It Was Only A Dream

Some dreams are so vivid, the details so real, that it takes real convincing once awake to believe it was only a dream. I have been experiencing my dreams in just that way recently. Sometimes, fully awake, I can close my eyes for a second and call up a dream in such high definition that I am certain I am watching television rather than starting through a wide open window in to my subconscious.

I recently dreamt in excruciating detail the hour before the start of an un-named (in the dream) marathon. I was standing in a locker room that seemed so familiar. I was shirtless wearing running shorts and shoes. I was surrounded by other men who were similarly dressed. We all were sticking band-aids to our nipples. I was working hard on a criss-cross pattern I have used many times in races making certain there wouldn't be slippage during the race. Slippage is bad, it leads to bloody nipples. Nobody wants that.

The dream more or less ends there. I did recognize one friend in the dream who I won't name here for fear that he doesn't want the world to picture him adorning his tenderest of skin with adhesive bandages as preparation for a run, albeit a darn long run.

I would have liked to see bibs on shirts to confirm the marathon in question. No such luck. And I don't recall anything that identified the locker room. I have never been in a locker room prior to any race, after yes, but never before. That's an odd one too.

The whole thing strikes me as simultaneously odd and hopeful. Odd because dreams are like that. The implicit hope is that some part of me believes a marathon lurks in my future. When and where are apparently unknown for now. With my back spasms pushing into a full month now, I do wonder why I am being hopeful.

I guess for now the dream is the umbrella over my personal rainfall.