I’ve been running uphill a few miles almost every day. It’s a relentless climb and there is no reason anyone should put themselves through something this unnatural. But I find it helps more mentally than physically. You shut off your brain and focus on putting one foot vertically in front of the other, squinting for some distant road marker, heaving until it is alas at your side, knowing you must now select another.
I run with my friend Mitch. If we published our conversations, they would be called “Running Uphill with Mitch.” Today we discussed the unraveling of the great 20th century, which we believe is the lesson behind all the Occupy Wall Street chaos. Rage is snarled up in a labyrinth of system secrets, proprietary formulas and copycat shenanigans.
It’s like the mechanical minotaur we’ve all endorsed and nourished and fortified threw a thick blanket over us. Now we’re enraged and in the dark — fuzzy and stumbling under the spell of the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. It’s as if the 20th century never happened and we’re back on pace with 1913, on the verge of upheaval.
But now I’m eating a pomegranate I picked from a tree in the backyard. Five prune-like jack-o’-lanterns stare at me as the guy across the valley hits golf balls into a blue tarp and a distant gardener blows leaves in the midday sun. I didn’t know leaves fell from trees during autumn in LA.