Weeknotes: September 1–5, 2025
Monday, September 1
Labor Day lines up with the first of the month in satisfying synchronicity. I'm off work and just back from my trip to Marquette, so really it feels like the eighth day of the previous week. I started school last Monday — two classes, one of them entirely online — and ran my marathon on Saturday. Here's what I learned: don't underestimate yourself.
All summer long I struggled to gain momentum. My training felt sluggish and ineffective, and I wasn't even sure why I was still doing it. I spent the past month tempering my expectations, convincing myself I was grossly undertrained. I slept poorly the week of the race. The drive north, which I usually love, felt like an upstream slog against holiday weekend traffic. I arrived in Marquette later than I wanted to and had generally written off my chances of finishing in under four hours.
The sun rose through the mist in Turner-esque drama. I shivered in the dawn chill at the starting line, trying to summon my usual race day excitement, wondering how I’d find the motivation needed to carry myself the distance. Four miles into the race I was still searching for motivation, yet somehow maintaining a brisk 7:40 pace. I’d started out in the front third of the field, assuming I’d fall back pretty quickly. I did, but not by much. By mile nine I’d settled into a groove and came to a surprising realization — I had grit. A whole wellspring of it earned from 11 previous marathons and 16 years of running.
Having a clear motivating factor is helpful, but sometimes you just have to rely on your guts and put one foot in front of the other.
I hit the wall early around mile 17, and had to lean pretty hard on that grit to get me through the last nine miles, most of them along sunny, placid Lake Superior. At mile 26, the finishing chute appeared before me with the great bulk of the Yooperdome just behind it. I found my kick and sprinted the last 200 meters with a smile on my face, passing another runner a few feet ahead of the finish line just for the hell of it. It was one of the best races I've ever run and I was only a few minutes off my PR. I had completely counted myself out before I even started. In hindsight, how could I not know I had this in me? Sometimes you just have to go through it to come to a simple truth. It felt like a turning point in what has been a rather desultory year.
Back in Ypsilanti my legs still ache, but my head feels better. My attitude has improved and I can feel some creative momentum building. If I can make a comeback like I did in Marquette, I wonder what else I can do?
Tuesday, September 2
All across town Halloween decorations have sprung up. Ypsilanti loves spooky season. On the sidewalk, my neighbor has written "HI" with the green chalk of a walnut hull. Squirrels toss them down like missiles — I hear them whack the roof before they roll onto the lawn.
I lay out back and read about geologic dating (relative and absolute) in the Grand Canyon. The blue nylon of my hammock scrapes against the thick paw-paw leaves which had quite a growth spurt this year. Overhead, the morning glories are tangled in their trellis wires. Every vine has now reached the shed wall — all the plants thrived this summer. The large potted palm is so much happier than when it lived in the bathroom. Soon, I'll have to bring it back inside and try to keep it alive for another winter.
Wednesday, September 3
I get such satisfaction from applying the first coat of oil to a piece of hardwood. It's like dipping a drab stone into the ocean and realizing you're holding a precious mineral. I’m building two small functional ledges for my studio, both cut from a narrow plank of cherrywood my late uncle brought up from Mississippi.
Most of the furniture and little house hacks I've built over the past ten years are made from this same stock. My kitchen table, coffee table, valet tray, floating shelves, and various organizers are all made of this same dark cherry which I stain with tung oil. It takes about four or five sanded coats to achieve a good seal and I've learned never to hurry the process.
I don't know how Uncle Dick came into such a wealth of beautiful wood, but my dad and I have made every piece count. It's his legacy.
The day is cool and sunny with a strong breeze, ideal drying contidions. I apply the first coat, then place my two pieces atop painter’s pyramids on a table in the backyard.
Thursday, September 4
I finally replaced my turntable stylus. I’ve plowed through about 600–700 records over the past year in my A–Z listening project and it was sounding pretty lackluster. I couldn’t really afford it, but I sprung for an upgraded model which arrives in the mail today.
I slot the replacement into the phono cartridge and cue up John Southworth's Rialto album. This was where I’d left off in the listening project and, rather conveniently, its hi-fi pressing is appropriate for debuting a new needle. I crank up the volume and the Venuti String Quartet storms out of my speakers. It’s like stepping into Oz after a black and white week. Southworth’s nocturnal “mind movie” plays like vintage radio production and his cast of Toronto lumineries (the Weather Station’s Tamera Lindeman, Bernice’s Robin Dann and Felicity Williams) sound as if they’re here in my kitchen.
I'm no audiophile. I spend a regrettabe portion of my workday listening to songs through my laptop speakers or a Bose bluetooth speaker, but I know and appreciate quality when I hear it. The workday is over and now I’m listening for pure pleasure.
Friday, September 5
A group of close friends gets together for a clambake. It's not a traditional clambake in a pit oven, but we eat plenty of shellfish, including clams and mussels. There is also ceviche, a terrine of sweet corn, a good baguette with French butter, and for dessert a Bill Knapp's Celebration Cake, which apparently was a last-minute addition, but one I appreciate. We talk about art, music, food, biology, and politics. At least half the group are tennis-obsessed, so we watch some of the U.S. Open after dinner. Around 10:00 I walk out to my car feeling lucky in life. It's a full moon and I'm full of shellfish. What will my dreams be like?