Walking for two minutes and running for one minute, times four.

As usual, so much I want to write. So much content out of a twelve-fifteen minute period… (?)

I got out later this evening, being a Friday. Friday is always a crazy day, and so there is a slower process in peeling away from work and making my way home, running errands along the way (lingering chats with work friends notwithstanding). The atmosphere was even better (oh, yes, atmosphere is important): The sun descending, sunlight more subtle, shadows more pronounced. A breeze rises, rustling leaves. I found myself watching my long shadow running along with me, two o’clock, and thinking “Oh, hi there.” I am too aesthetically motivated for my own good.

A friend asked me recently what kind of program I am following, and because I don’t know the lingo I am happy to just describe the gist of what I am doing:

It is broken down into eight weeks of what my kind “sensei” G calls “elements” — three elements for the first two weeks to start, and four per week until the end of week seven. Instead of thinking of this in terms of weeks, however, I prefer to think of each week as a cycle. And, by finishing element three this evening, I have also finished the first cycle of this particular “quest” — yes, that English major geek in me loves the allegory of a quest.

One of these elements, weekly, is a longer and more challenging stretch of interval walking/running. Week eight is undetermined, as it is the last week before the goal event and so much will depend on how I am doing by this point.

Back to the actual run in question:

It is a tranquil little neighborhood, this miniature suburb lying just west from the series of apartment buildings where I live — the Sabbath was approaching as I went, and so I watched the solemn processions of observant Orthodox Russian Jews towards their place of worship. Men walking alongside each other in dark suits and tall, round-brimmed top hats, women in long black skirts and simple, elegant long-sleeved blouses. Slow saunters as the sun goes down.

It doesn’t feel like I have lived here for over two years, sometimes. Often, I still feel as though I am a stranger here, just moved, and like I am seeing everything for the first time again. Other times, I am an old soul walking through a space I have dwelt before, and I have always meant to come back given the right shift in circumstance.

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