I know what happens to me when I stop running. I know all too well. Depression. I don’t feel like doing anything. The thought of doing anything even slightly causes anxiety. But when I’m running, the threatening harsh world is smoothed over and doesn’t seem so scary anymore. It becomes inviting. I feel up to […]Read More Wednesday’s Training PT I: The Socratic Method
it was the first time in many moons where I found myself running along side what I guess you could call a gang of runners.Read More Wednesday: We Run On
We went to church a handful of times. I recall the the usual holiday traditions involving scattered visits to that indoor space where organs blare holy tunes and voices echo in chambered ceilings. I remember talks of Jesus, palms and candles, crackers and grape juice, a book of hymns, and always that man standing in […]Read More Tuesday: I Was Raised an Atheist (but grew up Christian).
I sunk into sleep just past midnight after enduring the last attempts at cohesively writing about Barhma and spirituality. Sleep took me quickly. My alarm rang out in what felt like only moments after. I did not want to get up. It was cold, and I was mighty snug and comfortable under the sheets. The […]Read More Saturday: A little Dense on the Running
The wind had calmed down since the hours before when I drifted asleep in my swaying hammock underneath a bustling tarp. I could just hear the grinding and rolling of large smooth stones being pushed and pulled by the constant turbulence of waves mingling with the shore. A rhythmic constant penetrating my ear drums and […]Read More Friday: Ah Christ, You’re telling me God IS real?
I once had a dead cat tell me I need to be more in touch with my feral side. That cat has been haunting me ever since. Ghosts, they’re real, stop denying it. Everyone has something from their past that haunts them. Mine is a dead cat. It’s also a break up in high school. […]Read More Sure, I believe in ghosts.
They say a pearl is formed by a single irritating grit of sand or maybe a parasite that gets lodged into the soft tissue of an oyster. The oyster begins to cover it with deposits of smooth liquid nacre turning a once irritant into a beautiful, shining pearl. We all have our own grit of […]Read More Wednesday: It’s not me, its the Vog
The world is your oyster. I don’t even know what the fuck that means anymore, but I use to say it all the time all nonchalantly to whoever floated alongside me in stride down the sidewalk during a run or perhaps after a marginally satisfying burrito at Lucy’s. I just got home. Pedaled four miles […]Read More February 21st 2016. Where to Begin?