The Pleasure of Basic Math
933 run/ 67 to go
It's a numbers game now; certain number of days left, certain number of miles left, and it's up to me to make sure it all works. I mentioned last time that I'm notoriously bad with directions, and I'm worse with numbers. I walked into the kitchen the other morning, Rob and Matt were figuring some problem out using trigonometry. I don't even know what trigonometry is. I know the math I need to leave really good tips, that's worked out just fine for me. To that end, I check and recheck the basic math it takes to make sure I'm on track for real. (I am.)
I find myself though, addicted to the gorgeous quantitative satisfaction of the numbers of miles run. I've referenced the fact that this year has been bumpy. It's been rife with bump. If the clean lines of math are black and white, then the shape shifting dynamic of my year has been technicolor. Sometimes in a high fever delirium kind of way, but in more peaceful moments, we'll call it tie dye. My point is, the cut and dry of basic math has been a real escapist pleasure. No matter what else a day looks like, a run equals something accomplished and that counts for a lot.
We drove down to Virginia Beach today. It's about 900 miles and we have this drive down to a science by now. I pack a cooler, Matt takes lunch orders, we stop only for gas and pee breaks (and don't think we haven't seriously discussed alternatives to the pee stops.) Today the drive took 16 hours, driving fast. I freaking MARVEL at the fact that we could drive for that long and still not be as far as I have run this year.
People tell me all the time that they could never run a thousand miles. Hell, I can't run a thousand miles either, but I can run 3, or 4, or 6 or 9 at a time. Then the next day, or the day after, I'll run a little more, just keep adding it up. I'm not a keep-a-resolution kinda girl. This was more a self dare than anything else and it showed me a little bit more what I'm made of. I'm trying to figure out what's next. Suggestions?
*****
It's officially Thanksgiving. I'll say over and over that running has saved me, but it's not a complete picture. Everyone who has read and commented, sent emails and called me, I an thankful for you. I have been loved with such exquisite intensity and attention I am left breathless with gratitude. That quantitative part of me wants to list the people and the acts of generosity that have carried me this year, but y'all know who you are. Endless thanks.
Be well,
Jenny
It's a numbers game now; certain number of days left, certain number of miles left, and it's up to me to make sure it all works. I mentioned last time that I'm notoriously bad with directions, and I'm worse with numbers. I walked into the kitchen the other morning, Rob and Matt were figuring some problem out using trigonometry. I don't even know what trigonometry is. I know the math I need to leave really good tips, that's worked out just fine for me. To that end, I check and recheck the basic math it takes to make sure I'm on track for real. (I am.)
I find myself though, addicted to the gorgeous quantitative satisfaction of the numbers of miles run. I've referenced the fact that this year has been bumpy. It's been rife with bump. If the clean lines of math are black and white, then the shape shifting dynamic of my year has been technicolor. Sometimes in a high fever delirium kind of way, but in more peaceful moments, we'll call it tie dye. My point is, the cut and dry of basic math has been a real escapist pleasure. No matter what else a day looks like, a run equals something accomplished and that counts for a lot.
We drove down to Virginia Beach today. It's about 900 miles and we have this drive down to a science by now. I pack a cooler, Matt takes lunch orders, we stop only for gas and pee breaks (and don't think we haven't seriously discussed alternatives to the pee stops.) Today the drive took 16 hours, driving fast. I freaking MARVEL at the fact that we could drive for that long and still not be as far as I have run this year.
People tell me all the time that they could never run a thousand miles. Hell, I can't run a thousand miles either, but I can run 3, or 4, or 6 or 9 at a time. Then the next day, or the day after, I'll run a little more, just keep adding it up. I'm not a keep-a-resolution kinda girl. This was more a self dare than anything else and it showed me a little bit more what I'm made of. I'm trying to figure out what's next. Suggestions?
*****
It's officially Thanksgiving. I'll say over and over that running has saved me, but it's not a complete picture. Everyone who has read and commented, sent emails and called me, I an thankful for you. I have been loved with such exquisite intensity and attention I am left breathless with gratitude. That quantitative part of me wants to list the people and the acts of generosity that have carried me this year, but y'all know who you are. Endless thanks.
Be well,
Jenny
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