dogs wag cats meow winds howl knees ping

I don't know why I'm not writing. I'm just not.

I'm obsessed with running and nutrition and how all of my parts function. And I do not use the word "obsessed" lightly. But you know, I'm not really sure how anyone (anyone like me, rather, who is not a natural runner) runs a marathon without getting obsessed. I woke up this morning, and it was raining. My training calendar didn't give a crap about the rain. It still said 11 miles. So you know what I did? I'll tell you: I said, "Hey, P, those 11 miles aren't going to run themselves." And then I noted the lack of torrential downpour, noted the lack of lightning, noted the lack of hail, put on a hat, laced up, and ran. And it was good. I was strong this morning. My lungs and my heart feel like they could go forever. My knees, hips, and ankles... ehhh, not so much.

Two days ago, my knees and I had a meeting and decided to knock our training program down to the novice level instead of intermediate. We did not allow Pride to attend the meeting, because Pride is a huffy jackass who makes repeatedly bad decisions. I don't know why I thought I was an "intermediate" marathoner. Probably the same reason I think I am a novelist. (Oooh, ouch.)

I keep waiting for grand epiphanies to strike while I'm running, but they don't. Is there anything more exciting than an epiphany? Although it wasn't an epiphany, I do think running is fine-tuning my body barometer. I feel every ping in every place. I wish I did not feel all the pings in my knees, but I suppose they're telling me things I need to know--like, "Hey, P, your quads are puny little girl quads, and your stride sucks." I think my knees are actually much nicer than this. I'm paraphrasing. But the message has been noted, and I'll work on it.

This idea of knees and kneecaps and ankles and spleens telling me things I need to know has really helped with my mission to cure my gut disease, too. I know I've said this 1,000 times before, but I really believe our bodies communicate with us, almost like separate entities, and likely every answer to every question already exists, quite literally, in the crooks of our elbows. If you're of the belief that bodies are vehicles, soul transporters, or as I've written about in the past, "exploratory submersibles," then it's not too farfetched to think of them (bodies) as separate from our mind-thoughts.

It reminds me of this dream I had the other night. (And here is where I reveal more of my weirdness.) Sometimes, if i have a thing or two on my mind, before I go to sleep, I say something to the effect of, "Hey, please talk to me in my dreams tonight." The implied you in the sentence is up for interpretation: Sometimes I'm talking to God, sometimes to spirit guides, sometimes I keep it anonymous. At any rate, before I went to sleep a few nights ago, I asked, and then that night I had crazy weird, obscure dreams, about dogs and dinosaurs and houses being crushed.

I woke up thinking, "Hey, how about using your words next time?" It was not particularly clarifying. And most of the images and concepts in the dream I could trace back to conversations that had occurred that night, like someone talking about their kid liking dinosaurs. So it all just seemed sort of... blalkjdf;lkasjd;l fj.

But then, later I realized just because it isn't English doesn't invalidate the message. You know what I mean? Dogs wag, cats meow, wind howls, knees ping, stomachs churn, and dreams rearrange the images stored in your melon. I don't think dreams are intentionally obscure anymore than a dog is intentionally obscure. It's just how the thing works. It all means something. And I think maybe that's my umbrella obsession: figuring out what dogs and cats and wind and knees and dreams mean (and everything else)--because they all communicate something important.

Okay, that's it. Time for lunch.