Monkey Mind

Martha had attended a yoga class last month (see post of January 12) and enjoyed it very much, so I decided to join her on this Saturday morning; we normally complete our long run for the week on Saturdays, but we had done that yesterday.  Our instructor, Jenn, was as friendly as I had been told, and I also met Patty, a woman Martha had met last month.  Jenn was very accommodating.  "If you feel a little uncomfortable doing this," she would say, "Just put your elbows down."  The day after a ten-mile run, I was cautious about bending my knee, so I was glad to be offered the liberty of alternative poses.  But all went well, and as we always do following a yoga class, we felt calm and relaxed and centered.  We spent the last five minutes in what is called "Shavasana," or corpse pose - simply lying flat on our backs and feeling everything settle down.  I am good at that pose!

"Don't let 'monkey mind' in," Jenn told us.  I remembered hearing this term before, and a little research told me to what it refers in yoga practice:

"The idea of the monkey mind comes from Buddhism. The term has been adopted by yogis to describe a mind that jumps from thought to thought like a monkey jumps from tree to tree. The monkey mind cannot exist in the present moment, but rather is constantly distracted by the thoughts that pass through."

We would all be better off if we could rid ourselves of those jumping monkeys, and somehow it seems easier to do this out here where we can listen to the gentle rhythms of the ocean each night as we go to sleep.

That's our limber instructor in front on the left.  And that's me leaning against the wall next to Martha (another pose I am good at).  "Looks like a police line-up," the man next to me said.  "It's that tall guy!"  I told him I was not worried; my wife would give me an alibi.

It turned colder and windier as the day went on, but I bundled up and walked to the pier and back anyway.  This jellyfish had just washed in, glistening and quivering as if it was still alive.

The surf was surprisingly gentle considering the wind in my face when I turned at the pier and came back.  A gull hovered in the air overhead, perfectly still, and a sandpiper walked to and fro in the surf.  No monkeys anywhere in sight.

Ten Miles

My new shoes arrived yesterday, just in time for my ten-mile long run this morning.  I picked them up at the Post Office where a young man named Perry handed them over.  "These came just in time," I told him.  "I'm running a half marathon in a little over three weeks and I'm hoping these will take me across the finish line!"  He immediately asked me about the race and said he had recently run a treadmill 5-K in 18 minutes or so.  I urged him to come out and run the 5-K or the 10-K.  'You cross the bridge twice," I said.  "Last year, there was a 40-mile-an-hour wind in my face.  I've never run in conditions like that!"  He smiled and said, "I have.  In Iraq."  Turns out he is an ex-Marine and an Iraqi veteran.  So maybe I will see Perry at the starting line.

Martha also planned to run long today, and we  both awoke just before dawn.  I got to the dune-top deck in time to witness another glorious Atlantic Beach sunrise.

Conditions were ideal: warm temperatures in the low 60s and not much wind.  I have not run this far since September in Cades Cove, when I ran the 11-mile loop against my better judgement just because it was a beautiful day and we had gathered together with friends for that express purpose.  It had been a mistake (although an especially memorable one), causing a relapse in my on-and-off struggle with an inflamed right knee.  The inflammation in my knee has nearly disappeared over the past four months, but still I was a little apprehensive about my first double-digit run of 2019.  But it went well - nice and easy, and not a  bit of pain during or after the run.  Martha completed nine miles, as she had planned, so it was a good day for both of us.

We thought our successful long runs called for a celebration, so we decided to have lunch at one of our favorite places in Morehead City which we discovered last year, The Shuckin Shack. These char-grilled oysters were the appetizers - yum! 

Rachel Carson Reserve

Yesterday we attended another interesting “Friends of Fort Macon” program at the Tsunami Grill, like the one we attended on January 9.  We sat with head ranger Randy Neuman and we asked him about Rachel Carson Reserve.  “Lots of birds there!” Randy said enthusiastically.  Randy loves birds, and we took a bird-watching walk with him last year.

The speaker at the luncheon was Paula Gillikin, who has been a caretaker at the Rachel Carson Reserve for eleven years.  Paula talked about the Reserve, which is the large island one sees on the other side of Taylor’s Creek from downtown Beaufort, and part of the N. C. Coastal Reserve & National Estuarine Research Reserve.  Accessible only by ferry, it consists of Carrot Island, Bird Shoals, and Sand Dollar Island, none of which we have visited.

This pristine land was saved from development in 1977 by Beaufort residents and civic organizations working together to prevent the development of a resort.  To this day, the island is undeveloped, and we hear that sometimes one can see some of the wild horses that live there walking along the shore.  The horses were imported from Cape Lookout (also accessible only by ferry), part of a herd of one hundred or so that we were able to see up close two years ago. 

The herd of 29 horses in the Reserve are managed and their numbers kept under control by contraception.  We wondered about that, and Paula showed us a slide showing her shooting a female horse with a tranquilizer dart containing contraceptive.  When the herd was too large in the past, sometimes these horses used to swim across the channel to Beaufort.  These feral horses did not originate here, but were likely imported from Spain in the 16^th century; the commonest explanation for their presence on all these islands along the East Coast, and the one which we like to believe, is that they escaped from shipwrecks.  Like the horses we have seen in the past at Corolla in the Northern Outer Banks, DNA tests showed that they came from Spanish stock.

Today, we went to Beaufort to check the ferry schedule; not all the ferries operate this time of year, and some of them operate on a reduced schedule.  This is something we want to do while we are here.  So we packed a picnic and had lunch at Grayden Paul Park, looking across Taylor’s Creek; the island was such a short distance away that one could believe a horse could easily swim across. 

The gulls were not interested in our tuna sandwiches and kale salad, but high overhead we spotted three or four hawks, lazily circling.  They may have been ospreys; next time we see Ranger Randy we can show him a photo and he will tell us.  There is not a bird anywhere in the area that Randy cannot identify, by sight, song, or call!

Swansboro

It was warm and sunny today, and we decided to take the opportunity to drive to Swansboro; we have not been there this year and were a little apprehensive about the hurricane damage.

Our favorite place for lunch in Swansboro is the Saltwater Grille, but they were not expecting to be open until next week.  Most of the other businesses were open, though, and we ended up having a wonderful lunch at Boro, which shares the same kitchen as the Icehouse, where we have eaten before - a restaurant located out over the waters of the White Oak River but which was damaged so badly it is being completely renovated

After lunch, Martha shopped for awhile, and I wandered through the streets of Swansboro, noting quite a bit of damage here and there - boarded up houses, dumpsters containing construction debris.

Even the Visitor Center was so badly damaged that it was closed.  And this dock down by the river looked like it has seen better days.  The proprietor of the local coffee shop, located on the second floor of a waterfront building, said they had two feet of water downstairs.  "But most of us are open," he said, and shrugged.

On Front Street, the venerable "Olde Brick Store" was apparently unscathed by Florence, and it reminded me of that fable about the Three Little Pigs.

"Let me in, let me in," cried the wolf.  "Or I'll huff and I'll puff til I blow your house in!"

"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin" said the pigs.

Well, the wolf huffed and puffed but he could not blow down that brick house.

We returned in time to watch another beautiful sunset.  Days like this are priceless:  the warm sun, the sound of the ocean always in the background, and this daily glory of the sun sinking slowly into the wide Atlantic Ocean.

Monday Run

A storm came in from the ocean sometime during the night, and by this morning the wind and rain was blowing hard.  It looked a little like a hurricane on the radar, circulating in a huge counter-clockwise circle right over Atlantic Beach.

But by 10:00 a.m. the rain had stopped, and although the wind was still gusting at 20 mph or more, we both decided to run.  Sometimes the most difficult step in a run is the first one out the door; by the time we were on Fort Macon Road, sheltered from the wind and with temperatures in the 50s, it was not at all uncomfortable.  I could hear the lonesome sound of a train whistle from the Morehead City Railroad on the way back, far across the wind-rippled sound.

The scallops for dinner came from Blue Ocean.  We love going to this little fish market just across the causeway, which not only has the freshest catch but also other delectable offerings like shrimp salad, wahoo salad, and kale salad.  Good, healthy food!

I realized this morning that my running shoes were already worn down to the white rubber under the outsole, so I ordered another pair and found a sympathetic customer service woman on the phone who said she would refund me the cost if I returned the shoes, which I promptly did.  I normally get 200 or more miles on a pair of shoes, and I know from my running log that I have only 69 miles on these.  I will not make the same mistake I made last year when I ran on worn shoes and injured myself.  So for now I am wearing my older pair of shoes until the new ones come, running gingerly, hoping they will arrive before my planned 10-mile and 12-mile runs the next two weekends.

Cocoa 5-K

As predicted, the weather was much warmer this year for the Cocoa 5-K than in previous years – 42 degrees when we awoke at 5:00 a.m. (warming to 57 degrees by this afternoon).  There was a brisk wind out of the north, however, and we both decided to wear long-sleeved shirts and gloves and were glad of the protection from the wind.  This course is not without its hazards – sidewalks that zig-zag in tight circles and speed bumps in the parking lot of the Civic Center, and uneven pavement and valve-covers on the long straight stretch down Evans Street and back.  But that stretch is glorious, with glimpses of Bogue Sound between the houses, the morning sun sparkling like diamonds on the water, and then the sight of that high bridge, the Atlantic Beach Causeway, that we will cross a month from now in the Crystal Coast Half Marathon and 10-K.

The course is out-and-back, and when everyone ahead of me turned at the barrel, I could see who was ahead of me.  A young man wearing singlet and shorts was way ahead of everybody else, and he ended up the overall winner in a time of 19 minutes and some change, fast for a course like this one.  And then Martha came along, focused and strong, with the woman who had edged her out at the Havelock 5-K two weeks ago right behind her.  She eventually passed Martha, aided and abetted by a man pushing a stroller and taking much too much space on the narrow sidewalk.  Martha congratulated her friendly rival later and I met her husband, too, while we were waiting for the awards.  There is competition in running races, but there is also graciousness unlike any other sport I know.  I suppose it is a humbling thing to know that there is always someone faster than you, even if you are an elite runner.

I was proud of Martha’s time; last year it was 30:01, and this year it was 28:44.  I, too, ran a strong race and had no problem with that right knee; I finished in 35:07, faster than my last two 5-Ks.  Both of us were second in our age groups.  We celebrated by having lunch at the Ruddy Duck – shrimp tacos for Martha, grilled mahi tacos for me – and returned to the condo and sat on the balcony, soaking up this unexpectedly warm sunshine.  I overheard somebody saying on their way out to the beach, “We’re from Pennsylvania and just escaped the Polar Vortex, so this feels like heaven!”

Warmer Days at the Beach

We have had some beautiful weather these past two days, sunny with only a slight southerly wind, and temperatures soaring in the afternoon into the 40s and 50s.  After lunch, it was 55 degrees, warm enough to comfortably sit out on the balcony in the sun and read.

We walked down to the pier later, and there were surprisingly few people on the beach for such a warm day, and Friday of Superbowl Weekend, too.  This painter had an easel set up and was working on a small painting of the gentle waves washing in on the incoming tide. 

As we were approaching the pier, we heard something whirring overhead and saw that it was a small model airplane.  From artist to hobbyist, it was a good day to be on the beach!  The plane landed behind me and I realized it was much larger than it had appeared when it ws aloft.

We kept thinking we saw sea glass in the quiet surf, but it mostly turned out to be those shiny flat shells that we now know are called jingle shells.  I did find a large piece of brown "sea glass," perfectly round with jagged edges . . . the bottom of a broken beer bottle, which I carried back and put in the trash can.  "The tide's about to get me," our artist called out on the return walk, and indeed the waves were getting closer to his easel every minute.

Martha found this shell on the way back - a good sample of a clench helmet, aptly named after those clenched teeth.

Tomorrow morning, we are planning to run the Cocoa 5-K in Morehead City.  This will be the fourth time I have run it and the third time Martha has.  It is a small race, a fund-raiser for the Carolina Chocolate Festival going on in the Civic Center.  With ten-year age groups (winners scoring free tickets to the Festival) I am not expecting to do well, and the course is not a fast one, curving back and forth on sidewalks along Arendell Street before finally taking a straight, flat run out to the end of Evans Street and back again.  With an expected temperature of 42 degrees, this will be the warmest it has ever been for this race; last year it was 28 degrees and there was a stiff wind, and in previous years it has been colder than that.

But even though it is a small 5-K, and likely not accurately measured, it will be pasta with marinara sauce and early to bed for us.  And should one of us win tickets to the Festival, you will not find us participating in the chocolate-pudding-eating contest that we witnessed last year.