10 Miles Alone With My Thoughts

I ran ten miles this morning, Modern Philosophers, and, boy, is my brain tired!

Ten miles is a long time to be alone with my thoughts.  While most runners I know prefer to listen to music out on the road, I choose to use the time to really get my Deep Thoughts flowing.

After all, I am a Modern Philosopher.

But before we dive deep into those thoughts, let’s circle back to the fact that I ran ten miles.  That’s no small feat.  In fact, it’s a personal best.

I did run eleven miles once on a treadmill, but I don’t consider treadmill miles to count the same way outdoor miles do.  The treadmill is just running in place in perfect weather conditions while watching whatever is on the TV in the gym.

I pushed myself because I’m totally motivated and maybe just a tad crazy.  I cracked the 200,000 step mark for the week last Thursday, and I’ve insisted on making sure my total didn’t sink beneath that magic number ever since.

No one would care if I collected less than 200,000 steps, but I would know.  And it would piss me off.

Maybe I’m a bit of a fitness addict at this point, or maybe I’m simply obsessed with numbers and 200,000 is a delightful one for my collection.

Running ten miles was no joke.  My legs were sore from averaging almost 30,000 steps a day all week, but I was up for the challenge.  The distance of any run is never set in stone when I leave The House on the Will, but I do keep a goal in the back of my head.

Today’s goal was ten miles, and I was determined to get it.

Of course, that means being out on the road for a long time, since I’m not going to try imitating The Flash when I’m covering that kind of distance.

In order to keep myself distracted from how much it hurts to run ten miles, I’ve got to keep the Deep Thoughts flowing.  Here are some things that crossed my mind today…

Hollywood really sucks.

That should be obvious to anyone who knows the least bit about the movie business, but it’s even more apparent to someone who is desperate to write full time.

For the past month, I’ve been sharing little tidbits about some potential big news.

I was told that one of my screenplays, a psychological thriller, was close to getting the green light to go into production.

The conversation made it sound like it was pretty much a done deal.

I’ve told you guys a little about it, and even posted a couple of short stories on the blog as part of the social media campaign for the flick.

But I’ve also worked very hard to temper my excitement.  Because I know how Hollywood can be.  Dreams are quickly smothered in smog and die painful deaths.

Somehow, I allowed Hope to escape from its cage.  Now, the producer is telling me there’s nothing new to report, so I’m afraid Hollywood is playing its same, old, annoying game with me.  The eternal tease.

I’m frustrated with myself for even thinking any of this could be real.  The worst part about having to put Hope back in its cage is how stupid I feel for allowing it to escape.

Of course, such internal rage generates the kind of energy I need to run ten miles.

Dr. Dre popped into my thoughts again. If only that deal with him hadn’t fallen through.  I like to distract myself by imagining where I’d be now if Dre had made .33 Reverse Gunther as planned.

Probably not sitting on the porch of The House on the Hill complaining about how much Hollywood sucks.

I actually laughed out loud on my run as I remembered Dre’s infamous assessment of my writing skills during our initial meeting:

“You are one sick mother@#$%^&”.

Still consider that my absolute favorite feedback about my writing.

Dre was right.  I am a sick mother@#$%^&, except these days, I’m sick of sitting around and waiting for things to go my way with my writing career.

Since I was already making a mental visit to Hollywood and the World of Celebrity, it was only logical for my next move to be a jump to hyperspace.

To a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

As usually happens on a long run, my thoughts drifted to Daisy Ridley.  There could be some truth to the rumor that I get through all these long runs by telling myself it’s part of my Jedi Training.

And on May 5th, the day following Star Wars Day (May the Fourth be with you, Modern Philosophers!), I searched my feelings and realized I have a soft spot in my soul for my favorite scavenger from Jakku.

I’m not going to impress Rey/Daisy by only putting up average numbers on my runs.  No, in order to turn her to the Dork Side, I’ve got to show her I can run ten miles.

Please tell me your follow the logic, because it’s really quite obvious.

And it wouldn’t be a typical Deep Thought session if my inner Hopeless Romantic didn’t take over my brain.

The Sweet Irish Girl has been on my mind a lot lately.  My new thing is beating myself up for ever letting her get on the plane to Ireland at the end of her last visit.  I should have just made the Grand Romantic Gesture, refused to let her board the plane, and proposed to her right there at Bangor International Airport.

Stupid me, however, let logic trump romance, and now I’m typing this all alone because I never married the woman who fell in love with me from across the world.

Perhaps I don’t take enough chances.

Maybe I insist on playing it safe.

That holds true for all aspects of my life.  Sometimes, I think I’m out there running for so long because I want to leave my mistakes in the dust.

Other times, I think I’m running towards this amazing new life that’s going to make all the past nonsense finally make sense.

At the moment, however, I appear to be running in quicksand.  Nothing is changing and my legs are perpetually sore.

Now I have to ask myself: What kind of sick mother@#$%^& just sits around and does nothing while life passes him by?

I think I’ll go for a long walk and ponder that one, Modern Philosophers…