At dawn after the marathon the parrots came. On fall mornings the Quaker parrots that nest in the Green-Wood Cemetery main entrance arch and the nearby Con Ed substation, the parrots fly through our neighborhood, announcing themselves by squawking, a din easily distinguished from the jays and crows who also pass by and sometimes roost for awhile in our massive oak tree, leaves brush the house’s back wall, the other side of which I heard the parrots’ call that morning.
It was much different than other days. In fact, I had never heard the parrots at dawn. I woke with a start and in that moment listening to the parrots the pain and aches in my legs eased. It was only a moment before the worst of the pain returned. I couldn’t help but think that the parrots had come for a reason. Lying in bed, I thought, yes, something essential had been misplaced this past many months. At some point or other I’d let the idea of my being a marathoner, a man who could not only complete a 26.2 mile race but do so with distinction, define a large part of myself. In focusing on time and finishing place I’d left the parrots behind. How long had it been since I’d thought of running as bird-flying. To look into the sky as I run, to contemplate the hawk on the hunt, the soaring gulls, and most important, how long had it been since I’d gone on a run with a principal goal of seeing the Quaker parrots of Green-Wood in all kinds of weather.
Today (October 23) marks the ninth day since Steamtown, the first of which I ran more than thirty minutes, and yes, the Green-Wood parrots were there, a small flock of five on the most beautiful, fresh fall day. I smiled and felt a certain lift as I came back to running for my life.
Next: Running for Your Life: Upstate with Thurber
It was much different than other days. In fact, I had never heard the parrots at dawn. I woke with a start and in that moment listening to the parrots the pain and aches in my legs eased. It was only a moment before the worst of the pain returned. I couldn’t help but think that the parrots had come for a reason. Lying in bed, I thought, yes, something essential had been misplaced this past many months. At some point or other I’d let the idea of my being a marathoner, a man who could not only complete a 26.2 mile race but do so with distinction, define a large part of myself. In focusing on time and finishing place I’d left the parrots behind. How long had it been since I’d thought of running as bird-flying. To look into the sky as I run, to contemplate the hawk on the hunt, the soaring gulls, and most important, how long had it been since I’d gone on a run with a principal goal of seeing the Quaker parrots of Green-Wood in all kinds of weather.
Today (October 23) marks the ninth day since Steamtown, the first of which I ran more than thirty minutes, and yes, the Green-Wood parrots were there, a small flock of five on the most beautiful, fresh fall day. I smiled and felt a certain lift as I came back to running for my life.
Next: Running for Your Life: Upstate with Thurber
