Dear Wild Oak

Dear Wild Oak,

It’s me again.

I know it’s only April and your invitation to come try your 112-mile, 30-some-thousand-feet-of-incline party isn’t for another 6-plus months yet, but I thought I’d check in anyway.

We’ve been dance partners on and off for almost 30 years now, you and me. You know how badly my record-keeping sucks so I’m totally spitballing here, yet I think it reasonable to postulate that I have covered at least, what, 3,000 miles out there. As you know, 97% of that has been 1 loop at a time. And most of it happened when I was a whole lot younger and faster than I am these days.

We’ve had our times, you and me. You’ve most definitely thrown me a bone or two across the decades. You’ve seen me at my best. And over and over again, you’ve made my whimper and come oh so close to breaking my spirit.

I’ve driven off from you after 1-loop training runs sure that I am invincible. And then, fall season after fall season, I’ve slunk away after 1 or 2 loops thinking that the mountains just aren’t my jam any more and that I’m just not tough enough any more to eat what you are cooking.

I have attacked you. I have communed with you. I have ignored you until the last minute, as if sneaking up on you might work. I have spent every other Saturday for about a decade with the soles of my shoes making contact with your hallowed turf.

Let us review: In my time with you on the 4-loop format, I am ... 0-for-14? 0-for-15?

I guess what I really mean is, when it's race time, you always lay my soul wide open and leave it on the ground in a heap.
 
Dude, I have learned some of the most lasting lessons of my four-plus-decades of running at your hands.

Perhaps the best lesson of all: It's only failure if you don't get your ass back out there and try again.

Almost 30 years. Somewhere around enough miles to cross this country. And to think—I haven’t even finished all of your 112 miles in the same race …

Yet.

Love,

Gentry

Be the good

Settle in, friends, for a story of small town, instinct, goodwill and a happy ending ...

Scruffy Man, fresh off an extra-long Friday at work, swings by the local grocery for a few necessities. Good fortune shining on him, he quickly happens on his Awesome Neighbors. Banter and shopping ensue, followed eventually by a solo check-out.

Dropping groceries in his vehicle, Scruffy Man turns to take his cart back into the store when he hears The Voice. Seriously? OK. OK. Over to the cart return Scruffy Man goes, as grumpiness sets in because Scruffy Man always takes his cart back in the store. And that’s when he sees it ... a brown wallet left in one of the unattended carts. Smiling now, Scruffy Man checks contents of said wallet and looks around for Wallet Guy (who Scruffy Man doesn’t know). No luck. Damn. OK. No worries. Back into the store Scruffy Man heads when The Voice stops him again. Yeah. True. This is a pile of cash. And yeah, why force others to confront those choices. OK. OK. Plan B, it is. Back to looking at the driver’s license when Scruffy Guy sees his Awesome Neighbors again. Situation explained, Awesome Neighbor Mom does her social media thing while Awesome Neighbor Daughter shoots back into the store for a quick canvass. No immediate luck on either front, so Scruffy Man decides to drop groceries at home and then drive out to the country address on the driver’s license.

Back at his house and groceries put away, Scruffy Man is just about to plug in what he hopes is Wallet Man’s actual address when Awesome Neighbor Mom calls to say her social media thing netted a score and Wallet Guy is at the grocery store waiting. Minutes later, a seriously happy ending.

(Be the good, y’all, especially with all the not-so-good that seems to be surrounding us right now. Be the good.)