Small Town

There is not one ounce of me wanting to get out of the car.  Rain bounces off my windshield and I have 10 miles to run.

I open the door.

Deciding the 41° didn't warrant my gloves, I tossed them aside and step out of the haven of my car.  I hit "start" on my Garmin and I am on my way to run the streets of the small town where I grew up.

My route begins on Front Street; the iconic street in town.  Original homes boast well manicured lawns with massive oak trees flanking each side of the road.  Their incredible branches canopy the road.  The harshness of the winter has caused these trees to loose many pieces of themselves.  I watch my step as I navigate through.

The rain is still strong.

The church my parents attended - as were my grandparents founding members - is on my left, my parents' lawyer in which closed out their estate is  on the next block and the financial advisor I now use is kitty-corner from him.  Only in a small town can so much of your life be wrapped up into 3 small blocks near each other.

Main Street is ahead and I run by the middle school which suffered a tremendous loss this week.  This small town made the news and not the way you would hope for your community.  The death of a student shattered people's lives and put an ultra-bright spotlight on difficult conversations.  My heart breaks for all affected. #voiceforvylit

The corner farm and garden store where my youngest got his first pair of cowboy boots is open.  I make note to be sure to stop and see what new gardening treasures are in for this year.  The local transportation company is buzzing with activity.  I wonder if my cousin is working.

On a whim, I turn into the city park.  A handful of years ago now, the community decided to revamp the park.  A massive play structure was designed and created.  The company I work for donated not only materials but man hours and machinery.  Community helping community.  I love that.

I take the trail which loops me behind the YMCA and spits me out next to the creek.  My siblings and I spent countless hours with our cousins playing in that creek.  Today, the rains melting the record snowfall has caused the creek to spill it's banks.  It swirls with activity.

Leaving the park I run by the first house my sister and her husband owned.  The rose bushes still line the white picket fence.

Further down the road I am greeted with the sign of the first major housing development the town experienced.  Financial shenanigans brought federal indictments and destroyed numerous peoples' bank accounts and retirements.

I turn toward the lush, green golf course.  More trees grace this curvy road.  A teenager driving a brand new SUV decides her need to turn into a parking lot outweighs my life in the cross walk.  I screech to a halt and yell "THANKS" in my mama bear voice.  She doesn't even tap the breaks.

The road curves toward empty soccer fields.  The Rest Home is ahead.  After daddy died, my siblings and I donated to them all of his medical supplies.  Lord, there were so many.  Before mom passed, she wanted to make sure Dad wouldn't have to worry about it and stocked the home full.  FULL.  Daddy would have wanted us to lessen the burden of another and so we gave them all away.

My girlfriend's green truck is parked in the driveway.  Lori isn't home.  She has left to take another group on a tour of Israel to walk where Jesus did and pray where Jesus prayed.

Our favorite ice cream store lies ahead.  It's too early for them to be open now.  When they do open, they will be busy.  They are always busy.  It happens when you make the best ice cream on the face of the planet.

Two SUVs pull up next to each other in front of the store. They are parallel with the store and both facing the same direction.  I watch a man jump out of one vehicle and lean into the passenger side window of the other.  He takes something and quickly puts it in his front pocket.  A drug deal or someone handing him a stack of bible verses for the kids in his Sunday School class to memorize tomorrow?  Both are entirely possible.

The road takes me by my high school.  Despite being a Saturday morning, there are a few cars in the parking lot.  I wind pass the elementary school and the original middle school.  Long gone are the giant semi truck tires half submerged in the gravel that we would play on at recess.  
 
Middle school; such tough and stretching years.  I remember hiding in those big tires and crying more days than not my entire 5th grade year.  One, because my mom gave me an "adorable" Dorthy Hamill haircut and everyone thought I was a boy.  And two, because I lost my first grandparent that year.  My grandfather was a tough old Dutchman who was not real affectionate.  Loving in his own way I suppose.  The next year I lost my Dad's mom who I most fondly remember giving us the biggest bowls of ice cream we'd ever laid eyes on.

As I have made my way through these streets I am struck by the sandy gravel covering the sidewalks every few feet.  Where has this come from?  It is all over town.  My guess is the massive snow and ice storm that hammered the town was fought valiantly with plowing and sanding the streets.  In the true fashion of the town, the streets are incredibly clean. Oddly, the sidewalks are not.  This is remarkably unlike the town.  Then again, we have yet to see any sunshine for people to get out and tend to their yards.

My route has taken me into the neighborhood my best friend from school once lived.  The hours I spent there flood my mind.  Amazing how different the place looks now - some due to changes and some due to seeing them through the eyes of an adult.

I stand at the intersection waiting for the only light I've encountered to change.  Across from me I see the corner my friends stood and watched Dad's funeral procession.  After working 25 years for the school district in the bus garage, they honored him by giving a bus procession to his final resting place.
 
The light turns and I run down the hill and behind the store my sister in law has worked for 20 years.  A discarded vodka pint lays in the bushes.  Local kids or trash blown from the last wind storm?  Not really sure.

The clanking of a horse's tack gear spills from the open horse arena at the fair grounds.  The roads are getting busier now.  

I'm in my last mile.  Still more gravel.  I turn back onto Front Street.  The rain has let up considerably.  There is no wind.  My car comes into sight.  My run through my small town complete.

I peel off my soaking coat and throw it into my trunk.  I put on a warm sweatshirt and head for home.

The weather man says tomorrow and the next day we can expect sunshine.  What I do know for certain is that small town will be out with brooms sweeping off the sidewalks and freeing it of winter's gravel.

The Learning Tree

The sky a blanket of grey; the rain misty.  The air is cool on my face.  After sleeping in a bit and enjoying a morning with my boys, I left for my run a bit later than I typically do on a Saturday morning.  Ankle recovery isn't all bad.

The neighborhood begins to hum.  Saturday plans begin to unfold in each home. My pace is easy. I round a corner and The Learning Tree comes into view.  A massive oak tree with branches straight up to heaven. 

Years ago I nick named this oak The Learning Tree. Each year as spring begins to kiss winter away, parent eagles will use this tree to teach their young to hunt.  A young eagle will be found in its branches while the parents swoop down on rabbits and squirrels and critters in the surrounding field.  An impressive sight that never tires.

No eagles teaching this morning.

My hope is to run 7 miles, the longest since twisting my bad ankle (again).  The weather is world's apart from last week and the excitement shows in my step.  I am happy to be out running with no snow, no ice, no wind.  I make my way to my favorite country road.  A road with beautiful views and rolling hills.  This will be a good test of my ankle.

I've gone a quarter of a mile and another runner pops out from a long driveway.  She waves and turns away from me.  A runner with beautiful form and impressive speed.  I watch as she turns down a private road. 

A mother-daughter duo emerge walking from their property and onto the road.  It isn't long before I catch up to them.  I do my best not to startle them and we wish each other a beautiful morning.  The birds sing, we all smile.  A beautiful morning indeed.
 
Looking ahead I see people gathered at a mailbox.  Neighbors being neighborly.  As I approach I hear "CHERIIIIII!!!" and the older gentlemen holds out his to give me a high five.  I give him a high five.

"Steve!  I wondered if I'd see you today!"

"CHERI!!!" a familiar voice calls.

I turn to see the people Steve talking with and discover my cousin Ted and his daughter Olivia.  They live up the road and were out talking a walk.   We laugh at the realization we all know each other.

Steve, being retired, has more free time now to do things he likes to do and that includes running.   The first time I ran with Steve was on that country road.  Two runners sharing the same road and a bond cements.  We chat for a bit before he says he needs to go so his wife doesn't worry.  Ted, Olivia and I carry on and it isn't long and we all part ways.

Unexpected encounters interject fun into my run.  I am smiling.  The highest hill of the road is fast approaching.  The house half way up the hill is still not finished.  How long has it been?  2 years?  3 years?  There is always progress, yet it remains incomplete.  I've decided the owner is building it and doing it with his own funds.  What I do know for certain is the house will be a stunning work of art.  The new wrap around porch makes me long for summer days.  The views they will have will be amazing.

3 1/2 miles in I turn around and head back toward home.  As I crest the hill again, I look toward my favorite vista to see the low hanging grey clouds have concealed it's beauty.  It's ok, I'm out here.  And running.  I am happy.

The fields are a yellow-green brought on by winter.  Soon it will give way to the lush green of spring.  Water is running in the ditches and through the culverts.  It's melody of a creek.  I see where the land gave way sliding into the ditch; another reminder of the harshness of last week.
 
Branches are strewn everywhere.  The Great Silver Thaw, Snowmageddon and wind storms snapped branches off the grandest of trees.  Tall evergreens stand like wounded warriors.  Their massive branches broken and lying on the ground.  The sight makes me awestruck with the power of last week's storm.

The Learning Tree comes back into view and with it the unmistaken sound of eagle chatter.  A young eagle is perched atop of the mighty oak.  Although I can not find them, the parent eagles are close by watching from a row of evergreen trees.  Their instruction was clear and the eagle dives toward the field.  Breakfast is served.

My run complete, I open the door to the smell of eggs and toast.  I smile.

Fragrance Lake Trail Half Marathon

"Name please."

"Fiorucci," I answer.

While the registration volunteer scoured the sheet looking for my name, the person holding the bib numbers says, "I've been waiting to get my picture with you."

Confused, I look over to see my friend Esther.  In complete shock, I may have squealed in delight.  I first met Esther in 2009 at the Capital City Marathon in Olympia, WA.    We live 4 freeway hours apart from each other, have not run a race together since that day, yet keep in touch through social media.  She wanted to surprise me and in that she succeeded.  Happily, I might add.

With plenty of time before the race was to start; I took my goody bag and headed back to my car.  Inside the goody bag was a pint glass commemorating today's race.  Yea, I was pretty sure I'd be using that bad boy at the end of the day.

Waiting for my friends to arrive I studied the course map.  A few of the trails I had run before, others like the brand new Cyrus Gates Overlook Trail, I had not.  Every report told me the views from Cyrus Gates Overlook were incredible and I would love it.

The elevation profile was worth my attention and I made a few notes.  Maybe I should have included funeral arrangements.

My friends had started rolling in and Trevin, Kellan, Stephanie, Jenny and I made our way to the starting line.  The race director, Candace Burt, was giving us some final instructions.  The chatter from other runners made it difficult for me to hear.  My mind wandered; I wondered if there were toe tags in the goody bag that I had somehow missed over my excitement of the pint glass.

We were off.  Trevin, Kellan and I kept an easy pace to start.  The choice was made for us really, as the start consisted mostly of single track trail.  As I knew I wouldn't be taking first place - a shocker to some I'm sure - I happily kept in line with those around me.

The "Urb", as we locals call the Interurban Trail, is a much wider gravel path and easily thinned the group.   This was the easiest mile of the race.   And by easiest I mean flattest.   Mile 2 we turn onto Cleator Road, a gravel road heading straight up the back side of Chuckanut Mountain.  Trevin and Kellan take off at good strong paces. 

I, along with 95% of the rest of the runners, walk the ascent.  This is not a leisurely walk, this is a huffing-and-puffing-I-will-blow-your-house-down kind of a walk.  I reach Two Dollar Trail and begin the ruthless switchbacks to Fragrance Lake.  At the time I thought them ruthless, little did I know - I had not yet met the switchbacks of Cyrus Gates.  Ignorance is bliss.  And I, apparently, was extremely blissful.

After a mile or so the ascent becomes much more manageable, with uphill and downhill sections before coming to the edge of Fragrance Lake.  Despite the name of the race being "Fragrance Lake Trail Half Marathon" we spend very little time at the lake itself.  Here's a picture I stole borrowed off the Internet.  It was taken during the summer.  It does not look like this in February, which is a good thing as I may just have stopped at the lake at that point and called it good.

My legs are pretty tired as I turn onto South Lost Lake Trail.  Never have I run this trail before so I keep telling myself this is the adventure part of the course.  Next will be Cyrus Gates Overlook.  "Enjoy this.  Enjoy this.  Must enjoy this." became my mantra.  I enjoy a nice downhill section where the course has dropped 645 feet in half a mile.  My pace is good.  I am strong. I am Queen of the Mountain.

Just as quickly as I fitted that crown onto my head and held my royal scepter high for the world to see, the realization sinks in, for every step I have taken downhill, I have to go all the way back up - as in to the ridge line.  You know, ridge lines that are found at THE TOP OF MOUNTAINS.

No sooner had I realized this, the trail begins to climb.  In less than half a mile I climb from 480' to 1500'.  The views are spectacular and I try and enjoy them.  My quads are mad at me and very tired.  I am not sure I have ever worked them so much and they are making me very aware they are day dreaming of lounge chairs and pool sides.

I start thinking about coca cola.  I begin praying that there is some at the aid station at the start of the Upper Ridge Trail.

By the time I hit Cyrus Gates Overlook I know my quads are toast.  This new trail is so steep in spots stairs made of wood and dirt are built into the mountainside to help one along.  Normally, this would make me happy, but in order take the stairs, one must actually lift your feet onto them.  To lift my feet, I needed my quads and they deserted me about 400 feet down the mountainside.  My quad muscles were shaking so much on one of the flight of stairs, they dang-near buckled and I grabbed a tree so I wouldn't tumble backwards.

As I fear for my life, I remember I am suppose to enjoy the view.  I look around; justifying I should see the views my quads died climbing up to.   It's breathtaking.  Or maybe it was the elevation stealing my breath.

Glenn Tachiyama is an incredible photographer who was waiting for us near on one of the switchbacks on Cyrus Gates Overlook.  He snapped this picture of me.
I am smiling.
It's a lie.
The only thing I was thinking about was coke.

8 miles later I am finally at the highest point of the course.  I continue to follow this trail knowing there should be an aid station close by.  Since I chopped my legs off and threw them down the mountain about a mile before, I watched the trail paying close attention to rocks and roots.  No need to fall today.  I have yet to fall on a trail run and I wanted to keep it that way.

I begin to hear someone yelling my name.  And a cowbell.  I am hearing a cowbell.

Am I dead?  Do angels ring cowbells at the pearly gates?

When my senses returned, I realize my friend Sherry is cheering me on and ringing the cowbell.  She is one of the angels at the only manned aid station on the course.  I am beyond excited to see her.  I ask her if there is coke.  She exclaimed, "YES!"  to which I may have begun to cry. 

Pop had never tasted so good.

After filling one of my water bottles with this liquid sugar, I begin to hit Upper Ridge Trail knowing the hardest part of the climb is over.  I am at the top.  The rest of the course is rolling and then downhill.  This is my favorite elevation to run.  I take it careful as this is the most technical with a plethora of rocks and roots. 

It isn't long before I recognize a familiar face ahead of me.  I have caught up to Esther.  We run the ridge and catch up on life.  She takes a fall and assures me she is fine.  I watch my footing, knowing my legs are weak.

We are among tall evergreens and the roots are plenty.  Often the very roots we try and avoid are the ones giving us an extra grip on our footing.  The trees are massive.  One moment I am eye level with a branch, the next I am looking straight up at them.  Hmmm.  I am not sure how that really happened, but I do know it was the quickest my body has moved all day.  It finally happened.  I fell and have a wicked awesome bruise on my butt to prove it.   I won't be including a picture of that however.

But it is awesome.

We follow Lower Ridge Trail back to Cleator Road.  The road is now another uphill section climbing back up to Fragrance Lake.  We decide we are hard core and begin working intervals into our run.  Maybe just one interval.  And it was to the second tree on the right.  From there we indulged in an uphill 'rest' period of walking.  Once we came to this trail head, we knew it was all down hill.  We pinky swore that it was ok to do whatever needed to be done to finish and we wouldn't feel bad about leaving the other behind.

Shortly after, we began running downhill.  Finally, I began to feel my groove again.  Esther tells me we have about two miles to go.  We pick up the pace and I am feeling great going down the hill.  She keeps her own strong pace and the distance between us begins to widen.  We holler to each other we will see each other at the finish line.  THE FINISH LINE!

A massive evergreen has fallen over the trail during one of our winter storms.  The branches hold the tree about 3 feet off the trail.  This poses a problem.  I can not climb over the tree as it would require a ladder or Superman.  I had neither.  I had no choice but to bend down and crawl under it.    My quads had left me for Mexico.  It wasn't pretty, but I did it.

I am back on The Urb and so close to the finish I can taste it.  I round the corner heading into Larabee State Park and toward the finisher chute.  Trevin is waiting for me and gives me a high five.  He tells me be prepared for yelling.  I don't know what these means until I round the final corner and see the chute.

My friends are lined up waiting for me and they begin yelling.  Kathy, Karen, Kellan, Stephanie and Jenny cheer loudly as I cross the finish line.  I am surrounded by those who know what it's like to push yourself and still come out standing on the other side. 

The most physically demanding race I have completed to date and I can still smile.

Just don't ask me to climb anything for awhile.

Blessings

It's a little after 5 a.m. and it's dark.  Summer is about to end despite my efforts to hang onto it.  The air is chilly enough to warrant long sleeves, yet I refuse.  Tank tops and skirts need to be worn as long as possible; a rule written in stone in the Cheri's Laws of Running book.  It's a classic.

Today's run is a simple 4 mile run; 2 miles out and 2 miles back.  My legs crave the simple.  Monday night's brutal track workout of ten 800 meter repeats left me spent and excited.  My pace was spot on for each repeat which fuels my confidence for my upcoming marathon.   10 hours after completing the track workout, my girlfriend Corrinna and I are running our normal 6 mile loop.   My legs were shot but we still managed a good, strong pace.  This Wednesday morning, I was having no trouble keeping my 4 easy miles, easy.

A full, blue moon glows in the western sky.  I realize the beauty of the full moon is magnified because of the darkness of this morning; an upside to shorter days I suppose.  

God and I start a conversation.  I pour my heart out onto His ears.  He responds by smothering me in peace.  All around me it is quiet.  The only sound I hear is my shoes hitting the gravel.  My mind quiets.

The sun is beginning to rise over Mount Baker as I turn around at the 2 mile mark.  Birds begin their song.  The view is incredible.  I feel blessed.  

My mind begins to wander and I dwell on the unknown future.

I stop.

I look at the sunrise.

God reminds me I have been given this day and this day only.  I must enjoy the blessings given me on this day.  With the sunrise before me, I make my way toward home.  I quietly open the slider door and walk into my home.  A home full of blessings to enjoy.

The Trail Calls

The marina parking lot is peppered with cars giving evidence to boat owners sleeping on their boats.  The sun kisses the ocean good morning.  The sea is still.  I start my watch; it is 6:33 am.

My pace is easy and it feels good.  For this I am thankful.  I had run a simple 4 mile run a day before and it was difficult, but today, the running felt good.

I wind my way out of the marina and head toward downtown.  I will connect with a trail there and follow it to within a mile of the next county.  Turning into the alley which connects me to the trail, I run by the Farmer's Market.  One or two vendors are starting their day; on my return the place will be bustling with people.

The trail is empty.  My footfalls are the only sound I hear.  As I near the ocean's edge, I see sailboats gently rocking on the sea.  All is quiet at the park except an occasional sea gull.

In just over 4 miles I am at the trail head, "The Urb" as we call it. The trail winds the edge of town for a couple miles, yet one would never know.  The trees hide the roadway and block the sounds of any traffic.  This morning I hear only birds.  All singing praises, and I quietly join their praises by thanking God for such a beautiful run in such a beautiful place.

The deserted trail, lost in nature is exactly what I need.  Life has been exceptionally crazy, many stresses, and this deserted trail along with my alone time with God is the salve I craved.  No one calling, no one needing my attention, no one asking me anything; with each step I was unwinding.  There are footfalls and birds singing and me.

Shade is plentiful with small sun streams reaching the forest floor.  I am in awe of the beauty.  The trail parallels the ocean and when the trees part I am given the most incredible vistas of an endless ocean.  

I have met only 3 runners this morning, and one was approaching me.  In the farthest part of the trail, I realize my friend Joy is running toward me!  We stop for a minute or two and catch up as quickly as we can.  Injury has kept her away and our running group misses her so.  With a hug, we part ways.

A mile later I have reached 10 miles and turn around to head back into town.  God and I talk; I feel better.  It never ceases to amaze me how much better I feel.  The verse from Matthew comes to mind, "Come to Me all who are burden and heavy laden and I will give you rest."  After running 10 miles I feel rested.

Something up ahead catches my eye.  It is a deer, facing me, and it is standing in the middle of the trail.  I kick my feet in hopes the noise will scare it off.  No such luck.  The deer looks to be about a year old and I wonder if I've got the age right or if mama is hiding around the corner.   The deer isn't moving and I slow my pace and make louder noises.  She isn't scared, but rather, lowers her head and scrapes her hoof in the dirt.

Oh no.

I stop; very well aware she is standing her ground and not going to move.  I know she is not old enough to have babies so I wonder if she is trying to let mama know how brave she is.    Finally she raises her head and stares at me again.  With a jerk to the left she begins to buck her way off the trail and into the brush.  Whew.  I prayed mama wasn't near by.

Mile 14 chirps on my watch and I recognize my friends Dawn and Jackie coming toward me on the trail.  We pause our watches and all talk at once.  Our laughter is caught in the branches of the forest.  Big, long hugs are given and we continue on each in our own direction.

As I leave the forest, I know the hottest part of the course is in the final 4 miles.  I remind myself to run this mile and nothing more.  I feel good and my pace is strong.  Along the water people have started their weekend; they are milling around the park, lazily walking with coffee in hand.  They are loving the ocean view.

The final hill awaits on South Bay Trail and I take it slow and steady.  Shade dots the trail giving relief along the way.  The Farmer's Market is now in full swing with vendors selling their wares and food cooking on the grills.  Surprisingly it smells good - nothing usually smells good at 18 miles.  I turn and head back to the marina.

With a final mile to go, I realize even though I am tired, my solo run has cleared my head.  My legs are heavy, my heart is light.  With my car in sight, my watch chirps.  20 miles of solitary alone time has given me exactly what I needed, yet I miss the high fives from my friends that we always give when the long miles are completed.

Chocolate milk is on ice waiting for me in my trunk.  I lean against my car enjoying ever single ounce of it.  It's been 20 miles since I'd been at my car and I feel more rested than when I had started.  There is something rejuvenating about the created being among creation.  

The trail gave me more than I ever thought it could.  And it silently waits until next time.  Next time when I need to hear the birds sing and my footfalls quietly echo in the branches.

Cows, Roosters and a Run

Karen’s headlights illuminate the ground as she turns down our road.  I tiptoe out of the house with my shoes in hand.  Slipping them on my feet, I then walk to her car as she gathers her things.  The sun is not quite up hiding the grey of the sky.  No rain; yet.

After our “Good morning!” to each other, we start our watches and head out of the driveway.  We wind our way through the neighborhood and Karen takes in the everyday surroundings of my daily runs.  The waft of fresh farm fertilizer hits our nostrils with it’s pungent smell.

“Oh my gosh, is that a cow mooing?” She asks.

“Yes it is.  There’s quite a few of those around here."

“I do not think I’ve ever heard a cow moo on my run before.”  Fifteen seconds into our run and there is already laughter.

The road we take is a straight route leading us to Corrinna who is waiting for us at the 2 mile mark.  There are more Good Mornings and the talk of ripeness of the farm.  With Karen at our side, the route Corrinna and I often run becomes new again; the countryside is an unexplored frontier for our city dwelling friend.

Turning from a half mile jaunt of a busy state route, we run down one of my favorite country roads.  Farms, homesteads and intermittent estates line both sides of the road.  We share the road with an occasional car and always seem to be greeted by a wave from the unknown driver.  Life is friendlier outside the city.

The first of 4 large hills looms up ahead.  As we crest the hill our attention is grasped by an eagle swooping out of the towering evergreen tree rooted humbly on the side of the road.   We see it’s bright white tail feathers peeking in flight as it effortlessly glides into the branches of a  massive tree on the other side of the road.   A short moment later, the unmistaken brown of a baby eagle rises from a tree and flies toward the parent, waiting with commanding nobility on the tree branch.

Hills lie ahead and we tackle each one.  Earlier in the week, I had warned Karen in an email the route contained a few small hills.  My ever present sarcasm lost in translation as today she turns to ask me, "Define small".  I fear the 750 feet of total elevation gain today may have just cost me a friend, or at the very least have my name now associated with torture.

Rolling farmland gives us beautiful vistas in which we can lose the pain of climbing yet another hill.  Horses and donkeys wander to the fence’s edge and stare as we run by the field they call home.  I think I saw a twinkle of jealousy in their eyes.  Then again, maybe they thought we were nuts for running those hills on purpose.

We turn around and head for home.  We keep the pace easy as the hills have worked us hard.  I am grateful the last couple miles are relatively flat and we can talk without huffing and puffing.  Rain is beginning to spit from the grey sky; we are finishing our run just in time.  Karen and I turn into the neighborhood and Corrinna continues straight down the road to head for home.

Just under 14 miles and it was not an easy run, yet the countryside invited us in and it was a run shared with friends ~ and an occasional rooster, cow and eagle.  Ah, life in the country.

A Bird Sings

The lop-sided moon hangs just above the cherry tree in the morning sky.  Night clouds are scattering revealing a hint of promising blue skies.  The thermometer reads 41°.  I tuck my hands into my long sleeves.

Heaviness in my legs remind me I am in the greatest part of my marathon training.  40 mile weeks tend to do that to me.  Despite it all, the running feels good.  My pace is easy as I make my way through the sleeping neighborhood.

My heart is weighted for friends I know are broken and hurting.  I ask God some specific things and thank Him for being bigger than it all.  The birds sing joy and I listen; their song getting louder as I approach the densely tree lined roadway.  A motorist drives by and waves.

A farm hand is singing a Spanish melody.  I quickly conclude the song is well loved as his voice loudly spills from the slightly ajar windows of the milking parlor.  The smile on my face can not be hidden as I question if he realizes his audience is greater than the bovine standing before him in the barn.  I wonder what the song is about.

Freshly cut hay rests in neatly lined rows in the field.  With no threat of rain in the sky, the farmer seems content to let it lie just a day longer.  Patches of hay stand uncut as a reminder a wet spring leaves sections too muddy to mow.

Nearing the end of my run, I spot a finch perched on a barbwire fence.  The bird eyes me carefully but does not move though I am just inches from her.  She chirps at me as if to say "Good morning" before taking flight. I watch the freedom in her flying.

The moon has faded and the sun is rising as I finish my run.  The day lays in front of me with unopened promises.  My heart still heavy for my hurting friends, but starting my day in nature has given me renewed breath on a new day; a day in which the birds are heard singing.

 

The Rain

My tires cause the puddle to spray up and over the side of my car.  Several times through the night the rain fell with such intensity the sound of it hitting the skylight woke me.  Now the rain fell in a heavy mist; the mist so thick it concealed the stoplight ahead as if it were enshrouded with an early September fog.
 
The roads were quiet.  I was greeted by only a handful of cars as I made my way into town.  Turning down the parkway, I look for my friends as they were running more miles than I would and I knew this road was to be a  part of their route.  A short time later, I see the glow of their reflective rain jackets as my headlights illuminated them.  I honk and wave as I drive by.
 
Winter’s rains had swollen the creek close to overflowing.  The rushing current gave evidence to the amount of rain which had fallen.  Two deer stand huddled at the side of the creek, blending in perfectly with the naked trees and shrubs around them.  Their stance tells me they seem chilled from the rain.

I park my car up the hill and wait for my friends on a corner of downtown.  In a short time, I see them and recognize each one by their gait.  I can tell who is in the group before I can see their faces.  Brad, Pat, Arlane, Melissa and Kathy make it up the hill and meet me where I stand.  I catch their rhythm and we disappear on to the Interurban Trail.  Already running for an hour, they are wet and miserable.  I feel guilty for having dry shoes.
 
We wind our way to the edge of the ocean.  A large light shines in the distance out on the ocean, its source hidden in the misty rain.  Everyone assumes it is a boat, but no one can tell for certain.  The grey of the wet mist erases the line on the horizon separating ocean from sky; the two blend perfectly.  The ocean swallows the rain and slowly lulls the ducks on it’s waves.
 
 No one sees the puddle until its too late, the coldness taking us by surprise and we all leap, scream and splash.  I no longer have guilt or dry shoes.  I am now wholeheartedly part of the group, my initiation complete.
 
The canopy of trees does little to keep us dry.  The mist collects heavily on the tree’s branches and falls in big drops as we run underneath.  Each of our hats drip rain from the brim.  We pass time talking of Melissa’s incredibly warm trip to Texas the week before.   Each of us longing for summer and looking forward to spring arriving shortly.
 
Kathy and I turn and head back toward the city while the others forge ahead to ensure they get their mileage.  Coming off an injury, it is the first time in weeks Kathy and I run together.  We seemingly pick up right where we left off so many weeks ago.   We talk, we laugh, we make our way down the trail. 
 
The only others out in these weather conditions are fellow runners.  Each one is greeted with enthusiasm, as if we all belong to secret society of hard core endurance, or of crazy – one can’t be too sure.  Although we are soaked to the bone, the only thing we look forward to is a hot shower.

We maneuver our way through the alleyways as careful as we can to avoid the rivers of rains running through them.   It is futile and we splash through the moving water.  Our watches chirp the end of another mile and we walk the remainder few feet to the car.  Finally, it is over.
 
These are the training runs to remember.   The building of endurance comes not only in the miles but also in the conditions.  You teach your body to run further, and your mind to endure.  The sun brings heat, the clouds bring rain and we run through it all.  We may not like it, but we always appreciate it.  There are more miles to run, and we are blessed to be able to run them.  Even in the rain.

The Green Stone

Walking to the mailbox on a grey and drizzly day, a round, green stone caught my eye.  I picked it up and lose myself in the touch of its smoothness.  The color was so beautiful, so vibrant and so green I had to take the stone with me back to my desk. 

After some time had passed I noticed the rock was no longer it's brilliant shade of green.  A smile came upon my face as I realized it was the rain that made the small stone such a vibrant hue.  So to is God's handiwork in me; this is the hope I received today.  Today God reminded me even though I may feel trodden under foot and rained upon, my essence is still there. 

And at times, it is in the rain that He makes me shine more brilliantly.

Grey Flannel

Grey Flannel.  The early morning darkness didn't conceal what I could not see.  The sky looked like a large, solid sheet of grey flannel.  Rain so fine it fell as a mist; tree tops outlined as though one was peering through a whisper thin fog.  Taking one last sip from my water bottle, I set it on the concrete bench nestled in the corner of the patio.  I hit the start button on my Garmin.

As I am recovering from a sprained ankle, I take it easy and start with a brisk walk.  Leaving the cul-de-sac, I make my way onto one of only two roads into our neighborhood.  The morning is quiet.  I hear a raccoon scamper up a large pine tree, in which it conceals the visitor with it's massive branches.  I begin to run for a distance.  My ankle feels good.

A neighbor passes me on their way to work.  Although in the darkness I can not see him, I know he is smiling and waving as he drives by so I do the same; his headlights lighting up my refelctive jacket making me stick out in stark contrast to my surroundings. 

I walk for a short distance before continuing my run allowing my ankle to warm up.  The misty rain is thicker now as I run along the roadside.  There is a spot on my foot that is making me very aware of its presence.  For three weeks I convinced myself it was sore from the sprain, but now I am looking at the reality it could be more.

I struggle with calling the orthopedic doctor.

Nearing the turn around I slow again to a walk.  Nature is quiet and I try to get my head to be the same.  Too many thoughts, too many questions, too much nagging going on in my foot.  I turn it over to God.

The road that takes me home is colored black from the rain.  The neighborhood begins to waken; kitchen lights glow lending proof the day is beginning for some.    My run ends and I stop my watch.  I stand for a moment on the back patio, listening to the quiet, and feeling the rain.  The misty rain feels soft against my skin, just like the softness of a grey flannel sheet.  

Falling Snow

The slider door closes behind me.  All is quiet.  Snowflakes fall softly from the heavens.  The ground is white now in color and makes the darkness less deep.  I press the start on my Garmin and begin my run.

The world seems asleep and silent; my breathing the only sound I hear.  Far off in the distance I see a car traveling down the road but I do not hear it.  The morning is incredibly peaceful.  A neighbor cautiously drives by and their headlights reveal what I could already feel; snow was lazily falling.

My footprints leave the only evidence of my trail.  The displaced snow on the country road I am running tell me a few of my neighbors have left for work.  The snow laden clouds part for a whisper showing me the bright quarter moon they conceal. 

Snow rests atop a mailbox perched on a weathered cedar fence post.  The fence had come down over time with a few sections still remaining.  Nails rusted past their usefulness leave cedar beams hanging precariously along the field’s edge.  The snow clings to it trying to cover the age of the fence with the newness of white.

A rabbit hopping through a field catches my eye.  He stops and watches me.   He blends in perfectly to his surroundings.  My footfalls startle a duck sleeping in the rain filled ditch and he takes to flight.  He in turn has startled me.  Within seconds I have lost sight of him in the pre-dawn morning.

At the turn around point I reverse my steps to head back for home.  Not wanting the run to end I decide to add another mile despite knowing the rest of my morning will be pressed for time.  The snow falls heavier now.  Looking down I see my footprints made at the start of my run.  I follow them feeling as if I am running in the faintest of echos.

I run to the back yard, finishing my run while pressing the stop button on my Garmin.  Drinking my water, I stand silently outdoors.  The world seemingly pauses with me, and for a brief moment the only thing being done is the watching of falling snow. 

Last Chance Marathon

Large, white clouds obscure Mount Baker yet help create a spectacular sunrise with the morning sun's rays of red exploding behind them.  A beautiful start to the last day of the year.  A couple hundred of us milled around the start line trying to keep warm.  It wasn't long before the countdown began, someone yelled "Go!" and we were running.

Last Chance Marathon would be my fifth of the year and a perfect way to end the year.  Knowing this trail was not an easy one and not conducive to a personal best, I was using this race as a celebration of my 2011 year of running; every step would be enjoyed.  

Once we got onto the trail the crowd seemed to space out pretty quickly.  It wasn't long before a woman, after seeing my jacket, approached me telling me she too was a Marathon Maniac.  For the next mile or two we talked of races we've done while the trail's crushed rock crunched under our feet.  Entering Arroyo Park the trail became a single track and she took off in front of me.  I concentrated on my foot falls on this technical part of the trail.

Mile 4 a man commented on my jacket and how he was working toward becoming a Maniac.  I slowed my pace to talk with him.  John is a soldier, stationed 3 hours south in Fort Lewis.  This was his second lifetime marathon.  We shared a mile before he told me to move on as he had to slow it down.

My husband had positioned himself to be at mile 5 and as this was on out and back course which we would do twice, I'd see him 4 times.  I was feeling good and in need of nothing so he simply cheered me on; as well as on my return.  Reversing the route I made my way back to the park in which we started.  Half marathoners were finished and full marathoners went back out for the second and final loop.

As expected the runners thinned out tremendously, giving me plenty of alone time to celebrate my final marathon of the year.  Slivers of light were beginning to break through the winter's forest.  Entering into Arroyo Park the sound of the creek greeted me.  The descent was rapid and soon the trail snaked it's way alongside the creek.  The rains had swollen its waters and rushed over rock and fallen trees.  The trail, peppered with roots and rocks, kept my attention.  Small wooden bridges latticed their way over the creek and washouts.  Winter's leafless maples dressed only with thick green moss lined the muddy trail.  The switchbacks took me from the creek to the top of the valley.  A steep ascent, I walked out of the park onto the trail. 

At the trail head I heard people cheering for me as I emerged.  I smile when I realize it is my friends Arlane and Amy, who after running the back trails and stumbled upon the marathon route kept an eye out for me as they knew I was there.  I stop and give them big hugs.  A complete surprise and one that gave me a boost.  After we talk a bit, they cheer me on my way and turn away to finish their run.

I am now heading toward Dennis and feel blessed to have such great friends and a husband up ahead standing in the cold waiting to see if I need anything.  My hands are cold and he rushes to get me my gloves.  After an orange slice, a hug, and kiss I'm on my way toward the final turn around point.  Reaching it I give those at the aid station high fives and head back for the final 6.2 miles of the run.

The trail is muddy and squishes under foot.  I maneuver my way around to the driest sections.  I see no one ahead of me and no one behind me.  I stop for a brief moment.  Not a sound was heard.  Standing in the woods, I listen to nature.  I feel peace and thank God for such beautiful scenery.  I run on celebrating the beauty around me. 

A man with a speedy shuffle is coming toward me.  I ask him if his name is Mel.  With a mischievous smile he tells me it is.  Shaking his hand I introduce myself and tell him it is wonderful to see him out here running marathons again.  In the spring, at the age of 77 he had fallen out of a tree and took 6 months to recover.  A man who routinely ran 20 marathons a year spent no time feeling sorry for himself, recovered quickly and came back to running marathons the previous month.  His smile warmed the chill out of the day.

At mile 21 my husband filled my water bottle and sent me on my way as he went off to an appointment.  Despite being tired from the rigors of this trail race, I felt good.  The trail occasionally afforded spectacular views of the Pacific Ocean. It was easy to be lost in thought with such beautiful vistas.  Madrona trees hung precariously over large rock face as if a small wind would cause them to tumble down the mountainside. 



 I enter in Arroyo Park for the last and final time.  With a little over two miles to go there is a bounce in my step and I'm celebrating my final 2 miles of 2011.  Takao Suzuki, although running the race himself, pauses to snap my picture. Making my way up and out of the ravine I notice someone at the top of the hill.  It takes a moment for me to realize it is my coach Pat.  Once he saw me, his encouragement started bringing a big smile to my face.  At the top of the hill he gives me a big hug.  I am overwhelmed.  Knowing he had a full day of commitments he made time to find me along the course just to encourage me on the last of the biggest hills I'd face on the course.  With a final pat on the back he sent me for my final ascent reminding me once at the top it would be downhill all the way to the finish.  A mantra I'd repeat several times over the final miles.

Mile 25 came and I celebrated each step.  The feelings of being incredibly blessed welled up inside and were bubbling at the surface.  I rounded the corner taking an off-shoot of the trail into the park.  Nearing the finishline I do not see the clock ticking off the time, I see only one thing.  My coach had driven to the finish to cheer me home and celebrate the finish with me. 

This final run of the year was not about running my fastest time, it was simply about the run.  Driving home, the emotions of the day flooded over me.  How incredibly blessed I am to have a spouse who braves hours of cold to support me and friends who search me out solely to encourage me.  Their acts of selflessness touch me deeply.  My heart is full.  I can't think of a better way to close the year.

Sunday Morning

The sun shone bright in the cold December sky.  Temps sat at a brisk 35 degrees.  The coldness in the air hits my lungs hard as I walk out from the warmth of my home.  My 10 year old is climbing onto his bike.  While I run, my son Dane will ride next to me; giving us alone time together.  Today's run will be short in hopes the shins behave.

Normally a 5 a.m. runner, it feels good to be running in the daylight. A slight wind makes the temperature seem chillier than it is.  I should have worn gloves.  I look over at Dane who quietly wraps his coat around his hands to protect them from the cold.  He doesn't complain.  I am impressed with him.  He has a marathoner's determination.

Our neighborhood is quiet as the laziness of a Sunday morning is evident.  Frost makes the grass sparkle.  Dane and I are side by side as we make our way down the street lined with homes emitting curls of smoke from chimneys high on rooftops. 

Turning onto the main road, I pull ahead and Dane falls single file behind me.  It's a comfortable silence, neither of us saying much; both lost in thought.  I wonder what a 10 year old thinks about in quiet, reflective moments.   The sun shines on Mount Baker making the snow capped mountain beckon its skiers.  A tractor hums in the distance.

My left shin hurts reminding me of my 52.4 mile adventure the weekend before.  I wonder how long the recovery will be.  We turn toward home, Dane is in no hurry to race home, but rather perfectly content riding next to me.  Very little was said bewteen us as we shared the miles; just mom and son together.  

We turn onto our street and I break the silence, "Thank you Dane for coming with me on my run, I really enjoyed spending the time with you."

"Me too Mom.  Thanks."

Sometimes life's biggest moments are shared in silence on a quiet Sunday morning.   

A Run In The Rain

Darkness was broken by the headlights of my car.  The light illuminated the road ahead revealing rain falling with such force, the drops bounced back up off the pavement.  Fall in Washington State has arrived.

Pulling into a parking spot in downtown Bellingham, I notice Pat and Melissa had already arrived.  Today is Melissa’s Birthday Run.  I grab my things and jump out of the car; I place my key in a plastic bag before tucking it in my pocket.  The eaves of the old brick building provide dryness while we wait for the others.  Steady streams of water cascading off the building edges spill onto the sidewalks and down the street gutters.

With the arrival of Brad and then Kathy, we decide to head out into the warm, but very wet, weather.  No one talks of the rain, there is no reason to bring up the obvious.   Our route leaves downtown as we head to the marina.  Conversation flows, only being broken by someone occasionally yelling, “Puddle!” or “LAKE!” to which we will all dodge, jump or run around.
 
We head back to where we started and up ahead I see Karen and Amy waiting for us, right on cue.  Runners are always on time.  As we run through the streets, making our way to the South Bay Trail, the vendors are out beginning to set up their wares for the Farmer’s Market.  The rain has stopped, the sun does not shine.
 
The trail runs above the ocean, eventually winding its way down to the shore.  Below us a train rumbles by, concealed by the thick evergreen trees we are running through.  Only runners are seen on the trail today. 

Gentle rain has started to fall again.  We are now on the ocean edge.  The grey of the rain filled sky melts seamlessly into the grey of the Pacific Ocean.  A blue heron flies bringing a tiny bit of color to the drabness of the landscape.

We climb Taylor Dock and run through the oldest part of town, it’s history speaking loudly in the architecture of the buildings.  Had it been a hundred years prior and we ran these streets, I wonder if we would have been arrested due to the shorts and skirts we wore breaking some Victorian indecent exposure law.  This makes me chuckle.

The Interurban Trail greeted us with a thick canopy of branches providing a tiny relief to the rain falling.   Every square inch of me was wet, and now the mud from the trail kicked up onto my legs and shoes.   And it felt great.   There is something very peaceful about going for a run and getting the dirt from which we came caked onto your legs.  This must be why kids love mud puddles.

Reaching the turn-around point, we run toward downtown once again and the coffee shop that awaits us.  Despite dripping clothes, hats and hair we get our warm drinks and settle into a couple of tables and chairs we’ve pushed together.  Next year’s marathons are discussed; ideas are tossed in and contemplated.  With coffee cups emptied we part ways each looking forward to a hot shower.
And dreams of runs we will run in the new year.

Juxtaposition

I lay in bed listening to the rain hit the skylight hoping it would pass in time for our run.  Tip-toeing out the door I got into my car and drove into town.  The streets were quiet this Saturday morning, the world must still be sleeping.  Pulling in to the parking lot at the waterfront, I see my running friends milling about preparing themselves for the 22 miles we were gearing up to do.  The misty rain had all but stopped.

After a few encouraging words from Coach Pat, we began our journey amidst the beeping of everyone hitting the start button on their watches.  We are a large group today, everyone anxious about the run that lay ahead of us.

The grey skies brought perfect running conditions, keeping it cool and far from the 85 degree heat we experienced the weekend before.  A handful of miles into our run we found ourselves on the trail connecting downtown to the ocean; a trail usually bustling with people was quiet this morning.  It was a dreary Saturday and people we nestled in their homes, sipping their early morning coffee. 

Running Taylor dock, with the Pacific Ocean beneath our feet, I glance over looking for the seals we sometimes see somersaulting  in the tide.  I see no seal, just a few sea gulls rocking gently on the waves.  I breathe in deeply the salt air.

Karen waits for us offering us water or electrolytes if we need them, we tell her we’re good and make our way onto the next trail.  Sherry and I weave our way down the path talking about this crazy thing called life.  My week had been more than hectic and I was enjoying the mileage we were doing together.   There are times in life when a hot shower or bubble bath can not come close to the cleansing that a good, hard-earned sweat can bring.  In the quiet of the woods, on the trail with friends, I felt what I had been needing.  And it felt great.

Up ahead we could see our friends waiting with water, electrolytes and carbs.  Their laughter sprinkled joy on the trail.  I handed them my water bottle and told them I’d be back after we reached the turn around point.   Without fail, there was Kathy with my water bottle in hand filled to the brim with fresh water.  Snapping it into my belt I headed down the trail back toward town for the final 10 miles. 

Running through my favorite part of the trail, I was lost in the scenery around me.  The trail cuts along the mountain side high above the ocean affording incredible vistas.   Alone on the trail, I fell into a rhythm listening to my foot fall on the path.  Trees formed a perfect canopy as I run under them.  They had dropped their orange, yellow and red leaves bowing to the season of fall and whispering ‘goodbye’ to summer.  The leaves crunched under foot. 

Leaving the trail I made my way back to the water and ran the dock.  Sun had peaked out from the grey clouds and glistened off the ocean.  Sipping their coffees and hot chocolates, Pat, Karen, Kathy and Amy were once again waiting for us to give us what we needed.  A brief stop, handing them my packet of Gu, I was off again and telling them the coffee made me jealous.

Here I began to tire.  This portion of the trail takes the traveler away from the edge of the ocean and up into downtown.  The uphill intensified the struggle but I persisted, determined to run all 22 miles.  With the appearance of the sun, although brief, people had donned their fall clothing and came out of their warm homes to walk the trail.  Runners would pass in the opposite direction, always giving big smiles and a friendly hello.

As I came back into town, I found Kathy waiting for me near the alleyway behind the farmer’s market.  With two and a half miles to go, she joined me for the final push.   It was what I needed.  Knowing she had a race to do later in the day, I asked if she was sure she wanted to run more miles.  Without hesitation she said yes and I was grateful.   Kathy pulled me out of my own head and helped me keep my attention on our conversation.   I would have walked had it not been for her.

Nearing the 22 mile mark, I could see some of my running friends gathered around the water cooler all relishing in the accomplishment of the morning.  My watch chirped for the 22^nd time that day and I gratefully hit the stop button.  The run was done.   My watch and I logged 22 successful miles.    High fives and pats on the back were handed out while we all talked of how the run went for each of us.

Heading back to my car, from the corner of my eye I could see a woman running to me with her arms open as to hug me.  Within a split second, I recognized her as a classmate from high school whom I had not seen in 15 years.  Deb reached me and we squealed in delight amidst our hug.  She didn’t care I was drenched in sweat and salt, only that after so many years had passed we had finally run into each other. 

The drive home I reflected on the juxtapositions my morning had.  There was summer mixed with fall, rain amidst the sun, strength and weakness intertwined in the run, but the consistency came among the friendship; new as well as ones from my past.  And in that, I find, I am incredibly blessed.

An Ordinary Day

The morning is strangely quiet.  It's 5 a.m. and the sun has not yet introduced the day, reminding me summer is leaving soon and fall is close by.  I'm not ready to say goodbye to summer.

My feet fall quickly on the streets bringing a break into the silence.    The clouds hold no rain, for which I am very grateful.  The quietness of dawn gives me a blank canvas in which to paint my conversation with God onto.  He listens, I talk; peace and comfort abound.

The farmer has a new herd of calves in the grassy field close to the barn.  A few of them bellow to the others as to warn them the strange lady running on the road is dangerous.  I smile as it is always the same.  Just as it is with each new calf herd the farmer receives, one calf gets brave and runs toward me, whether to chase me or to see if I bring food I'm never sure.  Curiosity always grabs hold and soon most are running the fence line behind me.  I laugh as to the passerby I must look like a cow's Pied Piper.  Reaching the edge of the fence line, they stop and allow me to go on alone.

Mount Baker stands grand on the horizon, its foothills lush and green before her.   The sun is peaking above the hills bringing its light to the day.  I hear what sounds like softly falling rain, but feel nothing.  I look around me.  Above me the wings of several dozen sparrows flutter; the source of the noise.  The noise grows louder and I met by hundreds, if not thousands, of sparrows.  Flying in large groups and in percise unison toward a large, old oak tree standing solitary in a field. Upon landing in the tree, they all begin to talk to each other, and loudly; sounding like a room full of old Italian women talking with their hands.  This makes me laugh.

I turn towards home, my 6 miles complete.  I tiptoe into the house which holds sleeping boys.  The coffee is on and its smell fills the room.  The day has started just like so many before it, with an early morning run surrounded by nautre.  It's just an ordinary day.

Greatness

With grandeur there it stood.  And it took my breath away.  His eyes fixed on me long before I even noticed him.  In the farmer's lush green field, an eagle regally stood less than 50 feet away from me; his size that of a toddler child.  I slow my run to a shuffle just so I can look at him longer. 

He watches me and I, him.  His greatness delivering me into a mesmerized awe.  And I had almost missed him.  Consumed in my own thoughts that morning while talking to God, my attention was not on my surroundings.  I focused on the long country road that lay ahead of me and not on the scenery I was running by.  Not until he'd turned his white-crowned head had I noticed him.  To think had I disregarded what caught my eye, I would have missed out on such greatness.

This makes me wonder.  How many times in my life have I been too focused on what is directly in front of me that I miss out on the greatness around me?  The elderly woman I pass in the grocery store who faithfully, and without complaint, tends to her ailing husband.  The middle school girl standing in the hallway who's unrealized gift will blossom into greatness if only through an encouraging word.  The tired parent who sacrifices much to ensure the child learns responsibility, kindness and empathy. 

Greatness like this surrounds me each day, I just don't often see it and fail to recognize it.  This does not lessen the fact the greatness is there; more often than not, it is my perspective that must change.  If a smile, a "hello" or telling someone to have a great day will encourage them enough to do so, then in some small way it is contributing to that person being great.  And encouragement is desperately needed in this world.

I mull these things over in my mind as I finish my run.  No longer am I looking at just the road in front of me, but I intentionaly look at the scenery around me.  A new pair of eyes looking less inward, and more outward.   If I am intentional to encourage those around me to show their greatness, at times I will be blessed by seeing incredible greatness close at hand that it will leave me in inspired awe.  Like the day an eagle stood close by, in a field and looked upon me.