I'm heading home near the end of this morning's 2-hour runwalk that included an all-out 1-mile spurt when a squeaky little voice catches my ear.
"Hey Runner Man, I have a cape just like yours."
"Oh hey there. Whaddaya mean ... (and that's when I remember that I have my fleece pullover tied around my neck like, well, a cape.)
"Merry Christmas," I say.
"Thanks, but that was yesterday," she reminds.
"Hey, what's your name, anyway?"
"Sara, and I'm 6 years old."
"So is that Sara with an H, or no H?"
"It's just Sara. My mom and dad say that you're crazy. They see you running all the time and say that you dress funny and never wear the right pants."
"Well, your mom and dad are probably right."
"When I grow up, I wanna be a firefighter. Or a ballerina. Or maybe something else, and for sure I wanna be something where you get to wear a cape."
"All of those are awesome, Sara. Be all those things."
"Bye, Runner Man. Keep wearing your cape."
I'll do that, Just Sara. I'll do that for sure.
December 26, 2016
October 5, 2016
Life
I love that sweet spot
among the crickets and the coming of the day
when I feel as if I can cup the Magnitude of Life
and turn it round and round
seeing it from different angles
breathing in its radiance
marveling at its glow
accepting its existence
and
understanding
if only for a briefest of moments
my place in it.
among the crickets and the coming of the day
when I feel as if I can cup the Magnitude of Life
and turn it round and round
seeing it from different angles
breathing in its radiance
marveling at its glow
accepting its existence
and
understanding
if only for a briefest of moments
my place in it.
July 18, 2016
One for the Books
Dear Katie Keier,
Thank you.
I've seen way more than my share of ultrarunning magic – and your 200-plus miles on The Wild Oak Trail this long weekend was all that and more.
I was in the same arena in New Jersey when Phil McCarthy collected 257 miles in 48 hours, shattering the previous American record by more than 20 miles in abysmal weather conditions.
And I was doing Umstead 100-Miler the year that Mike Morton clocked a 13:11. Yeah, a 13:11. For the whole thing.
Another time in New Jersey, I was in the race when Sandy Powell and Liz Bauer went toe-to-toe for 48 hours, with Liz nailing an AR 203 miles and Sandy battling valiantly to 195 miles.
And I've been in the mix when Morton has done 164 miles at Hinson Lake 24-Hour, a virtual solo time trial performance.
And I was running that year that Glen Redpath blitzed 139 miles at Crooked Road 24-Hour, another mind-bendingly hard effort that outdistanced his closest competitors by more than a marathon.
Yep, I've seen some of the best of the best magicians ply their craft in this crazy running thing that we do. I saw another one working her magic this past weekend. You.
You did it. The inaugural run of 200-plus TWOT miles. And I knew you were going to, especially because I saw the way you were moving during that brief two-hour stretch we shared around Miles 112-116 Saturday morning.
I doubt you remember much of our exchange during that stretch, but I sure do. Through that ever-present Katie Keier smile of yours, you recounted to me how Loop 2 was a dark patch for you, but then some food and a nap revived you. I told you that I was glad you worked through it, and that's when you turned back to me, looked me right in the eye and said, "That was really, really hard. I'm glad that part is over," and then you proceeded to run the next 100 yards or so down the fairly technical downhill section of trail.
That look you gave me – that I-trained-my-ass-off-for-this-and-it's-supposed-to-be-hard-but-I-got-this look – told me all I needed to know about whether you'd see 200 miles on this trip.
When the torrential rains blew in the next day and our local news reported that the Stokesville area got 4-5 INCHES of rain in several hours, my first instinct was, "Oh no. Katie and her bunch have to be out there on the loop somewhere” – but then I remembered that glint in your eye, and I just smiled to myself. I knew you'd do it.
And do it you did.
Proud member of two different 1,000-mile finisher clubs and proud owner of double-digit finishes at two other ultra races, I have a special, special place in my heart for tenacity. That said, what you did at TWOT went way, way beyond tenacity.
So, thank you. Thank you for letting me come play for a couple hours. Thank you for being such a happy, vibrant ambassador of trail running. Thank you for letting so many different people share in this remarkable journey.
And thank you for providing me with an image of perseverance, grit and calmness under fire that I will draw from for many, many years.
So proud of you, Katie. You dared to dream. You dared to do the work. You dared to take the chance. And then you went out and kicked the livin' shit out of it.
Thank you.
I've seen way more than my share of ultrarunning magic – and your 200-plus miles on The Wild Oak Trail this long weekend was all that and more.
I was in the same arena in New Jersey when Phil McCarthy collected 257 miles in 48 hours, shattering the previous American record by more than 20 miles in abysmal weather conditions.
And I was doing Umstead 100-Miler the year that Mike Morton clocked a 13:11. Yeah, a 13:11. For the whole thing.
Another time in New Jersey, I was in the race when Sandy Powell and Liz Bauer went toe-to-toe for 48 hours, with Liz nailing an AR 203 miles and Sandy battling valiantly to 195 miles.
And I've been in the mix when Morton has done 164 miles at Hinson Lake 24-Hour, a virtual solo time trial performance.
And I was running that year that Glen Redpath blitzed 139 miles at Crooked Road 24-Hour, another mind-bendingly hard effort that outdistanced his closest competitors by more than a marathon.
Yep, I've seen some of the best of the best magicians ply their craft in this crazy running thing that we do. I saw another one working her magic this past weekend. You.
You did it. The inaugural run of 200-plus TWOT miles. And I knew you were going to, especially because I saw the way you were moving during that brief two-hour stretch we shared around Miles 112-116 Saturday morning.
I doubt you remember much of our exchange during that stretch, but I sure do. Through that ever-present Katie Keier smile of yours, you recounted to me how Loop 2 was a dark patch for you, but then some food and a nap revived you. I told you that I was glad you worked through it, and that's when you turned back to me, looked me right in the eye and said, "That was really, really hard. I'm glad that part is over," and then you proceeded to run the next 100 yards or so down the fairly technical downhill section of trail.
That look you gave me – that I-trained-my-ass-off-for-this-and-it's-supposed-to-be-hard-but-I-got-this look – told me all I needed to know about whether you'd see 200 miles on this trip.
When the torrential rains blew in the next day and our local news reported that the Stokesville area got 4-5 INCHES of rain in several hours, my first instinct was, "Oh no. Katie and her bunch have to be out there on the loop somewhere” – but then I remembered that glint in your eye, and I just smiled to myself. I knew you'd do it.
And do it you did.
Proud member of two different 1,000-mile finisher clubs and proud owner of double-digit finishes at two other ultra races, I have a special, special place in my heart for tenacity. That said, what you did at TWOT went way, way beyond tenacity.
So, thank you. Thank you for letting me come play for a couple hours. Thank you for being such a happy, vibrant ambassador of trail running. Thank you for letting so many different people share in this remarkable journey.
And thank you for providing me with an image of perseverance, grit and calmness under fire that I will draw from for many, many years.
So proud of you, Katie. You dared to dream. You dared to do the work. You dared to take the chance. And then you went out and kicked the livin' shit out of it.
April 22, 2016
Running is ...
Running puts me with my people. Running gets me out of my head and completely in my head at the same time. Running is the thing I do better than all the other things.
Running allows me to eat whatever I want. Running keeps me awake at night. Running gets me out of bed in the morning. Running makes the nap a necessity, and a distinct pleasure.
Running is my reason for so many other activities like yoga and strength work that complement it. Running betters my days. Running gives me concentrated time to help shape my perspective.
Running is who I am. Running is who I want to be. Running makes me whole.
Running shapes my words. Running fuels my self-discovery. Running hones my grit.
Running helps me choose which dreams to chase. Running makes me vulnerable. Running heals me.
Running is simple. Running is profound.
Running is my canvas.
Running allows me to eat whatever I want. Running keeps me awake at night. Running gets me out of bed in the morning. Running makes the nap a necessity, and a distinct pleasure.
Running is my reason for so many other activities like yoga and strength work that complement it. Running betters my days. Running gives me concentrated time to help shape my perspective.
Running is who I am. Running is who I want to be. Running makes me whole.
Running shapes my words. Running fuels my self-discovery. Running hones my grit.
Running helps me choose which dreams to chase. Running makes me vulnerable. Running heals me.
Running is simple. Running is profound.
Running is my canvas.
March 23, 2016
Feel the Air
Dear Joe,
What a gift, dude.
So I was missing you fiercely this morning. After my short run, I found myself reminiscing about random times we shared when I remembered you teaching me basic Tai Chi.
On a whim — or so I thought —I jumped online, and the very first video I found was the exact opening 10 poses that you taught me in the summer of 1980 in Knoxville.
After watching it over coffee, I hit rewind and managed to stumble and bumble through the whole series of movements. The final two poses in the sequence are relatively complicated. Feeling like a bit fawn-like, the thought occurred to me that maybe I should just shelve this Tai Chi thing for another time. Plenty of causes on my plate for now.
That's when I remembered fussing about those final poses out there in the grass near the UT Aquatics Center, and you telling me, "Before long, you'll feel the air around you and you'll know how to move."
I never really got there. Stayed with it the rest of that summer, but glided away from it by the time I returned to college that fall. Don't recall giving Tai Chi another even semi-serious thought until this morning. Almost 35 years ago. You know how long it takes your little brother to learn some stuff.
Fast-forward to lunchtime today. After having watched the vid a couple more times throughout the morning, I tried the sequence again in the bathroom here at work. Nice wide mirror in there. Anyway, guess what? I totally felt the air. Pushed it away. Drew it back to me. Squeezed around it. Released it.
Gonna keep at the Tai Chi this time. Much better focus today, interestingly. It's been a lot better lately cuz of meditation, but it was razor-sharp today.
Thanks, Joe. Gift unwrapped. And yeah, I'm one step closer to that #builtgentrytough ink, too, btw. I know you're always with me, but I still miss the hell outta your laugh and your loud and your smile.
Love you, big bro.
Bill
P.S. Feel the air, indeed.
What a gift, dude.
So I was missing you fiercely this morning. After my short run, I found myself reminiscing about random times we shared when I remembered you teaching me basic Tai Chi.
On a whim — or so I thought —I jumped online, and the very first video I found was the exact opening 10 poses that you taught me in the summer of 1980 in Knoxville.
After watching it over coffee, I hit rewind and managed to stumble and bumble through the whole series of movements. The final two poses in the sequence are relatively complicated. Feeling like a bit fawn-like, the thought occurred to me that maybe I should just shelve this Tai Chi thing for another time. Plenty of causes on my plate for now.
That's when I remembered fussing about those final poses out there in the grass near the UT Aquatics Center, and you telling me, "Before long, you'll feel the air around you and you'll know how to move."
I never really got there. Stayed with it the rest of that summer, but glided away from it by the time I returned to college that fall. Don't recall giving Tai Chi another even semi-serious thought until this morning. Almost 35 years ago. You know how long it takes your little brother to learn some stuff.
Fast-forward to lunchtime today. After having watched the vid a couple more times throughout the morning, I tried the sequence again in the bathroom here at work. Nice wide mirror in there. Anyway, guess what? I totally felt the air. Pushed it away. Drew it back to me. Squeezed around it. Released it.
Gonna keep at the Tai Chi this time. Much better focus today, interestingly. It's been a lot better lately cuz of meditation, but it was razor-sharp today.
Thanks, Joe. Gift unwrapped. And yeah, I'm one step closer to that #builtgentrytough ink, too, btw. I know you're always with me, but I still miss the hell outta your laugh and your loud and your smile.
Love you, big bro.
Bill
P.S. Feel the air, indeed.
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