At boarding school I ran each day. Nothing stopped it. I ran each day because running is what I did. Running was intensity. I had never planned it; it just happened. Each day I would, from a random walk, somewhere, just start; just start to run.
This one day I ran across the green field where we started and ended our races through the great Jack Pine Forest. I ran down the Hill by the Par Course and ran closed mouth breathing, like the indians once did, past the Del Monte Hotel. I sprinted through Carmel and was just getting going when I was kicking up sand on the Carmel Beach. Cloudy and covered by the steady sea wind, the whole stretch was empty of all but the Surfers. They, of course, never left; seeing as they knew.
I sped down the beach and rocketed over the hillock separating beaches Carmel from Indian. Rain was pelting by the time I crested the tidal dunes. Without thought to cloud my mind, I ran straight into the Carmel river that streamed in my way where its muddy mouth kisses the cold sea to this very day. I ran till it got too deep and only the too real and deadly danger of the old river's pulling current on my body washed my consciousness back into a thoughtful mode. With backwards thrashes I barely pulled myself out and staggered at last to the top of the shallow dunes where I stood, soaked and rain washed, watching and then growingly understanding the Lightning as it crashed and thundered into the Far Sea.
This one day I ran across the green field where we started and ended our races through the great Jack Pine Forest. I ran down the Hill by the Par Course and ran closed mouth breathing, like the indians once did, past the Del Monte Hotel. I sprinted through Carmel and was just getting going when I was kicking up sand on the Carmel Beach. Cloudy and covered by the steady sea wind, the whole stretch was empty of all but the Surfers. They, of course, never left; seeing as they knew.
I sped down the beach and rocketed over the hillock separating beaches Carmel from Indian. Rain was pelting by the time I crested the tidal dunes. Without thought to cloud my mind, I ran straight into the Carmel river that streamed in my way where its muddy mouth kisses the cold sea to this very day. I ran till it got too deep and only the too real and deadly danger of the old river's pulling current on my body washed my consciousness back into a thoughtful mode. With backwards thrashes I barely pulled myself out and staggered at last to the top of the shallow dunes where I stood, soaked and rain washed, watching and then growingly understanding the Lightning as it crashed and thundered into the Far Sea.
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