Running Notes (2)

2018-2-1

February begins; the moon is still bright and vivid. I read some mathematics and realized that certain mathematical ideas are the most mystical—for example, the space of the world we inhabit, or the space we observe and live in, is mathematically called an inner product space. But mathematically there are other inner product spaces, larger normed spaces than inner product spaces, larger metric spaces than normed spaces, and even grander topological spaces. Does a thought in our mind immediately generate a space? That would be a simple iteration. Mathematics really trains the imagination. As Newton said:

I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, while the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.

That is not mere modesty; it is probably the truth. If what is known is a circle, its edge is the unknown—so the more you know, the more unknown you discover, and the heavier your awe becomes. Perhaps the root of our loss of faith lies in the unknown and in thinking ourselves clever.

2-4

Went out shopping. I do not think I really went shopping properly once in 2017. Today’s goal was clear: spend money. The result was exhaustion and sleepiness—maybe from not riding in a car for a long time. An hour’s ride was miserable; that is motion sickness. I had never experienced it before and felt it for real today. When I saw others carsick, even family, I would show polite concern but never really cared—from today on, be kind to those who get carsick.

Life is like a journey—experience after experience. Different experiences create different scenery: cold wind becomes snow, blazing sun becomes rain… The life you live shapes what you become; only then is life vivid.

Life is also a form of cultivation.

2-5

In junior high our homeroom teacher often talked about miscellaneous topics. Once he spoke about long-distance running: “Long-distance running goes through three stages. At first you have plenty of strength and running feels easy, but soon you enter the second stage—legs grow heavier and you want to stop. If you grit your teeth and persist, you reach a wonderful moment, like sudden enlightenment—light as an arrow. Congratulations, that is the third stage.”

Today’s run was somewhat similar. After playing basketball, at first I could barely lift my legs, but near the end I did not want to stop. I happened to remember the opening lines of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon:

Li Mubai said, “During this retreat I fell into a very deep stillness. Around me there was only light. Time and space ceased to exist…” “You attained enlightenment?” Yu Jiaolian asked. “No. I felt no joy of enlightenment… Instead I was surrounded by a deep sorrow. I broke my vow and came down the mountain because there are things I must think about…”

The third realm of long-distance running probably connects to that “deep realm where there is only light.” The later “deep sorrow” foreshadows the tragedy that follows.

2-13

Since leaving the company the day before yesterday, I have not run for three days—perhaps limited by conditions back home. But at this hour I always think of running, so this still counts as a running note. The day after tomorrow is Lunar New Year. Childhood playmates probably will not return this year. Everywhere is lively, but fewer familiar faces and fewer people to talk to than usual. I naturally thought of Zhao Lei’s “Hometown.” These lines struck me:

Color fades quickly, tasteless to chew. Black-and-white memories stay in youth. Like those dated yet classic old films. Again I see that clock—I know I am almost home. Strong wind sweeps leaves, tosses the soul to spring. This is the hometown I must finally return to. However many vehicles trample you, I want to guard you forever, my hometown. Yet I do not know where tomorrow’s ship will dock. In the end I will come back and quietly stay by your side. Beneath that soil will be the place I never abandon.

Suppression before elevation. Whatever hometown becomes, it is still the place that raised me.

2-17

Yesterday was the first day of the Lunar New Year—I should have been cheerful and sharp, but I was groggy, as if every year. Thinking it through: on New Year’s Eve I stay up—usually cannot sleep well, watching the gala or playing cards; in recent years, grabbing red envelopes. Usually until eleven or twelve, but after midnight the firecrackers start. Distant ones are okay—crackle and pop; nearby ones are like landslides, irregular, hard to sleep through. I endured until dawn lightened, then got up early to honor ancestors, came back to eat, then visited elders—uncles and such—then the temple to burn paper and make wishes. By noon it was done. After lunch, time to find friends—cards, games, wandering around—and the afternoon was gone; the year was over.

So I have had more than twenty New Years and never thought about what “New Year” means. Today, sitting quietly, I realize it can be examined concretely—it has rhythm, and also this hazy quality. When my child asks, “Dad, what is New Year?” I will have an answer.

Amid firecrackers a year departs; spring breeze warms the house with tu su wine. Thousand doors in morning sun—new peach charms replace the old.

As a child, New Year was like Children’s Day—new clothes, door pictures, firecrackers, lucky money. Why did what we once longed for fade? That too is worth thinking about.

2-21

Already the 21st—the year has passed in a blink; tomorrow I go back to work. Days move fast. Some things are beyond my ability; others I can still control. All I want is to do well what I can—too much idle thought is useless. For example, the first thing after returning is to start running again. More than ten days off made it hard to act, but writing a few lines gave me resolve to continue. Suddenly I understood the link—without these simple sentences, I probably would have slacked off today.

2-24

The weather turned cool—or rather, the past two days were too warm; today returned to normal. The crescent moon looks the same as yesterday; work looks the same as yesterday. That unsettles me. I organized notes from A Journey Through Mathematics I had been listening to, at least so my heart felt less empty. A few lines worth quoting:

Mathematics—the language for conversing with the Creator. Physics tells us what the world is like; mathematics tells us what the world can only be like. Mathematics uses rational thought to reach the foundations of the universe beyond human senses, to places no instrument can reach.

Why mathematics is the language closest to the Creator—you will understand clearly after this course.

2-25

Running on the road, spring breeze on my face, half moon above. Lantern Festival is soon; social feeds are already lively with lanterns. I remember last year’s trip to Baotu Spring for lanterns—truly miserable; anyone who has seen lantern fairs anywhere in China would feel the same. This year I learned: watching the moon and counting stars beats crowds.

I often recall past events and people—but at this age should we not talk about the future, life, and ideals? Yet when you want to talk, who will listen to your future? That is probably why I often feel alone.

2-26

Stars as before, bright moon overhead. Half asleep I caught a fragrance—willows with golden threads, peaches with golden glow—and ahead a plum garden. Blossoms lined the branches in clusters; from afar the white looked like daylight. A cold gust woke me: I was still diligently at the desk.

2-28

Ran a bit earlier today—a somewhat special day, the last day of February. Most special: I did not want to go to work, so I took the day off.

Insomnia last night—slept very late—but today I am not tired; after the run I still feel energetic.

I wanted to spec a computer and researched for more than seven hours without eating or drinking. I spend more time with the computer now; that is worthwhile.

Five books arrived—each thick; one was wrong, fifty-plus yuan—painful. Hope they do not gather too much dust.

Hello, March.