The shower in our Mammoth condo has the coldest water. Comes right off the mountain as snowmelt and blasts out of the faucet like a river of ice. A solid minute of that, followed by a quick turn to the right and instant hot water makes for an invigorating way to start the day.
That's not the only reason I'm driving to Mammoth tonight. The Southern Section track and field finals will go until 5:30 and then it's four hours up the mountain. I need to get away for a few days, go someplace where I can think and pray. Get the perspective that only distance can provide. This past week was just plain rough and I need to escape.
Photo by Peter Mountain. © 2003 Universal Studios. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
My mistake was thinking I had enough perspective to write about grief. Seemed like a nice conceit: I've put my name in the lottery for the 2027 London Marathon. Write the early pages of a book using running and the distant goal of a marathon as a means through this grief. I am reminded of the scene where Liam Neeson's character and stepson Sam in Love, Actually discuss "the total agony of being in love."
Well, grief is the diametric opposite side of that. Still in love. Total agony.
And just as the two of them resolve to "get the shit kicked out of us by love," so I have also resolved. It should be noted that Liam Neeson's character is suffering the loss of his wife and is so consumed with pain that the total agony of being in love seems a trifle until this confrontation. If you watch carefully, this moment is a revelation that his pain and that of his stepson are the same. Nice bit of writing there. I never understood the full impact of that moment until now. I have stood at the benches along the south bank of the Thames where that scene was filmed. A splendid view of St. Paul's on the far side of the river. Splendid setting for a revelation.
So I started writing the book. Just an experiment. Got a couple chapters on the page. Relived a few things before they disappeared deep into memory. Did my usual combination of runs, hikes, and lifts. Ate well. Even had a treadmill test at my doctor's that confirms my heart is just dandy.
But the nights became awful as those memories resurfaced. Very little sleep. My digestive system decided it wanted in on the action, launching all those symptoms so eloquently described in Pepto-Bismol commercials. I even skipped practice yesterday because I didn't want to get any of my runners sick at this precious time of year. I hardly ever miss practice. But I slept hard last night and woke up feeling physically recovered enough to make a getaway.
My youngest son is coming to watch the dogs. I'll enjoy the track meet and hit the road. I'm bringing my laptop to Mammoth. I may not even open it but I have to think I'll at least try to continue writing that piece, no matter what sort of battle will be waged as a result. Maybe that's not my next book but it's certainly something I need to write. In time, I hope the words will be as cleansing and revitalizing as that Mammoth condo shower. But I have a feeling that moment is a long way off.