"rend it to tatters"
H.D.'s poem "Heat" always comes to mind around this time of year, so perfectly expressing the heavy stillness of life in July:O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air--
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.
Cut the heat--
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.
Last night with the group, I was in survival mode, in of wind, of breath, of inspiration. It was one of those hot, sticky nights when the setting sun seems to melt into the river, sending up steam to bathe us all. The air shimmered with heat, making the rowers and the ripples of waves on which their boats rested look like scenes from impressionist paintings.
We began with our usual warm-up--to the mile point. I may have run that a little too fast, trying to avoid falling so far behind that there would be no chance to rest a little while waiting for everyone to get there. The workout consists of a half mile, a few minutes rest, a mile, then a few minutes rest, then another half mile, followed by the usual mile cooldown back to the start. Perhaps you've heard the saying "start slow, then ease off." This would describe my rendition of the workout, except that while I slowed down throughout, it did not feel like "easing off." No, each repeat seemed to demand more energy and yielded less speed in return. My times were 4:09 for the first half mile, 8:55 for the mile (Suzi Favor Hamilton is not getting restless in her sleep...), and 4:25 for the second half, sixteen seconds slower than the first! And by the time I finished this unlovely half mile, my legs were beginning to buckle, and I fell, but got up, while Mike and Dave were urging another runner on the other side of the bike path to do the same. Both of us, the other runner a good bit faster, pull ourselves together to jog the cooldown. Even "jog," a term runners prefer non-runners do not use to describe our efforts, however humble, was too exalted a term for my pace, which several times dissolved into a walk of sorts.
"Fruit cannot drop"--the effort seemed fruitless, and I was about to drop.
Reaching Lloyd Hall, I again needed to collapse and found a bench, where soon people in the group noticed I was in trouble. Someone brought me water, and I took a few sips, slowly revived a bit, and retrieved my belongings from my locker. Proof that heat warps the brain: I followed the 26-2 group to the lawn behind the Art Museum for the bounding drills to which Dave has been treating us. What was I thinking? Well, that now that I was actually standing and walking unassisted that it seemed only logical to proceed to the next component of this workout. Why not? I was feeling better. That lasted through the 5 sets of ten "high knees" jumps and the 5 sets of ten "butt kick" jumps, and even through most of the sets of side-to-side bounds. But suddenly, I began to feel like a marionette puppet that someone had dropped, like Cinderella at midnight. Still, I would have kept going--what did I know at that point?--had Mike not called me over to his car (he was nearby, watching the goings on), and told me I'd had enough, time to go. I was sufficiently creamed not to protest with my usual "but I was just getting warmed up!" (it's become a running joke, pun somewhat intended.)
Today, the decision was whether I should take the scheduled day off as listed on the calendar or continue with my revision of the calendar brought about by the busy weekend. On the schedule, the long run would be Saturday, for an hour and 45 minutes. I had time when I returned from the wedding for only a half hour run, so I did the scheduled Monday half hour run on Saturday, the scheduled Saturday run on Sunday (making it two hours), and half the originally scheduled 80-minute Sunday run on Monday, the plan being to substitute the off day today with another 40-minute run. A trip outside almost convinced me to abandon the second of the two forty minute runs, but despite still feeling somewhat fried, I wanted to run. (Perhaps this was evidence in itself that the heat was getting to me.) I decided to ... start slow, then ease off. (By now you know the chorus, so please feel free to sing along.) I decided to run for about ten minutes, and if I didn't feel up to more, I'd stop. I didn't stop.
A few minutes of t'ai chi practice in my apartment energized me enough to abandon my original plan to head straight for the shelter of the air-conditioned Y and use the treadmill. Instead, I found my way to a network of trails on the opposite side of Garrett Road from where I normally run. The main trail leads from Garrett Road to Marshall Park, containing playing fields and tennis courts, a place that I've sometimes used for my hard workouts when I want to stay on grass. But before reaching the park, I turnd onto a side trail that led me to the stream. There, for a few minutes, I paused, noticing the family of ducks further upstream, and wondering if there was a trail that would get me up closer to them. But the only trail leading toward them was narrow and covered with roots. I was not prepared to "plough through" the underbrush. So I watched from a distance, recognizing that by braving the heat, I'd been treated to this view, and noticed my steps lighter, my breath easier, mind no longer focused on the heat but on the ducks, the stream, the thickness of leafy shelter around me and around the ducks.
I did eventually end up at the Y for the last seven minutes of my run and some weights. Walking back, I felt lighter, lifted from the summer doldrums, inhaling the day.
posted by DPMcManus @ 8:33 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home