Poetry & Pushpins

~ The Writings of S.L. Woodford

Poetry & Pushpins

Tag Archives: running

Process Learning and Pavement

25 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Pushpins (Daily Life)

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human nature, making mistakes, New Haven, running

The weather is finally showing semblances of spring here in New Haven, and for me, that means one thing: I can run outside again. Seriously, I’m like an excitable puppy about this–the hills, the fresh air, the trees make me stupidly happy and I never, ever, want to come back inside.

But there is one snag in this joyous transition. And it comes in the form of uneven pavement, located in the sidewalk outside of  the Yale Hockey rink. As usual, my foot caught this bit, and I went flying forward. It took me a second to regain my balance, but I did, and my run continued.

That spot always messes with me. It was the spot where I fell and skinned my knee the week my mother died, it was the spot where I fell and bruised my knee after an article I wrote was rejected. And this spring was no different: it caught my foot, and I went flying forward.

Yet, this time I didn’t fall.

Yes, I was caught off balance, but I didn’t fall. And I think there is a lesson in that.

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An Old Orchard and a New Year

31 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Gardening, Pushpins (Daily Life), Romantic Botany, The Creative Life

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botany, grief, human nature, learning patience, Midwest, New Year, resiliency, running

My nose is cold, but every other part of my body is hot and sweaty. Morning runs in the winter-touched, Midwestern countryside will do that to you. With hands on my hips, I turn around and look back at my grandmother’s property. An apple orchard stands at attention on my right and on my left, creating a passageway of arching limbs. These trees were the guardians of my childhood. I played among them, hide behind them, and once, in a fit of teenage romanticism, longed to get married under them. They were already old when I was young, planted by turn of the century hands. Their roots have had a hundred years to expand and grow and thrive, embraced by the rich Ohio soil. And steadily anchored, their limbs, weathered and withered, reach out to one another and to the sky, touched by a century’s worth of wind and rain and sun. Sometimes, the touch was hash, and the grass between the two rows became a no man’s land of branches and bark.

In spite of such losses, they still stand, their branches stretching out before them, towards each other and to the sky. Receptive of whatever the elements will give them next. Yes, they lost branches and bark, and will most likely lose them again. But, they have roots, made strong by the years and the soil that nourishes them.

Twenty-nine is young, at least, that is what my older friends tell me. Yet twenty-nine doesn’t feel young to me. I’ve lived enough of life to know loss—the loss of a parent, of a self, of a significant other, of a much coveted career, of a best friend. And like a harsh wind tearing away a tree branch, the loss strips you, exposing you to the elements in new, unforeseen ways. There is pain and fear in that experience, but there is also power. For the exposed place becomes a surface of possibility. If your roots are deep and the soil you place yourself in is rich, new bark will grow, and your branches will once more reach out to others and to the world.

I do not feel old because I have suffered loss, I feel old because I have seen the other side of loss. That in its wake, come new possibilities and new chances to love. Loss levels, but after all is stripped away, you have the choice to create again. Perhaps that is my hope for you and for me in the New Year: that we become more like these trees, quietly standing to my left and to my right. Rooted in who we are so that we can be open to what we will become.

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The Inner Thoughts of Inner Thighs: Adding to an Exercise Regiment

11 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Pushpins (Daily Life)

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empathy, running

My inner thighs hate me right now. I am making them do exercises they are not used to. And they let me know their disdain for me and my recent life choices through short, spasmodic, daily yelps of pain. They especially like to scold me when I make them walk down stairs or start a run.

After years in the shadows, my inner thighs now have the spotlight. I no longer play rugby—so, there are no bruises of both interesting shape and color to distract me, to give me a deep sense of accomplishment and a great sense of gratitude that I made it through another match without breaking anything or loosing teeth. It’s just my inner thighs now, grumbling at my new exercise regiment.

“Why couldn’t you stick with your daily 5k?” they moan, “We were used to that. It was easy. We didn’t have to work. We didn’t have to see our limits. We don’t like seeing our limits, it makes us feel weak…”

Yet, I don’t mind their complaints. Their grumblings remind me that I am stretching my body, investing in it to live a longer and more healthy life. Soon, their whining will dissipate, for deep down, they know this mild pain is good for them. Their weakness today will become their strength tomorrow. And by this week’s end they won’t mind at all. In fact, they’ll be quite surprised at how fun it is to bend and stretch in these new and wild ways.

…Until I add a few more reps next week.

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