Mind, Motion & Matter

Running, Essentially . . .


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Run, Reflect, Rejoice

MLK

My son, his girlfriend and my husband at Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial

Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that. MLK

We just got back from Washington D.C. where I enjoyed four memorable runs. Shown above is one of many Martin Luther King Jr. quotes chiseled into the wall surrounding the memorial statue. I was reminded of other memorable words worth reflecting on this New Year’s eve.

085A poem by Rumi, dedicated to my husband.

A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden’s beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.

LynnWashingtonRun

Morning run, Friday, December 28, 2012

“When you race, you liberate your soul from the limits of your body. You push your body beyond its limit. In every race, you relive the innocence of childhood and the hope of youth, only to see them dashed in the pain of adulthood and the weakness of old age.”  Kamal Jabbour

Wishing you and your loved ones, a peaceful, joyful and healthy New Year!

Lynn


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Gone running . . . 2 weeks@114K

Nearly two weeks since my last post.  Could it have anything to do with my training for NYC and working twice the number of hours designated to my job, which I love in spite of its busyness.  Perhaps.

Just another early morning run to the lake

I ran 114K or 70 miles each of the last two weeks but my life was not just about work and running, although blogging is taking a big hit. Here are some highlights of the past two weeks.

Cool crisp day by the falls

I was in Niagara Falls for a couple of days although I did put in full days of work, the view from my temporary office was great and I ate well.

Consumed in Niagara Falls

I ran 22 miles/34K on Saturday and my husband did a fantastic job of feeding me over the weekend.

What I ate after running 34K

  • We celebrated my husband’s birthday at our local Scottish pub the Caledonian.
  • I treated a new friend from Venezuala to a latte and left the cafe without paying.

My view from my office in Niagara Falls

  • I got my bike fixed up and it is now rides really well. I was not impressed with the tune-up done at Bike Couture but very impressed with the tune-up after the tune-up at Set Me Free on College at Grace street.
  • Our marriage sharing group reconvened after the summer break.
  • I ran into a new friend when she was in the middle of her longest run ever and we got to run together for a few miles.
  • I had breakfast with my former coach Zeba Crook who now teaches at Carelton.
  • I count my blessings while I make steady progress through Romeo Dallaire’s “Shake Hands with the Devil”.

The brother of one of my Saturday run pals died last week, giving us all pause to consider the fullness of our lives and the gifts sent our way.

Here is a  snippet from a favourite William Blake poem which I read at a friend’s “Celebration of Life” many years ago.

I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine,
But O, he lives in the moony light!
I thought to find Love in the heat of day,
But sweet Love is the comforter of night.

Seek Love in the pity of others’ woe,
In the gentle relief of another’s care,
In the darkness of night and the winter’s snow,
In the naked and outcast, seek Love there!

Thank you for reading . . .


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April Rain Song

Come what may, let us enjoy our runs in April.

April Rain Song

Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.

Langston Hughes


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Laps on St. Pat’s

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

To celebrate the part-Irishness of my husband and son, I did wear green today.  I find that people who don’t know me are a bit surprised to discover that my son is part Irish.  As a tribute to this Irishness, I seek out shamrock shaped dishes and collect shamrock tea cups although not Beleek tea cups as they cost far more than I want to pay.  We visited the Beleek factory when we visited Ireland and came away empty handed as the Canadian dollar did not buy much.

I joined the U of T workout today and attendance was about one-third of last week.  Could it be the lure of a good old Irish pub and a tankard of Guiness? Well none for me today, or tomorrow but I will republish a favourite photo taken at the Guiness factory.

As for the run I was pleased to do 10 X 200 metres in 42-46 seconds per lap. We did some amazingly hard stair exercises of hopping from step to step on the same leg! Give that a try and see what you think. It didn’t help that the stairs were concrete.  I’m gonna get faster but it will take time.

It has been a troubling week for the world so instead of the “may the wind be at your back” poem I’ll conclude with this provocative Yeats offering.

The Second Coming
by W. B. Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?


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The Long Way Home

Due to the promise of 6C in the afternoon I decided to skip my usual morning run, and run home from work.  I am now in the enviable position of living one mile from where I work and just loving the quality of life that comes with it.  But, it does mean that this run involved a 6 mile detour.  The direction of the detour was dictated by the wind from the southeast. 

Life on a Lake Ontario Ice Floe

Steps from work, is a path that is part of my route from home so it was south to the lake and then a right turn west with a bit of a tailwind. While not as warm as I had hoped, it felt great to end the workday running along the lake and then through High Park and home for a total of 7 miles. 

This winter reminds me of living in Ottawa where one inevitably lost memory of what spring is like by the end of it.  In spite of this taste of spring, I’m finding it hard to imagine running in shorts and a singlet.

Excerpt from . . . To Spring   Willam Blake

Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumèd garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.


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100th Anniversary of International Women’s Day

Hear what Joan Benoit Samuelson, two years my junior, has to say about growing up as a runner, as Title IX introduced in 1972 opened up a “myriad” of opportunities for women in the U.S. Joan Benoit is the winner of the first Olympic marathon for women held in Los Angeles in 1984.

Wanting to be able to
by: Piet Hein

“Impossibilities” are good
not to attach that label to;
since, correctly understood,
if we wanted to, we would
be able to.


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Another Week of Winter Running

The wickedly cold Edmonton temperature during our visit last Sunday of -26C has been displaced by +5C.  What is going on?  And here in Toronto, the capital of not-so-cold-but-damp-cold it is -17C.  Wrong place at the wrong time.

Total mileage this week was 50 miles, with four indoor and three outdoor runs.  Five or six years ago during a particularly cold January, I ran 31 days with only three outdoor runs.  So it could be worse.  Thinking of worse I’m reminded of the power failure two winters ago.  Funnily enough, our gas furnace was so old (since replaced) that it was able to continue to produce heat and with gas stove and oven, the hardship was not severe.  I’m also remembering that a few years ago, I ran the Robbie Burns 8K in Burlington in a time of 34:58 in -20C temperatures on packed ice and snow.  Needless to say, I felt that were conditions better, I might have run faster.

The Communal Mule

We have stayed close to home these past chilly days.  Once again, we considered a movie outing and once again, we chose to hunker down on the homestead our only outing, to shop with a coffee break enroute.  We tried a new coffee bar The Communal Mule on Dundas west and enjoyed as my husband calls it, “Being tourists in the land of youth.” as inevitably we seem to be the oldest people about in our travels to nouveau espresso bars.  I had an excellent shortbread with white chocolate chip cookie and my husband enjoyed his latte.

As for me, I’ve become a bit stuck on Stumptown coffee.  Give me Stumptown coffee, Stumptown I say!  I’m a believer.  There is only one place in Toronto (2 in Canada total) where Stumptown coffee is available, LIT Espresso Bar. We have only been to the College street locations.

Stumptown Coffee at LIT Espresso Bar

Quiet days mean more time to read and I finished The Sea Lady by Margaret Drabble. The “elegiac” writing and pace of the first 250 pages led to a disappointing finale, complete with a surprise ending, where everything came together, not with elegance but more like a season-ending episode of Desperate Housewives.  My very humble opinion for what it is worth, although still recommended as a pretty good read.

The final pages of The Sea Lady contain these words from Scotland’s favourite son, whose birthday is celebrated on January 25th.  And — to my husband, I’ll dedicate these lines from Robbie Burns and repeat that NO, the final quote of yesterdays post was in no way related to your plan to watch six hours of football this weekend.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my Dear,

And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:

I will love thee still, my Dear,

While the sand o’ life shall run.


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Challenges to Young Poets, (Bloggers and Runners)

“Challenges To Young Poets, (Bloggers and Runners)” With apologies to Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Ideas, inspirations, and starting points for poets, as proposed by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, the poet laureate of San Francisco with my additions and very slight changes in italics.

Climb or run up the Statue of Liberty.

Reach for the unattainable.

Dance or run with wolves and count the stars, including the unseen.

Be naive, innocent, non-cynical, as if you had just landed on earth (as indeed you have, as indeed we all have), astonished by what you have fallen upon.

Write living newspapers.  Be a reporter from outer space, filing dispatches to some supreme managing editor who believes in full disclosure and has a low tolerance level for hot air.

Read between the lines of human discourse.

Avoid the provincial, go for the universal.

Think subjectively, write objectively.

Think long thoughts in short sentences.

Don’t attend poetry or running workshops, but if you do, don’t go to learn ‘how to” but to learn “what” (What’s important to write about).

Don’t bow down to critics who have not themselves written great masterpieces or have run masterfully.

Resist much, obey less.

Secretly liberate any being you see in a cage.

Write short poems in the voice of birds. Make your lyrics truly lyrical. Birdsong is not made by machines. Give your poems wings to fly to the treetops.

The much-quoted dictum from William Carlos Williams, “No ideas but in things,” is OK for prose, but it lays a dead hand on lyricism, since “things” are dead.

Don’t contemplate your navel in poetry and while running and think the rest of the world is going to think it’s important.

Remember everything, forget nothing.

Work on a frontier, if you can find one.

Go to sea, or work near water, and paddle your own boat.

Associate with thinking poets and runners. They’re hard to find.

Cultivate dissidence and critical thinking. “First thought, best thought” may not make for the greatest poetry. First thought may be worst thought.

What’s on your mind? What do you have in mind? Open your mouth and stop mumbling.

Don’t be so open-minded that your brains fall out.

Question everything and everyone. Be subversive, constantly questioning reality and the status quo.

Be a poet, not a huckster. Don’t cater, don’t pander, especially not to possible audiences, readers, editors, or publishers.

Come out of your closet. It’s dark in there.

Raise the blinds, throw open your shuttered windows, raise the roof, unscrew the locks from the doors, but don’t throw away the screws.

Be committed to something outside yourself. Be militant about it. Or ecstatic.

To be a poet at sixteen is to be sixteen, to be a poet at 40 is to be a poet. Be both.

To be strong at sixteen is to be sixteen, to be healthy at 50 is a to have good genes, good luck and good habits.

Wake up and pee, the world’s on fire.

Have a nice day.

First read at the 17th Annual San Francisco High School Poetry Festival, February 3, 2001

My first exposure to Ferlinghetti was in a grade nine art class where we read from Coney Island of the Mind and did drawings inspired by these poems.  I also recall creating a giant papier mache pizza a la Claus Oldenberg.

City Lights, a must see when in San Francisco

During our short 1 1/2 day stay in San Francisco earlier this month we visited City Lights Bookstore which was co-founded by Ferlinghetti.

Wishing you a Happy New Year filled with poetry, running and blogging or whatever you like to do for FUN!

Purchasing Nox, by Canadian poet Anne Carson

Extensive Beat literature and poetry section


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Christmas eve greeting

Cradle Song

Sweet dreams, form a shade
O’er my lovely infant’s head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown!
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child!

Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes!
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.

Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:

Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!

Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.

William Blake

I dedicate this favourite poem for a Christmas Eve to newest nephew Zack, little Henry and nine year old Tigist Dallesa who lives in Ethiopia. You can read more about Henry on his mom’s blog Fit ‘n’Frugal and check out the recipe for carrot cake oatmeal.

Sweet dreams all!

Henry's first Christmas!


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Budding blogger

Listening to Murakami’s book has been cause for some reflection on how running became such an integral part of my daily routine.  In addition, I’m asking myself, how is it that I have somehow also acquired the “habit” of blogging.  There are clues to be found in the life I led as a 12 year, almost 13 year old.

I was given a journal Christmas of 1967 by my mother and thereupon began 20 years of keeping a journal.  The journal keeping ended when I became a mom.  Life just seemed too busy and immediate, that I did not have the desire to mull over the contents in writing.  Not that I did not reflect on my life, as in fact, that is a lot of what I do when I run.

Portrait of a blogger as a young athlete

As a child I was not in any way precocious but I was extremely active and involved in all kinds of games and sports.  I had forgotten how so.  In my journal I drew pictures to illustrate my entries including pictures of a new hockey stick, a high jump made by my dad, a baseball bat, a basket player and much more.  I noted, every single occurrence of gym class and all viewings of hockey night in Canada.

Wednesday, August 14, 1968

Because of my dad’s makeshift high jump, high jumping became a neighbourhood sport and I was the champ.  Thus, when I attended my first track meet, an inter-park affair, I placed first in my Junior age-group.  Our park, was a very small park and I was the only first place finisher.  I remember being feted quite thoroughly for this, nearly carried home on the shoulders of my teammates, or at least that is how it felt 🙂

I should mention that one of the first conversations I had with Friend 2 from yesterday’s blog involved the discovery that my favourite girlhood sport of high jump, was her most despised sport and sports in general are not her thing.  In spite of finding a certain camaraderie with sports-mates, most of my female friends generally fall into the category of being non-athletes who read a lot.  Although an active child, I did love to read and was the youngest volunteer at the local library.  I diligently worked my way through the biography section in alphabetical order and more.

I’ve kept a few of my journals, but thrown out those from age 20 to 32 as my only interest in them seemed to be worry that they might be read, so out they went.  Maybe tossing the records of the brooding days of my twenties is related to Rainer Maria Rilke’s advice in Letters to a Young Poet.

“…have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903