Training

I ran ten miles this morning, the first time since October I've hit a double digit. Usually I run the Greenway to the Lakes and then do laps til I've hit the mileage. But today I just decided to keep running along the Greenway to see how far five miles (and then return) would take me. I'm happy I did.

I have loved trains all my life. And if I'm being honest, I'm sure part of my somewhat misguided affection for Atlas Shrugged (sacrilege for a liberal?) is wrapped up in Dagney Taggart's profession. Trains have factored into my days in intermittent ways. In New Orleans I was often late for various social excursions thanks to being stuck counting railcars. New Orleans' favorite methods for making me late were slow-moving trains and slower-moving parades. The number of times I asked a friend on the phone, while stuck in traffic to allow the passage of a parade, "is today a holiday? Another parade...", cannot be counted on my fingers and toes. I miss those parades. But I miss the trains more, and the terrifying Huey Long Bridge, with its tressle defying gravity. Humans are amazing. The things they build...

The Greenway near me pounds out in spurts beside train tracks. And about 4 miles down the way I pass under a small bridge of tracks, my favorite thing. A string of spray-painted cars were lined up on one set of tracks and I spent a good mile daydreaming about tucking away between a couple cars, riding South.

The ten miles hurt, the way I would expect it to after months away from serious mileage. But running beside train tracks makes for a happier pounding, a reminder that the slow-moving conduit still gets from point A to point B. Slow and steady, mile after mile after mile.

I am a train. I am training.