Howdy, pilgrim! No ads — you're in the ^zhurnal (that's Russian for "journal") — see ZhurnalyWiki for a Wiki edition of individual items; see Zhurnal and Zhurnaly for quick clues as to what this is all about; see Random for a random page. Briefly, this is the diary of ^z = Mark Zimmermann ... previous volume = 0.9915 ... complete list at bottom of page ... send comments & suggestions to "z (at) his (dot) com" ... click on a title link to go to that item in the ZhurnalyWiki where you can edit or comment on it ...
"Birds!" Kristin and I notice the twittering as dawn glows pink in the east. Frost makes the McLean High School track slightly slick. We meander down Old Chesterbrook Rd, admiring the architecture, then miss a turn on Linway Terrace and backtrack to escape neighborhood cul-de-sacs. Pause to pet dogs being walked, their eyes retroreflecting green by headlamp light.
The left foot is fine, and the pair of major right-foot blisters from the weekend (2015-03-28 - Umstead 100 Mile Endurance Run (75 mile DNF)) are ~90% healed after a few days of limping and groaning. But a deep bruise/hotspot in the center of the ball of that foot suggests gently that it might be wise to stop at ~10 km. Kristin continues for bonus solo mileage, while I branch aside to unlock the office door for colleagues. But first, at my request we sprint a final loop around the MITRE complex, just to push the average pace on the GPS down a hair below 12.0 min/mi. OCD? Who, me?
- Saturday, April 25, 2015 at 07:26:39 (EDT)
Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) is fascinating poetry itself, with powerful fragments oft quoted out-of-context. In Stephen Mitchell's brilliant 1984 translation one of the most unexpected features leaps forward: Rilke's far-ahead-of-his-time musings about love and sex and the sexes and their mutual humanity. Near the end of Letter #3, for instance, in analyzing German poet Richard Dehmel, Rilke observes that when Dehmel's writing:
... arrives at the sexual, it finds someone who is not quite so pure as it needs him to be. Instead of a completely ripe and pure world of sexuality, it finds a world that is not human enough, that is only male, is heat, thunder, and restlessness, and burdened with the old prejudice and arrogance with which the male has always disfigured and burdened love. Because he loves only as a male, and not as a human being, there is something narrow in his sexual feeling, something that seems wild, malicious, time-bound, uneternal, which diminishes his art and makes it ambiguous and doubtful. It is not immaculate, it is marked by time and by passion, and little of it will endure. (But most art is like that!) ...
And in Letter #4 — just after Rilke's frequently cited Zen-like advice to "Live the questions now." and "But those tasks that have been entrusted to us are difficult; almost everything serious is difficult; and everything is serious." — appears a thoughtful paragraph that seems to echo the Sufi mystic poet Rumi:
Bodily delight is a sensory experience, not any different from pure looking or the pure feeling with which a beautiful fruit fills the tongue; it is a great, an infinite learning that is given to us, a knowledge of the world, the fullness and the splendor of all knowledge. And it is not our acceptance of it that is bad; what is bad is that most people misuse this learning and squander it and apply it as a stimulant on the tired places of their lives and as a distraction rather than as a way of gathering themselves for their highest moments. People have even made eating into something else: necessity on the one hand, excess on the other; have muddied the clarity of this need, and all the deep, simple needs in which life renews itself have become just as muddy. But the individual can make them clear for himself and live them clearly (not the individual who is dependent, but the solitary man). He can remember that all beauty in animals and plants is a silent, enduring form of love and yearning, and he can see the animal, as he sees plants, patiently and willingly uniting and multiplying and growing, not out of physical pleasure, not out of physical pain, but bowing to necessities that are greater than pleasure and pain, and more powerful than will and withstanding. If only human beings could more humbly receive this mystery—which the world is filled with, even in its smallest Things—, could bear it, endure it, more solemnly, feel how terribly heavy it is, instead of taking it lightly. If only they could be more reverent toward their own fruitfulness, which is essentially one, whether it is manifested as mental or physical; for mental creation too arises from the physical, is of one nature with it and only like a softer, more enraptured and more eternal repetition of bodily delight. "The thought of being a creator, of engendering, of shaping" is nothing without its continuous great confirmation and embodiment in the world, nothing without the thousand-fold assent from Things and animals—and our enjoyment of it is so indescribably beautiful and rich only because it is full of inherited memories of the engendering and birthing of millions. In one creative thought a thousand forgotten nights of love come to life again and fill it with majesty and exaltation. And those who come together in the nights and are entwined in rocking delight perform a solemn task and gather sweetness, depth, and strength for the song of some future poet, who will appear in order to say ecstasies that are unsayable. And they call forth the future; and even if they have made a mistake and embrace blindly, the future comes anyway, a new human being arises, and on the foundation of the accident that seems to be accomplished here, there awakens the law by which a strong, determined seed forces its way through to the egg cell that openly advances to meet it. Don't be confused by surfaces; in the depths everything becomes law. And those who live the mystery falsely and badly (and they are very many) lose it only for themselves and nevertheless pass it on like a sealed letter, without knowing it. And don't be puzzled by how many names there are and how complex each life seems. Perhaps above them all there is a great motherhood, in the form of a communal yearning. The beauty of the girl, a being who (as you so beautifully say) "has not yet achieved anything," is motherhood that has a presentiment of itself and begins to prepare, becomes anxious, yearns. And the mother's beauty is motherhood that serves, and in the old woman there is a great remembering. And in the man too there is motherhood, it seems to me, physical and mental; his engendering is also a kind of birthing, and it is birthing when he creates out of his innermost fullness. And perhaps the sexes are more akin than people think, and the great renewal of the world will perhaps consist in one phenomenon: that man and woman, freed from all mistaken feelings and aversions, will seek each other not as opposites but as brother and sister, as neighbors, and will unite as human beings, in order to bear in common, simply, earnestly, and patiently, the heavy sex that has been laid upon them.
And in Letter #7, a year later, there's an exploration of the social/political/intellectual emergence of women after countless millennia of suppression, in words that revisit John Stuart Mill's On the Subjection of Women and other feminist essays. Rilke observes:
The girl and the woman, in their new, individual unfolding, will only in passing be imitators of male behavior and misbehavior and repeaters of male professions. After the uncertainty of such transitions, it will become obvious that women were going through the abundance and variation of those (often ridiculous) disguises just so that they could purify their own essential nature and wash out the deforming influences of the other sex. Women, in whom life lingers and dwells more immediately, more fruitfully, and more confidently, must surely have become riper and more human in their depths than light, easygoing man, who is not pulled down beneath the surface of life by the weight of any bodily fruit and who, arrogant and hasty, undervalues what he thinks he loves. This humanity of woman, carried in her womb through all her suffering and humiliation, will come to light when she has stripped off the conventions of mere femaleness in the transformations of her outward status, and those men who do not yet feel it approaching will be astonished by it. Someday (and even now, especially in the countries of northern Europe, trustworthy signs are already speaking and shining), someday there will be girls and women whose name will no longer mean the mere opposite of the male, but something in itself, something that makes one think not of any complement and limit, but only of life and reality: the female human being.
This advance (at first very much against the will of the outdistanced men) will transform the love experience, which is now filled with error, will change it from the ground up, and reshape it into a relationship that is meant to be between one human being and another, no longer one that flows from man to woman. And this more human love (which will fulfill itself with infinite consideration and gentleness, and kindness and clarity in binding and releasing) will resemble what we are now preparing painfully and with great struggle: the love that consists in this: that two solitudes protect and border and greet each other.
And finally, in Letter #8, Rilke returns again to his touchstone word — difficult — with a profound vision of love and its ultimate triumph:
... We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares have been set around us, and there is nothing that should frighten or upset us. We have been put into life as into the element we most accord with, and we have, moreover, through thousands of years of adaptation, come to resemble this life so greatly that when we hold still, through a fortunate mimicry we can hardly be differentiated from everything around us. We have no reason to harbor any mistrust against our world, for it is not against us. If it has terrors, they are our terrors; if it has abysses, these abysses belong to us; if there are dangers, we must try to love them. And if only we arrange our life in accordance with the principle which tells us that we must always trust in the difficult, then what now appears to us as the most alien will become our most intimate and trusted experience. How could we forget those ancient myths that stand at the beginning of all races, the myths about dragons that at the last moment are transformed into princesses? Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.
(cf. OnTheSubjectionOf (1999-08-21), NotEasy (2001-03-31), OurStonehenge (2001-05-03), WomenAndMen (2001-11-20), Everyday Blessings (2014-06-06), Live the Questions Now (2015-04-02), ...)
- Wednesday, April 22, 2015 at 17:06:25 (EDT)
|Another ^z 100 miler start, another Did Not Finish result! At Umstead State Park in North Carolina on 28-29 March 2015 I withdraw at the end of lap 6, official mile 75, after 20 hours and 21 minutes of fun.|
And it truly is fun! I feel fine mentally, and am not actually too tired. But alas, as at the 2013-04-27 - C-and-O Canal 100 DNF, big bad blisters end the game.
Ultra-kudos to kind Mary Ewell, who snookers me into entering Umstead, drives me six hours to the race, reintroduces me to her lovely sister Anna (who lives in nearby Chapel Hill, and at whose beautiful home we stay), cheerfully crews for me, helps tape my über-ugly feet, and gently lures me out with her at 10pm on Saturday night to trek a final dozen miles.
Thank you so much, dear Dr Mary. What a wonderful friend!
|Approaching mile 25 I miss a turn on a spur trail, go off course, and find myself approaching the start/finish area from the wrong direction. Oops! Dash back along the dirt path. Locate the branch point where I wasn't paying attention. Award myself a bonus ~0.8 miles when I get to the official checkpoint and run past the chip sensor. And yes, It's All Good!|
Splits for the 12.5 mile Umstead orbits turn out awesomely level-paced and in near-perfect accord with the game plan proposed by experienced 100 miler friends Stephanie Fonda and Marshall Porterfield. They advise me to finish each circuit in ~3 hours during daylight and to aim for ~4.5 hours/lap through the night. As it happens, times for the first four loops are respectively 2:52 + 2:58 + 2:58 + 3:11. It adds up to a mile-50 total of 11:58. Spot on, eh?
At that point, however, the ball of my right foot has developed emergent "hot spots" — troublesome, but not yet crippling. I invest ~10 minutes at the race headquarters cabin in cleaning the foot, piercing incipient blisters with a safety pin from my bib, squeezing out clear liquid, and changing into clean dry socks. Then it's back out for the evening lap. Its elapsed time is 3:42, as the sun sets and walk breaks get longer.
Back again at the start/finish, mile 62.5, I confer with Mary. We return to the cabin and commence another round of safety-pin blister-pricking. Mary gives me moleskin to stick over the bad spots, and we cover that with duct tape from a kind race assistant. I'm skeptical that it will last more than a mile, but can't say "no" to Mary's cajoling. So 20 minutes later, into the night we go ...
|The final round takes 4:39, as Mary walks and I limp. We practice aid station discipline, as I have throughout the day, and only spend a couple of minutes refueling at the midcourse stop.|
At 2:20am we arrive back at race headquarters. I withdraw officially from the event, with the GPS reading 76.9+ miles. It's more than 7 miles farther than I've ever made before, and continues the linear progression established in recent years: 69+ miles at 2014-04-26 - CO Canal 100 Miler DNF, 62+ miles at 2013-10-12 - Tesla-Hertz Run - 100 Miler DNF, and 52+ miles at 2013-04-27 - C-and-O Canal 100 DNF.
At this rate, by 2020 perhaps I'll score 100, eh?
|Before leaving home on Friday afternoon I draw a Tarot card from the "Dream Enchantress" deck: the Knave of Pentacles. The accompanying commentary says, "Whatever news comes your way right now, do not be misled. Go slowly, taking careful, steady steps. Keep your belongings secure." Excellent advice for any ultramarathon!|
During Umstead I accompany ultra legends Tom Green and James Monroe for parts of the first few dozen miles. Conversation with them (and scores of other fellow travelers) is delightful. I pick up bits of trash and touch trees as I pass, imagining that they give me energy and perhaps are inhabited by comely dryads who appreciate a human contact. Occasionally I try a bit of trail Taiji as I trot along. Orange course-marking cones offer the opportunity for a new sport, "Cone Bopping": generating tones by whacking the opening at their apex. Hey, gotta do something when alone in the woods!
"You are a Hill Climbing Machine!" one racer tells me, as I pass by. "Beard Power!" encourages another.
|The obligatory race evening photo of blisters shows them already receding. Three days later I'm able to run half a dozen miles comfortably around the office neighborhood. Perhaps if I toughen my feet by more long walks? Perhaps if I pre-tape? Perhaps ...|
Other lessons-learned include the value of getting good sleep for a few nights before a long run, the utility of carrying lots of baby-wipes and grease, and the importance of having a supportive companion. During the post-race drive back Mary gently suggests that I might try to eat more protein. Even if most people don't have a major deficit in that department, as a vegetarian who trains fairly hard maybe ~100 g/day or more would be appropriate. Buddies Kristin and Stephanie concur, and Kristin refers me to the vegan "Pure Green" powder, with protein from yellow peas, alfafa, rice, and other plants. Perhaps ...
The GPS trackfile (Runkeeper app on an iPhone 6) shows a total climb of almost 7,000 feet, in close agreement with the official course estimate of ~8k. During the late afternoon I discover that I can speed-walk ~16 min/mi without any need to pick up both feet to run. With just a bit more practice? Perhaps ...
(race-day photos by Hope Squires)
- Monday, April 20, 2015 at 22:26:47 (EDT)
"... take a moment to breathe, feel yourself, and enjoy. ... One minute here and there can change the whole rhythm of a day by allowing you to catch up with yourself. ..." - (from Lorin Roche, Meditation Made Easy (2008-11-01))
- Sunday, April 19, 2015 at 16:11:52 (EDT)
"GARDENERS ONLY" says the sign in Lewinsville Park. After a winter hibernation, Dr David rejoins the Dawn Patrol as we do a brisk exploratory loop through a new neighborhood near Franklin Sherman Elementary School. Mansion-lined streets dead-end at Pimmit Run, however, and force us back out after a mile. Kerry rescues an empty styrofoam cooler that has blown onto Chain Bridge Rd. Kristin points out purple and turquoise and pink tinges in the eastern sky. Robins hop aside as we approach. David tells of his new little farm near Culpepper, where he hopes to grow grapes. The Savageman half-iron triathlon is on his calendar later this year. Perhaps due to his presence, or the cold, our pace is faster than usual.
- Saturday, April 18, 2015 at 13:54:48 (EDT)
"5k, eh?" says Cara Marie Manlandro, when the GPS announces that we've just passed mile 4. "I've gotta turn off that speech feature," I reply. "It spoils my sandbagging!" We're out on an impromptu Sunday afternoon trot around the 'hood, when CM finds herself with an hour free between appointments and decides to make the most of it. Her pace is already a minute/mile faster than last week. Watch out!
- Friday, April 17, 2015 at 05:08:23 (EDT)
From my son Robin Zimmermann's derivation "Baseball", a clever rule-of-thumb for how many runs to expect will score in a given situation, depending on how many outs there are in the inning and where the runners are:
Summarizing in a chart, and rounding:
This results in a prediction that roughly concurs, according to Robin, with a Baseball Prospectus article tabulation of average runs scored depending on where the runners are and the number of outs. That data changes over time, and of course varies wildly among teams and with specific baserunning and hitting and pitching and fielding abilities of the players on any given day. But for a "ballpark estimate" (<groan!>) it's not bad. Many thanks, Robin!
(cf. SquareRootOfBaseball (2005-05-13), InTheBigInning (2006-01-31), BaseballOdds (2007-04-21), ...)
- Thursday, April 16, 2015 at 05:53:44 (EDT)
"Loopy and Knotty!" We assign names to the unknown volunteers who tie blue ribbons on trees to mark the route for today's Seneca Creek Greenway Trail Marathon & 50k. Rebecca Rosenberg and I are sweepers, trekking the middle segment of the course in search of lost or injured runners. None found, so we focus on our other duties: picking up trash and taking down marker ribbons. "Loopy" uses beautiful slip-knot loops that come off with a light tug. "Knotty", on the other hand, makes square knots that have to be picked at or torn apart. We rescue a lawn ornament flamingo left by the trail with an encouraging sign tied around its neck.
And in addition to the fun of trail clean-up, it's simply a beautiful afternoon for a walk/run in the woods. Frogs in bogs croak in chorus. Vultures circle overhead. Conversation covers dialogue-dense movies, upcoming race plans, work and family news, injury avoidance, favorite household phrases, stress management, and a host of other themes. Even occasional thorn bushes and muddy patches are ok. Neither of us slips or trips or falls. Such a great day!
- Wednesday, April 15, 2015 at 05:04:23 (EDT)
From the New York Times, "How to Be Emotionally Intelligent" by Daniel Goleman (2015-04-07) discusses factors that help someone be a great leader. Summarized:
... and the expanded version:
4. RELATIONSHIP SKILLS
(cf. FifthDisciplinarians (2000-09-10), QuietingReflex (2006-02-07), ...)
- Tuesday, April 14, 2015 at 05:31:30 (EDT)
After a tough winter with much preemption by family and work duties, Amber rejoins the Dawn Patrol and — despite dreams of abandonment plus fretfulness about not being in shape — easily hangs with Kristin & Kerry & me as we do a faster-than-average trot around neighborhoods south of the office. The waning crescent moon peeks through clouds as we begin. A meandering route revisits the grizzly bear statue carved from a front yard tree stump. On the W&OD Trail hints of sunrise begin in front of us, and by the last mile the eastern sky is luminous with pinks and lavenders. Then, as if a switch flips on, the world suddenly is full of light!
- Monday, April 13, 2015 at 04:33:03 (EDT)
The 1965 novel Stoner, by John Edward Williams (1922-1994), is almost perfectly gray. Not too meaningless, but not too full of ideas. Not too depressing, but not too cheerful either. Not at all badly written, but far from distractingly poetic. It's ... just gray.
The book is currently enjoying a surge of popularity. Its protagonist, William Stoner, is an English professor at a midwestern university. He escapes from a poor farm life, goes to college, discovers the joys of the mind, has a mediocre career, enters an unhappy marriage, has a love affair that ends sadly, and dies (1891-1956 in the story). A typical snippet, from Chapter 1, immediately after sophomore student Stoner suddenly sees that he could become a teacher:
It was as simple as that. He was aware that he nodded to Sloane and said something inconsequential. Then he was walking out of the office. His lips were tingling and his fingertips were numb; he walked as if he were asleep, yet he was intensely aware of his surroundings. He brushed against the polished wooden walls in the corridor, and he thought he could feel the warmth and age of the wood; he went slowly down the stairs and wondered at the veined cold marble that seemed to slip a little beneath his feet. In the halls the voices of the students became distinct and individual out of the hushed murmur, and their faces were close and strange and familiar. He went out of Jesse Hall into the morning, and the grayness no longer seemed to oppress the campus; it led his eyes outward and upward into the sky, where he looked as if toward a possibility for which he had no name.
Luminous, meticulous, aware — like some of Tolstoy's scenes in War and Peace (cf. InfiniteSky, IrresistibleAttraction, UntutoredVoice, ...). If only the rest of Stoner glowed as brightly ...
- Sunday, April 12, 2015 at 10:24:32 (EDT)
Sunday afternoon Cara Marie Manlandro and I take a ramble down memory lane. "Recall how you almost puked here?" and "This is that hill we barely made it up on your first 16 mile day!" and "Here's where you first did a sub-8 minute mile." Wind gusts almost blow us off the bridge, and walk breaks are interspersed with too-fast sprints. Great to run with you again, CM!
- Saturday, April 11, 2015 at 03:40:38 (EDT)
With Ken Swab and Rebecca Rosenberg it's 14 miles of Sunday morning improv and banter along Rock Creek, from Ken-Gar to Lake Needwood and back. Matthew Henson and the trail named for him leads to discussion of North Pole expeditions and the Chandler Wobble of Earth's axis. "How many dogs does it take to change a light bulb?" (The answer depends on breed.) Air travel on antique planes, squirrel-zapping bird feeders, Kenneth Branaugh's version of HENRY V, icy drives home during the blizzard two weeks ago, Tony Bennett's singing testimony at a Congressional hearing, a friend's thrill-packed visit to Topeka Kansas, ... and more! Not to mention mega-puddles on the path, framed by muddy bogs on each side. Plus the usual comparison of injuries. Today's trek is prep for diverse marathons and longer runs in weeks to come. Brisk winds bring shivers when the sun plays peek-a-boo behind clouds.
- Saturday, April 11, 2015 at 03:38:30 (EDT)
From a talk by Stephen Batchelor, On the Far Shore, at the Upaya Zen Center — thoughts on not-clinging to doctrine, law, or revealed-teachings:
... the Buddha concludes by saying, "So, I have shown you how the Dhamma is similar to a raft, being for the purpose of crossing over, not for the purpose of grasping." I think there's a strong message here, a strong signal against the tendency towards any kinds of sectarianism, any kind of privileging any aspect of the Dhamma over all others. It's also suggesting how we need to learn to live with the practice and the philosophy of Buddhism much more lightly. That doesn't mean in a casual, trivial way, but carrying our understandings, our experience, without great fanfare, without great display, but simply being able to drop what has helped us in a particular day in our life and encountering the challenges of the next day with a freshness, with an openness, with an un-encumbered-ness, so that we can greet that new situation from an openness of mind, hopefully, a sensitivity, a kindness, a compassion. And when we are called upon to act, we're able as intuitively, as spontaneously as we can, to respond in the appropriate way. ...
(cf. Buddhism Without Beliefs (2008-09-19), Yes, and... (2012-11-14), Transient, Unreliable, Contingent (2013-06-14), ...)
- Friday, April 10, 2015 at 05:03:37 (EDT)
"Hi, Rebecca!" I shout from the Capital Crescent Trail observation deck on the trestle high above Rock Creek. My eyes aren't good enough to actually recognize the figure 70+ feet below, but sky blue cap and style of stride match mental profile for friend Rebecca Rosenberg. When she stops and swivels her head in search of the mysterious voice, the guess is confirmed. "Look up!" She spots me, we wave wildly, then both go back to running along our perpendicular paths. Small world!
It's Saturday afternoon, the rain has stopped, I'm home after some hours of work, and it's time to stretch the legs and rest the mind. Showers start again after half an hour, just strong enough to wash salty sweat into the eyes. The loop around Kensington and Wheaton includes a pause at an ATM in front of the credit union that, a few years ago, changed its name for some reason from Washington Telephone Federal. WTF?!
- Thursday, April 09, 2015 at 04:20:06 (EDT)
A poetic sentiment from the essay "Pure Gold and Sweet Cream: Bodhidharma's True Meaning" by Amy Hollowell of the Wild Flower Zen Sangha:
|When I look inside and see that I am nothing, that's wisdom.|
When I look outside and see that I am everything, that's love.
Between the two is where my life turns.
Awesome echoes of Rumi, eh?! The words are attributed to "Nisargadatta Maharaj, a Vedantist guru who lived in India in the mid-20th century". In Wikiquote there's an interestingly analytic long version:
I find that somehow, by shifting the focus of attention, I become the very thing I look at, and experience the kind of consciousness it has; I become the inner witness of the thing. I call this capacity of entering other focal points of consciousness, love; you may give it any name you like. Love says 'I am everything'. Wisdom says "I am nothing'. Between the two, my life flows. Since at any point of time and space I can be both the subject and the object of experience, I express it by saying that I am both, and neither, and beyond both.
It's from the book I Am That by Nisargadatta (1897-1981), as translated by Maurice Frydman.
(cf. Zen Soup (2012-02-09), Ceaseless Society (2012-05-10), Heartfulness and Mindfulness (2014-12-15), No Expectation (2015-01-02), ...)
- Wednesday, April 08, 2015 at 04:58:29 (EDT)
Frost on parked car windshields confirms the bank thermometer's 30 degree reading, as we meander down cup-de-sacs and repeatedly miss turns trying to find our way around the Kent Gardens Park neighborhood on the return trek. Both Kerry and Kristin have morning meetings, and both are kind and forgiving when my map-reading skills are tested and found wanting. Therapeutic trail talk, shared gratitude, and a beautiful pink sunrise compensate for a 20% overshoot in distance. Fire trucks blast down the road, lights blinding, sirens deafening. Kerry spots a clementine lodged in a tree. I restrain myself from plucking it; Kristin chuckles.
- Tuesday, April 07, 2015 at 04:17:10 (EDT)
From Life Itself: A Comprehensive Inquiry Into the Nature, Origin, and Fabrication of Life by Robert Rosen, in Chapter 10:
|"... Ideas do not have to be correct in order to be good; it is only necessary that, if they do fail, they do so in an interesting way. ..."|
(cf. OnFailure (1999-07-03), SeizeTheCarp (2005-07-02), ...)
- Monday, April 06, 2015 at 04:25:33 (EDT)
"Go ahead, do the bridge!" Kristin offers permission. She knows that the yoga studio's picture window is calling me. "Thank you, but no," I reply, "I'll use my imagination today." We're on the clock, with morning meetings and papers to write. Kerry is recovering from a horrible cold, and Kristin hasn't had a chance to run for a week, with non-stop work and home duties. So we do a brisk pre-sunrise health loop, cutting short the segment along the W&OD Trail.
A rabbit scampers safely across Great Falls St in front of us. Ice is mostly melted from the sidewalks, but patches remain. On behalf of Kerry's son we discuss college selection factors, among which undergrad gender ratio looms larger than location. Rain has stopped and a huge crowd of kids await their school bus as dawn lightens the east.
- Sunday, April 05, 2015 at 16:06:33 (EDT)
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