Tramping Home
I was on a flight to Cleveland with Einstein and Heisenberg, learning about time dilation, length contraction, and the wave-particle duality of light. I was also thinking, a little, about my own duality. What am I? Depends on how you ask the question.
This weekend I flew back north to meet my family and run the Athens Half Marathon. The weather was northern - frowning emoticon. I woke up Saturday morning to four inches of snow, which I shoveled in my wimpy kicks. Sunday, race day, I bundled up in layers of tee shirts, a new sweater I picked up at Wally World with my sister (along with a beet, by-the-by, which I ate raw for Greek, gladiatorial endurance), hat, gloves, etc., and braved the twenty-something cold. We ran the race in just over two hours (2:04:40). I remember showering back at the hotel, and the hot water felt very good on me, except for my hands which felt oddly cold under the water.
The old bike path... spring and summers tramping up steep northern-facing hills; the place I found ginseng; that long bike ride to Nelsonville as a young man, caught off-guard by the distance and surprised by a catfish splashing up a swollen drainage. Here I was, running it with one sister and her husband. He kept to a strict pace, but we pulled ahead, the both of us getting a little kick out of passing other runners. All the while, we chatted about life and aches, pains, and coldness.
Later that day, driving up to Big Mama's with my other sister, we talked about life, too. I often forget how young she is, how many lessons there are to learn, experiences to have. I want to condense everything I know into a few sentences for her, but it's much to big a task and so much is lost in translation. It's a question with two answers depending on the asking. But, then again, I might be worrying too much, trying to parent her, because at the same time, I often forget how old she is.
I guess I'm starting to wax poetic. I keep telling myself to make these posts short and sweet. So, one final detail. We drove down out of the mountains near Fancy Gap, and the whole peidmont spread out before us, my in-law and I. I pointed out Pilot Mountain in the distance, and he questioned me about the name. "Maybe because it's a landmark to steer by," he suggested. And so, we steered by it, and onto my little family waiting down in the pines.
This weekend I flew back north to meet my family and run the Athens Half Marathon. The weather was northern - frowning emoticon. I woke up Saturday morning to four inches of snow, which I shoveled in my wimpy kicks. Sunday, race day, I bundled up in layers of tee shirts, a new sweater I picked up at Wally World with my sister (along with a beet, by-the-by, which I ate raw for Greek, gladiatorial endurance), hat, gloves, etc., and braved the twenty-something cold. We ran the race in just over two hours (2:04:40). I remember showering back at the hotel, and the hot water felt very good on me, except for my hands which felt oddly cold under the water.
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| Princess Drinking Team crosses the finish line! |
The old bike path... spring and summers tramping up steep northern-facing hills; the place I found ginseng; that long bike ride to Nelsonville as a young man, caught off-guard by the distance and surprised by a catfish splashing up a swollen drainage. Here I was, running it with one sister and her husband. He kept to a strict pace, but we pulled ahead, the both of us getting a little kick out of passing other runners. All the while, we chatted about life and aches, pains, and coldness.
Later that day, driving up to Big Mama's with my other sister, we talked about life, too. I often forget how young she is, how many lessons there are to learn, experiences to have. I want to condense everything I know into a few sentences for her, but it's much to big a task and so much is lost in translation. It's a question with two answers depending on the asking. But, then again, I might be worrying too much, trying to parent her, because at the same time, I often forget how old she is.
I guess I'm starting to wax poetic. I keep telling myself to make these posts short and sweet. So, one final detail. We drove down out of the mountains near Fancy Gap, and the whole peidmont spread out before us, my in-law and I. I pointed out Pilot Mountain in the distance, and he questioned me about the name. "Maybe because it's a landmark to steer by," he suggested. And so, we steered by it, and onto my little family waiting down in the pines.
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