Bleak Week

I'm fast approaching the one month mark after meeting the feat of accomplishing the Tokyo marathon; it's been more of a Man On Wire* tightrope balancing act (at unimaginable heights without a safety net below) than I ever thought it would be, and I'm afraid of heights (in all honesty I'm not that fond of circuses either, though that's a digression—for once?—I won't bother you, most honorable reader, with today)! I'm trying to regain my respectability as a runner, but things, thus far, haven't been easy going. It seems that every time in the past month that the thought of running has crossed the confetti strewn starting line in my mind, some wannabe Don Juan riding a tricycle with a wobbly third wheel inevitably swoops in to sock-block me from putting those shoes on and finally making my moves to get on out the door. I was feeling a bit lost & defeated without running to comfort me, so a week and a half after disaster made it's mark across Japan, with rain clouds steadily elevating the city's radiation levels, and a wonky left knee, I grabbed my gear, stepped outside, and pointed to the cloud crowded sky, proclaiming "Up and at them radioactive man!" to the deaf ears of an unusually empty midday Tokyo street. 


and then...





I don't know what it is about the canine world of Japan, maybe it's the socially cognizant demeanor that their owners instill in them to a great extent, but in my experience, dogs in Japan do not bark, nor show the least bit of excitability, beyond, at most, mild curiosity, when you pass them. In the States, this would never be the case. Americans hold fast the leashes of their rambunctious pets, less they charge full on into the runner advancing towards, or passing by, them. I'm not saying all American dogs have evil designs in their canine minds when they lunge at you, just that their Japanese counterparts seem so cool, calm, & collected, comparatively. I'm willing to concede that this might go beyond an overall social difference, and just be the coincidental result of all the pet owners in my neighborhood enrolling in the same, very successful, obedience school for their dogs, but who knows...I will also note that the stray cat population here looks like a rough and ready crowd of cuddly cuteness with clipped tails perched to claw your kindness like Clint's Clyde from Every Which Way But Loose if you dare reach an empty heavyhearted hand toward their direction.   

For the third day in a (boathouse) row I've made my way outside for a quick run. Everyday the ITBS comes rushing back with a no Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance attitude. It seems any time my runs start to pass through that 2 mile neighborhood—whose dark streets may remind one of the alternative 1985 in Back to the Future II, where Strickland's standing porch-side with a bulletproof vest over his PJ's cradling a shotgun while waiting for the slackers to just give him a reason to exercise some discipline—I spend the next post-run hour having to alternate ice & heat on my left knee before stretching. I thought I had gotten rid of the ITBS once and for all (I've certainly accumulated enough rest days), since I've been somewhat shut in the house for the week following the earthquake. A few rainy days, strung together like empty tin cans rattling behind the back of a piebald rust-gray '84 chevy cavalier station wagon with fast fading "just married" written free-hand in soup on the rear window, coupled with the unbridled terror of nuclear fallout will make an old Ben Kenobi out of even the most avid outdoors enthusiast here on the lonely streets of Tokyo. Now I'm slowly trying to make my way back into the routine of running. I've veered off the Higdon recovery schedule, and since my injury seems to be a tramp, flirting with every potential disaster that comes barreling through town in a rented RV with a skull & crossbones spray-painted on its dinged up propane tank, I have no choice but to just wing it, at least until I feel recovered. This could take a while folks, stay tuned...

Today's post brought to you by parentheses: when an em dash is just too abrupt (or stylistically unfavorable), parenthesize!(!!) 

  

*which I initially thought was a horror movie in the vein of Paranormal Activity until I actually realized it was a true life documentary: then the terror truly set in.