Night run. I did a 10k, a little more. I felt stronger than yesterday, decided to push hard for the first four miles over hills. I descended down through the ruins of downtown Brownsville, climbed back up into a mile-long neighborhood and ran its rolling streets. I used a headlamp. I kept the pace at an uncomfortable intensity. If I wasn’t gasping for air, I pushed harder. Swung back down the hill, crossed the bridge for a little 1/2 mile lollipop, ran alongside a rumbling train, then ran my fifth mile at a relatively easy pace for a couple of minutes before making the 200 foot climb back up into my neighborhood. Powered through the last 1/3 of a mile. Soaked, but not pouring sweat. My legs are no longer sore. That’s good. I can use them to rip the air from my lungs tomorrow.
I’m trying a new focus exercise. I am only trying to visualize the finish point of my run. For years, I focused on specific points along the way. I could break the run into segments and have a series of mini-goals to get excited about. While I ran and gasped for air, I noticed myself involuntarily attracted to running a sharp contour of cars I passed, or I would fixate on a transition point ahead where the sidewalk would end or where something blocked my path. The path I made was between these points, from threshold to threshold. I was cutting the run up as if I had a pair of scissors. Instead of a straight line, I was consciously running to objects in my line-of-sight. Perhaps this was cluttering my mind. When I visualized the invisible endpoint of the run, I felt like I was being pulled through empty space towards it, carried beyond the “clutter” of the landscape. I felt lighter and faster.
My inner airhead told me, “Dude, that’s just gravity. You’re so fast you’re gaining mass and drifting towards objects.” It felt good to think so.
Juneathon total: 11 miles