MAR-B-2
THE END OF AN ANNOYING PERSEVERATION
AND THE CONSISTENT RETURN TO
LIFE ON THE RUN
AS A VERY RELUCTANT SPRING
RETURNS
EVEN BEFORE THE BIG SNOW PILES IN DERWOOD HAVE MELTED DOWN ON A BRIGHT
COOL WEEKEND
March 15, 2003
I have just come in on a bright day after the morning run downtown along with six thousand St. Paddy’s Day 10K runners, displaced later by the arrival of a few tens of thousands of anti-Iraqi war protestors. I did a credible race, at a sub-eight minute pace, and stayed with a few new friends from the MCRRC in my age group who stayed to see if they would get awards. I am two minutes slower than the winner in my age group, but three minutes faster than the age group three years ahead of mine.
I came home to get started on the first improvements of my Derwood home, now unequivocally and indisputably mine for my exclusive possession, occupation and use—as spelled out without ambiguity for those who might find counterclaims still their legitimate right. I tried to repair at least one of the two mailboxes smashed away by the Petro Oil delivery truck. I shoveled the crushed rock out of the gutter that had been pushed over by the snowplows and filled in the ruts of the same oil delivery truck. I moved all the boxes of medicines and surgical supplies that must be later packed up for Malawi. I have a half living room filled up with boxes of stuff which will be sorted in a “packing party” with as many of the students and others who will be going to Malawi in three “waves” over the next month.
The last messages of the Mar-A-series involved the plans for the return to Gainesville, with integration of that trip into five different venues of a very dense second week of April. I will start the sequence with a creaky recovery phase, since I will have returned from Occoquan from the Bull Run Run Fifty Miler the night before I go to Florida, preceding Ohio, New York and Boston.
The week just concluded included a very unhappy and prolonged confrontation at settlement on Thursday and helping Joe on Friday, including my driving him and the three kids to the Knights of Columbus dinner for their family night, since Joe’s wife Betty has thrown her back out and is at bed rest for a week. At least one entanglement is over with a lot of conflicting impressions about “common courtesy” from irreconcilable differences in obstinate perceptions. At least now, I am at home in my home, without dispute, while I now have to turn my attention to the deferred extensive remodeling, just at the same time when I have handed over most of my dwindling liquid assets to purchase a quit claim.
WARS AND RUMORS OF WAR
Much of the world seems to be in some form of suspended animation while standoff occurs with UN impotence to enforce their already acclaimed declarations. This is the time for a few old grudges to come back as a “stick in the eye,” a big-power parallel to what I have been seeing on a smaller scale. I should be clearing the decks for some changes forthcoming as well, probably in a “ground rush” all in a hurry while I am abroad. But, with a few small details that must be resolved before I can move forward on several fronts at once, I have to suspend the forward progress, while the calendar has not gone on a holiday. I actually resolved to do the Fifty Miler as an event to punctuate this interval, in between two marathons, for neither of which I am ready. But immediately after the Ultra Run, I launch an eight day five-venue series of domestic trips, and three days after that, I go to an all-day orientation to a China trip beginning May 30 the same day I leave for the extended Malawi trip that afternoon, for which all the medical packs need to be prepared. So, as I mentioned above, this period of time seems to be that of resolution of long-standing, even obsessive, impasses, and a brief lull before the rush of contiguous long trips. So, at this moment, I should fill in the gap with some long runs, and a longer view of many things coming up during and after the travels in a summer that was unimaginable just this past week, while cooped up behind snow drifts.
I wrote a note for the departure “roast” of the Harkens from Denver, that will be happening on April 5, the weekend of the Cherry Blossom Ten Miler here in Washington, the very time I have to get the final prep for the coming contiguous sequences of travels. They are struggling with three houses—one is their Windover Road home in Denver, the next is their Walnut Creek house just bought in California, and the third is their mother’s house bought to be near them in Denver, now, also on the market. So, the flurry of change at the other “lagging?” edge of career changes is catching us in full flight.
THE FOX AT THE DOOR,
AND THE SPRING PEEPERS IN THE PONDS,
WHILE THE SNOWBANK HAS SHRUNK TO JUST VISIBLE
I had typed to this point and got up preparing to drive off to church. As I scanned the woods, which I do continuously, as more and more of the forest floor is now visible with leaf cover, now that the snow has melted—first along the course of my snowshoe tracks—I spotted something out in front of the kitchen window. It was a red fluff in the leaves, and I had to look at it several times to prove that it was not just a few leaves swirled up in a heap. I was sure it was not usually there, so I pulled out the new Minolta Freedom telephoto flash camera, and went from window to window to see whatever it could have been, with a strong suspicion that it was a fox. Sure enough, he uncurled, to show that he was lying in the leaves in a patch of clearing as the sun came out. He made one or two quick lunges at the squirrels scampering around, and then preened his well-combed fur along his dark feet, with a bright red cape. I shot a picture or two of him from the upstairs windows, and then sneaked outside on my way to the Bronco to go to church. I crept along the wall around the front and came up on him as he was already alerted. He sprang up and vanished.
After church, I stopped for gas at what is here at 179/gal. With the temperature climbing to mid-60’s, I got into shorts and tee shirt, and ran the Needwood Bike Trail. I was surprised by the chorus of frogs all of them not present when I was last there, but then the last time was when I made a walk in snow boots with Christian Elwell, in deep snow to see the beaver-killed trees, the fox tracks leading to a dead fox, and the deer standing out like a spotlight was on them in the snow, but, they, not moving, figuring they were invisible since they were not moving. Now, everything was moving---among the movers, scores of spring fever celebrants taking walks, bike rides, or making out on blankets on the damp grass. The air is filled with the smell of spring with a lot of birds chirping and a shrill chorus of frogs. It may finally happen—spring, that is.
But, what was also apparent is that I could not run fast and far, without painful muscles. The burning in my quads and tibialis anticus kept me from the eight minute miles yesterday, to a longer slower, and more creaky painful shuffle. Six days from now I am running a marathon, and I can hardly do a ten mile run just now. So, I will keep shuffling, and hope that the muscles re-charge their glycogen stock, and that I can get up to speed for at least a completion of the marathon regardless of the time---then, again, there is a double marathon behind the next one!
Tomorrow is a day filled with appointments for me, and an ultimatum that tomorrow is the final deadline for Iraq. If nothing else, the last month is a proof that the UN simply does not work, despite all the best wishes of the non-realists. So, many deadlines have ripened in macro and micro-cosms all focused around a week in which spring may be returning.