A Little Longer

I’d gotten home late after having dinner with friends, staying up even longer watching a ridiculously overdone Bond film, probably the only one I haven’t seen, taking the franchise to new levels of absurdity. It was a few cocktails later and near midnight when I finally pressed the red button on the remote and closed my eyes.

The dawn was unrelenting as the blinds began to glow with the blue light of another overcast morning. I managed to fight it off for a while but finally caved in just after six and rolled off the mattress. I’d mapped out an eight mile round trip yesterday, setting the odometer to zero to get a relatively accurate reading of the winding, country roads surrounding the shoe box that I currently inhabit.

The effects of the previous night were tugging at my motivation but I don’t accept excuses. I’d made the commitment and I had to go through with it, otherwise the guilt would occupy my thoughts for the rest of the day. I walked over to the window and lifted one of the slats, peering out at the church across the road and the array of headstones that fills the nearby field. As I suspected the cloud cover was dense and the trees suggested there was a subtle breeze coming from no particular direction. It had been hot the last few days, topping out near ninety and cooling off little in the evenings, unusual for the first week of June in the northeast, but not this morning. The setting was perfect for a longer run and I couldn’t pass up the invitation to be a participant in the scene rather than an audience member.

I took another half an hour to do a little stretching and pull myself together, quickly rinsing off the remnants of sleep with a cool shower, and I was out the door, tossing my house key onto the front seat of my car as I passed.

Today wasn’t about speed or time, but about increasing my distance, an effort that had stagnated for nearly a year while I worked on my five and ten K times, mostly indoors over the winter on the treadmills at the gym. They’re good for the softness of their belts and the clocks and the mileage counters, but they can’t compare to the feeling of moving through the landscape, seeing every blade of grass and every leaf, and the other inhabitants that share this place that we pass too quickly in our cars to notice.

I started off at a slower pace than I normally would, knowing that I had to be conservative, somehow feeling that I had no real destination today, no actual goal, as if once I began there might be no end at all.

I remembered the skunk right away, as soon as I got the first whiff. It had been hit days ago and continued to remind anyone who passed by of its unfortunate demise. I came upon the carcass along the first curve beyond the farm, never seeing decaying flesh and fir quite that closely before. I looked away, the sight and the odor made me a bit queasy and I thought I might have to stop, fortunately feeling better once I was out of range.

The Bison ranch seemed closer, being a little more familiar with the landscape this time, and they were out, most in the upper confines but three below, near the road and the high voltage, wire fence where small red and white signs warned of the danger. One heard my footsteps, possibly a different sound than the constant traffic that they had probably become inured to, and turned to look at me as I passed, I did the same, our eyes met and I had to wonder at that moment if we shared a thought. I couldn’t help thinking that he must have thought I was as ugly as I thought he was, possibly some sort of alien species, it all made perfect sense.

I continued along to the curve past the multi-religional church and then the crossing that I knew was nearly three miles out, never hesitating, feeling comfortable, breathing easily, still feeling as if this might have no end, no real resolution. There was a growing distance between my studio and myself, a distance that felt eerily similar to the vast waters that now separate me from my wife and children, a feeling of total solitude, with any thought of returning out of reach, any thought of family diminished, moving forward being the only thing that mattered.

Now I was into the unknown, the section of road that would take me to the first crossing, and then the next that would bring
me to my halfway mark at the tracks and the jewelry store that’s in a location that no one would ever come upon accidentally.

There’s another church in this section, the one that has the appearance of an oversize farm house, the one that kept a makeshift sign by the road during its construction that read; “look what God is doing”. I can’t say I ever saw a huge arm with a hammer in its hand reaching down from the sky pounding in any nails. This one doesn’t share.

I looked down, there was a sparrow lying on its side, quivering, near death. The birds fly along the ground this time of year, building nests from gathered material, and the robins are everywhere, always low, always skipping over the roads. Its eyes seemed to look up at me as I passed; I considered a rescue mission to a local vet but decided it was too far gone, still, at this moment, guilt ridden by my decision. There were two others, another sparrow and a red winged black bird lying in the grass just off the shoulder, and the remnants of a small turtle. I was shocked that this short section of road on this particular day was responsible for so many deaths; I suppose it’s just my own ignorance that prevented me from understanding how destructive we really are.

The trip back wasn’t nearly as painful as I expected, keeping to my leisurely pace and keeping my malodorous friend on the other side of the road, affording safe passage. I got back to the farm and my little shoe box and decided to keep going, at least to the crossing just north and the fire house, probably no more that another half mile.

The smell of freshly cut grass filled the pasture on the other side of the cemetery, with the tall clippings plainly visible in clumps. I was already thinking that I had done what I’d set out to do and could stop any time and walk back, but I continued, reaching my new goal and then circling the intersection, finally accelerating despite the slight pain in my knees and the tension developing in my calves. I walked the cemetery again to cool off a bit, soaked now, shedding my shirt, strolling behind the church, across the road, finally retrieving the keys from the seat of my car.

I showered and went off to the diner for breakfast, first driving up to the crossing and setting the car to zero again. I’d gone out close to ten, inspiring a confidence I’d never possessed, thinking that the half marathon, and perhaps a whole, before my fiftieth, was well within reach.