Take it Outside

From up the block I can see it, I have 20 seconds to cross the intersection.

My brain panics: stop or go?

Before I can even process this thought through, calculate the distance, pace, my legs have kicked in.  They’re churning madly down the sidewalk, gaining speed.  Without realizing quite how, it I’m in the middle of the cross walk, 3 seconds left, the walk timer blinks, and I’ve easily cleared the cross traffic.  My legs, my lungs, have got this under control. No problem.

This experience leaves me thinking, how often does my conscious need to be put in its place? So that my subconscious can let me do what my legs were meant to do: SPRINT. FAST.  Instincts are amazing things. It also leaves me thinking, a very ecstatic, “AWESOME, I just did that!”

I’m pumped.  A tantalizing vitality pours down deeper into my core with each breath of the brisk air I’m taking so quickly. A once dormant, now remembered and unrepentant life suddenly surges through my veins.  It’s been a few days, things are busy, but this is overdue, I realize.  My being needs these things, the running, the writing.  And I can never go too long before: *thwack!* There’s an internal slap upside the corpus callosum, “you need this,” it whispers.  I do.  And for every day I manage to ignore that fact, there will be a repercussive set of consequences.

This is my mid-day treat, an outing in the sun.  It’s cold though I’ve opted for only a few layers; I know I’ll quickly outrun the need for something thicker. It’s a welcome change to give my eyes a rest from the shadows of the lamp-lit night stretches; I feel faster just being able to see a reasonable distance ahead of me. By the easy brilliance of daylight, the view of Mt. Hood still manages to stop me in my tracks, not to mention quickly trigger daydreams of snowboarding this time of year. I head for the Sellwood Bridge.  While it’s no St. John’s Bridge in terms of aesthetic appeal,  it’s quickly gaining my admiration, with its clean lines and utilitarian simplicity.  From the center of the bridge, down the river, in a low-cloud veiled horizon, Mt. St. Helens is stunning.

It’s good to be back.

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