With this being the second week Kisa is in full training mode. Weights, stretching, biking, and of course, running. This means only one thing – I am not that far behind him. When he lifts, I lift. When he runs, I run. Especially that. Running. Last night was a good one. I had a lot of pent up frustrations I needed to release. They say not to run angry but I ask, how can I not? Emotional charges are the biggest and best sources of energy. I thrive off the crackle of anger, the sizzle of seething. Cracking up is better than breaking down.
Lately, my runs have been all about protecting the endurance. Building up the stamina so every step is easier than easy. I want to be able to talk to Kisa on race day. (Ooops, did I say race? I meant run day.) I want to be able to check in with him without sounding like the asthmatic that I am, gasping and wheezing. I want to leave heavy breathing for the bedroom. So, in training I sing while I run. Sometimes I sing at the top of my lungs (Blink 182’s “Miss You”), sometimes I sing at a whisper (Natalie Merchant’s “Jealousy”). Sometimes I can’t understand the words so I mutter and pretend to sing (“My Mother the War” by 10,000 Maniacs). And still other times I get caught up in the beat and cannot utter a sound. This is where I was last night with Led Zep’s “Kashmir.” All I heard were the drums. Throbbing, relentless. Driving my legs to keep going. It felt as if the drums could pound their way into my chest and rip out my heart. I couldn’t tell if I felt pleasure or pain. All I know is that the drums urged me on. By the time I was done I was finished.
3.06mi/30m – drummer, I heard you. Thanks for kicking my azz.