Running with Axl

I don't think Axl Rose is much of a runner. At least not back in his Appetite for Destruction and Lies days. But I've been hearing the song "Patience" in my head a good bit lately, particularly while running.

Patience is one of those songs that has forever stamped its tune on the word/concept of patience for me. I can't hear or think the word without seeing the video or hearing the melody. And patience is a virtue I've been lacking on runs since easing my way back into things post-ankle injury.

I used to be able to settle into whatever distance run and know I was going to be out there for a while, what my pace should be, and just drop into a groove. At this point of the comeback, my runs are three to five miles and I feel out of sorts. Not resigned to a distance and running without rhythm.

And that's generally when Axl chimes in. Ah yes, patience. Funny how no running at all for almost a half a year will set you back. Throw you off.

But I'm running without pain. Endurance is coming back. Speed is inching up. No distance or pace is taken for granted. It's a beginner's mind mentality. It's a gift. Like patience.

Storytelling (and Patience)

I've never been the best storyteller, but I've always dug trying. Once something--a memory or someone else's story--has lodged itself in my mind, it ticks, waiting to go off, to detonate and fling shrapnel into those standing within earshot (nothing against those folks who are nearby, mind you).

I am mindful of the re-teller, who fires up the same story at any occasion, to the rolling of the eyes and the thinking of the need to refill drinks or later on some reasonable excuse to escape. Nobody wants to be (or be around) that guy.

But to be the teller who slowly pulls a crowd around them; who can spin them in; bust them up laughing; fling them along a roller-coaster narrative to set them off at the end of the ride, a little wobbly-kneed, only to want to get back in line again...

Patience

I don't have the vocabulary to talk about jazz or good beer and I don't drink wine really.

I don't have the memory or the one I have is odd in its rememberings. I need to clean the filter more.

I don't have the rhythm, I'm not much of a dancer.

I don't have the patience, I'm always looking at my watch and setting my mind on the next thing.

What I have is questions and bridges. And a comfortable chair perched at a panoramic view.

What I have is broken. But I've got the tools to fix it.

But, man, the patience.

Let me find it next to the phillips-head that is sitting out on the bookshelf.