Spaghetti Carbonara

My running gives me time to clear my head. I think this is true for many runners, and it's one of the reasons running is so popular. Just the fact that it is "my running" makes each step, each mile, each record our own.

Our sport is one of the most personal, most customizable, most introspective. A lot of us go out there with thoughts rattling around in our heads; and by the time we return home, we've got everything figured out. It might take a few hours on the road, a few runs in a week, or even a whole marathon training plan to do it. But we runners get it done; we think things through, and find whatever we need to find in ourselves.

Lately, my thoughts in running have been all over the place.

*The goings-on of my mind resemble

a spilt plate of spaghetti carbonara,

each neuron yearning for

another

noodley,

delicious,

synaptic connection.

Damn you, dendrites; find your destination!

And in doing so, find mine too,

my feet will do the rest.*

Spring does this to me; it spins me 'round, ruffles my feathers. The warming scents of Spring return, reminding me of yesteryears, squandered opportunities. Making me write poems about the metaphysical.

My running kicks may be landing symmetrically, but my thoughts are flailing like a drunkard trying to dance to Pink Floyd's "Money."

Maybe this funk is due to the fact that I achieved my first marathon goal without immediately setting up another goal for myself. All (or at least most) of my running thoughts pre-Tokyo had to do with the race itself. Now I'm left out there, on these runs, without a unifying purpose in thought.

Oh well, I'll be out there again tomorrow, to give it another go.

Maybe with another goal in mind,

steps toward a finish line,

or mindful meditation:

where I am and where I want to go, in time.