Poetic Run

   I had a great run tonight, and though I had techno beats turned up to drown out the sound of the wind and the traffic, my mind had great clarity. The last few days have been up... Then down. And something about the combination of that, my motivation to get out and run on the eve of our first real snow, mulling over a personal story of struggle & triumph shared by an artist I barely know (Chris B), and the Kanye West concert last night (hugely awe-inspiring... Another take on the same theme), seemed to work for me tonight.

   I wrote this in my head over the hourlong run and scribbled it down as soon as I got home, words flowing from my mind almost faster than I could write--and certainly faster than I can run! But I caught them all. I don't consider myself much of a poet, but it's a good challenge when the mood strikes.

   True story.

                         * * * * * *

Step outside
Pitch black, headlamp on stun
Nostrils freeze, eyes tear from bitter cold, but ready to run
First step is hardest, but it's behind me now
Surging into the wind—force into resistance
Fists clenched, teeth clenched, forehead drenched
Up and over highway bridges
Cars speeding below on predictable paths
They'll get there faster
     But I can go anywhere
                         * * * * * *
Making the game harder
Jumping electrical boxes, fire hydrants, rocks, anything in my way
Leaping onto concrete walls four inches wide--

High ground on left, long drop on right
Faster faster faster
Lean toward safety, then risk
Striking balance somewhere in between
Feeling unstoppable
Face arms hands numb head numb heart numb
From frigid air—NO—from life
And NO—not numb—tingling—feeling EVERYTHING
     Alive and exhilarated
                         * * * * * *
Headlamp fails, darkness wins?
I tumble end-over-end-over-bike-in-yard
Concealed in leaves, lying in wait
The cowardly rely on surprise, keeping secrets
     Jumping out of the black and biting hard
Forward momentum crashing to a halt
While the beat—life—goes on
My power spills before me
Knee slams frozen ground, arm pulls hard against socket
Searing pain
"It'll heal even stronger than before," Doc said of my broken arm
     And so it did. I did. I will.
                         * * * * * *
Did I run too far, too fast? Did I trust my feet too much?
Did my heart run faster than my legs could carry me?
Regret is a wasteland, and besides
Bones and hearts were made to heal
The past can be rewritten if you choose to believe
     Fate favors the bold who power through
                         * * * * * *
Halfway home, one way to get there
     I lift myself up
Wincing until cold masks the pain
Not cold—conviction
A ride would be easy, quick, comfortable
But challenge rewards the heartstrong
    Who choose to rise above
                         * * * * * *
Bumps in the road give strength and stamina
Tonight I could have run all night, fast and far and free, forever
     I wished I could
     And in my mind, I did
     Never looking back

Miles to go before I sleep

   There's a commercial running on TV now (for Jeep) that features this beloved poem. It has always been a favorite of mine, as it concisely describes the beauty of winter and appreciate for the quiet of the season. This year, however, we've had less than an inch of snow in KC so far, and therefore have had no snowy hiking opportunities. (It has been in the 60s again all this week!)

   So I guess the one thing I can currently relate to the poem is the feeling of eery quiet brought on by the Percoset—feeling deeply alone when it dulls my senses and forces me to lie still to avoid the intense nausea. Miles to go before I sleep, indeed! The last two nights have been tougher than I ever imagined; I wish the surgeon wouldn't have downplayed the surgery & recovery time when we first met, setting me up for false expectations. But I am sure I'm on the mend... and will be glad to arrive!

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.


My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.


He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.


The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

— Robert Frost

(Almost) Unspoiled Beauty

   After a lovely evening hike on Shawnee Mission Park lake's north shores, I returned to my car to see this spectacular view of the sunset. I loaded up the dogs and drove over to the overlook, to catch the last of the sunset from above the trees.

    The "view" at my feet on the overlook was less spectacular. Ah, teenagers. (Actually, this totally cracked me up.)

More Than Mountains

Intersections conduct.

Right angles obstruct.

And we survive by following the lines.

Rulers make lines,

High rise and street signs,

And we survive by maintaining order.

Defined by steel skeletons,

Mirrored windows for skin,

The sky-hiders bear their clenched teeth

With a grin.

Outside the window, traffic beats the drum,

As the gravity of a city presses its thumb.

And we survive by pressing back.

From beneath, a bellowing rage,

From within, I emerge from a cage,

Those right angles. Can. Blur.

These are more than mountains...

Glowing golden horizon escape,

Sunrise and set define the shape,

And we survive by simply being.

Atmosphere delicate; savage,

Hospital to the mentally ravaged,

A bed for bird, bear and brother.

Solitary as synagogue,

Serene as silent sanctuary,

Divinely orchestrated symphony.

More than meditation,

Or medication,

These are more than mountains.

— Jeremy Collins