The End

My pursuit of photography coming to a close, this will be the last entry of my journal.

Perhaps I will begin to paint.

It is time to renew my self and the direction of my life.


In dark privacy
days full of action
a thousand things seen
a silent world created
inside my head.

Becoming larger
richer by the day
pictures blossom
then grow ripe.

A season closes
the death of one life
stepping back
remembering
I return to the beginning.

Recovery & Reflection

I am recovering nicely from the Devil's Lake race. I went for a short 2 mile run on Friday and the knee felt a little stiff toward the end. I will try running today.

My hamstring is about 95%, and I don't feel any problem in my foot. Foam rolling the hamstring appears to speed recovery. The first day I rolled it I could feel the muscle breakage and a knot, but each passing day of rolling the breakage and the knot lessened. Yesterday it felt almost normal.

I will most likely not be able to run the Howl 8 hour race in a few weeks, so my desire for training due to the inability to run is on the wane.

Having some extra time this week gave me a chance to pause and reflect on the direction of my life. As my time with photography winds to a close, the old task of finding a meaningful activity is once again upon me. In my early 20's I struggled to find it, but eventually stumbled upon art and photography, which consumed me for 10-12 years. The past 5 years have been off and on. With the disappearance of chemical photography I lost my desire to work with it any longer. Digital pictures are fun, but I can't get myself to take it seriously, maybe because I have not cultivated a love for it.

Being 43 and still relatively healthy, it seems wrong to fritter away my leisure hours. I once had a sense of the importance of time, how no day should be wasted. But not having currently dedicated myself to any pursuit, it is all too easy to just lay around reading or daydreaming. I am dangerously close to losing my sense of work ethic, but I also know that nothing is set in concrete. If I become immoral toward work, with a little effort and luck maybe I can get that sense of fire-tested ethics back into my blood.

I know that there are various periods in any life, and that I cannot always be straddling a mountaintop of positive emotion and good fortune. There will be low points, a dull string of moments which will bring pause for concern and confusion.

With each passing day I know I am coming closer to the end. Van Gogh rode a wave of desolate and mostly lonely work for 10 years, and when it was time to call it quits decided there was nothing worth moving on to, so put an end to his life. Other artists were able to remain at their posts for decades, and thus did not have to face a life after art.

And what exactly does one do when a life of art comes to a close? Art is a high and moral pursuit; also a dangerous one. For me it had to be done privately, in solitude, without letting on what exactly it was that I was doing. 99% of artists don't make a lot of money, yet I have to consider myself fortunate because I did manage to sell the majority of my pictures, and have the odd feeling of knowing that 200-300 of my photographs are floating around somewhere in the world.

Now that the pictures are gone and I am no longer working, it feels like I have never made them at all. It leaves me feeling empty and stupid, and in search of something to do. Running is a purposeful activity, but is a side show, something done for pure pleasure. Perhaps if my body was not always breaking down, I would not mind using 4-5 hours a day running and exercising. But not being able to consistently work at a high intensity, I need to find something else to keep me going.

I need something to dedicate my time to. Before finding art, I had doubts about there being anything for me to do at all. Perhaps I will remain with art, but in a different medium. Maybe it is time to start a life of painting and drawing. All it takes is 10 years. I have a chance to make it to 53, so why not? It is something to consider.....

Sun Dance at Devil's Lake

"The next day the dancing began, and those who were going to take part were ready, for they had been fasting and purifying themselves in the sweat lodges, and praying. First, their bodies were painted by the holy men. Then each would lie down beneath the tree as though he were dead, and the holy men would cut a place in his back or chest, so that a strip of rawhide, fastened to the top of the tree, could be pushed through the flesh and tied. Then the men would get up and dance to the drums, leaning on the rawhide strip as long as he could stand the pain or until the flesh tore loose."
Black Elk

"The Ancient tradition that the world will be consumed in fire at the end of 6,000 years is true, as I have heard from hell. The whole creation will be consumed, and appear infinite, and holy, whereas now it appears finite, and corrupt. This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment. If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is - infinite."
William Blake


At race check-in on Friday evening, the sun skimming the summer hills which surrounded the base camp, I found that the course had been altered. When I returned to the Thunderbird Motel I studied the changes and readied myself for the upcoming battle, a drop into a dark, hellish nightmare.

I awoke at 2:45am to a clap of thunder. I lay patiently, awaiting the arrival of day. When thin lines of pale light slipped through the window shades I washed and dressed, then drove to the start.

I walked around a bit in the fresh mowed field and the dirt road, said a prayer, the insides of my body beginning to glow from a pulsing energy. I positioned myself on the line, and when the Head Goat sounded the bell, began my journey.

50k and marathon participants started together, 100 warriors surging into battle. The field's cool grass chilled my calves as we ran toward the trees, and soon we entered a shadowy forest, the trail narrow and gradually rising. I was in the back of the pack, unable to pass due to the uneven footing and the tall grass beside the path. Most sections of the first mile were walked due to the upward slope. When the path opened a bit I ran, passing, wanting to expend some energy.

We entered the ice age trail, moving toward Devil's Lake. As we neared the first aid station my recovered knee began to feel weak. I was surprised by this because I had done heavy training during the past 2 months with no problems, and I was coming off a 2 week taper of low mileage. Thoughts of not finishing the race began to haunt me, but I tried to keep my composure. 28 miles remained....

After leaving the aid station we returned to the woods, the trail a moderate up and down. The path soon changed from dirt to uneven rock, and I decided that walking or a slow jog was the safe way to cover this short section. After leaving the rocks the trail meandered through a mix of dense prairie and verdant trees. I was feeling happy and ready for a challenge. I looked up at the brilliant, cool blue sky, thankful to be out in the day running and feeling the power of life.

Reaching the 2nd aid station at mile 6, I stopped to retrieve my drop bag. The course would eventually loop back to this aid station at mile 20, so I stuffed a couple of gels in my pocket, drank a v8, sucked down 2 spoonfuls of honey, and continued on to Devil's Lake.

After 2 miles of easy running I entered the park campground, which was well marked. The campground roads were hilly and I meandered around until reaching the Lake Aid station.

By now my knee had begun to ache and feel stiff, and I considered dropping out of the race. The idea of quitting while I was still able to move forward did not seem right. The run had now become more than a battle with the course and my overall fitness, from this point until mile 26 I was to run in constant pain. How was I going to react to this challenge, would my resolve crumble, my mind break into a complaining nag? I was curious to know how everything would turn.

As I left the aid station and passed the park headquarters, it occurred to me that this could be my last race in a while. I came to a steep paved road. The runners around me were walking, and I would have liked to walk also, but I discovered that running hills hurt less than walking them, so I ran intermittently, walking only to catch my breath and give my legs a rest.

When the road section came to an end we entered a trail of stone steps which led us to the top of the bluff. The views of the ever diminishing lake were inspiring, and some runners stopped to stretch, take pictures, and enjoy the moment. By this time I was trying my best to run with the pain, allowing it to be, and not be overly concerned about it. I was determined to enjoy the challenges of the day, and pain was now a part of it. Accepting it seemed to be the best idea.

Fortunately my fitness level appeared equal to the course, as my breathing was steady and leg strength on the hills solid. As I worked my way slowly to the top of the bluff I remembered the Sioux sun dance mentioned in the book Black Elk Speaks. Pain was a purifier, a way to a better understanding of the self and the world - today was my sun dance.

Another recurring thought was hell and nightmares. Even though I was surrounded by the beauty and calmness of nature, attempting to run long distance on the rugged terrain made things appear in cold black and white. At any moment my energy could evaporate, leaving me with a recurring dream I have of running slow as a turtle.

It may appear that the pain and morbid thoughts were a drag on my psyche, but the intensity of the run thus far had brought on a seriousness and focus which made everything seem light and happy. I love the music of Mahler, and on the finale of his 8th symphony were the words "to be serious is the greatest joy". Amen to that.....

I am not sure how long the bluff run was, it felt like miles, but in reality it was probably less than a mile. Before reaching the top a few runners passed us going the opposite direction. As this part of the course was not a loop, someone was going the wrong way. Had the dreaded "getting lost at a DWD race" happened to me?

A runner close by spoke out, "I studied this route precisely, I know we are going the wrong way. This is my first marathon - damn!" I also had thoroughly studied the course, but my conclusion was that we were going the correct way, by reason of how could so many people be running in the wrong direction?

Topping out on the bluff, I stopped a brief moment to look at the lake below. I decided I wanted to return to this place another time for some hiking and relaxation. As I moved away from the viewing boulders, that comforting thought disappeared, replaced by concentration upon my footwork to navigate safely down the rocky bluff.

After leaving the rocks I turned onto a descending dirt/gravel road. I watched a man in his 60's chugging along not far from me. I had the desire to go faster and allow gravity to increase my pace, but my knee prevented the attempt. When I got off the road I crossed one of the park highways and then headed into an overgrown field of weeds. The tall grass made it difficult to see the uneven ground, but I did a good job picking up my pace without falling.

After leaving the field I turned into a trail-less woods. Numerous pink flags marked the correct direction to proceed, but as I had caught up with 3 runners, I simply followed as we jumped over fallen trees and big rocks, and got scratched from thorn bushes. The leader of our forest running group was walking most of the time because the footing was poor, so I also walked, having no desire to attempt a pass.

Mile 13 and the Burma Road aid station was approaching, but I had lost interest in miles and time. All that mattered now was to keep moving, watching the sun and sky, drinking and eating - to run long and love it.

About 1/2 mile from Burma Road I started to run with ease, the speed increasing, I passed several runners and followed a young woman into the aid station, which was set up in a shadowless prairie. The day was getting warmer, so I poured some water on my head, downed a gel, and eyed some cut potatoes. In various race reports which I have read, aid station potatoes are usually eaten reluctantly because of their poor taste. I was feeling the need for salt, so I decided to try one. Expecting a raw, hard piece of nastiness, I was pleasantly surprised as I bit into the soft, salty tuber.

Feeling a bit cooler and rested, I left Burma Road and headed into another trail-less woods for more log hopping and stone stepping, my legs getting more cuts from thorny plants. I crossed a road and continued going down, and finally arrived at the shore of Devil's Lake. The shoreline was a narrow, weaving slab of asphalt which wended through various sized boulders. The sun slanted across the shining rocks and made me squint. I could see 4 or 5 runners ahead of me, and I tried to maintain a moderate to quick pace as it was mostly flat. I did not care for this part of the run so much because there was no shade, and the trail surface was hard on my feet. I was happy when it came to an end and I returned to the Lake Aid station, mile 15.4.

I tried to take my time at the station as I had overheated. I drank some water, poured it on my skin, ate another potato and pretzels. I watched some of the runners get quickly in and out of the station, but I did not want to rush, so I rested and stretched for a minute or two. The run was half over, and I was hanging in there - appetite was good, no blisters. I had peed only once, which I have learned is normal for my body. In warm weather I don't pee, no matter how much I drink. It is what it is....

I left the aid station somewhat refreshed and started running to the other side of the lake for more bluff climbing. I got onto a dirt road that ascended for what seemed like a long time. I passed some runners here as it felt better to run than walk. One of the runners I had passed at the beginning of the road cruised by me near the top, maybe my running had inspired him? He looked strong.

When the road came to an end I turned onto a rocky bluff which looked similar to the bluff I had climbed earlier. For a few minutes I thought I had taken an incorrect turn and was on the wrong bluff, but as I climbed upwards on the rocky steps I saw a few transcendent boulder formations that were one of a kind. Maybe this is where the devil hangs out? By now, approaching mile 18, I had gotten used to the pain in the knee, it was a part of me, like a crooked finger or blackened toe nail - not pretty, but I am comfortable with it, and it seems normal.

While obviously not running my best, I had still managed to achieve a trance running state - time evaporates like water on a hot skillet, running feels easier than sitting in a plush recliner, the slide show is set to automatic, and the beauty of the world flashes like a neon sign out front of a transient hotel.

Reaching the top of the bluff, I arrived at the South Bluff aid Station. Post-race the Head Goat wrote, I have to believe the South Bluff aid station was the most dramatic setting of any aid station in the world, I hope ya had a second to take it in ...

Running down the rocks and entering a sun drenched field, I could feel my quads on edge. I was dangerously close to reaching the point of no return, where the legs give out and refuse to get back into running mode. Fearful of having to walk the final 12 miles, I slowed down a bit, calmed my breathing, and made it to the Steinke Basin aid station at mile 20, where I accessed my drop bag for the second and last time. I made sure to rest and regain the strength in my legs. I drank 2 cans of V8, ate sea salt potato chips, slugged a gel followed by honey and water. I walked to the aid table and ate a potato chunk and pretzels, then soaked my head, arms and legs with water.

As I stood in the hot prairie sun, the water on me evaporating, a female runner looking dazed and confused asked me if she would be returning to her drop bag. I asked what distance she was running and if this was her 2nd time at the station, but she replied "I don't even know anymore". She needed one of those salted potatoes, fast.

As I got ready to resume my run, I thought "I don't want this to end, I am having too much fun".

I was now running the first two legs of the race in reverse, 6 miles back to the start, which was to be followed by a 5 mile loop up and down snow-less ski slopes. A little more than 4 hours had passed, so the sun was gettin' up in the sky, relentlessly throwing down its summer heat. Yeah, it felt good!

In a stretch of uphill prairie I was following a guy in his 60's. He was moving slow, but so was I because I could not pass him. I stopped and leaned on a small tree, did some side leg lifts, stretched my calves, then caught a burst of energy and soon passed the guy, running pretty hard into the Rave aid station. I ate pbj slices and potatoes, mmmm. The guy came in, then quickly left, while I was still stuffing my face with food. I was starved, which I felt was a good sign. I was still waiting to pee, though.....

The lovely female aid station workers told me, "be careful on the upcoming trail, it will be easy to trip with tired legs." I heeded their call, but knew a slight lapse in concentration could have me eating dirt or laying unconscious on a smooth stepping stone.

By this time I had passed and been re-passed by the same 5 or 6 runners all morning. Now again I came upon 2 guys and 2 girls who I had been running with a few times previously. I tucked in line and we followed a tricky single track. My allergies were getting bad so whenever I had to blow snot out of my nose I would slow down and get further behind so as not to offend the runners ahead of me.

I was starting to feel good again, my quads had recovered, and I was moving with a quick ease. We got into the final aid station before the start/finish line and once again I was the last to leave. I liked the potatoes too much and did not like to rush.

The final 2 miles were downhill on the ice age trail. The path was rooted and rocky, narrow and twisting. It was easier going uphill on fresh legs, but with the end in sight for the marathon runners, the speed and intensity was picking up. A guy in front me yelled out in pain and fell in a heap against a tree. I stopped and gave him some encouragement and help. He had suffered a severe leg cramp and could not stand. I stayed with him for a few minutes, along with another runner, until he could stand and smile. The other runner helping said, "what a shame, your dirty and your shirt is ripped." "This is nothing, you should see the runners when they are coming down the trail at Leadville". Indeed....

5 minutes later, at mile 25, I heard a scream from behind and I turned back to see a lady laying on the ground, grasping her calf. I went back to her and she said she had a calf spasm. I stayed with her a minute or two until she was able to stand.

Before getting to the end of the trail I tripped twice on roots, but had luckily balanced myself to avoid falling. 200m from the finish area was an aid station for the 50k runners, as we still had 5 miles to go. I once again took my time, eating potatoes and a gel, filling my bottle, splashing water on my head. With no more aid stations and probably another hour of running, I wanted to make sure I had enough energy to finish without bonking.

I left the aid station with the 2 guys and 2 girls who I had followed earlier. We got onto a wide, grassy ski slope, going up. We walked most of this section, and for the first time since mile 7, my knee no longer hurt. I felt relief, and wanted to start running before it started hurting again. After 2 miles of slugging along like a turtle, potato power must have kicked in, because I felt fresh as a daisy. I passed the line of 4 runners, the front girl turned to me and jokingly said "want to race?" "Noooo, I know the end is near, and I want to make sure I have nothing left at the finish". "There you go", and go I did.

I got up to 10k speed and held it for the final 3 miles. I passed 8 runners in about 10 minutes. One girl heard me fast approaching and turned around to look at me with disgust. Her expression made me laugh, she must have took me to be a relay runner who had gotten lost? I did not give her time to tell me to %#$@ off because I passed her quickly and soon was out of sight.

The empty, abandoned ski slopes were creepy and forlorn, with lonely, black chairs hanging ghost-like in the silence. I thought of those 70's slasher flicks and would not have been surprised to see a man wearing a hockey mask with axe in hand.

On the final 400m downhill I could not slow down due to the steepness, and my right hamstring spasmed, while at the same time my left foot landed too hard on the ground. I was able to keep the pace though, and in the final 800m picked up even faster.

With 400m to the finish I saw a runner staggering along. I was going to pass him too close to the finish - that was not right, but I was not going to slow down for that reason. When I passed him, spectators were ringing bells and cheering, and the runner must have got pissed because he passed me with 100m to go, no way I was going to catch him, he was a good sprinter! I was happy that he had crossed the line first, and as we slowed to a stop I slapped his hand, smiled, and said "I wanted to make you work for it!" We had crossed the finish together 6 hours and 22 minutes after starting this heaven and hellish adventure.

I was bent over, breathing heavy as if I had just completed a 5k. My knee was shot, hamstring sore, foot derailed, thighs ripped from thorn bushes, but I felt refreshed and not very tired. I wanted to keep running, but knew the race was over. I let out a sigh and went searching for a boiled potato.

In 3 or 4 Days

Just returned from a refreshing adventure in Cumberland Falls, Kentucky - hiking, light running (I'm supposed to be tapering a bit), square dancing, and watching the moonbow - lots of fun.

Hiking the Cumberland, No. 1

Hiking the Cumberland, No. 2

Hiking the Cumberland, No. 3,

The Ascent

Hiking the Cumberland, No. 4,
Fungus

When I was resting in my lodge room I studied the Devil's Lake 50k race packet. I have read many race reports about the DWD series of races, and most include an angry snippet about getting lost in the woods. With this in mind I have made sure to memorize the course map, knowing the sequence of aid stations/legs, the elevation gains and losses, the half way point, and the danger spots for getting lost (the campground at mile 10 and the off trail section at miles 13-18).

While my fitness is still building to its peak, which I am hoping will be reached in the month of August, I am feeling good about this Saturday's race. My legs are fresh, I have 5 or 6 speed sessions under my belt to go along with many medium and long distance slogs run under the summer sun. I am heat acclimatized, distance ready, and my mental focus is sharp and ready for the challenge.

The only weak point in the game plan is my right knee. While it is 99% healed, it is not its old self, and perhaps may never be. It has thus far survived all of my hard training, so it is time to put it to the test. If I am not to finish this race the most likely reason will be the knee breaking down. I am not much concerned about the other factors. Heat, poison ivy, ticks, mosquitoes, humidity, bruises, extreme fatigue, steep hills and bluffs, getting lost - I want to be challenged by these things, placing my running spirit into the fire of pain and suffering, to live in the moment of the trial, and to perhaps emerge stronger, better, more authentic, at peace with the universe and the uncertainty of life and death.

The ultra race run as a micro version of an intense ordeal, a war, a nightmare which eventually blossoms into a sunny, reality filled day - a moving meditation, a circling of the sun, the heart, the cell - an atom of life.

in 3 or 4 days - Wim Mertens

90.5 Miles, 7.5 Pounds, and 2 Weeks

Had a strong week of running/training. Total mileage was 90.50 on 7 runs of 16, 18.50, 3.50,16, 5, 3, and 28.50.

The week started off with the solstice challenge, and I was able to spend 95% of the day outdoors, part of the hours being spent running 16 miles.

The next day I felt strong so put in one of my best hill sessions, running up and down at the arboretum for 2 hours and 45 minutes.

I took an easy day of 3.5 miles on Tuesday.

Wednesday was another high point session, as I ran 16 miles, with a track session thrown in the middle of the workout. At the track I completed 4 x 1200m in 5:15, 5:02, 4:58, and 4:45. I was proud that I was able to run a track session without giving too much effort. It was faster than normal running, yet, the intensity ranged from 60-80%, which left me feeling strong and pleasantly fatigued. After the track session I was feeling good enough to run a shortened South Farms loop of 8 miles.

Thursday and Friday were recovery days of 5 and 3 miles.

And yesterday I ran the best long run effort of my life, covering 28.5 miles in a mere 7 hours :) I did take some short breaks along the way when I passed the monkey bars to do some pullups and dips, and when adding in the refueling and water breaks, along with 90 + degree heat/high humidity, I actually was not as slow as it appears. But it was gentle enough to allow me to wake up this morning not feeling stiff or sore, as if I had done 8 miles instead of 28.

When I weighed in this morning I was happy to see that I have lost 7.5 pounds since I started running again back in late April. I am still a couple of pounds over racing weight, but I am moving in the right direction.

With the Devil's Lake 50k two weeks away, I feel strong and ready to run. There isn't much need for a taper because I currently feel fresh and energetic. I will just keep running as I feel. I am having too much fun to take a break :)

Trance Running

When I ran the hill on Monday for 2:45 I was wearing my Puma minimalist shoes. They are comfortable and give me the impression that I am running barefoot. I decided not to wear socks, which is a risk because when I run sockless some part of my foot usually gets rubbed raw. This time it was the back of my left heel which turned red from friction. During the last third of the session it gave me one more thing to think about as I slugged my way up and down in the heat.

Last year this kind of thing would have caused me to stop, no need to have a big cut on my foot, how will that help in any way? This year I welcomed the challenge of running with a burning heel. As I try to change and work myself into an ultra runner, one of the things I need to learn is how to run with blisters and superficial foot pain.

The many ultra race reports which I have read usually mention the discomfort of blisters. The report usually contains pictures of the offending foot, and it makes me wonder - how did they finish the race being in that kind of pain? The two ultras I have completed did not cause blisters, most likely because they were finished in under 6 hours. As I hope to eventually run 50 and 100 mile races, I, too, will have to learn to run with blistered feet.

So as I ran the hill I was given a chance to practice running with a cut on my heel. If I believed the cut would lead to serious damage I would have stopped, but it was just broken skin that got a little more broken with each step. The cut gave me the opportunity to work on the mental aspect of running long. I found that I was still able to get into a running trance, and this allowed me to run freely and with pleasure.

One of my favorite things about running long is getting into a trance-like state. Time speeds up, and an hour of running seems like 15 minutes. I feel I can run for hours without getting tired, and when I look up at the sun am surprised to see how fast it is sliding down into the west. 3 hours seems like a lark, and it is this kind of trance that I would love to get into during a long race. If I can get myself into the zone, an 8 hour run will seem like 4 or 5. When I ran the Riddle Run in snow and cold, I was in and out of a trance for most of the race. When I finished it seemed as if it was just getting started.

One of the things which helps hasten the trance state of being is music. Running is capable of putting me into the cross-over mode, but the combination of music and running is more potent. During the first or second loop of the Riddle Run I listened to a 45 minute piece called Disintegration Loops. I had been listening to this song out on the South Farms route during the winter long runs and knew it had the power to put me into a good place. It got me off to a good start at Riddle Run, and allowed me to get into a solid trance.

Music, the rhythmic movement of running legs, the rotation of the earth around the sun, the moon cruising the sky, birds riding the wind, sweat dancing on the skin, heart pulsing, warm blood flowing, an endless stream of beautiful images entering my eyes - it all comes together, an alchemical mixture similar to the toning of a photograph, the end result being a unique run through the universe, never to happen again in quite the same way.

Feeling 21

The past two days have given me a ton of confidence about the upcoming ultra races in July and August.

The solstice was a success, I spent 95% of the day outdoors, the indoor activities were eating Indian food and a 20 minute bath after biking 24 miles, hiking 7, and running 16. After the bath I did more biking and hiking, so I am estimating that I covered 52-55 miles by leg power.

I was not sure how I was going to be feeling the next day, as I am not accustomed to riding a bike for anything more than 30 minutes at a time. I had forgotten, though, that when I was unable to run in February and March I did 60-90 minute speed biking sessions around the cemetery, so my biking muscles must still be conditioned.

I woke up Monday feeling energetic, with no soreness. When I got home from the dentist Rachel told me there was a heat advisory, that was all I needed to hear, so I quickly laced my shoes and headed outdoors, deciding to run up and down the arboretum hill.

I ended up running the hill for 2 hours and 45 minutes. The first 30 minutes my body was having difficulty keeping cool, but soon after I got into a meditative trance and my body adjusted. I imagined that if I constantly trained in a furnace-like setting, the 91 degree heat and humidity that was weighing me down would not only feel cool, but would make me shiver. That idea made me feel a little stronger as I continued slogging up and down the hill.

Toward the end of the session I was reminded of running the hill at Blackwell in my early 20's. The same kind of heat, the sun going down, exhaustion mixed with strength. I recalled the man I had witnessed running Blackwell Hill for 3 hours, training for a 100 mile race. I was in awe as I watched him trudging endlessly in the orange twilight heat. Today I had become that man - middle aged, running up and down a hill in summer heat, training for an ultra marathon - life does not get much better.

At runs end I felt the peculiar strength of youth, even though it is so far behind me now. To feel 21 at 43 is bliss......

Closing in.....

The Devil's Lake 50k is only 3 weeks away. The week before the race I am taking a week off from work and heading down to Kentucky with Rachel to hang out in a state park with some of her family. It will be fun to run in a new area, although it will be nothing too strenuous or long.

This week was an easy week of running distance-wise, but I did go to the track on Wednesday for some speed running with the 2nd Winders. It was my first fast training day in almost a year. I was surprisingly fast for not having practiced intervals, sprints, tempo pace, etc. Everything I have done the past 10 months has been long and slow, or short and slow, never allowing my heart rate to leave its comfort zone. I usually will run the final 600-1200m of a long run as hard as I can, but that takes 3-5 minutes out of of 3-4 hour run. Having run the Lake Mingo race with a 7:55 pace over 7 miles shows that my best speed is never too far out of reach as long as my endurance is at a high level. 2 years ago I ran the course at a 7:15 pace, so only slowing down 40 seconds per mile is surprising. Having strong endurance must be one of the keys to running well. I would like to put in a few more fast sessions to even things out over the course of the summer.

Having run 8 x 400m hard at the track on Wednesday, my groin and quads were stiff on Thursday and Friday. Friday was 91 and humid, so instead of running 2 or 3 easy miles, I decided I needed to take advantage of the heat so I went out at noon to the arboretum hill and ran up and down for 1 hour. I took it slow and moderate, but it was still a tough workout because the conditions made me feel like I was wearing a 5 pound weight vest.

I will finish up the week today with 2 easy miles (total weekly mileage is 27), and will start a regular week of training tomorrow. Rachel and I want to celebrate the solstice by attempting to spend our time outdoors from sun-up to sun-down. Things on the schedule tomorrow, if it does not rain :

• walk the dog as the sun is rising
• ride bikes to Homer Lake (26-28 miles round trip)
• hike and eat a brunch at Homer Lake
• after getting back to town, I go for a 3-4 hour run, Rachel works in the yard
• after my run I meet Rachel at Bombay Grill for a lunch buffet (indoors, but all you can eat Indian food after a long run is too good to pass up)
• hang out at Taste of Champaign and listen to Bed Bedford play music
• ride bikes to MBK/Busey Woods, then hike around
• bar-b-q in the evening
• walk the dog as the sun is setting.

I am not sure we can pull all of that off, but it will be good training for my upcoming ultra races. I hope it does not rain!

50 miles to Redemption

50 miles to Redemption

I registered for the Devil's Lake 50k last week, and everything is set to go. I was checking out the course, it is fantastically beautiful, lots of steep hills - I am going to be running the arboretum hill for hours and hours this month to prepare myself for the struggle and the journey.

Lake Mingo

I had a great week of training. On Sunday I ran 2 hours and 20 minutes up and down the arboretum hill. Mid week I did back to back 12 milers, and yesterday I raced 1 loop at Lake Mingo, then slowed down and ran 2 more loops. Total weekly mileage was 76.30.

I have had a continual weekly mileage progression for the past 7 weeks. The coming week will be the first down week, because it is time for some extended short and easy runs - the body now needs to reap what it has sowed.

As I was running alone through the woods yesterday I was thinking about how far I have come as a runner. Back when I was 12 years old I started my long journey by running in the mornings to Rocky's home 5 blocks away. I felt odd for running in the quiet morning light because I never saw anyone else doing it. But I loved the way it felt, and it seemed to be the most natural thing to do in the world.

Since that time I have run off and on over the years. In my early 20's I would spend whole days at Blackwell running through the woods and up and down the large hill. In my late 20's and early 30's while in Chicago I loved running along the lakefront, followed by a plunge into the freezing water. In my late 30's and early 40's I started running races for the first time thanks to my friend Melinda. I still remember my first 5k in Danville. I started out strong the first mile, then did a slow burn as my legs got heavier and heavier. I could only watch in shame as a 12 year old child came blazing past me in the last 200m.

Having just turned 43, I am still finding new ways to explore my running potential. I am currently infatuated with running long distance, and am having a great experience training for ultra events. I realize running has been such a big part of my life, and how important it is to me. I have been blessed with a bit of speed, nothing great, but with minimal training I am almost assured of placing in the top 20% of any running event I enter. But comparisons of runner to runner don't mean much, and if I had happened to be a runner who was always near last, I believe I would still love to run and race.

After 31 years it would seem that running by now would surely be stale and no longer a challenge. But I feel as if I am just starting out, and have so much more to experience and learn.

A few things I have learned :

• Start moderately in any event to prevent a slow down at the end of the run
• Running with a high heart rate can last for only a short time. If I don't slow myself down within a few minutes, my body will slow itself down.
• During runs lasting longer than 2 hours, my energy levels will rise and fall for no apparent reason. When in the well of exhaustion, I need to have faith that I will rise into the light eventually.
• The older I get, the longer my warm up needs to be.
• I usually don't enjoy running to reach a specific time, so I rarely wear a watch.
• I enjoy competing against people similar in ability to myself. He who works the hardest wins, so if a person beats me, I know he/she worked harder than me.
• During long runs the first 8-10 miles seem easy and effortless. Soon after things get more difficult and painful, and a continual decline hastens as each mile passes. If I can remember this, I won't be tempted to run fast during the early stages of an ultra.
• I love running in woods and fields.

Jumping Into the Well of Exhaustion

My fitness is improving, but I feel I can still make a lot of progress. However, having run 73 miles last week, with long adventure runs of 19 and 22 miles, I wonder how I am able to run that far while being overweight and out of shape. I have been smart with recovery sessions, running 3-5 miles on days when my legs need rest. But once I feel energized my body takes over and grinds away the hours, the time going by without much effort.

Today I planned to run up and down the arboretum hill for 60-90 minutes, but feeling smooth and energetic, I stopped after 2 hours and 20 minutes. I never fell too deep into the well of exhaustion, and thus I probably could have continued running the hill for another 1 or 2 hours, but I played it safe and stopped while still feeling fresh and lively.

This Saturday I will be running the Lake Mingo 7 mile trail race. I am definitely not ready to run a fast race, but I am healthy and fit enough to participate, and I do miss the competition at races.

I have been contemplating running a 50k on July 11th at Devil's Lake, WI. It is part of the series of races called Dances with Dirt. The course is supposed to be somewhat difficult, which is intriguing, but there will be multiple distance races going on at the same time, along with relay teams. It will take a strong mental effort to keep a proper pace for 30 miles as 4 mile relay runners go flying by. The main thing holding me back is money, but I hate not doing something that I know I would love just because I am short on cash.

I was at the Farmer's Market yesterday and I ran into Barry H., a local runner who ran Howl at the Moon a few years ago. I told him I had signed up for the Howl this year, and he high fived me because he said he was running it this year also. I am looking forward to seeing Barry there, along with the 248 other runners who will attempt to run 8 hours in heat and humidity - what a day it is going to be!

Preparation

The month of May was a good one, as I slowly worked my way back into an average sort of running fitness. Weekly miles were 18, 33, 38, and 55. I usually ran 2 medium-long runs per week. Last week the 2 long days were 18 and 18.75 miles.

I started the month of June on the right foot, slogging 19 miles yesterday in a humid 92 degrees. After runs like yesterday's I make sure to soak in a hot tub for 30 minutes immediately after, then to sit down in a chair and roll my legs with an ice bottle for another 30 minutes. I have read that a hot bath will only make the leg soreness worse, but I discovered that the combination of hot water followed by an ice massage leaves my legs feeling fresh the next day. It is similar to the method of the Fins, who after a tough run will sit in a hot sauna, followed by a jump into a cold lake.

I have 2 more months to train for the Howl at the Moon 8 hour run. Even though I had to take 3 months off at the beginning of 2009, it is not like I am starting from zero. A 3 month break cannot erase all the effects of having run 450 consecutive days, numerous short races, and 2 ultra marathons.

My main concern at this point is my weight, I am still 9-10 pounds over, but this past week I made some progress in eliminating some of the fatty foods (nuts,cheese) that I got into the habit of eating over the winter. With my weekly mileage going up, and the fat calories going down, I think I should be at a good running weight by August.

18 miles and a JJ

I'm already running long even though my overall fitness is poor. As I wrote on my comment to Melinda, I think running long is more than just using physical strength, a determined attitude to endure is needed. Of course, there is a limit to how much I can push, I should not go and run 30 miles tomorrow, because that would lead to body breakdown. My mind and body desire the long slogs, and so I am going as long as reason permits. I am looking forward to seeing if I can push and do some 30 milers in July, to prepare for the Howl.

I have not been doing much with pictures. I don't have money for supplies at the moment, but my desire for it has waned a bit since I got injured. Once I am back to full strength maybe I can do some darkroom work again.

I am reading a book called "Giants in the Earth", about life on the Dakota prairie in the late 19th century. Also reading a bit of Heidegger - sifting through tangled modern philosophy makes me believe that my tiny life is from another galaxy.

Howl at the Moon

Yesterday I signed up for the Howl at the Moon 8 hour race on August 8th. I know I won't be in the greatest shape by then, but, August has always been my best month for running. I run well in heat and humidity, and I always seem to hit a peak in that hot month. In September my allergies arrive, and my body loses energy for the next 3 months. Rather than wait until October's Farmdale race, where I will not be at my best, I may as well try a race in August. I do not have enough time to get into optimal racing shape, but life rarely allows such occurrences anyway, so I will take what I can get.

Today I ran the a South Farms loop for 12.5 miles. The mid 80's heat zapped me because it has been about 7 months since I last ran in that kind of warmth. I am still feeling it several hours later, a kind of blissful lethargy settling into my muscles.

When I finished the loop, I thought, "in August I will just have to run 3 more of those loops back to back to back - no problem!" :)

Downhill

Downhill II

2 weeks ago my knee mysteriously regained its health. When I recognized that running no longer was off limits, I hit the trails, just in time for warm weather running.

I have lost quite a bit of fitness, but, just 2 days ago I completed a full 12.5 mile South Farms loop, so even though I am in lousy shape, running 12 miles still seems pretty easy. I am also 10 pounds overweight, but I hope once I get into a running groove some of that weight will shed.

The past 2 days have been light 4 milers because my quads are a little stiff from the 12 miler on Sunday.

It is great to be running again, and I am looking forward to returning to ultra marathon racing shape. Maybe by October I will be able to run the Farmdale 33 miler again.

This song reflects my mood after today's run :

In a Valley

I am going to stop writing in my blog until things turn around for me.

I can't run because of an injured leg which shows no signs of getting better, I lost access to my wife's digital camera, and I am reluctant to order darkroom supplies because my cash flow is going in reverse.

There isn't much for me to write about these days because all I am doing is walking and meditating.

If my leg gets better and I can run again, I am sure I will want to write about it. Until then.....

Clinton Lake Floats Away

Being apart and lonely is like rain.
It climbs toward evening from the ocean plains;
from flat places, rolling and remote, it climbs
to heaven, which is its old abode.
And only when leaving heaven drops upon the city.

It rains down on us in those twittering
hours when the streets turn their face to the dawn,
and when two bodies who have found nothing,
disappointed and depressed, roll over;
and when two people who despise each other
have to sleep together in one bed -

that is when loneliness receives the rivers. . . .

Rainer Rilke, Loneliness


More photographs from the closet :

Grant Park, Chicago

Leaving Lincoln

The Railyard, Winter Study

Well, what can I do, the Clinton Lake 30 miler was yesterday, and I was sitting inside watching the rain and wind from the window side. I don't feel all that bad, though, as I ran 4.75 miles Friday, which was my first real run in 2 months.

I am realizing that although injured, I am content. The winter months this year produced the best running I have done. Although it was run alone, out on the South Farms, not in competition, I achieved more than I thought possible. The long slogs in the snow, battling frozen fingers and strong winds, were the cause of intense experiences which I will remember and cherish.

This song will always remind me of winter running :

Spring & All

you asked to look at a nature poem and I have enclosed one for you to look over. you've got to realize that they ran the nature poem boys out a little before 1914, and it's a little late in the day; in fact, it's about 11:47 pm.
Charles Bukowski, June, 1965


Photograph found in my studio :

Outskirts of Thomasboro

The weather has been great this week, 50-60 degrees in the day, 40's in the evening. Today, unbelievably, was my 5th consecutive day of running. The mileage for the first 4 days were 3, 2, 3, 3.

When I go out for a run, my sights are always set on making it to the South Farms road via the short route, which means I have to run 3.5 miles to get to the road entrance. Lately I have been been getting close, just a 1/2 mile short.

Today I was running along under the warm sun, a nice northern breeze pushing my pace. I was moving pretty quick, about 8:00-8:15 pace (quick for being injured), legs feeling strong, knee not so bad or wobbly like it was 3 weeks ago at the cemetery.

When I got to the arboretum I circled around, and was expecting to stop at the usual 3 mile mark. My legs still felt good, however, so I kept going, getting deliciously close to the South Farms. When I reached the arboretum maintenance building I smiled because I could see the pathway leading to the road.

I got onto the pathway and waved to the hungry cows. It has been so long since I have seen the cows. I missed them. I could see the road, and I just could not believe that I was getting there. I was moving faster because the wind picked up, pushing me along.

I slowed down at Windsor Road, but when the light turned green I bolted and raised my arms in triumph as I felt the crushed gravel beneath my feet. My NB 790's felt great, light and minimal, shaping my feet to the stones.

I ran along the South Farms Road comfortably, watching the greening fields move slowly by. When I passed the research houses I waved to the dog, whom I love to tease. I whistled as loud as I could, but could not get the dog to stir from its lush, grassy resting place.

I turned into the corn fields, sweating. The cool breeze struck my face, drying the moisture dripping from my brow. I was starting to feel tightness in my knee , but I didn't care, I knew this was my best week of running so far, and when I stopped I had run 4.75 miles.

Feeling like a runner again, I didn't like that I had to walk 3 miles home, but I stopped at the arboretum and did some strength exercises and stretches to loosen my knee.

I will probably take the next day or two off, time to let my knee recover from 5 days of work!

La Noyee - And the Blind Will See

A stone wall -
crumbled from a single breath!
I watch a crescent moon
floating on the water,
dusk light
gathered at its tip.
My satori poem, 20 years late

Another photograph found in my closet :

Pratt, Kansas


~ ~ ~

The next morning I felt somewhat normal, although still a bit intoxicated from the previous evening.

I drove to work on my normal route, and began the day with the usual routine - going to a hidden corner of the warehouse to do 5 minutes of stretching and deep breathing, then gathering my supplies for the day - pen, green cart, and clipboard stuffed with orders to be filled.

Walking around in the dusty oiled light, I felt beautiful and cheerful. Something had happened inside of me, I did not know what, but it was good.

Mike the long hair walked over to me, John following behind him.

"Jim, last night John was getting a blow job from his girlfriend and he fell asleep."

I gave my usual reply, which was a small smile.

Mike wanted me to say something, so he asked a question.

"If you were getting knob would you fall asleep?"

Sometimes I had trouble answering Mike's questions, but this one posed no problem.

"No."

Mike turned to John, who now stood by his side, grinning.

"See, John, Jim wouldn't fall asleep, either."

John seemed to be in a good humor, and he laughed.

Even though John had called me an asshole earlier in the summer, we somehow managed to get along. Since I was self sufficient and knew warehouse procedures better than him, I did not need his help, and therefore ignored him most of the day.

A few days after calling me an asshole he was still pissed. I was pulling some sprinkler heads off a low shelf, placing them on my cart. Jorie stood about 10 feet away, working on something. John came flying around a corner with the forklift. Instead of slowing down as he approached me, he made a fast turn and the pallet he was hauling leveled against my legs. I recognized the danger as he approached, but instead of trying to avoid the skid, I half closed my eyes and breathed deeply. There was a loud crash and some of the pipe fittings that were on the skid fell to the floor, surrounding my feet. I was expecting to be knocked to the floor, writhing in pain. Instead, it appeared as if my body had diverted the heavy iron. I watched as the skid hit something, was it my legs?... and come to a quick halt.

I stood amid the mess, a sprinkler head in my right hand. Although I had just witnessed a potential disaster to my well being and health, there was not a stir of fear inside of me. My heart rate had not even increased. I continued to breathe with a calm evenness, a smile upon my face. I looked about, wondering how everything had crashed around, but not into me.

Jorie looked on in disbelief.

"John, what are you doing?!" she exclaimed.

John looked bewildered, angry that he had missed his chance to do me harm. He did not answer. He was in as much disbelief as I was. I bent down to pick up the scattered pipe fittings, and placed them back on his skid. When all the fittings were off the floor, I turned back to the shelf and continued pulling sprinkler heads.

After that day John did not know what to make of me. He knew I was an asshole, but he did not count on me being an insane asshole. He kept his distance from me, but when he spoke his tone was slightly reverential, a kind of respect for the enemy. He knew I had no fear of him, and he now knew I had no fear of death.

"I have not been getting a lot of sleep, it was past midnight when she was sucking me off", John said as he walked away.

"fuck, John, your a homo," Mike yelled.

"Look here, Jim".

Mike pointed to his bare bicep. A still wet tattoo was engraved on his arm. I looked at it.

"What do you think? I got it last night."

I could not think of anything witty to say.

"It looks painful".

"A little, but I love this, it looks so awesome!"

Mike was happy. I was happy because Mike was happy.

I walked to my green pull cart, clipboard in hand, and started another long day of work.

I worked my way through the orders, filling my cart. When I was near the loading docks I saw 2 sparrows mating. I realized I had never seen 2 birds having sex before, and I watched intently.

"Jim, leave those birds alone, can't you see their busy," Mike said.

"I've never seen that before".

Mike stopped to watch. We stood together, sweat dripping off our arms. The birds flitted about, making love. It seemed depressing, why would they choose to mate on a dirty loading dock?

When the birds finished I bent over my cart and started to double check my work before loading it onto a skid.

At that moment, the flower which had opened inside me the previous evening, broke open again, a full blown blossom growing inside my chest!

I felt the same sensation as the night before, as if my cells were filling with the flower's redolence, but with a double dosage of light and love.

Mike was still standing beside me. I straightened myself up, and looked at the light slanting through the loading dock doors, the heavy grease marks on the gray floor looking warm and moist. I wondered if Mike could sense what was happening to me. He was studying his tattoo, so had not noticed that I was currently in a state of insane clarity.

"Nothing can harm me", went through my head.

Mike could whip a sprinkler head at my face. John could run me over with the fork lift. Fred could fire me. None of it mattered.

"What if my mother died this instant?" I thought.

"Even that, it is all part of the flow. There is nothing to fear."

A beatific ecstasy overwhelmed me as I filled a skid with oily elbows and shiny little sprinkler heads. I picked up the shrink wrap roll and wrapped the order tight, circling the skid as if it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Mike and his tattoo even looked beautiful.

The flower inside of me remained open for 3 or 4 hours. My eyes continually looked inward, gazing at the immensity of its power and beauty.

As the day came to a close, the flower began to close itself for good, never to open again. I walked out of the warehouse, dirty and stinking, and crossed the small lot to my car. I sat in my car for a minute or two, a supreme empty silence surrounding me.

Mike got into his car, waved to me as his tires spun gravel into the air, his engine revving loud and heavy. I followed, pulling out of the lot, heading into traffic. The late afternoon sun splotched the dirty windshield with rings of light, the dust sparkling like a halo of gold.

Stairs of Fire

While there I had time on my hands, had always been a great reader. But school books became lifeless, the very thought of school. A fellow patient, a Zenist, handed me books on the subject. As I turned the pages, my thoughts went to my early years when Buddhism had played a small part in my life. When I started studying Zen, I was amazed to find so much in Buddhism which I hadn't seen before. Life became so simple, so real.
Hideo Kotaki


Another found photograph :

The Railyard, Summer Study

~ ~ ~

As the summer came to a close, I realized I had come a long way in just a few short months. People and animals were reacting differently toward me. I was no longer reacting to what was around me, rather, I was guided by an inner sense of what was right.

I was experiencing a moment to moment Zen state, no longer confined to the sitting cushion. Practicing 8 hours a day at the warehouse - walking around with my green pull cart, aware of my breathing, hauling iron elbows, driving the fork lift, interacting with crazy coworkers. If Zen was really based on truth, an average guy like me should be able to achieve and maintain it anywhere. If it could only be practiced in Far East temples with incense, how useful could it be?

One morning as I was driving to the warehouse, breathing deeply, relaxed and centered, I noticed a car in my rear view mirror driving a few inches behind. Things of this sort could not pull me out of myself. I checked my speed and was going the limit, so I felt no need to go any faster. Eventually the car was able to pass, but as it did so, it slowed beside me. I looked over slowly, smiling, feeling happy. I saw an angry man in the car, yelling at me. He flipped me off, and no doubt was calling me an asshole. His actions caused not a ripple inside of me, I continued to smile, and turned back to the road. He sped on, the look of his car and how he drove expressing extreme agitation and anger.

A few days later, back at the river with my frog friend, I sat in my usual spot, feeling tired from a long day on my feet at the warehouse. Fred had not fired me, and it looked like I was going to be able to finish the summer in good standing and return to school in September.

I picked up my guitar, and felt this would be the last time I would see the frog. His lumpy gray head half out of the water, gazing at me, I felt sadness knowing this would be the final time we would be together. The music I made was somber, and the light of a long summer day was beginning to fade. Cicadas droned and wheezed, and the summer heat was sticky. The river smelled strong and stale as it flowed slowly away from me. I saw a heron further down the river, looking like a Zen master, standing midstream, motionless for minutes at a time. When it did move, it was to spear a passing fish with its beak.

As the sun merged into the river trees, the frog slowly lowered its head into the dark green water. I stopped playing the guitar. The river seemed empty without its log-like presence. The heron remained - hungry, silent, still. I gathered my strength and stood up, inhaling a deep breath, getting as much river scent into my blood as possible.

I walked slowly along the path, following the small lake which was fed by the river. I moved with ease and steadiness, my breathing deep and measured. As I neared my car, something broke open inside of me. I stopped walking, and stood motionless as the heron, feeling as if a budding plant had burst open into a full bloomed flower inside my chest.

My blood was instantly filled with the redolence of the flower, and it filled every cell which danced inside my body. I looked at the water, and saw a crescent moon reflected in the darkened lake, floating in undulating tree branches.

I began to walk again, feeling bliss in every step. When I reached my car and sat down behind the wheel, I smiled, and felt the flower closing itself as the darkness of night filled the sky.

That evening, as I lay in bed, I wondered what had happened to me as I stood by the lake. I had never felt anything like it before. It had lasted 15 minutes, and then slowly faded, my calm silence replacing its absence. For an instant the veil of illusion had seemingly dropped from my eyes, making my dusky evening stroll extend to infinity.

to be continued

Faded Into Light

To be sure, Western art has volume and richness when it is good. Yet to me it is too thickly encumbered by what is dispensable. It's as if the Western artist were trying to hide something, not reveal it.
Yasuda-Tenzan-Roshi


Looking through a box of prints, I found this :

Oakland Avenue, Urbana

~ ~ ~

Driving out to Blackwell on the weekends gave me a needed respite from the warehouse, and the time and inspiration needed to explore my ideas about life.

I was reading a few books about Zen that summer. Zen and the Art of Archery, Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha, and Lucien Stryk's Encounter With Zen.

I was aware of Stryk's book because I took a poetry writing class the previous semester, and he was my teacher. At the time, I did not realize how lucky I was to come into contact with him. Not only was he a published poet and translator, but he was a practicing Zenist. I learned not by speaking with him directly, but, rather, watching how he moved, spoke to the class, and from listening to one of his poetry readings.

I would bring the books with me to Blackwell, and sit at a picnic table overlooking the lake, in solitude, surrounded by large poplar trees, reading the strange ideas and expositions on Zen.

One warm summer day, as the sun was setting, I sat on the side of the large hill, lounging in the grass, finishing off Siddhartha. I was concentrating not only upon the words in the book, but also upon my breathing. I felt relaxed, centered, a meaningful part of the landscape. When I came to the part in the book where the girl dies from a snake bite, I was inspired to look into the sky. As I did so, a gust of wind moved through the small poplars which were thriving on the side of the hill, creating a harmonious sway of trees and twirling of leaves, the sound of which ripped through my senses. A few birds zipped through the branches at impossible angles. I noticed I was caught in a web of tree shadow.

I felt pure, like an animal. My thoughts were being carried away with the dimming dusk light, and what was left behind was tree, bird, shadow, and me. The trees were speaking, and I understood them! I looked out toward the lake, which was covered in a heavy blue and orange. If this was where Zen was leading me, I was surely going to follow.

That day was the beginning of a life shift, brought about through meditation. Afterward, concentration upon my breath became easier, more natural.

I started to wonder, does everyone already live like this? Did I somehow miss the kindergarten hour when the importance of breathing was discussed? Why had it taken me so long to break through? Why had my mother never told me, "Jimmy, follow your breath!"

I felt incredibly stupid, yet relieved. It had taken me 22 years to feel secure in the universe, but at least I had finally arrived.

Soon after, back at Blackwell, I was doing a walking meditation next to the lake. I stopped at a large stone and sat upon it, my feet dangling close to the water. I took off my shoes and began to meditate more intensely. The water of the lake that afternoon was still, and my mind soon reflected that stillness.

I was now able to achieve a meditative state of high intensity through sitting motionless for 20-30 minutes. Whereas in the past I was never able to reach such a level, I could now will it upon myself simply by sitting and following my breath. My thoughts miraculously became silent, and my insides resembled the infinity of black space which goes out beyond earth.

As I sat on the stone, my eyes suddenly were pulled to the center of the lake. A ripple was crossing the entire blanket of water. It seemed odd, the surface was smooth as glass a few moments ago. No breeze stirred. I slowly looked downward, and saw 3 of my toes gently skimming the surface of the lake. I watched as small ripples moved out, further and further toward center. I slowly lifted my toes from the water, and watched the lake once again become still.

Living in a western suburb of Chicago for the summer with my parents, I felt cut off not only from my college friends, but also the inspiration which a small college town possesses. The suburbs were a floundering mess of cars, shopping malls, and a dwindling supply of fields and trees. About 5 miles from my home was the McDonald's corporate campus. It was open to the public, so during the week, not having the time to drive to Blackwell, I would visit the campus and wander around the small woods and fields.

A river flowed through the campus, and I got into the habit of bringing my guitar with me on my walks. When I arrived at the river I would sit on the stone embankment and meditate for 15 or 20 minutes. Once in a calm state of mind, I would pick up the guitar and begin to play. I did not know how to play any known songs, so I would just strum and pluck the strings, things which made sense to my ears.

One day as I was making music on the riverbank, I saw a large head emerging from the river near my feet. I had never seen anything like it. I continued to play my music, breathing deeply. Once in a Zen state, I no longer felt compelled to follow things outside of myself. Everything needed was inside of me. I nodded my head to the unknown river creature, and played my music.

I noticed that the river was flowing at a steady rate, yet the head remained stationary. It was watching me, listening to my music. I took a longer look at it, smiling, and concluded that it must be a large frog of some sort. The head was 6-7 inches wide, which is enormous. It was scaly, with lumps, looking as if it had been alive for a century. I felt honored to be in its presence.

Throughout the summer I returned to the same place at the riverbank, guitar in hand. The old frog must have lived in the spot I sat at, because on numerous occasions, once I began to play, its head would emerge from the murky water, and we would sit together, in friendship.

On one of these occasions, the frog appeared as I sat in meditation. I had no desire to play the guitar that day, so we sat together in silence. I felt myself merging into the world - river, frog, trees, sky - me sitting there, sturdy, silent - I had no desires to be anywhere, no urge to get up and achieve something. On that day, for the first time, life was flowing into me, rather than me chasing after it with grasping hands. I believed the frog could sense this transformation, its intense and curious black eyes devouring my presence. I smiled.

to be continued

The Edge

Four and fifty years
I've hung the sky with stars.
Now I leap through -
What shattering!
Dogen

Looking through a box of old prints, I found this :

Melinda's Alley

~ ~ ~

To fritter away a whole Saturday with meaningless activity meant 1 day of recovery, then, back to the prison yard for 5 days. I could not stand the idea of it, so I did not attend the picnic.

When I showed up to work on Monday I was made to feel as if I had murdered a fellow employee, or stole money from the office safe. Jorey, the warehouse supervisor, walked over to me and my green pull cart and asked why I had not come to the picnic. I told her I was unable to make it, and left it at that. About 30 minutes later, Fred, the owner, approached me. Fred rarely came back to the warehouse, so I knew I was in for it.

"Jim, where were you on Saturday, everybody missed you."

I told him the same thing I told Jorey.

"Come on, you have to tell me something better than that."

Fred looked angry. Like he wanted to shove me against the wall and pummel me. But I was not going to give in, I was just as angry as he was. Who was he to take away one of my 2 days. He already had 5. "Fuck you, Fred", I thought.

The whole place was against me, yet I knew I was in the right. The only reason I was there was because I had no money, not because I wanted to be their friend and hang out at bar-b-q's.

I knew that had I not been a good worker I would have been fired. But how do you fire someone who is never late and is 99% correct on all orders shipped? It would look strange on the incident report - "did not show up to company picnic".

The tension and hatred which surrounded me that day was very real. Yet by this time my meditation studies were beginning to pay off. My inner strength was becoming stronger, and I started to sense that wherever I stood, even if it was in a warehouse, with hatred and scorn directed at me from all sides, that was the place to be. It was truly the center of the universe.

Soon after, one of the sales guys, Ray, quit. He was going to start his own carpet business. He was a middle aged man, with a paunch, balding, and a cynical sense of humor.

The first time I met Ray, which was my first day at the warehouse, did not go very well. I was standing at the packing table with Michael, the manager of shipping. He was showing me how to use the packing peanuts when Ray came back for a smoke.

Michael was in his mid 20's, black hair, good looking. He enjoyed needling people, so he and Ray got into it while I stuffed white foam peanuts into a box filled with sprinkler heads.

Michael liked to listen to Jonathan Brandmeir's morning FM radio show. One of the hardest things about working in a warehouse is having to listen to crappy radio 8 hours everyday.

I was packing my shipping box with peanuts, Mike and Ray were arguing, and I started to laugh because Brandmeir said something funny on the radio. In an instant Ray's wrath turned from Michael to me - "what are you laughing at, curly!?" he said with meanness and anger (I had thick, curly hair at that time, yeah, I guess it was like a fro). There was a pause in the conversation, and I looked up to see Ray scowling at me. I was taken aback with surprise, because I had not been paying attention to what Mike and Ray were saying. Before I could tell Ray that I was laughing at something said on the radio, he turned on his heels and walked back to the front office.

After a few weeks Ray became friendly with me. I never did get a chance to explain to him that I was laughing at the radio, but I guess things worked out ok between him and me.

One cold winter evening at work day's end my car would not start. I gave up and walked back into the warehouse to warm up. Ray was walking out and asked me what was up. I told him, and he seemed confident that he would be able to start my car. I gave him the keys as we walked across the lot. After getting into my car I watched him pump the pedal like a maniac, as if he was trying to crush the head of his worst enemy underfoot. When the car started, Ray's killer instinct became angelic, a beatific smile awash on his face, and that cemented our friendliness toward each other.

On Ray's last day he came back into the warehouse to seek me out. I was sitting on my green cart, counting small iron elbows. He smiled at me, friendly and warm.

The one thing I had noticed about working in warehouses was that the people, upon first meeting, seemed mean, brutal, and without a trace of compassion. Yet after accumulated experience, the facade of brutality faded and was replaced with a bit of friendship, made closer through the shared bond of enduring 8 difficult hours day by day.

We shook hands, and I bid him good luck and farewell.

Later in the day, John, the new warehouse manager, walked over to me and asked if I was going to the local bar after work to celebrate Ray's last day.

I rarely went to bars. The first time I was in one, when I was 12, made an unforgettable impression upon me. It was a bright, warm, sunny summer day, and yet inside the dark, stale smelling bar, sat hordes of men bent over their drinks, or sitting at a round table playing pinochle in a thick haze of cigarette smoke. I could not fathom why they did not stand up, walk to the door, and step out into the light.

I believed that once I gave in to the request of going to a bar after work with my coworkers, the requests would then never stop, and I would thus be spending the majority of my waking hours standing and sitting in ugly, dark places.

"No, I'm not going", I said.

"It's Ray's last day, you should come."

"Well, look at my clothes, I'm filthy and stinking. I don't want to go into a public place looking like this."

John walked away.

I thought about going, because it seemed like a decent thing to do, to send someone off with a showing of love. But the smile on Ray's face, the handshake, that seemed to me the best way to part. And what I had told John was true. My clothing was covered in grease and oil, and I felt beat to hell. The one thing to make me feel better was to get into clean clothes and take an evening stroll at a nearby woods.

The next morning I stood at one of the packing tables counting out sprinkler valves. John walked up to me.

"Your an asshole."

I stopped counting the valves. I thought about what he had said. It was the first time I had been called that. I remained aware of my breath. No anger surfaced inside of me. I was calm.

"I realize not everyone is going to like me", I said, looking into his face.

A malicious grin of satisfaction appeared on his face, as if he had been thinking about calling me an asshole for a long time, and now had finally done it.

"I just wanted to let you know that", he said, the grin turning into a smile. He turned and walked away.

I looked back down to the the greasy table. For a few moments, when I was thinking about how I was going to reply, I felt a bit shaky, but as John walked away, I felt my calmness return. I smiled, aware of my breath.

to be continued

Silent

A sudden chill -
In our room my dead wife's
comb, underfoot.
Yosa Buson


I lost the rhythm of making pictures the past few days. I will admit I just felt kind of lazy, so instead of forcing myself to work, which I fear will lead to a sudden loss of energy, I decided to let things go, moving slowly through the late winter days, meditating and reading about Zen.

I have sold many photographs during the past 7 or 8 years. It is a special feeling knowing pictures which I made, which very easily could have gone unmade, are now floating somewhere in time and space, perhaps being looked upon by an unknown pair of eyes, inspiring someone to see and act differently.

Even with all of my best photos gone, I still have a decent collection of nice prints sitting in my closet. Here is one I found today :

Morning on Green Street, Urbana

I am not sure why Zen has such a hold on me. Its philosophy, pictures, poems, all resonate with what I think life is and how it should be seen and lived.

I have never wanted to admit to myself that I have had an experience which could be considered an "enlightened" one, or, satori. Yet, now that 20 years have passed, I have decided that what I achieved in my early 20's was indeed an awakening, a way of seeing the world in a more clear, calm, and true way.

My introduction to Zen came from 2 friends I had met at the college philosophy club. As far as clubs go, it was a good fit for me, as only 4 or 5 people regularly showed up for the Tuesday evening meetings at the Newman Center. At the end of the first year the president asked if I wanted to be secretary for the following year. There was nobody else to take the job, and as my only function was to take notes, I reluctantly agreed.

This was a good decision on my part, because the following year, at the first meeting, I met my future girlfriend and wife, Rachel. Had I not been secretary I would have skipped that meeting, as it was a social event held at a local cookie shop. I believe Rachel did not attend any other meetings.

Donna, the president, attended a once a week, 1 hour meditation session at the Newman Center, led by Professor Quinney. She mentioned this to me one day, and it seemed like such a strange thing to do - sit still with no seeming purpose. I had never seen anyone sit still in my life, so it intrigued me.

I happened to be taking an environmental sociology class with Professor Quinney at the time Donna mentioned the meditation group, and one of the books we had to read was Miracle of Mindfulness, by Thic Nhat Hanh.
The book proclaimed that through sitting, one could achieve mindfulness, which is a way of turning the mind's attention onto it's own self, causing it to be grounded in the present moment. According to Hanh, this being-in-the-present could lead to peace, calm, and, perhaps, satori.

My mind at that time was in a constant state of agitation, as there were too many unknown variables about my life which made the days seem chaotic and rudderless.

I was skeptical of Hanh's book, and of meditation in general. However, I was attracted to what it could perhaps lead me to, so I decided to attend a Tuesday afternoon meditation session.

Before I went I attempted to meditate in my dorm room. I lay down on my small bed and tried to be aware of my breathing. It was difficult, and my breathing had no flow. It was harder than I expected it to be.

The first few sessions felt long and difficult because I had never sat still before. It was required to sit without moving or making a sound for 40-45 minutes. It seemed terribly long at first, but after a month I noticed my breath was becoming longer, and my body stiller.

When the school year came to an end, I was starting to believe that meditation could cure my confusion, so I decided to dedicate the summer to it.

I was working in a fire equipment supply warehouse that summer. I had to gather orders of oiled pipe fittings, ceiling sprinklers, etc. onto skids and get them ready for truck shipment. It was tough physically because some of the pipe fittings weighted 70-80 pounds each, and mentally challenging because my 3 or 4 coworkers were into heavy metal, drugs, and violence. I was definitely the black sheep.

The first few weeks of the summer I meditated in my bedroom in the evenings before going to sleep. On the weekends I would travel to Blackwell Forest Preserve, where I attempted to meditate for the first time outdoors, while walking. It seemed odd trying to remain attentive to the surroundings, while at the same time remaining aware of my breath. I was not very good at it, but I liked how it made the world seem different.

As the summer progressed, meditating slowly became a habit of mind, and by mid-summer I decided to attempt walking meditation while working in the warehouse.

One of the first things I noticed when I started meditating in the warehouse was that my facial muscles were tight. I made a conscious effort to smile more than usual, hoping this would make me feel more relaxed.

One day as I was wandering around the dark, greasy warehouse, collecting orders on my green pull cart, a customer who was picking up an order saw me and called out "hey smiley!".

My coworkers also noticed a change in me and more than once asked me what I had to be happy about.

"How come your so happy?" asked Glen, a middle aged man who had a family and was down on his luck.

I replied with a smile.

"It's because he has only a month left and then he's gone," retorted Mike, a 19 year old long hair, into heavy metal, tattoos, and drugs.

I did not contradict Mike, but I found his reply to be not only clever, but a bit depressing. I could understand someone being happy knowing that a shitty job was coming to an end, but to go around smiling about it seemed like a low thing to do, and this is what I was being accused of.

Having to work 8:30-5:00pm 5 days a week, the 2 weekend days were obviously precious to me. There was nothing that was going to stand in my way of going out into nature, from sun up to sun down, to meditate, run, and think about things.

I learned, though, that many people live and think in a similar reality. My dedication to meditation would have put me at home in a Southeast Asian monastery, but in Midwestern industrial America, it was a struggle to remain on the correct course.

The company summer picnic was held annually on a Saturday at the owner's home. The previous summer I had attended. It was the usual stuff of swimming and bar-b-q. Now I wanted nothing to do with it. I was feeling more and more like a condemned prisoner working hard labor 40 hours a week. I had little time to myself, and the only thing that kept my hopes up were the weekends. To fritter away a whole Saturday with meaningless activities.....

to be continued