Retreat Day Two: Running Towards an Opening

I got up.
First Victory.
I put on my running shoes--
my brand new running shoes
that I got at the Adidas Employee Store
(half off, no sales tax) and that I
haven't broken in yet--
and I headed out the door.

One foot in front of the other.
Down a trail,
past a Super 8,
along side the morning traffic,
smelling exhaust,
Monday morning blues
invade the air and release a grumpy grey groan.
I'm getting warmed up.
My body overheats and keeps me warm
on a cool May morning,
my favorite kind of running weather:
cold, but not teeth chattery.

I make it to the water and look out at all of the boats in the Marina.

I run around a bit,
dancing on cobblestones,
pretend that I'm Rocky on the west coast
with tiny staircases
surrounding me
up and down
up and down
gotta fly now
not very far
I'm getting warmed up
and head back up Pacific
from the Pacific.

A steady incline
makes me think about the uphill battle
I am facing today,
but I let my body to the processing
instead of my mind
and I just make it up the hill
I take a break if I need to.
But I keep climbing.

I write and I get distracted.
I make phone calls.
I take care of a hotel refund
from the weekend
and I yell at a couple of customer service
representatives
who maybe hadn't had their morning coffee yet.
I'm just getting warmed up.

Going to the gym
for my favorite activity
of looking at unsuspecting naked guys
in the shower.  The unconscious way
they soap themselves up
and touch their genitals
for utilitarian purposes and
cleanliness and not pleasure.
I admire how unaware they are.
I however am always aware.
I am getting warmed up and I go
to the gym for my workout

Chest today.
Plus back.
Three exercises each and I'm out.
Eye candy, but I'm trying to focus.
Fucus, my friend Stephan used to
say back in New York when we both
worked in an office on Madison Avenue.
Back to the showers, all of the cute boys
have gone and I pack up to leave.

At the library the pages start coming.
Three, but I'm trying.
I call the boyfriend on the way back up the hill
I ran up earlier.  The drive reminds me
that it's only a hill that I have to get up anyway
so I might as well
just climb.
He asks me how far I've gotten.
I pause.  There are so many ways to answer this.
I tell him it's an unfair question
because it's not quantifiable like that.
It's really a dumb question,
but I'm getting warmed up, so I can't
get mad.  I feel good about those three pages
so that's all that matters.
I get off the phone quickly because I don't want
him to feel he did something wrong.
It's just a question.  It's just a hill.
By the time I get home, sit down and get work done,
I'm up to seven pages.
Then I'm up to ten pages.
I text him each time
and remind him that the information provided needs
to be volunteered and not asked about.
I'm a writer.  That's enough of an explanation
and that's all he's going to get.
Ten pages, huh?
I'm just getting warmed up.

I am grateful for ten new pages.
I am grateful for morning runs.
I am grateful for evening drinks.
I am grateful for good days.
I am grateful for sore legs.
I am grateful for progress.
I am grateful for my chest and back workouts.
I am grateful for men to keep me distracted.
I am grateful for having the time to do this.