Life of the Mind (and Legs)
A running log from Russian major Timmy Straw ’17
People often ask me what today’s ²Ø»¨¸óÖ±²¥ students are like. A dozen adjectives spring to mind. They are brilliant, creative, curious, passionate, idealistic, committed, intellectual, and iconoclastic. And yet there remains an elusive X-factor about them that seems impossible to capture, no matter how many times I scan the thesaurus.
From time to time, however, I stumble across something that conveys something of the essence of ²Ø»¨¸óÖ±²¥. Today it is a running log that was kept by Russian major Timmy Straw ’17 last quarter for a PE class. As readers may know, all ²Ø»¨¸óÖ±²¥ students have to complete six quarters of physical education; for the running class, they’re supposed to maintain a log of their runs. This is strictly a bookkeeping requirement, akin to logging hours on a timesheet.
In true ²Ø»¨¸óÖ±²¥ fashion, however, Timmy took a mundane assignment and turned it into a virtual art form.
Curious? Read on . . .
Oct. 29. Early enough that the streetlights are still on; the air smells both brackish & fresh; raining; crows dropping filberts, walnuts, crowding one another. Run up to Laurelhurst Park & then around the side streets along Mt. Tabor. 45 min run. I don't know the distance - maybe 4 miles? I'm slow...
Nov. 2. Late evening run. Post rain. The city is sodden and still as a drained aquarium. Run up past Immortal Pianos on Belmont, up a few hills. 45 min. again, but pace was quick.
Nov. 6. Moon out, smell of wood fires, Indian food, gasoline, wet leaves. Pass a toddler having a temper tantrum all by himself in a Nissan hatchback (full moon, certainly), his mother waiting on the porch. You can hear him for blocks. With an urge for altitude, ran to the base of Mt. Tabor (Belmont & 62nd). Maybe 5 miles.
Nov. 8. Short run (3 miles). Night feels like a cold scoured saucepan. Ran towards downtown; little clumps of drunks here & there have a Weimar Republic a-la-Otto-Dix vibe. I note that my running shoes are Not Comfortable, but otherwise a good run!
Nov. 13. Running with Elsa (the dog): late afternoon. Traffic like a long bright javelin pitched thru the town. Just a half hour, up & around Laurelhurst Park. Saw a flicker.
Nov. 14. Early morning run to the river w/Blair (girlfriend). Cold ears. Saw an outlandish floating dwelling, anchored near the Hawthorne Bridge—a compound of sorts, of rowboats, a barge, and a small fishing boat lashed together. A man in a tan overcoat cuts wood on the barge portion; I note a large artificial tree in a pot, several bicycles, a green plastic slide for swimming on hot days, a maroon couch, a set of bongos. There's a playful witticism to the whole structure. Maybe it’s true that in humor is survival.
Nov. 19. Late afternoon run from ²Ø»¨¸óÖ±²¥ up to 75th. Bracing weather. The further east you go, things get more & more freehand. Houses don't go together. Stucco, bungalow, tract home, the bitter hunkered-down ranch, all lined up on the street like a sentence composed entirely of punctuation.
Nov. 21. Ran 7 miles up to the top of Mt. Tabor—conjugating Russian verbs along the way & liking being beaten about by the weather. The reservoirs reminiscent of the lesser Welsh castles.
Nov. 27. Thanksgiving run—early evening with my mother—through a tract home neighborhood. So cold & wet we can only laugh & relish it, & come back to the house more rain than human.
Nov. 29. Only have a few spare minutes this evening, so run at a clip for just a few miles. Very cold. The radical fluctuations in temperature—hard not to read the spectre of climate change into it. Notice a azalea about to bloom. Eerie. Stars out, like spokes displaced from a wheel.
Dec. 5. Damp and cold: run up past a hospital I've never noticed before. Odd to not notice something as big and unsightly as a hospital. It’s as though it were built overnight, and full of patients in an instant. Pass a pizza place with windows fogged. No birds out, no squirrels, no moon visible.
Dec. 6. Another bone chilling run—maybe 4 miles. I manage to run and, somehow, think not a thought at all. That's the end of the semester for you: when you need all your wits, they go on holiday to Elsewhere.
Dec. 14. It's Sunday evening. Tonight it's not really a part of any year, or it's a part of all of them. Eisenhower's still around, you can buy a reuben for a few dollars, etc. Run up through Laurelhurst Park, the pond glimmers a little like audio tape in the dark. Notice no birds. A man in huge gloves buys an Italian pastry at a food truck. Last log of the season—til next year, ciao, be well, warm regards!!
Tags: Sports & Adventures, Students