Jinx

Such a powerful concept is superstition.  Despite our intimate, individual spiritual beliefs, superstition seems to still exist as a means to control the uncontrollable.  This thought alone has caused me hours of introspection, pages upon pages written in my physical journal, and has even caused me to work on wading my way though The Golden Bough (which is a workout in itself).  But mostly I've been specifically trying to untangle and find the rationale for exactly why I continue to be superstitious about something like running, when I logically know that either talking about training or not talking about training will not affect the levels of pain in my post-surgical foot. 

It's ridiculous, really. 

I know in my bones that writing about running again will not affect whether I cross the finish line in April at Number Twenty-Seven.  In fact, writing about running could get the juices flowing again and get my head back to where it should be, which is beyond the miles and metrics and morphology of me.  Talking and thinking and abstractly feeling the process will not affect the outcome, although there is a high level of trust involved somewhere in there.  Besides, Twenty-Seven isn't for me, it's for Boston, and it's for the experience.  Number Twenty-Eight will be for me and my superstitious, starving, starving, starving soul.

Instead, I've been superstitiously quiet, because running is coming back, slowly still.  I feel like it's finally beginning to take again despite one of the most brutally cold and snowy winters in decades.  Superstitious, yes, because of the violent physical stalls and starts that were the past three months; only now are things constant with quiet quality glimmering in between.  Superstitious, absolutely, because the sidewalks are finally clear enough to run in the black, back lit sky without the risk of slipping on ice.   

It's almost hard to believe we are here already, within reaches of spring, yet the temperatures and precipitation type continue to disagree.  However, I proved to myself this past weekend that I'm ready to let go and resume everything, despite the nagging superstition that running will leave me again should I discuss the miles that are increasing as they should.  Superstitious, most certainly, because there is the harbor again; not every day, but enough to give me hope. Harbor Power. Highly Productive. Home Perfection. Hope Persistent. It's there. It's waiting, and the Dark Season is coming to an end this coming weekend.