It’s been a good trail running summer so far. After nine months of plantar fasciitis and a glute-busting physical therapy program, I’ve been pain free for two weeks. Finally.
Because I want to spend all the time I can, right here, on these trails:
Spring, season of all seasons, calls for a certain kind of hyperactivity. When it’s 65F and sunny, you–quick before it changes–get out on a run in shorts. You pull out the mountain bike but agree to meet the snowbanks with a smile, or at least stamina or the reasoning to turn around. You multi-sport it. Bike. Hike. Ski. You take a nap when it rains all day.
You think you might take up birding because of the meadowlark alone. And wildflowers, too. But you also refocus on writing dreams. Life dreams. The days are longer now. There’s time.
Weekend hunting widow: Sunday run.
I owe many things to the women of the St. Lawrence cross country and track and field teams, among them, 18 years of some of the best people I’ve ever known (and sweated, run, danced, cried, travelled, and giggled with). This week I had a very special, joyful run with two of them.
Greening up at Blue Mountain.
My evening run.