The Detour As The Destination

This week, I am compelled to look back at the four years I ran cross country in high school. That was a special time for me, one I think grows in stature as time separates it from me. Now, if baseball can "unite a nation" and a rag-tag team of misfits can "bring a town together," I don't see why my cross country days can't themselves possess a larger, mythic quality. You may not much care to hear me reminisce about events you weren't even present for. That's fine. This one is probably just for me anyway. However, I'd appreciate a companion if you have the time.

Everyday the school bell sounded for a final time at 3:15. However, a few of us weren't quite ready to call it a day. Not always eager, we threw on a pair of cruddy old sneakers and a dirty T-shirt, and we soon began a steady run around the school. We were free to run around the grounds, going wherever we wanted to as long as we achieved and maintained a steady pace.

Together, we were content enough that there was no real destination, happy to bid our time with our friends at a reasonable speed. As a metaphor for youth, that may seem a little on-the-nose. It's one I enjoy anyway.

I've never engaged in odder conversations. Youthful naivete mixed with an exhausted delirium to create one-of-a-kind exchanges. That's a fancy way to say that, more than half the time, we didn't know what the hell we were saying. I learned to joke with a quick, ferocious focus (my longer, more roundabout humor didn't work well between heavy breaths).

After a couple of years, I shed my middle school fat and was at my leanest. I became fast, something my elementary school teachers never thought possible. My mile time was eventually lowered to about five and a half minutes. That's an achievement that may seem small to some runners, but it certainly felt life-changing to me at the time.

But I started off horrible. Most all of us did. There's a learning curve. Stiches. Unexpected belly-aches. The occassional vomit. Long-distance runners experienced it all and were, in fact, glad to be experiencing it. In the moment, you were weak, but in the greater context of our running careers, we were becoming stronger by the day.

What I remember most about running is those times where you've found that steady rhythm, and all you have is your thoughts. It is the most meditative of sports. As a teenager with normal teenager problems (problems which now seem so small in context of the world at large), I had all the time I needed to sort them out. Many times, you were out there with nothing but your troubles and the steady beat of your tennis shoes on the pavement.

I love the small moments especially, those moments that still remain so vivid. They're moments that really matter only to me, which, in turn, is why I love them so much. They're those moments between friends, and those conversations you can only have after knowing a person for years. They're those times I ran alone, still overwhelmed by all I had in front of me (I'm not entirely talking about the sport here). They're those sweet, fleeting moments after the race, when the euphoria would kick in and the world's hidden threats felt distant and inconsequential.

Those small singular moments, in the context of a life, do not register with the same urgency as other, more important milestones, the ones a photographer finds fit to capture. Taken one at a time, those small moments don't mean anything. Taken together, they become the world entire.

As (most) always, here's some videos I'm digging this week.

My friend Alex alerted me of this Charlotte Gainsbourg/ Beck music video. It is called "Heaven Can Wait," and it's fairly brilliant. Watch it a few times. It's one of those neat videos where funny details and images lurk in the background, waiting for you to discover them.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KP-nVpOLW88

Here's a song that sort of moves me, though I can't fully explain why (you'll just have to click to find out the song). Boy, those lyrics are sheer nonsense, aren't they? However, since I'm a fairly nonsensical person myself, this song seems to be speaking my language. Never underestimate the nonsense. There is poetry inside.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzlMeTxVdH8

Well, that's it for this week. Not much else to report. Down and Yonder continues and is now not just a series of scenes and notes. It's a story, Dear Reader, one I would be glad to tell you if you'd be willing to hear. Now that the connective tissue is finally showing itself, I've returned to the goal of having it done before the end of the year. For the first time in a long time, I'm hopeful and ambitious, confident but ever cautious. Feels good to be back.

Feels better to have you there with me, Dear Reader.

Flippo