14.5.04 [ ] 0 comments 
My favorite parts of the day are sunrise and dusk. When else might you see stars draped over an algae-green sky?
So, naturally, since I got off work just as stormy blue was swallowing green across that star-filled canopy, I was drawn to stay. Actually, I wanted more: an intense twilight; colours with texture and flavour.
Being poorly suited to run at the moment, a heavy gray jacket, unpolished, well-worn, dress shoes, I merely walked home instead.
Meandered into my room; took a moment to plug in the mp3 player, read two of my favorite columns, and changed into jogging gear (not that trendy "I'm trying to pick up chicks" jogging gear, but clothes that are suited for movement: I've grown a strange attatchement to that T-shirt the cashier at the Goodwill gave me, but it says "ARMY" on the front and thus I could never wear it in daylight; and some "Spruce Grove Composite High School" sweat pants)
The mp3 player takes 24 minutes to charge to full capacity - I still had some time.
Last time I went running, I didn't stretch beforehand: every muscle cried the next day. So, despite vivid fears of knowing how inflexible I am (and a little fear of the pain inherent in stretching), stretching was going to be a good idea.
Feet, hip-width apart. An old action pattern. Knees straight. (Don't lock them, but they should not be bent - find the place that balances the two).
Slowly, through your nostrils, breathing in. Pulling deeply into your chest: you can feel the air rushing throught you - it collects in your sternum. Holding.
Being Full.
Slowly, bending at the hip. Reach your hands toward your ankles. Your mouth forms a whistle. Air, like molasses, leaks out. My fingertips brush the tops of my feet - better than I thought.
Gently pushing the air out of your lungs - holding hands steady - feeling a sharp sting behind my knees - leaking out that lungfull of air - focus on the sensation, and quickly it numbs to some forgotten corner of awareness. With lungs emptied, draw another slow breathe through your nosrils. Feel the air drawn to your sternum.
Reach your hands for your ankles Lucid shock. Strings from both my pelvis and my heel are illuminated from central bulbs of stinging behind my knees. The air escaping your lips is a tight, focused stream (but not audible) - its intensity mimics that of the pain.
And so, I went through the stretching routine - it is important to move slowly, spending enough time on every important muscle (especially if you stretch aggressively - quick movements and haste result in overstretching, which is potentially damaging). I had to take a special moment to stretch the shoulders because, although you wouldn't think you need them for running, my experience has been that these are the first to cramp - a byproduct of being given shoulders in overabundance for my body size.
By this time my mp3 player was fully charged [in case you havn't checked the sidebar recently, KiloWatt's "Phone Home EP" is smokin' hot right now] and it was time to go (making the addition of some runners I picked up at ValueVillage).
Outside, the air was a little cooler than earlier - brisk, like early morning in the Kooteneys. Walking towards the corner of the street, I was given a thought: I hadn't planned where I was going to go. Whatever, just start running; once you hit that corner, then decide. And, the feet started moving, barely lifting from the ground, like riding a tricycle.
Deep breathe in.
I don't need to wear glasses, but I have horrible depth perception. My right eye is 20/20, it sees beyond clearly and hidden truths. My left eye is 20/90; for it, the world is hidiously impressionist. I like to think that my right eye sees the present, my left eye sees the past.
Slowly, out.
The minimalist movements of my feet have infected my calves and thighs, traveling due South on a pathway between a string of trees.
Pulling air into your sternum.
The concept of networks is fascinating. Under my feet there are giant electrical cables - these cables are buried wherever there are people; they cross oceans, giant super-cables that connect continents. Today someone told me of an online game: Final Fantasy XI. Apparently, ultimate. The friend told me that, in the game, a player plays a character who is born into blood lines and social classes whose significance has been pre-defined. The player plays out a set time period, gaining "experience" where they may and lives out virtual plots, of which none have been written - the plots unfold as the player and other players interact. And, whenever a new physical world region becomes involved in the game, a new island is born in virtual land. Some game.
Slowly, it seeps out - imagined as a white mist.
Clipping asphalt, my feet are making full extensions; every muscle in my legs is working and feeling only mellow twitches of strain. Close right eye. The world is a stream of flowing colour. My breathe tastes like dill - it's those abused lungs of mine letting me know their malcontent. I am in a residential district that I have never seen before - odd since I've lived in this town for thirteen years.
Deep breathe in.
Liquid electricity flows through my spine. Down my legs, through my shoulders, tingling in my fingertips. I close my eyes.
Two lenses. One dark and murky. Movement. The other, a shining crystal. Pattering. It smells like snow - the air is clean and crisp.
And out.
I am running. My body tingles, My legs ache, my shoulders groan. Pitpatpitpatpitpatpitpatpitpatpitpat. Each footstep is in sync with a heartbeat.
Gasping for air.
However, I cannot slow down, I cannot stop - there is too much momentum. control.
It hurts; it's hard, it feels so unnatural at this moment:
Slow. Slowly, pulling air into your sternum. slow.
My eyes are damp. I close them again, and my pace quickens. Two lenses.
Movement.
Drifting toward each other. Electricity pumping through my spine.
Two lenses: perfectly in line, moving to a complete harmony. Closer.
Inching.
The electricity mutates to a solid beam of motion.
Coughing
Dill.
Gasps.
And, my full tilt run has sputtled to a drowsy march; my breathing to greedy glubs. Pitpatpitpatpitpatpitpat.
My body has carried me well - better than expected. But, I need to look after it better.
Steps, key, house.
So, naturally, since I got off work just as stormy blue was swallowing green across that star-filled canopy, I was drawn to stay. Actually, I wanted more: an intense twilight; colours with texture and flavour.
Being poorly suited to run at the moment, a heavy gray jacket, unpolished, well-worn, dress shoes, I merely walked home instead.
Meandered into my room; took a moment to plug in the mp3 player, read two of my favorite columns, and changed into jogging gear (not that trendy "I'm trying to pick up chicks" jogging gear, but clothes that are suited for movement: I've grown a strange attatchement to that T-shirt the cashier at the Goodwill gave me, but it says "ARMY" on the front and thus I could never wear it in daylight; and some "Spruce Grove Composite High School" sweat pants)
The mp3 player takes 24 minutes to charge to full capacity - I still had some time.
Last time I went running, I didn't stretch beforehand: every muscle cried the next day. So, despite vivid fears of knowing how inflexible I am (and a little fear of the pain inherent in stretching), stretching was going to be a good idea.
Feet, hip-width apart. An old action pattern. Knees straight. (Don't lock them, but they should not be bent - find the place that balances the two).
Slowly, through your nostrils, breathing in. Pulling deeply into your chest: you can feel the air rushing throught you - it collects in your sternum. Holding.
Being Full.
Slowly, bending at the hip. Reach your hands toward your ankles. Your mouth forms a whistle. Air, like molasses, leaks out. My fingertips brush the tops of my feet - better than I thought.
Gently pushing the air out of your lungs - holding hands steady - feeling a sharp sting behind my knees - leaking out that lungfull of air - focus on the sensation, and quickly it numbs to some forgotten corner of awareness. With lungs emptied, draw another slow breathe through your nosrils. Feel the air drawn to your sternum.
Reach your hands for your ankles Lucid shock. Strings from both my pelvis and my heel are illuminated from central bulbs of stinging behind my knees. The air escaping your lips is a tight, focused stream (but not audible) - its intensity mimics that of the pain.
And so, I went through the stretching routine - it is important to move slowly, spending enough time on every important muscle (especially if you stretch aggressively - quick movements and haste result in overstretching, which is potentially damaging). I had to take a special moment to stretch the shoulders because, although you wouldn't think you need them for running, my experience has been that these are the first to cramp - a byproduct of being given shoulders in overabundance for my body size.
By this time my mp3 player was fully charged [in case you havn't checked the sidebar recently, KiloWatt's "Phone Home EP" is smokin' hot right now] and it was time to go (making the addition of some runners I picked up at ValueVillage).
Outside, the air was a little cooler than earlier - brisk, like early morning in the Kooteneys. Walking towards the corner of the street, I was given a thought: I hadn't planned where I was going to go. Whatever, just start running; once you hit that corner, then decide. And, the feet started moving, barely lifting from the ground, like riding a tricycle.
Deep breathe in.
I don't need to wear glasses, but I have horrible depth perception. My right eye is 20/20, it sees beyond clearly and hidden truths. My left eye is 20/90; for it, the world is hidiously impressionist. I like to think that my right eye sees the present, my left eye sees the past.
Slowly, out.
The minimalist movements of my feet have infected my calves and thighs, traveling due South on a pathway between a string of trees.
Pulling air into your sternum.
The concept of networks is fascinating. Under my feet there are giant electrical cables - these cables are buried wherever there are people; they cross oceans, giant super-cables that connect continents. Today someone told me of an online game: Final Fantasy XI. Apparently, ultimate. The friend told me that, in the game, a player plays a character who is born into blood lines and social classes whose significance has been pre-defined. The player plays out a set time period, gaining "experience" where they may and lives out virtual plots, of which none have been written - the plots unfold as the player and other players interact. And, whenever a new physical world region becomes involved in the game, a new island is born in virtual land. Some game.
Slowly, it seeps out - imagined as a white mist.
Clipping asphalt, my feet are making full extensions; every muscle in my legs is working and feeling only mellow twitches of strain. Close right eye. The world is a stream of flowing colour. My breathe tastes like dill - it's those abused lungs of mine letting me know their malcontent. I am in a residential district that I have never seen before - odd since I've lived in this town for thirteen years.
Deep breathe in.
Liquid electricity flows through my spine. Down my legs, through my shoulders, tingling in my fingertips. I close my eyes.
Two lenses. One dark and murky. Movement. The other, a shining crystal. Pattering. It smells like snow - the air is clean and crisp.
And out.
I am running. My body tingles, My legs ache, my shoulders groan. Pitpatpitpatpitpatpitpatpitpatpitpat. Each footstep is in sync with a heartbeat.
Gasping for air.
However, I cannot slow down, I cannot stop - there is too much momentum. control.
It hurts; it's hard, it feels so unnatural at this moment:
Slow. Slowly, pulling air into your sternum. slow.
My eyes are damp. I close them again, and my pace quickens. Two lenses.
Movement.
Drifting toward each other. Electricity pumping through my spine.
Two lenses: perfectly in line, moving to a complete harmony. Closer.
Inching.
The electricity mutates to a solid beam of motion.
Coughing
Dill.
Gasps.
And, my full tilt run has sputtled to a drowsy march; my breathing to greedy glubs. Pitpatpitpatpitpatpitpat.
My body has carried me well - better than expected. But, I need to look after it better.
Steps, key, house.
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