In the Land of the Zombies

The days are getting shorter, the mornings darker. Still, in a feeble attempt to keep my sanity I rise at 6:30 and try to run a couple of times a week before work. It keeps my nerves in check, and my breathing steady. I dread getting up, but it makes me happy.

When I started the day was bright, the sun up. I could see downtown when I crested my final hill. Now, I set out in the pitch black. I am running in the moment when the street lights have gone out, but the light has not yet come.

I run across the Hollywood Bowl parking lot, under the freeway underpass, and across into a sweet little neighborhood called the Hollywood Dell full of cute houses, lots of hills, and, early in the morning, coyotes, rabbits and sometimes deer.

But as the economy gets worse, and the mornings darker, I am seeing other wildlife. I am there when all the homeless people rise from behind their bushes and rocks and park benches. I am there when they come out of the woods and parks dressed in black, with their hoodies still pulled tight over their heads. They are half-awake, just like me, stumbling out of strange places to begin the day.

I do not scare easily. But the other morning, I suddenly felt I was in the land of zombies. All these people, who feel groggy and half-dead, and invisible to the world most of the time, were awake, with me. Alone on the streets.

Is this why zombie movies are so popular right now?

Because when you are awake when the rest of the world sleeps, this is the world you see?

One Foot...

In front of the other.

I am so tired, I have a cold, I have to read about ad rates, which I dread.

But I must put one foot in front of the other. That is what it takes to run a marathon.

This morning the hills were red gold and the sky was blue. Our beds were cozy and we all are battling sleepiness and bodies that feel like lead. But I got up, put on my shoes, my brand new jog bra, my sweat shirt, grabbed my music, and headed for the reservoir. My feet were so heavy, my muscles tight. My training manual said this was a pull back week, a recovery week. Oh, Lordy, please let it be so.

I got out on the path, and the air smelled like pine needles, the Hollywood Sign reflected perfectly in the stillness of the water, and my city lay below me wrapped in mist (and smog). (I tried to photograph but impossible to capture).

Not the Sierras, but beauty in my backyard.

I was slow.

But I did it. I ran. I finished. My head is clearer. And I know I have it in me--the energy to force myself to just move a little when I don't want to. To put on my shoes, head out, move foward.

And look what I found:



One of nature's treasures.

Fodder for a Christmas card.