Exploring strange places in the gloom of autumn
It was a foggy day in October and we were exploring. There were some abandoned places McCrae had noticed on some recent drives around the area that invited us out on a dreary weekend morning for an adventure. We first drove out to Chatham County to the Haw River, finding some small access point hidden off the highway - one of those gravel lots you might see and have some passing curiosity from the road as it flashes past your car window, but that you never actually stop and explore. It led down to a long wide dam next to the highway bridge over the river, all silt and rocks and rushing water and rusted cans and graffiti.
When I have to myself long periods of time I tend to revert to some...peculiar habits. In my youthful solitude of being an only child I would write (obviously), read (of course), practice a half dozen instruments, and frequently engage in "bored running." Yes, bored running. It is a real thing, often deployed as an antidote to the dread "bored eating" and usually resorted to after several days of mindless couch potato-ing in front of soul-numbing TV.
Spring tingles. It's like that feeling at the end of yoga's savasana where you wiggle your fingers and toes after lying perfectly still and meditating. There's a gentle prickling as blood and sensation moves through your extremities following minutes of utter calm.
Not every soccer game is great. Not every run is perfect. Sometimes the elements will get you down, or maybe it will be an injury, or maybe it will be a guy with very long legs who injures you, but in any case, some days you need a little time for a tendon to heal or for your skin to stop bleeding and oozing, or for your head to clear. And sometimes what you need is a story of incredible endurance to make you stop being squeamish and try again (after you've cleaned up and bandaged the flesh wounds, of course).
