Wrong Turn in Valley Forge

Yesterday, I went for a hard and hot run in Valley Forge Park. The circle path was five miles and change.

However, I went left when I should have gone right, adding at least another three miles and thirty minutes to the run, into the rising sun heat maw of the morning. No getting in and out, I was going to sauna sweat for a prolonged period. 8 miles. I can gauge the exertion of the run to some degree by the sweat index on my shorts. Starting at the top, the further the sweat travels down the shorts like a crick over the banks, the harder I know the run has been. There are other variables of course. Like how hot it is, whether there is a breeze, if I have some shade. But all things being more or less equal, yesterday's run was extreme. My shorts were soaked. No island of dry anywhere.

Again, as I have written before, I don't pull crap like this just so I have stuff to write about. Error, particularly with directions, comes naturallly and it is only retrospectively where a blog idea surfaces. In the midst, I am just contemplating how I have screwed up again. But, as I ran, I considered that the few extra miles would not hurt me. Actually, just the opposite in light of the case of beer and strombolis awaiting me at my brother's house just a quick drive from Valley Forge. More caloric deficit in need of addressing. Cigars don't fit this scheme but I smoke them anyway.

Fortunately, the Park has strategic water fountains stationed even in the hinterlands of the grounds. That  saved my arse as I did not pack water.    

I know Valley Forge well enough to not have panicked when off track. But, not well enough to not have made a right turn. Even though I had taken a wrong turn, it still went to where I  needed to go, just not as efficiently. So I slogged and jogged down along the creek that I used to fish at when I was 7. That was nice memory renewed. Still can't eat the fish caught because of pollution.I grew up a couple of miles away from Valley Forge Park and could see this Arch from my neighbor's back yard.  With my telescope, I could see the writing on the Arch faintly but not read it:


The top panel of the arch front reads the inscription "To the officers and private soldiers of the Continental Army, December 19, 1977 - June 19, 1778." The top panel of the arch backs reads the inscription: "Naked and starving as they are we cannot enough admire the incomparable Patience and Fidelity of the Soldiery - Washington at Valley Forge, February 16, 1776." Around the edge of the archway's back reads: "They shall hunger no more neither thirst any more." 

Ironically, this part of the path where the Arch is was missed by me yesterday. I looped around it. Missed it completely, didn't even see it. Yet, this Arch is burned into my consciousness and its spirit permeates the Park like some iconic symbol: Freedom requires sacrifice, a loss of safety, no sure security. Liberty hurts. What makes the American Revolution so different was that men of means who already had a cushy arrangement with the crown of England decided to cross the crown and cut out on their own. Usually, upper management between and among entitites (countries, colonies, or corporations for that matter) are quite inclined to help themselves and screw others less upwardly stationed on the rungs of society. A boot in the face of the less fortunate.

Hey, hey, you, you get off of my 1% cloud. Grovel is the f*in mud for all I care. I don't think corporate men like Romney get how that gilded platform is perceived by those not on it. Where Romney's Dad seemed to have some hard times leading to a soft soul, Mitt seems to be the privileged Prom King who wonders why people won't join the dance en masse. It is not that he hasn't had some tragedies come his way with his wife's illneses and all but somehow he does not appear capable of expressing empathy without calculating the political pay-off. Maybe it is the modern day prosperous Mormonism. A works-righteousness religion that is spookier than Scientology and seems to create superficial sunniness. Save me the discourse about how Morminism is the fullfillment of Christ's commission. The Revelation ended on Patmos, not among some Native American tribe in North America. Period. End of story. Can't spin this. Obama's "I am a Christian" but wayward pick and choose biblical theology is perhaps even more pernicious. Christianity a la carte. 

I call it like I see it and that is how I see it. I know that Clint Eastwood's talking to the empty chair of Obama has generated a good deal of ridcule but I loved it. You know why? Because it was art, theatre, and appeared impromtu and imaginative. Not safe and on the massaged message. Team Romney's slicked back hair got tussled a bit and I think it was a good thing for their tighty-whiteys to get twisted by an aging actor who really doesn't give a damn about who he offends either by his message or methods.

We need more straight talk like it and leaders willing to suffer and sweat to get the country back onto the right path. It is going to be a hard run but run we must. I know this has been a rambling post writen on my brother's spare computer in the bunker-like man cave as he sleeps. So, forgive me for its lack of spiffy.    

"So, Jeremiah, you're worn out in this footrace with men, what makes you think you can race against horses? And if you can't keep your wits during times of calm, what's going to happen when troubles break loose like the Jordan in flood? Jeremiah 12:5

My grievance with contemporary society is with its decrepitude. There are few towering pleasures to allure me, almost no beauty to bewitch me, nothing erotic to arouse me, no intellectual circles or positions to challenge or provoke me, no burgeoning philosophies or theologies and no new art to catch my attention or engage my mind, no arousing political, social, or religious movements to stimulate or excite me. There are no free men to lead me. No saints to inspire me. No sinners sinful enough to either impress me or share my plight. No one human enough to validate the "going" lifestyle. It is hard to linger in that dull world without being dulled. I stake the future on the few humble and hearty lovers who seek God passionately in the marvelous, messy world of redeemed and related realities that life in front of our noses. William McNamara[1]"

From Eugene Peterson