It’s not such a hard thing to run 1000 miles in a year. It’s only hard when you live on a hopping, bar-packed block on the Lower East Side, in a city where the only true pastime of the 20-40 set seems to be boozing away their petty anxieties while draped in chic clothing. It gets harder when you happen to be a person with a natural weakness for wine and all it represents, with a minor self-disruptive tendency, and with her own tidy little stash of petty anxieties.

I was chewing over the question of whether to really fight for the 1000 miles the other day, and my friend suggested I look for a sign to guide me. Two hours later, in my usual state of oblivion to my immediate surroundings (which doesn’t improve after a couple glasses of wine, which I had had), a trashtruck backed into my leg while I was standing in a crosswalk. (What trashtruck backs through an intersection into a crosswalk??) It moved slowly and stopped just exactly when it hit my leg. The only damage was a long purple bruise. If it had been going just a little faster, or stopped a little slower, I might not have run 10 miles today.

When I asked the universe for a sign, I was thinking some more along the lines of a gentle dove flying past my head, whispering, “runnnn Sara runnnnnnn.” Or arriving home one day, and finding that some cool company had sent me a brand new pair of running shoes, for no particular reason.

Instead, I got hit by a trash truck. But I’ll take it. It certainly got my attention and reminded me that mobility is a gift. I ran 23 miles this week. Can I run 30 next week? Elodie doesn’t know it but she gave me some hope in her recent post on cross-training, by talking about how she feels more comfortable at 30 weekly miles than 20. Can I get there?

I don’t know, but last night I did something I literally haven’t done in years: I ordered a seltzer water.

***

Expect to see more posts on creativity and the creative process. I’ve grown bored talking about running.

First, awesome: John Cleese on creativity! “I want to be as well-informed as I possibly can when I die.”

I also came across this piece from Joel Friedlander, 18 Ways to Think about Creativity. The one I need to hear most:

Doing something worthwhile takes time—and training and preparation and resolve. You need to have some steel inside to see a big project through to the end.

I wanted a run that would let me explore, so I decided to cross the island on Houston, which I had never done, then run around the tip of Manhattan and back up Houston to home.

I ran a few blocks down Stanton…

Then across Bowery and up to Houston. Houston toward the west side was much quieter than I anticipated. And look: I found Film Forum:

OK, yeah, you can’t really see it because I took the photo as an afterthought, too far away. But here’s what’s playing:

I may go tonight. We’ll see. Film Forum is just a block from the harbor. Ahhhh….

One of my favorite views - look at all those shapes and angles

Up Rivington, past my ratty old sublet

My much beloved corner cafe

Home!!

I drew back the curtain this morning at rosy dawn and looked out at the towers of City Hall in Lower Manhattan in perfect 20-20. I almost cried it made me so happy. Giddy joy. I may walk to the other side of the mountain today just to see what I can see. Meanwhile, my nearsight is blurry, because my eyes are so red and dry. I can’t see the page I’m typing on all that well.

Now, onto the tricky stuff.

For starters, I look like the monster who took Tokyo. My eyes are so puffy they’re practically sealed shut. Not surprising, because my eyes wept all night. The pain was so bad in the four hours following the surgery that a sleeping pill and one and a half vicotin couldn’t knock me out. (On the plus side, that amount of vicotin did make the Neil Gaiman that my friend Kate read me aloud before leaving the absolutely funniest bit of story I had heard in ages. Deep, glorious belly laughter.)

After she left, I lay there in agony in my goofy, doctor-ordered sleep visor for about five hours, listening to texts come into the phone that I couldn’t open my eyes to look at. Every few minutes I had to crack them a little to let the tears pour out. Sometime around midnight (I’m guessing, based on the timing of the last text I remember hearing) the pain dulled every so slightly, and I finally fell into the rabbit hole.

I should note here that apparently not everyone has this much recovery pain. Or so they tell you. The Doc did more or less admit that the reason for the funny visor was so that you didn’t claw your eyes out during the night. So maybe my experience was more standard than not.

About the procedure: Honestly, although it seemed stunningly novel at the time, from my post-op vantage today it’s kind of an afterthought. Imagine I ordered fries in a long line at McDonald’s, walked outside, and got hit by a car. Would you ask me how the line went?

But OK. The procedure was interesting. Stressful. Your body panics, a little, when someone clamps a suction cup down on your eyeball and tells you first that the laser is making a flap, then that he’s folding that flap back, and finally, “Not to worry if you smell something. It’s just the laser vaporizing your tissue.” (And you do smell something, like a burnt wire.) The 40 seconds of slicing and vaporizing combined are a long 40 seconds. I squeezed both the teddy bear and the hand of the kind assistant, who, along with the doctor, were a spectacular cheerleading team. Really amazing. I think I may make that assistant a bridesmaid when I get married. Maybe the doctor too. (Kate, you were already signed, sealed, and delivered for that role, so don’t feel jealous.)

A note about that suction cup: It’s a little uncomfortable, but it’s a miraculous thing and here’s why: Everyone talks about being afraid that they’ll jiggle and disrupt the laser. The suction cup takes away that concern – even if you move a little, your eyeball doesn’t. Brilliant! And scary. Realizing that your eyeball’s in a vice grip, i.e. not going anywhere even if you do, not so nice. But the safety bonus, very nice. So I’m pro-suction cup.

Finally: What a joy to have my friend Kate take care of me. Kate’s an herbalist, a healer, and in that role, exudes a kind of preternatural calm and serenity that’s quite separate and above the normal everyday Kate. In fact, I think because of this experience, Kate may have been upgraded from bridesmaid to midwife, so get ready for the day, dear. That is, the someday.

Back to the details: She brought me organic buffalo meatloaf, which I was dying to eat even though I had to race the descending pain to the finish line. The meatloaf won. All that panicking under the laser makes for an appetite. Then this morning I awoke to the most beautifully arranged flowers and a perfectly clean kitchen. Thank you Kate – AND all of  you who emailed with good wishes yesterday.

“I can see, I can see!”

Lasik day! I’ve acted like a grown up these past days in preparation – eating well, going to bed early, etc. Let’s do this thing. Not running today because I need to be at work early and then have the “surgery” in the evening. That’s OK – I’ll be ready to run tomorrow.

Lots of rain spanking my eyelids today. I love running in the rain!! This one took me under the Williamsburg, Manhattan, and Brooklyn bridges, and then into Battery Park. In other words, my typical run – but apparently I had never done it on a Sunday morning because there was more going on than usual. I saw a delicious looking farmer’s market just south of the Brooklyn Bridge, a deaf-people’s convention at the seaport, bunches of tourists in neon rain ponchos in Battery Park, and a weathered homeless man (or sea captain?) with a tremendous fire-red beard that told me he wasn’t as old as he looked.

In other words, lots of people out and about, rain be damned.

Feeling unusually reflective this past couple of days. Actually, I’m generally reflective. So imagine the “Bill” theme from True Blood, and you’re with me. Well, maybe not quite so solemn. In fact, sometimes downright silly. But definitely marinating in summer’s rituals – weddings, late nights, transitions and decisions.

This run was average, given that lately I’ve been trying to push more for faster runs. 10:40 pace? Meh. The gym was really great though – tons of stability and core training, along with legs. The stability stuff is so much more fun than stupid weights. Everyone, get thee to a Bosu ball. You’ll love it.

Thirteen miles so far this week. Planning a 7 or 8 miler tomorrow to break into the double digits. In case you’re wondering, situation 1000 miles is looking grim. But I’m going to keep plugging on – better it be my 924 mile year than my 544.97 mile year.

I plan to go down running.

My trainer said to me, “You’re like a horse – you speed up when you’re close to home.” So true!

My last mile was my fastest – somewhere around 9:15, even while dodging Chinatown pedestrians.

I’m trying to build speed, so after the first mile as a warmup, I spent .25 mile of each mile trying to keep my pace under 9:30. This seems like a way to start building speed without hating my runs. As a result I ended with a 10:20 average pace. Most of my recent runs have been around 10:40.

Next time I’ll go for 9 minute quarter miles.

Finally, grateful: This was my first pain-free run in  a while. I’ve been having a hip thing. Hopefully my light week last week was enough to wrangle it.

Tried to run today – nice, cool, gray day – but no go. My hammies and other various mysterious muscles are too sore from training last night. I’ll try to go for a powerwalk tonight, and if I do, I’m counting it as mileage. Doesn’t seem fair that the training, which should help me squeak out more miles ultimately, is holding me back from cracking them out in the here and now.

Planning an 8-10 miler tomorrow, depending on soreness.