Not a Bang but a Whimper
This is the way the world ends: not with a bang, but a whimper. ~TS Eliot
This oft flogged quote popped into my head during the run.
I somehow decided that today was to be the day that training resumed. I mapped out a 14.5 mile course to do this morning. Came within a hair of doing it when one thing led to another and C offered to drop me off at Kelly Drive and I'd meet her at Starbucks afterwards where she'd be finishing her Christmas cards.
All sounded good until, on the way there, we got into a, um, spirited discussion about holiday logistics that took about the time I set aside for the workout for both of us to feel it was resolved. Looking back, it was a conversation we needed to have, and I wasn't so much upset as disappointed that it came at the cost of my run. Both of us had the day off and we went ahead with various and typical pre-Christmas errands that we had left, and we actually got them done so that, when we picked up T from school at 3:15. C noted that there was a window before it got dark to get in a workout. Just goes to show that there are second acts in American lives (I'm just full of literary cliches today).
I put on my shoes and headed west on Pine out to Cobbs Creek. Plan was to run south on the bike trail until the sun dipped under the horizon. This got me to 67th and Chester. Here I ran back east, hopping over to Kingsessing, all the way home. This was a 7.5 mile loop - not the big debut I had envisioned. Thus my training cycle started, like Eliot's world ended, with a whimper.
My run had an edge on it today. Can't describe it much better than that. An undercurrent of anger kept the legs stoking. During runs like these I become aware of the trash, decaying buildings and feral cats along the route. There are now white concrete barriers (like they have in front of the White House) set up to keep the cars from driving on the bike path, and the burnt out car carcass that's been sitting in a remote part of the path has finally been towed up and out and left on the side of Baltimore Ave for everyone to see. Seems like I was a magnet for catcalls and bluster today from the kids on the corners. I passed three guys on the sidewalk: one of them feinted at me as if he were going to attack. I saw this coming and did not break stride, didn't even bring on an adrenaline rush.
The way I was running today if someone actually would have gone after me they wouldn't have had a chance to catch me.
And its days like today when I look at SW Philly and think, what a shithole. Thats an academic term, by the way.
So that's where my head was at. Either my surroundings reflected my mood, or vice versa, but definitely incongruent with the spirit of the season. The bright side was that I took it out on the street. The 7.5 went by in 50:44, or about a 6:45 pace. If I hang onto this edge I'll break 2:40 this Spring for sure.
For some reason I finished on 46th rather than on 47th, like I usually do, which led me to run into JS, a neighborhood fixture, and we discussed holiday plans. He's got exactly the quirky, laid back attitude about the craziness that goes on this time of year that I needed to hear, and I walked the block back to the house feeling better both mentally and physically. Then, in my post-run recovery on the throne I read the Phila Catholic Worker newsletter, which eulogized the passing of Sister Peter Claver.
Reading of her life I feel good again; I'll pray for you Sr. Peter Claver and please, pray for us.
I'm back.
This oft flogged quote popped into my head during the run.
I somehow decided that today was to be the day that training resumed. I mapped out a 14.5 mile course to do this morning. Came within a hair of doing it when one thing led to another and C offered to drop me off at Kelly Drive and I'd meet her at Starbucks afterwards where she'd be finishing her Christmas cards.
All sounded good until, on the way there, we got into a, um, spirited discussion about holiday logistics that took about the time I set aside for the workout for both of us to feel it was resolved. Looking back, it was a conversation we needed to have, and I wasn't so much upset as disappointed that it came at the cost of my run. Both of us had the day off and we went ahead with various and typical pre-Christmas errands that we had left, and we actually got them done so that, when we picked up T from school at 3:15. C noted that there was a window before it got dark to get in a workout. Just goes to show that there are second acts in American lives (I'm just full of literary cliches today).
I put on my shoes and headed west on Pine out to Cobbs Creek. Plan was to run south on the bike trail until the sun dipped under the horizon. This got me to 67th and Chester. Here I ran back east, hopping over to Kingsessing, all the way home. This was a 7.5 mile loop - not the big debut I had envisioned. Thus my training cycle started, like Eliot's world ended, with a whimper.
My run had an edge on it today. Can't describe it much better than that. An undercurrent of anger kept the legs stoking. During runs like these I become aware of the trash, decaying buildings and feral cats along the route. There are now white concrete barriers (like they have in front of the White House) set up to keep the cars from driving on the bike path, and the burnt out car carcass that's been sitting in a remote part of the path has finally been towed up and out and left on the side of Baltimore Ave for everyone to see. Seems like I was a magnet for catcalls and bluster today from the kids on the corners. I passed three guys on the sidewalk: one of them feinted at me as if he were going to attack. I saw this coming and did not break stride, didn't even bring on an adrenaline rush.
The way I was running today if someone actually would have gone after me they wouldn't have had a chance to catch me.
And its days like today when I look at SW Philly and think, what a shithole. Thats an academic term, by the way.
So that's where my head was at. Either my surroundings reflected my mood, or vice versa, but definitely incongruent with the spirit of the season. The bright side was that I took it out on the street. The 7.5 went by in 50:44, or about a 6:45 pace. If I hang onto this edge I'll break 2:40 this Spring for sure.
For some reason I finished on 46th rather than on 47th, like I usually do, which led me to run into JS, a neighborhood fixture, and we discussed holiday plans. He's got exactly the quirky, laid back attitude about the craziness that goes on this time of year that I needed to hear, and I walked the block back to the house feeling better both mentally and physically. Then, in my post-run recovery on the throne I read the Phila Catholic Worker newsletter, which eulogized the passing of Sister Peter Claver.
Reading of her life I feel good again; I'll pray for you Sr. Peter Claver and please, pray for us.
I'm back.
posted by seebo | 5:16 PM
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