Running Journal Entry #1

Running Journal Entry #1

Recently I was asked, hypothetically, if an asteroid was headed toward the earth & I had an ideal cocktail of narcotics & alcohol to enjoy for my final days, what would it be? I knew the answer immediately. I didn’t even have to think. I know the answer now the way one knows, in their heart, they way they feel about, say, the existence of God or who they are going to vote for in the next presidential election or what their favourite song is. I spoke the answer without hesitation, but as I was revealing it I began to feel reticent & as I looked around the room I realized I did not want to share, although I did, what I wanted with these, at best, friendly strangers, & knew, at the end of it, that they now knew something about me, as I did, that was wholly unpleasant & brought on a silence filled with looking away & nervous laughter.

I almost feel as if I have to go back here. Who was my audience? Who had asked such a seemingly innocuous question? & why would the answer, upon being revealed be so troublesome & induce what I can only identify as deep embarrassment & shame? It’s these answers, perhaps, however harmless the exercise may seem, that reveal what I can only identify as a deep truth. It’s no wonder we avoid politics & religion at all costs at a dinner party or any party really, because doesn’t it lead, inevitably to calamity & chaos & deep resentment manifest in shouting & anger & even, as always, violence? & furthermore, how about this exasperating or flummoxing question often thrown about over snacks or coffee or after sex: What do you want?

Consider the trouble of the world. If asked, hypothetically of course, what it is, in a word, that is the root or cause of humanity’s suffering we would get answers, I’m sure, such as these: Money, Greed, Religion, Power, Politics, etc. You see? These answers we know too. Just as we know the answer to the banal & trite What Do You Want? We know them, though we may avoid them, because to think of the answer is to bring oneself to the precipice of who they are & what they are willing to do to become who they want to be.

I’m going to tell you something now. I didn’t watch the recent presidential debate. I was aware of it. My plans for the evening were upended. I was to attend a small gathering & that was postponed so my colleagues could watch. I saw the play-by-play up to game-time moments from The New York Times on my phone. I saw the comments & the reactions in real time on Facebook & Instagram. Because, not knowing what to do with myself & my time, which begins to occur in the evenings after dinner & before & after my child goes to bed, is a regular thing I often begin to, literally, waste time, so I sat perusing social media like a petulant child banished to their room while the adults talked. But here it is: I knew something in my heart about the debate. I wasn’t interested. &, of course, like I often do, I felt shame & guilt. Don’t I care!? How long will I enjoy the benefits of this country & complain of it’s politics & institutions like a sullen teenager!? Well maybe that is a simplified version of the truth. The truth is I know the truth. I’m not interested. It’s not my bag so to speak. You know what I did? I listened to Bookworm. I listened to the Don Delillo & Denis Johnson episodes! I recently came across Bookworm on Spotify. I have become, like many, a podcast junkie. I spend a lot of time in my car & in my head & I love listening to people speak about just about anything, yes even politics, if it is done with a modicum of intelligence. How did I not know of Michael Silverblatt & his 33 years as host of what can only be described as the perfect podcast!? So I listened & paced around my kitchen & put my feet up on the dining room table & drank coffee & did some dishes & picked up the guitar & put it back down & I listened & wondered what was happening in the debate. But mostly I listened to & marveled at the thoughts & ideas & conclusions of these authors & Silverblatt who wowed even David Foster Wallace with his insightful & astute reading skills. I was & am, as they say, all in. I was all the way in my bag.

Have you noticed the title of this piece? How could you not? It is, after all, the title. The first thing to read. But you might have missed it. Maybe you are scatterbrained or impatient with reading or eager to get to the point. Maybe you are one of these who think the title isn’t important & just want get to the facts? No matter. It doesn’t matter to me ultimately as, if you have read this far, you are finding out. It’s not that I don’t care. Its the opposite really. I have recently taken up running again. It is a lifelong pursuit with me. My father was an accomplished long-distance runner, & it is, as they say, in the blood for me. Since my father’s death a couple of years ago I have slowly started to become him. His ghost, & if I’m losing you here thats ok, has inhabited me completely. My hands have become his. I cut my balding hair short. I have started shaving regularly & I am at odds with the whole world & everyone around me. A chip off of the old block.

I have started running again. Two to three times a week & have worked myself up to some longer distances. I run on the road near my house in Upstate New York. My father would have loved running here in the majestic hills of my neighbourhood. I have found a great tranquility & joy in my solo flights & have become a kind of folk hero, like my father. Now I know that sounds pretty lofty but I am using this term folk hero in the sense of describing a local lunatic, the way John Henry was perceived or, say, Don Quixote, you get me? People around town see me running as they drive by in their cars. & I get this: Did I see you running on Glenford Wittenberg Road!? Yeah thats me. I say. They ask about the running & how far do I run & they say wow & thats cool & aren’t you afraid of being hit by a car?

When I was in Fresno with my sisters putting my father’s affairs in order & emptying out his house so we could sell it, we had a yard sale. All the neighbors came round to pick through his belongings & offer their thoughts & memories. My father was always well-liked by strangers. He was funny & charming in a crowd & had a great smile. Here was the most common phrase uttered about my father by friends of the family, strangers & acquaintances: I would always see your dad running.

So who asked the question? Who asked me about my ideal narcotic scenario?

I have recently taken a job working in a kitchen to, as they say, make ends meet. My very first job, other than paper boy, was first busboy, then fry cook in a Mexican Restaurant. Get this, Tequila Pete’s. That was the name of it. Tequila Pete’s in Fresno Ca. where cocaine was abundant & often there were skirmishes & scuffles in the parking lot after 2am & some folks sadly, were shot. Anyway, because for the last ten years I have only driven around the country playing folk songs & writing songs & the occasional poem, I have no real job experience. My resume, as they say, is shit. But times are hard & I have taken this job. It was here, in this kitchen, that I was asked the question. It is here in this kitchen, that hypotheticals are thrown around often. This kitchen is filled with interesting & funny & kind people & it is the belly of a whale.

How do you feel about whales? Do you fear them & admire them the way I do? Do you think of them as some higher form of being the way I do? Are they mythic & literary for you? Alright, lets cut to the chase: Do you believe in God!? I have been taught in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous that what you believe is your business. & it is this single ideology that freed my brain & my heart up to finally get sober. I liked saying things like this when I shared at an AA meeting: I don’t have to tell you what I believe, its none of your fucking business! What a power! What a joy!! You know what I experience when I utter a phrase like that? Freedom. Pure & simple. Fucking freedom. Ok? So I know what I’m in for when I ask you this overused & trampled question. Do you believe in God!? Who gives a shit, right? But I must know: How are you? What Do You Want? In other words is there a plan for your life? Do you have a dream? Is there something you are good at? Or really enjoy doing? Do you have God Given Gifts & really I don’t care if you believe in god or not, but these are the questions man. These are the things that matter & if you & I don’t answer them & get busy executing them & get our ass to Nineveh we end up, like Jonah, in the belly of whale.

You & I can be forgiven you know? Jonah’s is the story of second chances. Third chances. Four. Can you hear God’s voice? Or whatever voice you need to hear. Michael Siverblatt? Denis Johnson? DonDelillo? We can come back to the fold. There is a way to live. It ain’t easy. & you might die trying, but isn’t that better ultimately? I dunno. I think so.

So why running? Why a running journal? Is this even a running journal? I think so. I got the idea for the running journal on my last run which was yesterday. I thought: I should keep a journal of my runs. I know its nothing new. There is nothing new under the sun as they say & I have been putting off reading Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running because I know I’m going to love it & inevitably attempt to pilfer from it. So I thought, I should keep a journal of my runs & the first thought I had after that was the hypothetical narcotic cocktail question & I turned that over in mind for five or six miles & then I started randomly counting numbers & then I concentrated on my breathing & then I thought of my daughter & my wife & how I feel like I am constantly failing them & then I thought the same thing of myself & then I started breathing again & looked into the trees which are grand.

Last question: Why Run?

I was working in the kitchen couple days ago & went outside to borrow a truck from the gardener so I could take the compost to the compost pile. It is, after all, The Catskills & we are nothing if not progressive & mindful. So I went to ask the gardener if I could use her truck & she said to me: Hey, is that you I see running on Glenford Wittenberg Road? She went on to ask me about how long I have been doing that & why & did I find it helpful & then wow & that’s cool then we started talking about health & food & diet & aging & death (I know I know) She wanted to know my habits & routines & claimed she was asking for her partner who had expressed interest in running & was experiencing some challenging health issues & chronic pain & it was during this conversation that I said this: I’m pretty boring all I want do is read books & run & as soon as I said it, I knew it was true.