Round Here

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog
Where no one notices the contrast of white on white
And in between the moon and you the angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
I “run” in the air between the rain through myself and back again
Where? I don’t know

I ventured out into the mist of some of the highest humidity cast upon us this summer. The white, thick fog provided an eerie backdrop for a run where breathing was going to be more daunting than the first snorkel breath taken under water. I could not see more than 20-30 feet in front of me so it was a bit like running blind through a cumulous cloud. Maybe it was what running would be like in heaven although I hope they have softer surfaces to run on than the road – like the cloud itself. Of course, what would you push off of to generate the equal and opposite reaction? Or, would it just feel like you were running mentally without any physical exertion? Could I run a sub-3 marathon then?

Anyway, there was plenty of physical exertion on these runs. When I first started writing this I had run one day where it was like this. In my procrastination (or more like finding time) of not getting this posted, I found myself a “ghost into a fog” again about a week later. However, the runs were different. The first run was tough but I seemed to find an up-tempo pace that I could drive through to the end of the run (5 miles). I did not fare as well on the second run – still getting through the 5 miles but feeling like I had to cut the thickness with a knife like a baby having to break through the embryonic sack trying to find a breath of fresh oxygen. Each day is different. Each run is different. Some days you can breath, some days it’s a little tougher – in life as in running.

Some days, we are a ghost where no one notices. Running is a bit like this where the contrast of white on white is us being able to stay inside ourselves, have the freedom to think, disappear for a little while, and be non-existent in the world. We find ourselves imagining this place called heaven, where the angels get a better view of our life and death; helping us find what we need to find. Sometimes we don’t know where we are running. We “run” in the air between the rain through ourselves and back again with every run. We sometimes find ourselves; sometimes lose our way but no matter, we keep on running.