Running Commentary

Thursday morning my run from the house to the Bay brushed me up against both inertia of motion (the frenetic commute on I-80) and inertia of rest ( the lake-like silence of the San Francisco Bay) . I could feel both of these forces pulsing within me, coexisting, yin and yang, as I pushed body and mind into the dawning day. I realized one reason I run (one of about five million) is to try and find a balance between action and awareness, external motion and internal peace.

No, not the kind the nuns used to wear, but he kind I referred to, if obliquely, in my last post. The habit of thinking of myself in a certain way, a way that puts a fence around who I can be and thus limits my access to the full range of experiences potentially within my reach. I think I don't like beets; ergo , I never get the chance to experience beets. But there's an upside to thinking about myself as the kind of person who doesn't, who doesn't...well, fill in the blank. How about if I turn it around and think of myself as the kind of person who tries hard not to miss a Saturday morning training run with my running club? Until I made the deliberate decision to adopt the habit of perceiving myself as that kind of person, I was unconsciously thinking of myself as someone who usually flakes on Saturday mornings. But, now-- Two Saturdays ago I showed up at the club run at Crown Beach in Alameda and ran about six miles in the rain. My knee was still very much an issue a

Ever since I was a child I've known that I dislike beets. Beets? No thank you. I can't stand beets. A few weeks ago I went to the El Cerrito Farmers Market . I bought a beautiful piece of fish; I purchased some handmade tamales. I wandered among the booths, hoping something irresistible would catch my eye. I found myself in front of a winter vegetable stand. But what were those large and lovely gnarly roots, looking a bit like parsnips only a deep cranberry color? Beets. Oh, I hate beets. A little voice in my head asked, when's the last time you actually tasted a beet? Oh, only thirty or forty (or fifty?) years ago. What's your point? Being the wild and crazy adventurer I am, I decided to buy one beet. It was a big one, though, probably 5 inches in diameter, big enough for Z and me to each try a portion. You've guessed how this is going to end. I took the beet home, peeled it, sliced it and steamed it for a few minutes. (It was beautiful nestled in the stainless ste