I have always liked the idea of living off the grid, off the land, in the backwoods.... however you'd like to term it. I don't feel the need to live miles down a dirt road, out of earshot and sight of the nearest neighbor in a own compound or cocoon. But it would be nice to live sustainably, wisely.
My answer for the question often asked in high school to help determine occupational direction "what would you do if you won a million dollars?" has always been I'd build a cabin in the woods, my own two hands. I'd love to nail every nail, cut every piece of lumber, wire and plumb the house, hang the drywall.... do it all. Or what I could do...
My dream ideal would include something that combines perhaps a yurt style house like these. And I'd like it to be at least partially self sustaining (like and earthship), as well as off the grid...
Something like Les Stroud. The first minute absolutely nails it! Right there is my why....
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Running
I don't know much about running. On the surface, it doesn't seem like there is much to know. Go from here to there as quickly as your feet will take you. I run because it feels good in the end. I run because I want to be healthy. I run because it is good meditation prayer time, although my scattered ADD brain doesn't hold onto any tracks for any length of time. I run because I enjoy sweating.
I run in the morning and I watch the sun rise into an already blue day. I think about, and then often forget, what I need to get done today. I think about my beautiful wife, my unborn baby, my mom, my dad, my brothers and friends. I wonder where old friends are and if they are happy.
The first couple hundred yards are the toughest. My lungs are not yet expanded, ready for the exertion. My steps are labored, like I am tied to a rope which is plotting to snap me back to were I started. Slowly I find my pace, which is slow. I concentrate on my breathing, in fully, out fully, and feel my muscles relax as they begin to catch up to the idea of a morning run.
The middle portion of any run, of any length, is like a trance. I trudge along, the occasional dog barks at my intrusion into his territory, or perhaps just to say good morning. My mind wanders quickly, weaving thoughts, memories and to-do lists into a jumbled mess of contemplations. One foot in front of the other, steady pace.
I used to run with an iPod, and I still do off and on. But I have found I no longer need the distraction from the pain, the distance or the thought process that accompanies me on my runs. Running sans iPod is the essence of "I think, therefor I am." Running is the epitome of the "here and now", however far you are, unless you are done, you have more to go, so one foot goes in front of the other.
The home stretch feels the best. My runner's high is in full swing after four miles, muscles are warm, breathing has returned to the recesses of my pea brain, no longer a conscious thought. There is no pain, and it feels like I can go on and on, though I know I cannot. The day calls, work, chores, hobbies, but beyond that, I know I cannot run forever. But it feels like I can. In that moment, I know I can go.
I run in the morning and I watch the sun rise into an already blue day. I think about, and then often forget, what I need to get done today. I think about my beautiful wife, my unborn baby, my mom, my dad, my brothers and friends. I wonder where old friends are and if they are happy.
The first couple hundred yards are the toughest. My lungs are not yet expanded, ready for the exertion. My steps are labored, like I am tied to a rope which is plotting to snap me back to were I started. Slowly I find my pace, which is slow. I concentrate on my breathing, in fully, out fully, and feel my muscles relax as they begin to catch up to the idea of a morning run.
The middle portion of any run, of any length, is like a trance. I trudge along, the occasional dog barks at my intrusion into his territory, or perhaps just to say good morning. My mind wanders quickly, weaving thoughts, memories and to-do lists into a jumbled mess of contemplations. One foot in front of the other, steady pace.
I used to run with an iPod, and I still do off and on. But I have found I no longer need the distraction from the pain, the distance or the thought process that accompanies me on my runs. Running sans iPod is the essence of "I think, therefor I am." Running is the epitome of the "here and now", however far you are, unless you are done, you have more to go, so one foot goes in front of the other.
The home stretch feels the best. My runner's high is in full swing after four miles, muscles are warm, breathing has returned to the recesses of my pea brain, no longer a conscious thought. There is no pain, and it feels like I can go on and on, though I know I cannot. The day calls, work, chores, hobbies, but beyond that, I know I cannot run forever. But it feels like I can. In that moment, I know I can go.
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