Fiction Daily

A few words this morning from Fiction Dailyland … I’ve missed writing for the past few weeks, but there’s no doubt it’s been a busy, fun time so far.

Regular readers know that I currently am running for City Council here in Greenville, to represent District 3. It’s been a steady stream of meetings, planning, letters and spreadsheets, but I’m on my way.

I came across an article today about running. A new study has shown that the Runner’s High we love so much is a real phenomenon, and its effects may equal those of opiates.

‘Runner’s high’ can turn into a real addiction
Study finds brain chemicals that mimic same sense of euphoria in opiate use

Given all of the benefits of exercise, many people commit to an active running routine. Somewhere during a longer, more intense run when stored glycogen is depleted, the pituitary gland and the hypothalamus release endorphins that can provide that “second wind” that keeps a runner going.

Little to add here except that I can leave the house feeling tired, old, hollowed out and ready for my rocking chair … have a big run (I favor seven miles, though slowly) … and return home ready to take on the entire world.

Yet running is not easy, at least when I head out the door. There’s heat in summer, rain, cold, high grass and ice; cars and bugs. Yet if I can stay with it for 30 minutes, that’s when the rewards usually start: the great feeling of elation, dare I say transcendence, that begins.

Of course, after an hour in the heat, when I find myself with goose bumps and skirting heat stroke, I wonder how I’m going to get home. That’s when I remember why I’m doing it: The rewards are always more than the effort. And the effort is simple: One foot in front of the other.

Happy Trails!!

Yesterday another perfect autumn day and despite the chores that could use my attention, I escaped to the woods of Goose Creek State Park outside Washington.

I wore my running shoes and ran through all the park trails, about eight miles. My overall pace was about the same as walking (no trail records here!!) but I went at a brisk running clip. I started at Tar Kiln Trail, the newest trail at the park which just opened last year. It is a nice flat trail, with fascinating tar kiln sites marked along the way. These were places where sap from the pine trees was collected by slowly cooking the wood. The sap was sold for tarring ship keels and the like. An important trade in Colonial America.

From there, I scooted to the Observation Deck on the old Mallard Creek Trail, then to the other side of the park. I passed the old cemetery, that dates to the 1880s. From there, onto one of my favorite trails, the Goose Creek Trail.

That second hour of running went by very fast. By then, I reached Ivy Gut Trail and into my third hour of running, started to feel strange … my legs were numb and the tree roots began to torment me … I saw people where sunlight hit the tree branches. My mind had no thoughts. One foot in front of the other … breathe …

I wrapped up at about 2h 20 min, and it took another 15 minutes to meander along the marvelous boardwalk back to the Visitors Center. In all, about 2h 30 minutes. When it was over, I didn’t want to stop running. I felt on top of the world … what a great return for a slender time investment!!

No doubt the ibuprofen helped and today, I’m not nearly as stiff or tired as I could have been.

Running is a special pursuit, that takes me out of this world and into a state of bliss … if I can just get past the first half-hour or so. For devotees, running is a deeply held commitment.

Recently I’ve watched movies about Steve Prefontaine, the spirited University of Oregon runner who set records an taught us all how to push ourselves. He died tragically in a car accident before he could compete in the 1976 Olympics.

“Without Limits” and “Prefontaine” tell his story. While they take a predictable approach, this runner is worth learning about.

Originally posted 28 November 2007

An interview took me to Rocky Mount, N.C., yesterday, about an hour from here — my hometown.

I felt myself step backward as soon as I took the Church Street exit and drove down that street, where the first Hardee’s restaurant once stood, the restaurant we visited for hamburgers and fries after church on rare occasions.

My interview took place in the old People’s Bank building which has been remarkably restored. It was crumbling for decades, but now has been replastered and painted, and is in use.

I walked up the five flights of stairs, the gray granite I remembered so well from my childhood when, in the late 1960s, I would visit my grandfather’s insurance office in that same building.

My interview completed, I visited the cavernous lobby. There was the large safe; the tall two-story ceiling, the windowed area where the teller counters once stood.

After the interview, I stopped in a restaurant near City Lake to change into running shoes and went for a tour-de-old-haunts.

I ran around the lake, saw the ducks and thought of the times Billie Thompson, a dear, late, family friend, took me there, starting when I was 3 years old. Once I waded in and she was furious!

I ran through West Haven, saw the lovely old houses, many of them washed away by the ‘99 flood. I wound my way to Edwards Junior High, where I attended eighth grade. Not a bad year, but I enjoyed seeing the school robbed of its power over me, to stand in line, ask for permission to go to the bathroom, eat and leave by others’ schedules.

When I returned to City Lake, I had other feelings, some sadness for classmates who have passed, or whose troubles I’ve heard of. I also felt whole in an unexpected way, seeing my hometown’s natural beauty, the heritage trees, well-maintained yards and businesses that go on no matter what.

It was a treasured interlude to my so-called grown-up life in Greenville and all that means — e-mail and text messages, responsibilities, my sometimes inflated sense of importance.

Running through those streets I felt myself just a wide-eyed girl again.

From Gene-O:
A bittersweet idyll and remembrance of things past. Reading this short, beautifully written personal essay has given a great start to my day.

From Marion:
I looked out from that building and saw the aqua-colored water tower standing 500 feet from our old apartment … I used to think of it as an Eiffel Tower. The memories were powerful yesterday but in a way that felt very grounding.

TOMORROW: Figuratively Speaking Friday.
Tech Thursday returns Oct. 9.

With fall’s cool days, there are few things better than a long run. Yesterday, I headed out into bright sun, down the highway and reached the nearby neighborhood where I was able to enjoy the shade of overhead trees.

Crossing the first stream on my course, I stopped to look into the water and saw the fish. If I sneak up to them carefully I can gaze down at them for some time.

Later in my run, at a larger stream crossing, I see turtles and more fish. It’s often at this bridge I see the familiar large carp or trout, about 15 inches long.

This particular fish has been something of a spirit guide for some time. It was gazing at him one day that I felt the full meaning of words from His Holiness the Dalai Lama — that all beings want to be happy and avoid suffering.

I imagined this great fish going about his daily business of avoiding hooks and herons, turtles and raccoons, and doing so long enough to grow to this size. Somehow, I was with the fish, looking for food and minding my own small daily affairs in the world.

Seeing this fish is always a highlight of my run, reminding me to stop and consider my kinship with all sentient beings around me.

One time I saw some teenagers perched on that bridge with fishing poles. I asked them to reconsider what they were doing … because there was a large fish down there I was fond of. It probably sounded pretty flaky, but the thought of that old fish getting hooked and then discarded was unbearable. Sometimes being an adult has perks … I must have seemed like some kind of authority figure.

I’ve seen my buddy from time to time since then, although not yesterday, and I know one day he’ll be gone. And when he goes, it will remind me that what we call reality is always changing, and that everything will pass and fade away — the stream, the bridge, the neighborhood, my running shoes and these runs, my breath, my world.

That’s both unsettling and reassuring. It means life goes on, with or without me. I’m not in charge. The best I can do at any moment is just breathe in and run.