the void occurred to me

After all things occurred to me,
the void occurred to me. 
“End of Summer”, Louise Glück

I have the tendency to say to myself, “oh I’ll write a nice race recap,” and then privately mull it over while never actually writing it. Oops. It goes into the void of my brain, to paraphrase Louise Glück.

Winona Forest Backyard Ultra was a wonderful experience from an organizing perspective. The course had the clearest directions I’ve ever followed. Anywhere you could take a wrong turn, the race director put a string of flags blocking the path. In a race where you are plodding on the same loop, yet becoming increasingly stupid every hour, this was GREAT. There were lights for the start/finish of night running, and easy camping on location.

I ran 34 miles, 8 yards. I knew I’d been training for shorter speed and the heat + humidity would be tough for me, so I’m content with that result. Not happy. Not disappointed. Just content that I kept going, when I started telling my partner around mile 24 that I was thinking about dropping. We drove 6 hours to the race, a 50k felt like an arbitrary, worthwhile distance.

My favorite part of the day: the conversations. In a Backyard, you can find someone to run with the entire time if you want (also, if they want to chat – read the room). What a different experience from a trail ultra, where you can spend 6+ hours completely alone. I commiserated with a runner I met at Bullshit Backyard Ultra (highly recommend this race for the special community, but dang it was hard as heck), talked with a teacher + photographer about what art & work looks like, and spent time with a woman who had never gone over a marathon before. She ran 40 miles that day.

Are cumulative experiences timeless? Probably. If they are specific enough. I’m reading Nora Ephron’s book, Wallflower at the Orgy, and although the original edition was published in 1970, I am laughing out loud or nodding along vigorously. She writes with VOICE. Her writing has an energy. I only know a couple of the names in her essay on the messy world of the food critics, but the drama is evergreen when thinking about any small, insular creative community.

Last night, I was talking with a few people about poetry. At first, one person said they couldn’t write poetry because the form is so concise. Then we laughed, because what about epics like the Odyssey? The Bible? Some of our longest stories ever told are in the form of a poem.

Like how I enjoy the connections on the run, I’m writing to make connections. I have no idea what will stand the test of time. But we are here together, now, and I’m going to write about existential dread, eggs, and the moon.

Books I’m thinking about / recently read:

• Wallflower at the Orgy by Nora Ephron
• The Wild Iris by Louise Gluck

Stay sweaty and glittery. None of us are free until all of us are free.