the loneliness of the short-to-mid-distance runner

tonight i ran 2.5 miles through the dark wide hilly northeast bakersfield neighborhood of my youth. bakersfield is punishingly hot from may til october; nighttime, tho, can bring lovely relief, & the streets so quiet & still compared to southern california, the warm breeze & languid cricketsong of evening put me in a mood, remembering the many, many nights i've jogged in bakersfield, & elsewhere: in california, in other states, in other countries, as well as all the nights i didn't jog, all the nighttime memories & all the people & places that accompany these memories, & the mind just takes its own nighttime trip, doesn't it? is this what getting older brings, this ever-pronouncing lean into remembrance? i hope that i don't become a maudlin oldling fixated upon her past. on the other hand, that would be improvement upon the smarmy turd of my youth... nostalgia, longing, wistfulness, reminiscence, homesickness, from whatever it originates: the happy lonesome feelings that stir, of the moment, transience, mortality of oneself, one's loved ones, humankind, the possibility of universal transcendence & bliss or maybe nothingness, it whirls thru my head & catches in my throat & my heart soars & maybe i blubber a little or just shake it off... i jog til it all makes sense somehow, or endorphins take over & then i flat just don't care. this happens to you, too, right?

“the long-distance run... makes me think that every run... is a life- a little life, I know- but a life as full of misery and happiness and things happening as you can ever get really around yourself” (alan sillitoe)

good-night, fellow mortal.