TGIF
This morning I intended to run 5, but once you go out, you gotta come back, and I went out 2.75. The great thing is that the extra half mile made no difference in how I felt. Which is to say, knock on wood, that my training is going well right now. I don't take it for granted -- know from experience that injuries can happen mysteriously and quickly and that within three days I can go from feeling like queen of the world to being old, tired, halt, and lame.
This morning it was, shall we say, bracing out there in the 4:30 a.m. world. A waning moon hung high overhead, attended by bright stars that look a bit like smears to me when I'm not wearing my glasses -- but lovely smears, of course. I think it was in the high 30s - low 40s. At any rate, I kept my tattered sweatshirt on for the duration. Not many people out and about, so I just kept up my three-way conversation among me, myself, and I. Thought about how hard it is to stay positive and to stay loving toward the world, even when that's how I long to be. Like so many others, anger comes out in me, and I know it's fueled by fear. Yet how do I get the best of fear? The zen idea is not to battle it but to identify it, to live it, to watch what it does in you, and to notice that it abates after awhile. I try. I say, "I'm afraid, wow, I'm afraid, boyoboy I'm afraid, afraid of loss, afraid my husband and my sons will be hurt, that my grandaughter won't have the best possible life, that my friends don't really like me, that I'll get run over by a bus if I don't pay attention right now -- (bus goes by; I live) --"
I have read that all versions of fear stem from the fear of death, and that if we accept death then fear will have no hold over us. I say I accept death (kinda hard to do much else), yet I'm busy "improving" myself all over the place and I know in my heart that I'm figuring the "improved" me won't need to worry about the big D. Well, at least maybe I'll be a more attractive corpse.
Odd that I, an editor, take such advantage of the stream-of-consciousness nature of blogging. Is there an editor in the house? Yes there is, but she's busy.
This morning it was, shall we say, bracing out there in the 4:30 a.m. world. A waning moon hung high overhead, attended by bright stars that look a bit like smears to me when I'm not wearing my glasses -- but lovely smears, of course. I think it was in the high 30s - low 40s. At any rate, I kept my tattered sweatshirt on for the duration. Not many people out and about, so I just kept up my three-way conversation among me, myself, and I. Thought about how hard it is to stay positive and to stay loving toward the world, even when that's how I long to be. Like so many others, anger comes out in me, and I know it's fueled by fear. Yet how do I get the best of fear? The zen idea is not to battle it but to identify it, to live it, to watch what it does in you, and to notice that it abates after awhile. I try. I say, "I'm afraid, wow, I'm afraid, boyoboy I'm afraid, afraid of loss, afraid my husband and my sons will be hurt, that my grandaughter won't have the best possible life, that my friends don't really like me, that I'll get run over by a bus if I don't pay attention right now -- (bus goes by; I live) --"
I have read that all versions of fear stem from the fear of death, and that if we accept death then fear will have no hold over us. I say I accept death (kinda hard to do much else), yet I'm busy "improving" myself all over the place and I know in my heart that I'm figuring the "improved" me won't need to worry about the big D. Well, at least maybe I'll be a more attractive corpse.
Odd that I, an editor, take such advantage of the stream-of-consciousness nature of blogging. Is there an editor in the house? Yes there is, but she's busy.
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