to a halt. It is difficult to improve my mental abilities when I am in a state of attention catatonia. In running, the stimuli that pass through my eyes is as stale as the trees that I pass by. These trees keep me awake, but I wish to design and implement a new form of preparation in this sport: one that includes psychological variable tracking and advancement. The current puzzle for me is finding the right balance between daydreaming and taking action. While my seclusion in Utah was fleeting, it was enough to empower my focus again. Training resumed last week, and the stiffness from sitting on my rear went away swiftly with the electric boogaloo. The Dallas Half is about 17 weeks away. Educar para liberar! I run to revolt.
I find myself standing once again at a familiar point in my running timeline at what seems to be a recurring apathy at an almost interval based routine. At the moment, I have a small measurement in my training data that I am hoping to use as a form of calculation and study, but have yet to set off on that exploration for a couple of reasons that not all will be detailed here.
This little slime of motivation of mine has been inanimate. I have watched it slip through one hand down to the other sluggishly, and unfortunately, that is all I have done: Watched it. I am a believer of observance, but at what point do I take action? What's happening, am I to wait around for nature to fluctuate my brain just enough for me to do something, or am I the one that creates the determinant thoughts that tick each muscle fiber that begs for me to take action.
I have managed to steer my physical training about 95% accordingly, but I find my mental state (as described above) unable to sizzle. There are days when I forget what I am running for. I forget my race goals, my training plans, my affirmations, my creativity, and I end up yawning in a middle of a run. This rumination seems to loop too often in these writings. It will be a conscious effort of mine to make myself unreachable by these pastoral grips over and over again. And to write more on my atheoretical running tactics. To write more on the good days, and eliminate the negative autobiographical memory biases. To merge my favorite interests into running and create a new form of art that will ease all who read, and participate for the distance. Commence these rhythmic motives.
My initial feeling to this recent descent that has grabbed me by my slim ankles is self-condemnation. Is the reason I have slipped my fault? Could there have been something on my part to prevent this? At times, I feel guilt that an aggressive gazelle isn't wild enough to break from my own mental fetters. If you ever see me run past you, I won't seem apparent that I am a being with vigorous eyes.
On Tuesday afternoon, under the intersection of Mockingbird and W. Lawther Dr, I found myself yawning in a middle of a fartlek workout, and if a tad of honesty can propel from my defensive reflexes, there wasn't much motivation to put effort on the run. A slug had taken host of my body and brain, and I couldn't find the internal diatribe to loosen and unlatch it from me.
There has been a mirror in front of me during my runs. No matter if I look to the side, straight ahead, or down on the floor, it is always there in my vision field, reflecting back. The case may be that that's why I have been feeling so blue, but who knows. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. In a couple of minutes after I put of the dishes, I will close my eyes for the day, and find peace for a few hours. When I awaken, I will be conscious and find a deep breathe in me, and aim for narrowest path within the clamor. It'll cost a lot to bring me down, so, whatever you are holding me by my slim ankles, I ask that you reconsider where you aim the whetted blade.
If I can find my identity with these legs, may my brain collect its seeking peace.
This summer has slowly began to sink itself in me, and has provided me with scads of tasty memories that I am sure I will have to excavate years from now. My self-collected data shows positive trends, even in this depressing heat, and I can only hope that this trajectory remains constant.
I will make an appearance at a few races in the foreseeable future to unearth my racing apparatus to Dallas. There is a recurring presence in my stomach that reassures me that this is the year I make a comeback. This time around, there is a smarter, more balanced, delicate approach to training on my part.
Inspiration for me comes and goes at unpredictable intervals. Whether I am able to latch on to it, and lift off to new heights without falling off from it is also something I repeatedly worry about. This year however, my inspiration has been consistently glowing within me, and it makes me happy because there are various times when I wonder if I am too apathetic to make something of myself in not just running, but in my own life. I ask myself if I am getting better and realizing how to fight and deal with this fuzzy mist that plagues my day-to-day consciousness? I'd like to think so. As the days go by in 2019, I am proud that over this blurry timeline (Jan. 1st to now) I have felt my cognition shifting, molding, and locking itself together into a stronger buffer from all this shit I've been dealing with for years. I am not what you suppose, but far different.
This year will be the year that I make a difference again in myself through running. In a few moments, I'll be registering for the Dallas Half which is the race I have been slowly building a holistic syllabus to, and finally fix my eager eyes onto.
These two crummy legs on which I sail through this city have been through a lot in such a short amount of time, and it is only evident that it has been the reason for my accidents. My practice has, for the most part, never been short-sighted. Failure, after failure, after failure, I have calculated every mile and pace as I re-enter the battle arena, and never do I intend to stop gathering the data that I, myself, create.
It has been about 4 weeks now since my last good voyage through the Katy. In my most latest assessment, my right knee hasn't been looking to return to normality, and that very phantasmic thought kills me. I am missing one of my favorite smackdowns of the year: Dash Down Greenville. It's an unfortunate event for me, but I guess this is an attack on my memory. Never should have I overestimated my abilities to take on some of the workouts that I gave myself. Those bits of information throughout my run should have never been ignored.
Today I swirled around the Katy trail for 2 measly miles. I'll take whatever though. My leg was in pain for the last half of the run, and doesn't seem to be getting much better.
Fuck me. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10...10 days since my last run.
Last Tuesday, after a failed attempt to run at Germany Park, I went out to the dreadful Katy trail to do a 4 mile tempo. Perhaps I'm a bit harsh on Katy nowadays, but gah dangit, do I get tired of going up and down that trail sometimes. Then again, it's my own fault, because I don't go out towards the extra mile or so after the cross walk at the 2 mile mark. I just absolutely hate crossing that street because I never know if impatient-impulsive drivers are actually going to stop for pedestrians, but whatever. Everything was good during my usual 2 mile warm-up, no pain, nada, nothing. A bit fatigue, but that was felt all throughout for the past several runs. Around 1.7ish miles of the actual speed workout, that's when I actually started to feel a pain on my knee/IT band slowly start spreading like a frantic zombie virus. The first thing I thought to myself was no way! Not right now! I'm way too fucking far from home to walk from here.
But I did.
I walked all 2 miles back. Dreadful.
So here I am, hoping that tomorrow's day looks brighter for my damn leg. I should have NEVER done that stupid hill workout. In all honesty, I knew it was a bad idea, but there I was going up and down that hill like a trained mouse.
These days, empty of runs, has really brought me down from that freedom trip I've been riding. I just hope I can return when the good weather comes around. Running in the cold sucks. My days haven't been completely empty though. Oh no. I would never let that happen, but get this: I read Osamu Dazai's No Longer Human. This book, man, I have never felt my chest felt so full of blueness, but empty at the same time. This book might go in my forbidden shelf. In recent times, I've had to work on the realization of being injured, and the hole this book has shot through me. Painting and studying statistics/R have helped, but there's nothing else I'd rather be doing than running during my daily free time. Running is the treatment for this damn numbness.
In between the miles
Se me quita la perra enfermedad.
My time is running by me.
Watching me gasp and gasp and gasp and gasp and gasp.
Y nunca mas sufrire.
It's been so long since I've ran 35+ miles- I can almost taste my past again. There hasn't been a day since I've put on these running shoes that I don't feel whole. Except for today, but today flipped on me in a matter of minutes. I'll run tomorrow snow or no snow.
Anyway, my long runs are getting better. I'm betting that by this year, I'll surpass my PRs.
