She Said, "I'll Never Let Them Hurt You"

To write to keep this brain at least dimly lit tonight - that is the mission for such a quiet night. Tonight I hear pieces of metallic clanking, only, they are not outside my apartment patio, and not sounds of anything external, they are little pops of sounds coming from the shifting parts of a staunch brain.

In efforts to tighten the lax construction arrangements of my life, I've put together a tentative syllabus for two new experiences that'll hopefully remain unaffected by the 'rona pandemic.  1) The DRC Half and 2) 8-mile Turkey Trot.

 Rest of 2020

With every new model, new themes must be webbed in the draft! For the upcoming months, memory and discipline will be spun around with the rhythms of my crooked hips. In order of appearance, it seems to me that involuntary memory will be inescapable of the many sensory experiences such as old routes, old paces, and old funky smells. I won't be able to help but amble in awe the showcases I am now allowed to see thanks to chronological age. Perhaps the moment I raise my finger to tap the glass of remembrance, I'll be able to quickly remember to diverge my attention back to the present. But I am human, and architecture of personal blunder can be quite intriguing.

Secondly, discipline here will be looked at a magnification closer in the frame of disciplinary logic. Such framework for how a running plan should be is not to be reinforced, but to be repeatedly challenged, criticized, and problematized. While I wish to write more on the subject, dinner time is approaching so I will try to summarize. What I have above is a tentative syllabus to guide me to the DRC Half, and the 8-mile TT split into 3 periods: Fundamental, Special, and Specific. However, as I look at this, we have here an example of disciplinary logic. I should not be following this stiffly, but problematizing the formation of this knowledge I have gathered over the years, and seeing how it has become an instrument of control that has the potential to normalize my performance (for example, underperform). I must try to disrupt the regime as much as I can according to how my body feels, and not prescribed workouts, periods, times, benchmarks. I wish to write more, but the tummy seems to be prowling.

This time I will be more engaged and connected. This time I'll ask more open-ended question. This time I will challenge those who shape me.

To never limit myself,

E

The Mars Volta - Frances The Mute

Y Aquí Andamos Apenitas

It's been about 19 days since I've been circling like a ghost from my room to the kitchen grabbing iced animal cookies. Perhaps being under these artificial lights dehydrates me into hunger.

As the coronavirus floats to the summit of my novel fears, I thought about a few things today on my neighborhood run: 

2 mile easy + 13 x ~300m hill repeats + 1.5 mile easy (no humans besides E)

This shake on normalcy has brought about an uneasy feeling to my often self-criticized normalized training. The need to control every portion of my regimen has created a too high, too thick dam of stiffness that slowly curates a precise way of thinking. At times, I can't help but remember the limitless that comes with naivete.

Normalcy should be critiqued as much as possible, and when imprecise distributions are seen, we should embrace them. Yet, a pang of embarrassment weakens me when I note the stresses and anxieties I experience when I am unable to adapt to such natural disruptions in my regimen. But what can you expect, I am a product of this routine-controlling culture, and it takes patience to think and stray away. As a participant of life, I must keep both eyes peeled of such hegemony in order to jig when we are taught to run.

Somehow I still don't feel like I adequately explained myself, but perhaps it's because I've been on this screen for too long. As the note-taking become denser, I hope to share polished conclusions I've come up with.

The week has been recorded as follows:

With sanitized hands,

me