Moments

Buddhists will say there is no future or past, just a series of moments in the present. These are the "nows".

I ran 3.5 miles with Denise early this morning. We looked for the bats that often are flitting about in the pre-dawn light, but saw none. The day was already entering the time of birds.

I ran another 4.5 miles alone after depositing Denise at our doorstep. On the return home, cresting the hill on Backus Drive that I dubbed "Mt. Tendonitis" years ago, I looked eastward, down the street at the remaining half mile. At the end of the street stood the mimosa that Denise and I have watched grow green with leaves and beautiful with flowers. In the late summer, these have faded. The sun was rising over the tree-line peeking through Delacroix-esque cloud cover. I could see steam rising from the earth from last night's rain. Around me was the chorus of birds awakening to their daily feeding.

The beauty of thee moment did not occur to me, my mind dulled by the accumulation of miles as I build to a 50-mile week. But it was not forgotten either.

The distance runner experiences miriad moments such as this.