{"id":88253,"date":"2021-06-26T09:59:27","date_gmt":"2021-06-26T13:59:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=88253"},"modified":"2021-06-26T09:59:27","modified_gmt":"2021-06-26T13:59:27","slug":"hour-1-training-at-neds-point","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2021\/06\/hour-1-training-at-neds-point\/","title":{"rendered":"Hour 1: Training at Ned&#8217;s Point"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Training at Ned&#8217;s Point, Mattapoisett, Massachusetts<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>The lighthouse, white<\/p>\n<p>washed brick stands<\/p>\n<p>stark against the matte<\/p>\n<p>grey, winter waves,<\/p>\n<p>darker than the leaden<\/p>\n<p>steel clouds, my breath<\/p>\n<p>hangs in the air, a puff<\/p>\n<p>of steam captured in a mask.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>It sits, as grumpy old New Englanders do<\/p>\n<p>cold and silent, watching.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Seagulls dart over the tarnished silver<\/p>\n<p>surface of the sea, but human<\/p>\n<p>trash is easier pickings.<\/p>\n<p>Rats of the Sea<\/p>\n<p>Ocean pigeons<\/p>\n<p>Dropping discarded wrappers<\/p>\n<p>on the rocky beach.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Every Saturday morning, we bow<\/p>\n<p>to the East, the tides<\/p>\n<p>silent against the rocks. Boats<\/p>\n<p>in their moorings sheeted white<\/p>\n<p>with plastic and snow.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Submerging, the pain is instant.<\/p>\n<p>An exquisite icy blow<\/p>\n<p>shocks me alive,<\/p>\n<p>pins and needles<\/p>\n<p>more electric than Afib paddles.<\/p>\n<p>I shake<\/p>\n<p>red and blue<\/p>\n<p>dripping on the beach.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Its lines have long since<\/p>\n<p>smoothed into aesthetically pleasing curves;<\/p>\n<p>its jagged character flattened.<\/p>\n<p>Vessels crowd wooden docks,<\/p>\n<p>glistening, reflecting the polished<\/p>\n<p>sheen of privilege.<\/p>\n<p>Quiet and still more often than not.<\/p>\n<p>I wish I was more<\/p>\n<p>like the lighthouse<\/p>\n<p>like the sea<\/p>\n<p>like the boats.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Training at Ned&#8217;s Point, Mattapoisett, Massachusetts &nbsp; The lighthouse, white washed brick stands stark against the matte grey, winter waves, darker than the leaden steel clouds, my breath hangs in the air, a puff of steam captured in a mask. &nbsp; It sits, as grumpy&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1383,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-88253","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-miscellaneous"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/88253","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1383"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=88253"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/88253\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":88268,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/88253\/revisions\/88268"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=88253"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=88253"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=88253"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}