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I look down the long road ahead and can’t help but to wonder if this is going to kill me.  My eyes opened wide a full hour before my 6:00 alarm.  I feel like shit, I’m so comfy and snuggled up I try and close my eyes and go back to sleep. It’s futal, I pull myself from my warm fluffy cocoon, my back hurts so badly that I hunch over like a caveman.

Coffee black, a huge glass of lemon water and morning news. I stretch and breath, in the corner I spy my pink running socks, I was packing my bags last night and now there they are calling to me. I find it odd that having spent the better part of my life as an ultra endurance athlete that I can’t even remember the last time I ran. It was probably to the liqour store for a six pack and ciggies trying to beat the winter early closing hours, or maybe running from the sergeants in Hawaii as they chased me into the jungle, whenever it was it certainly wasn’t for fun.

I pull out my ukulele and try to avoid the inevitable.  Yesterday I snapped my G string and after replacing it with a new wound low G I accidentally clipped my C string while trimming my G and replaced it with the only one I had, A white one, its stiff and unnatural.  I pluck a new tune I’m working on but my brain isn’t there, it’s in my running shoes.  The morning is quiet, cloudy and humid with just a slight chill.  This could kill me so I put on my Sunday’s best running clothes just in case they find my stiff corpse on the side of the road.

I walk slowly to the restroom, wash my face, scrub my hands extra well, stretch, I’m doing everything in my power to prolong the pain.  It doesn’t take long to find my stride, my tired rumply body glides down the side of the road.  Even on this quiet morning the exhaust of left wing wackos driving their Subarus with bumper stickers that say keep America green piss me off to no end.  I know all these people, they complain about the state of the world non stop while shoveling piles of red meat down their throats, buying everything from China and those damn cars, they think somehow they are saving the environmentment and have all the bumper stickers in the world to prove it.

I fucking hate cars, the noise, the stink, they are everywhere. God forbid these Subaru pilots ever feel the cold or the burn of human power, or take a little time out for themselfs to simply slow down and walk somewhere. No fucking way, these bumper sticker protesters are convinced that a their Subarus will save the planet, stop climate change and free Tibet, oh wait, what… I miss the mountains where I could run for six straight hours and not cross paths with anything other than a deer, or bear, or lion.  Everything out there makes sense, nothing In society makes sense to me. I keep running, there is a tiny barrier between me and the cool of the morning,, I strip my jumper and keep on down the road, I’m in my groove.

23 munites amd I’m back at the boat, I feel like I’ve just run a marathon.  I feel good, endorphins flowing, my head clear and back to the dock where I’m safe from all the traffic on this little island.  I ponder this blog, why do I even write it, I’m ruining people’s life’s, you can read the words look at the pictures and they might even make you feel good, those little endorphins of hope but is that a good thing.  You can read about it but you can never feel it.  Not how hard my 23 minute run was. Not what it’s like to wake up at 200 am to 10 degree temperatures and 60 mile per hour gusts.  You can’t feel the cold of setting extra lines in these conditions.  You can never feel how hungry I was when I was literally starving to death in Hawaii or how good it felt to share my tiny meals with my adopted kitty.  You can’t feel the adrenaline of almost being talken out head on by a truck doing 70 pulling a 40′ trailer and trying to pass a car at the near expense of your life.  Or what it feels like to be lost in the dark on a lee shore while the wind is over powering you boat, these feeling are real.  These feeling prevent cancer, premature aging and make our minds strong and capable of more. Outside is where we are meant to be, cold, tired hungry, free. My coffee is empty, it’s time to go, I have to ride my bike to the ferry to meet a person I’m selling some shit to, then it’s back to the resort to play bartender to a pile of unhappy, stressed out tourists who don’t know how to leave the city behind and I wonder to myself, do I…

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