Running...

I'm a long-distance runner. I've been running since the 80's. Logged a lot of miles. I've had my spills, injuries, and time off. I've almost been hit by cars, bitten by dogs, accosted by mad men.

I've run in mountain terrain, on the beach, in the jungle, the desert, on a lone highway with birds of prey circling overhead.

There is some kind of undeniable kick to running. Probably something to do with adrenaline and endorphins. There is a certain madness to doing one thing so consistently.

I've often wondered if I'm running towards something, or away from something. Or maybe both.

Maybe I'm running just because I can.

Yesterday I trekked across the frozen tundra on the lakefront. It was a pretty lonely trek. Me and the lake, the snow, the ice, the brilliant blue sky looming above. It felt like going to church. A hard church made of ice and cold.

My prayers were the footprints I left in the snow behind me. I was alone, but I didn't feel alone.