In which I do a bit of running

1.
I've been getting back into fairly decent shape these last few weeks. Last week, I entered 40+ mpw range for the first time since June, and I've been keeping my rolling 7-day average above 40 all week, so I feel like I'm staying on track.

Also, things are a little faster. And it's a good feeling when the easy pace is getting faster, especially since I know that when easy gets faster, hard is getting faster, too.

2.
I ran eight yesterday afternoon, mostly in the rain, and I'll say this about running in the rain: you're only going to get so wet before you can't get any wetter.

I'll also say this about running in the rain:

Q: You know how many other people I saw running in the rain?
A: One.

I like to think that means that I was getting faster yesterday while the competition was sitting on the couch.

3.
And that one guy I saw? He's pretty strange. Always wears a visor. Never makes eye contact. Never waves. Never says hello. Never even nods. I've never seen him acknowledge anyone else in any way. Strange.

4.
Over at The Logic of Long Distance, Jeff wrote this:

I've said this before, and I will say it again: one of the best reasons to run is its utter uselessness as an activity. Horkheimer makes the meaning of this clearer. The fact that a run has no exchange value on the open market is a mark that it, as an experience, cannot be exchanged. Its value, like that of life itself, is inherent and singular.

Certainly, there's some attempt to commodify running--professional runners get paid, after all, and there are prizes at some races. But running does resist commodification in a way that appeals to me a great deal.

5.
On my eight-mile run yesterday, I saw a group of peacocks. At first, I thought it was a pair of them, but as I came up beside them, I realize there were seven. Three of them were huddled under a tree, while the other four nosed through some tall grass--looking for dinner, I imagined.

6.
It occurred to me yesterday that there is often so much about a run that is wonderful. But once the run is over, it usually feels like it's impossible to explain the wonder of the run to another person.

Jouissance? Objet petit a? It's been too long, perhaps, since I've read Lacan, so I'm not certain which. But it any case, there's something there that resists signification.

7.
In other news, John Darnielle (yes, he's that guy from the Mountain Goats) writes a poem to power metal bands about the importance of playing a real piano here.