Birds, the stairs for me, up up up, transformation from twelve years ago to now

Monday 8/26/24

When I hear the first bird of the morning, I think, "Good for you," and I'm glad to hear that bird. I don't think what I do as a result of assuming this is the first bird where I live that has sung out to start the day, because there could be other birds that I haven't heard. Gulls, for instance, have a volume advantage. One could hear the gull two blocks down the road but not the house sparrow up on the roof. It's more that spirit of being up and at and trying again at another day. The bird that sings early in the morning is a willing and active bird. I'm not suggesting an owl isn't. I like them, too. An owl lets the world come to it, then proceeds accordingly to the world.

Facebook showed me this morning a photo of myself from twelve years ago on this day. I'd say that I didn't look very healthy. I look like I was descending into something--or was in it already; a physical deterioration. That is usually how it goes with people when they let go of the rope. Or stop putting one hand above the other and climbing, which is what you must always do. I was active. Not like I am now with what I do now. But I was destroying my body. These were the pre-Zulu times. Which isn't just a physical thing at all. It's a way of being. An innerness that translates to outerness.

I can see the road I was on physically in this picture. It's like when I see people now who are thirty-eight and can pass for fifty-two. You go down that slide. The slide can be gradual, but it's the slide all the same. Once you're on it, it's hard to get off. The longer you're on it, the harder to find a way back up again if you do get off. Things are even much worse now than they were then, twelve years ago. Each day it is even harder to remain alive. To keep going. To keep fighting. To find a way to fight more, which is what I must do. It was useful for me to see this photo. Anything truthful is useful. In theory. Whether or not that usefulness is actualized will often come down to you and what you can accept, your strength, your humility, and the wisdom you possess and/or acquire as you continue or go back up. Always up. If you're not consciously making sure to go up, you're not going anywhere.

I walked three miles on both Saturday and Sunday and completed five circuits of stairs inside of the Monument on each day, giving me five straight days of five circuits. When you do that, you're doing okay. That's a good goal for a week. The weather is starting to become an ally rather than an obstacle. There are these nozzles that spray cool water bubbles outside of the Monument around the corner from the entrance, and yesterday for the first time I went and stood under them after I was done. I was already soaked, of course. I did three planks and twenty push-ups on Saturday, which meant doing 180 push-ups yesterday to make up the difference because I'm supposed to do at least 100 every day.

Monument stairs are the best stairs. They're challenging, you feel like you're achieving something, you're out of breath. Spending the same amount of time inside of the Monument as one would on stairs outside of the Monument nonetheless feels less tedious and repetitive. It takes about as long to do five Monument circuits as it does to do thirty sets of the stairs at City Hall, but it doesn't feel like it and that's with Monument stairs being notably harder to boot. I have great respect for stairs because I understand stairs and what they offer, mean, and teach, but no greater respect for any stairs than I do the stairs of the Bunker Hill Monument.

This is the photo I was just talking about, from August 26, 2012.

This is a photo from the other day here in August 2024 after running stairs in the Monument.