“It hurts up to a point and then it doesn’t get any worse.” — Ann Trason
December 2010, living; I felt it this past weekend, the images were sharp as the late fall North Texas sunrise. We stepped away from the waiting room. It is dedication, to our children and our lifestyle and our work and our play. There is a place that I look for and sometimes find where to push limits, for me it is of course the running. I run every day by habit and choice. Many are routine and unremembered. Some are more special, both the solitary mornings and the racing connections. And occasionally there is an extra special time, much more clearly captured as a life memory. And so, it was with my young son and friend, mutual admiration. We traveled, ate, slept and ran together literally a step or two apart for 36 hours and then for four more.
Bright sun, clear vision, teammates, and supporters. Testing each other altogether positive. And then he ran away, and I was sad, not sad but happy, a metaphor for the accomplishment of a son well raised. The clarity of that place and moment stays with me. Not a permanent separation, as we soon after reconnected those nine minutes. But I was really living as I faced the pain and my own mortal limits and fought them once again. Did I break down again or did I live up? I lived forward. The experience is so clear that I can touch it, and I want to go back there again, and again. So tomorrow I rise and relive and plan forward. Strength PIP.