Barrett Dorko
17-04-2007, 03:07 PM
It’s been a quiet week in Cuyahoga Falls…
True story: I wakened quite early this morning, carried my luggage to the car, took Buckeye for a walk and then fell asleep in my recliner. I dreamt that I wakened suddenly on a plane. I was in a window seat and we were taxiing toward the runway. Looking around, I tried to remember boarding but couldn’t. I had no idea where I was headed.
Today, I’m headed toward West Virginia. The flight will be short and my time in the hotel long. I will be alone until tomorrow when I begin to set up the table at the front of the classroom and deal with the person hired from Kelly Services to help with registration. Before then I don’t imagine I’ll engage in any actual conversation.
About 8AM I’ll begin. “Good morning. I’m Barrett Dorko and this is Manually Managing Pain sponsored by Cross Country Education. I’d like to welcome you to wherever it is I am today.”
I’m on the treadmill a lot these days. These devices vary from one hotel to the next but most contain a display that shows where you would be on a quarter mile track as you progress. As it happens, I was the best quarter miler on my ninth grade track team. I remember coming in third several times in meets with other teams, and these were my best finishes. It was hard to recruit anyone else to run this race, and though the effort required to sprint this distance is considerable, I’m not certain that that was the main reason so few tried it. I think it was something else.
On a treadmill things can get dreamy, especially if you listen to music as I do. These days I start to Celestial Soda Pop by Ray Lynch and go on to repeated recordings of Home by Marc Broussard. I try to finish with I’m Alright by Kenny Loggins. The images each brings to mind are distinct and compelling for me, and they make the run more like a dream than anything else. And it’s a dream I can control.
The image of the track before me contains a long straightaway that I know would be the furthest distance from the spectators. I remember how quiet it was there, how the only thing you could hear were the sounds of pounding feet and labored breathing. There I always felt completely alone. The effort I expended during this portion of the race would determine how I might finish; not necessarily ahead of anyone else, but how strong. Sometimes I chose well, sometimes not.
I think it was the far side of the track that my teammates were avoiding though we never spoke of this. It was a scary place, and there wasn’t any music to distract you, comfort you or encourage you.
These days before I teach I imagine myself there again.
True story: I wakened quite early this morning, carried my luggage to the car, took Buckeye for a walk and then fell asleep in my recliner. I dreamt that I wakened suddenly on a plane. I was in a window seat and we were taxiing toward the runway. Looking around, I tried to remember boarding but couldn’t. I had no idea where I was headed.
Today, I’m headed toward West Virginia. The flight will be short and my time in the hotel long. I will be alone until tomorrow when I begin to set up the table at the front of the classroom and deal with the person hired from Kelly Services to help with registration. Before then I don’t imagine I’ll engage in any actual conversation.
About 8AM I’ll begin. “Good morning. I’m Barrett Dorko and this is Manually Managing Pain sponsored by Cross Country Education. I’d like to welcome you to wherever it is I am today.”
I’m on the treadmill a lot these days. These devices vary from one hotel to the next but most contain a display that shows where you would be on a quarter mile track as you progress. As it happens, I was the best quarter miler on my ninth grade track team. I remember coming in third several times in meets with other teams, and these were my best finishes. It was hard to recruit anyone else to run this race, and though the effort required to sprint this distance is considerable, I’m not certain that that was the main reason so few tried it. I think it was something else.
On a treadmill things can get dreamy, especially if you listen to music as I do. These days I start to Celestial Soda Pop by Ray Lynch and go on to repeated recordings of Home by Marc Broussard. I try to finish with I’m Alright by Kenny Loggins. The images each brings to mind are distinct and compelling for me, and they make the run more like a dream than anything else. And it’s a dream I can control.
The image of the track before me contains a long straightaway that I know would be the furthest distance from the spectators. I remember how quiet it was there, how the only thing you could hear were the sounds of pounding feet and labored breathing. There I always felt completely alone. The effort I expended during this portion of the race would determine how I might finish; not necessarily ahead of anyone else, but how strong. Sometimes I chose well, sometimes not.
I think it was the far side of the track that my teammates were avoiding though we never spoke of this. It was a scary place, and there wasn’t any music to distract you, comfort you or encourage you.
These days before I teach I imagine myself there again.