Foolishness of Young Love

One marathon training book says run less but run fast, the other marathon training book says slower longer steadier with walk breaks. The first one has track workouts, tempo, and longer distances at race pace. The second one just proscribes daily run times and off days. I read the run less run fast book last night. I haven’t done any track workouts yet. But seems like a good idea. Stay sharp. I’m going to make myself a day-by-day hybrid training model that includes elements of both programs. 


Eat to win. Breakfast and dinner. Salad both times. Kale, lettuce, shredded carrots and beets, onion, bell peppers, broccoli sprouts, nutritional yeast, habanero salsa, sea salt, black pepper, and fried eggs. They say salvation is only found in Jesus. Eat that salad with chopsticks and you’ll feel full to the brim. If not, add a can of carbonated water and add a splash of balsamic vinegar. Mmmm lord. 


8-9 mile run with hill play. That’s tomorrow morning. Going to wake up before the sun. Or with the sun maybe I don’t know. I’m going to try to keep the pace around 7:30-7-45. Which assumes a 7-minute-mile pace for a marathon. Which is a big stretch. But the peak race is in October so there’s time. 


I scheduled the last day with GA Power. And also marked my calendar with the day to return the wireless router from Spectrum. 


Last night I took a shower and afterward I took the running calendar underneath a magnet on the frig and furiously wrote my shower thoughts, which were sprinting away like the steam when the bathroom door is opened. I wrote: 


There’s so much fucking noise in my head. There’s never silence. 

The shower is a sacred space but I only shower here once every two weeks. Otherwise it’s the college pool showers. And that’s the morning, and I’m in a hurry to get back to the house so I can get coffee and so I can get the car to Kate so she can go to her workout class. Even in the pool shower my mind is very loud. I look at the blue shampoo and think about all the toxic shit that’s inside the shampoo and I wonder whether I should just use it anyway, whether it’s any worse than the chlorine in my hair or on my skin. I say on like my skin is non-porous. 


Go go go go. Plastic plastic plastic. 


I swam in Lake Sinclair this morning. Very smooth this morning. Talked with my writing mentor professor friend about this book he likes called The Dangling Man. It’s about a man who has been drafted and has a month or something left and is applying for jobs in the meantime and nobody will hire him, so he’s just dangling around in limbo. I nodded my head and said I feel like The Floating Man. My professor said what do you mean? I said that’s this generation, the millennials and generation z. We’re just here. Waiting. Watching Netflix, waiting for something to happen. Like something good to happen. Or even something bad to happen. Anything substantial to happen so that we can stake our lives to something. The birds have migration. The bears have hibernation. What do we have? 


That’s why the marathon training program matters and the salad and the CBD oil (which I received and have been experimenting with). I got it for muscle soreness and aches but also for sleep. After n=2 night trial, it does not work for sleeping. Even if the melatonin has been scientifically shown to be mostly placebo, I sleep better with 10mg of placebo. 


Marriage and love become beautiful things but it’s impossible to realize this walking down the aisle because you’re so fucking young and you don’t know the ups and downs and in hindsight it’s kind of funny because all of life becomes like that to the old wise person, but then again, the jokes on them too, not just us young folks because they’re knocking on heaven’s door and there time is almost up, so the wisdom isn’t worth very much. At least not to them. 


I want to start writing poems. Or something creative. Not just creative. But focused. Like a book of poems. Or start political poems. Or start a fiction project. Something to focus on. Sink my teeth into. At the Farmer’s Market today Kate bought beef jerky and it’s like $197 at the farmers market because that’s how much everything is that’s organic and grass fed and I had a heart attack but I recovered and put the jerky and strawberries and cilantro and garlic chives in the refrigerator and then a few minutes ago I took the jerky out and had a piece for dessert and Kate said you like the jerky enough to have a piece for dessert and yet you would have never purchased some for yourself? Correct I said. 


This is the foolishness of the young. Death would look back and shake his head with disapproval.