This year, after posting that ambitious blog entry, I promptly disappeared for a few days to a Buddhist retreat in New York. Then I came back to Maine, and starting teaching weekly meditation classes in Portland - and was studying and preparing for that. Then I was hit by a slam of work - editing, writing, dreaming, conspiring.
Which brings us to the penguins. Today, in fact right now at this very moment in time, at the southernmost tip of this planet, amid the snow and ice and sub-zero environment of Antarctica, a group of 54 endurance athletes are running a 15-hour day, in an attempt to cover thousands of kilometers. It's a week-long event that will eventually cover 250km of fierce frozen terrain. They are all out there, alone, cold, tired, and needing to keep running.
As all of this is transpiring, in a land far, far away in the not-so-freezing confines of my garden apartment in Southern Maine; as I sip milky tea and listen to NPR and have the glow of the fire making me think of chestnuts and Christmas carols – I am the official writer who is covering this race. I sit by my computer, and when the news starts flying in, I write it and craft it into sensible word flows and post it online, and on all corners of the Earth, family members and loved ones will read the updates and know how the athletes are faring.
Welcome to the 21st century, the realm of the holographic writer.
(Oh and you can follow the event by clicking here)
Photo credit: Wiki Commons