Long distance running reduces a city: the easy pace of a runner distills the urban fabric until the delicious essence of what was always there becomes visible again.   My legs, my breath take the topography in like a meditation, understanding beyond intellect.   The misty fog of the morning, the undulating hills of long-buried dunes, the brick warehouses infill of South of Market, until suddenly, the impact of moving the shipping industry to Oakland surrounds me.  These are the buildings that have been left behind with their traces of train tracks leading to the Bay.

In a car, my brain and eyes are what take me there: red stop lights flashing, radio dials, sanitation trucks in the left hand lane ahead, iphone maps, incoming calls and upcoming meetings.   To navigate this hurdling mass of steel through the streets without injury, I necessarily juggle several points of view.  I prefer the train.  It makes me feel like I am running again.

Back East, I took the DownEaster from Portland to Boston.  I stared out through the plate glass window watching the landscape like a film strip, the jiggle jog of the tracks as my soundtrack.  I moved seats to catch the sun and change my point of view.  Out West, we are still negotiating for our bullet train: emblematic to notice that it isn’t already here in this once new world: faster than a speeding bullet, cowboy style, Yee-haw!!! little doggies, let’s make our way to new milenium!!!  Oops, it’s already here…..