On the Seventh Day I Ran Alone

The week began after what would normally be

The last long week of marathon training for me.

But I planned to run sixty miles this week, with a long one,

While seeing just how many smiles for other runners

I could manage.

On the first four days,

I ran with a different person each day.

Listening to four unique stories.

Sharing some parts of my life multiple times.

Sharing some parts of my life specifically relevant to each fellow runner.

I’ve known them for as many as seven years

Or as few as two.

On the fifth day I ran with the runners from days two and three

And had a good run by the boat in the harbor for fleet week

Noting that there was more security than in past years.

On the sixth day I was on the local rail trail

For the first time in months

With the running partner with whom I’ve been running longest.

She joined me for more than thirteen of the twenty

I ran that morning.

We had a long talk,

Reflecting on many things we have talked about before

And adding some things that were new that day.

I made her laugh while running south,

And it was good.

On the seventh day I was able to reach sixty miles.

On that seventh day, I ran alone.

The alone time gave me a chance to barely speak,

And to appreciate the runs earlier in the week.

One time running alone makes me appreciate

All the time on runs with my running family.

For time is the most precious thing I can share

And sharing time running builds lasting friendships

As we exercise, struggle and share together

Over and over,

With one thing that keeps us together,

A desire to share uninterrupted time

Over and over.

That means something.

That means family.

Real Miles

A lived mile is a real mile.

In a lived mile I am present for…

Every one of the thousand or more foot striking strides.

Every drop of sweat—

   Glistening on every square inch of my exposed skin,

   Pooling on the small of my back,

   Spewing in every direction in the summer heat,

   And soaking through any shirt I may wear,

   Making me want to throw on a dry shirt

   Before walking the farmers’ market after a Sunday run

   Or before I enter a fellow runner’s dwelling place.

Every breath and heart beat

   Oxygenating blood and moving

   It to striving muscles.

Every sight,

Every sound, and

Every smell of my city

Every drop of rain,

   And flake of snow,

   And gust of wind when the weather is not perfect.

Every glorious sunrise

   When the weather is perfect.

And when I am lucky enough to be

In the presence of another runner,

My lived mile is being present for…

Every shared stride,

Every coordinated turn,

Every life story,

Every word spoken,

Every word heard,

Every smile shared,

Every high five,

Every hug at the end of a run.

Being present for the mile makes it real.

Recording or reporting it does not augment reality.

Impressions

A student was near the elevator and the dean passed by

The observant student asked of the dean, “Today, no bow tie?”

The dean’s response, “A bow tie is simply not always my style,

But when I need to lift my spirit, a bow tie brings a smile.”

The student nodded in response, with no further asks in store.

The dean thought he’d get the student to wonder a little more.

So, he said, “Of course, that’s not the only interesting tie,

Have you seen my lavender one with a squid who’s swimming by?”

At that, the student looked quite perplexed and uttered just a word,

“Squid?” with a look on her face that showed surprise at what she’d heard.

I Am Drawn to Run Where There is Water

I am drawn to run where

There is water—

Not to drink, but to see and hear.

Drops shimmering on flower petals

As my city awakens

After an evening shower.

The barely audible

Tricking stream

Under a footbridge.

The serene stream

By the endless

Tree-lined rail trail.

The rushing Jones Falls

By the urban concrete trail

After a torrential rain.

      The inner harbor with

      Ducks and ripples on the surface

      In the gentle breeze.

Sometimes as interesting

As I expect

Once I arrive and run.

      Other times when I hope

      To see something extraordinary

      The water is its usual self.

But when I have running company

My fellow runners never disappoint

And my refreshed soul can smile.

Missing Sunflower Whispers (A Poem)

I spent a summer living without sunflowers.

After more than two decades in a home,

In a neighborhood with numerous other

Houses with sunflowers in their yards,

I was elsewhere and missed them.

Their majestic stems and yellow petals

Rising to towering heights

Had been the subjects of many images preserved.

Beyond the simple visual appeal,

I missed observing the always fascinating process

Of sunflowers becoming sunflowers—and blooming.

And I missed the wisdom gained

From sunflowers whispering when the wind blows,

When the secrets of the ages of collecting energy

To mimic the Earth’s source of light and heat

Are plucked from the stems, petals, and seeds,

And sent airborne to be heard by those who listen.

The leaves from the stems are like welcoming arms that

Signal being open.

The stems rising slowly but steadily

To heights attained by few other flowers

Speak of perseverance.

The flowers tracing the sun’s movement

Through the bright blue sky

Whisper of the quest flowers complete each day.

The stubborn green stems

Despite wind and storms standing straight and tall

Grumble about resilience and strength.

The flowers starting out looking like bulbs,

Opening over days and later showing bright in the sky,

With each flower at its own speed,

Tell of truth to oneself.

This year I could only reflect on lessons

I’ve learned from watching in the past—

And dream of new lessons next year’s flowers

In my permanent neighborhood might hold.

Being open to new lessons,

Persevering in my quest to learn,

Being resilient, strong, and true to myself

As I take pleasure in learning and sharing lessons of joy

From the simplest things in my world.