Various

My brain on noise--actually, my camera phone's view from inside the car wash. You can almost see the noise in there, no?

I have come across a couple of books lately that seem relevant to my mental meanderings as recorded in this blog. The first is Listening Below the Noise, by Anne LeClaire, a woman who some twenty years ago decided to observe one day of silence per week. Since she made that decision, she has never spoken a word on a Monday. Her account of the experience is compelling and thought provoking.

(Silence is on my mind today, particularly because as I type I am distracted by loud gospel music coming over the fence from the yard adjacent to mine in the back. I've turned on my own noise--a CD of collected piano concertos--to combat the outside noise. Don't know whether this makes things better or worse.)

Although I doubt I would duplicate LeClaire's experience, I freely admit that the notion of a silent day attracts me. I am not someone who listens to music while I run--among the reasons I love running is the gift of silent time it gives me. Okay, when I run I am often in noisy places (city streets, bike paths, waterside trails near jet skis and motorboats). But I can run through the noise and leave it. It is not my noise.

Yesterday was my 63rd birthday. Because I stayed home from work and was alone, I thought, gee, I could take a nap. I hardly ever do that. Sounds fun. Around 3 pm I lay down on the bed. It was a warm day and all the windows were open--heavenly. Then, bam, I was under siege. The gardeners showed up next door and a symphony of weed whackers, edgers, and blowers commenced at full volume. Being the evolved and flexible person I am (hah), I got up, picked up a book, and walked down the street to the tot lot to read for a while, all nap fantasies long evaporated.

The book I took to read, the second of the two I started this post talking about, was the birthday present I gave myself, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, by Haruki Murakami. I'm not far into it at this point. I am drawn to it partly because it's described on the jacket as "...a beautiful memoir about his intertwined obsessions with running and writing." My very own intertwined obsessions. So far I'm finding Murakami's writing a bit subdued for my taste--he seems very guarded for someone writing a memoir--but I do like the description of the book he gives in the foreword: "...this is a book in which I've gathered my thoughts about what running has meant to me as a person. Just a book in which I ponder various things and think out loud." The last sentence describes the way I often regard this blog.

Anyway. On my birthday I did run, only four miles, however, because I'm taking it easy in anticipation of running the Pocatello 10K next weekend when I'm visiting my sis and her beautiful family. I feel that I'm now strong enough to run it, though not to race it. Before my hip injury I had my sights on the half marathon or even the marathon but, as we Oakland A's fans say, wait till next year.

On my birthday run I didn't want to be a sissy, so I made sure to stop at the push-up bars and do 5-5-5--that is, five push-ups each on Papa Bar, Mama Bar, Baby Bar. I won't say I kilt me a bar, but I did have three in my grip for a few sweaty minutes.

Because I'm taking it easy, all I did today was go for a bike ride, which took a little less than an hour. It's a beautiful warm and sunny day, so by 9:30 am the Bay Trail was crowed with bikers, runners, and walkers.

I didn't really reach the end of the trail--this sign just marks a short gap in the paved path--but I'm hoping someone will think wow, she made it all the way to the end.

Update: I finally went outside and politely asked the neighbors from behind to turn down the music. They were very accommodating. We've been neighbors for years and have always had a friendly relationship, which I believe is still intact. Whew!