The mist hung heavy on Sunset Mountain this morning. Their tendrils drew me up the mountain on ribbon of wet pavement. Tallulah and my Sweet Lady have decamped down east for a visit to little Maggie. I have stayed behind for the honor of preserving and emboldening the indigenous musical and brewery arts. Since that will occupy most of my day tomorrow, today’s special feature was the long run.
In retrospect, it should have been clear earlier in the process that this would be a difficult day. Some days the ole spring is just not in the step. Traveling down Garren Creek, nothing boded particularly ill, but little bode well either. Circling through the botanical garden, I proceeded through the University and up to the churchyard. Ambling below Grove’s park, I came to the base of Sunset.
The parkway stretched up the slope, and I began my climb. Before very long, Green Jack Kerouack appeared and we climbed together, talking about children, work, and the foolishness of running. Not intending to summit, Green Jack peeled off and left me to finish the climb alone. Having scaled these heights before, I was shocked to find that they had lengthened the road. The summit has been moved.
Because of this, I did not feel it was an abrogation of my pride to walk a step or two. It was an indication of either having bit off too much than I could chew or not enough for breakfast. Be that as it may, when I reached the top, the shift in gravitational pull was palpable. Like a drop of water which has found the continental divide, I began to roll down the far side and back toward civilization.
Twice again my pace would slow: once when I heard the song the sirens sing just before the hamstrings become ground beef and again when the tank was truly empty. The first lesson in this is to know better my route and not to improvise as the journey progresses. The second is to own that this little marathon adventure has entered a new deminision. Fuel is important. Water is important. Rest is important. So with that, goodnight.