Ran at about 11 am. It was hot and humid (in November! Yes!). And enjoyable. I first kept thinking about Quality since I read the first half of Lila by Robert Pirsig last night and this morning. The idea of being “plains-spoken” in my personal statement to grad school was an alluring, recurring theme in the beginning of the run.

The middle of the run is, of course, a forgotten haze: the elusive core of an intricate dream from what seems like long ago.

Towards the end of the run I returned to my step writing system, Brath-code as Anjie calls it. I imagined emailing Du-Cap the Architect a fly beat in Brath-code, on top of which he built the moves for the step. Then he used his step writing method to overlay his symbolized moves on my musical polka dots. It would be like hanging candy canes on nails in anticipation of Christmas festivities. Then we’d email the whole assemblage to Anjie and she would unwrap and learn the step and videotape herself doing it so we could see how well the system worked. It was a nice dream.

At the very end, I also thought about how my brain often conducted its own mental wanderings on these runs. As if the rhythmical poundings of foot to ground, foot to ground acted as a shamanic drum—freeing the mind of its quotidian cares and giving it space to dwell on whatever it liked. Every so often the autonomous process would be intruded upon by my reflective, controlling self. At times I merely observed the process and followed its proceedings. At other times I tried to dam, steer, and manipulate the process, focusing it on topics I deemed worthy. That never worked. My time spent in running meditation felt like fertile ground that wasn’t being put to “productive” use. It was still the range of the indigenous and mysterious. Uncolonized and free. Noble and promising.