"The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep."
Friday, March 30, 2007
When I got home from my run last night, I discovered the current issue of Runner’s World had arrived in the mail. And while I’m not a die hard magazine reader, I do enjoy perusing this publication. So last night as I sat at the kitchen table, I opened it up and discovered an inspirational article about an amazing person – Amy Winters.
A life long athlete, Amy ran the Boston Marathon in 1992 for a personal-best time of 3 hours, 16 minutes. Then in 1994 while riding a motorcycle, a car pulled out in front of her. The resulting accident crushed her left foot and over the next three years, she endured more than 25 surgeries. Eventually her left leg was amputated just below the knee.
"I was told in 1994 I wouldn't run again. That lit a spark in me.”
In 2006, she ran the Cleveland Marathon in 3:26.19 and placed 20th overall among 3,399 female finishers. Her time in Cleveland was a world record for female amputees.
Very impressive especially when you read her philosophy on attitude. Amy states matter of factly that her leg is gone and while there is nothing she can do about it, she can control how she deals with it.
I typically like to end a post with a quote and I don’t think I could have found a better one to finish this entry than what follows.
“I am not only trying to do this to prove something to myself, but also to show all people -- able-bodied and disabled -- that there are no limits to what one can do if you put your mind to it. The only limits that we have are the ones we set for ourselves.” – Amy Winters
Monday, March 26, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
I remember …
… it was a cold Spring day which would before nightfall, see 10 inches of fresh fallen snow covering the ground.
I remember …
… the first words I heard that morning were, “my water broke.” Simple words, yet profoundly significant.
I remember …
… witnessing the miracle of life first hand and holding him as he gazed up with a seeming expression of recognition.
I remember …
… the love I felt, how it engulfed me, how it brought overwhelming emotion and unashamed tears of joy.
I remember it all clearly … 26 years ago today.
Happy Birthday Ben.
I love you,
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
It felt great although my feet and knees doth protest a bit as I sit at this keyboard.
Are my Saucony Trigons done?
Are they destined for retirement?
Have their glory days passed?
I think so my friends ... I think so.
"All good things must come to an end." - attributed to Chaucer (circa 1374)
Monday, March 19, 2007
"Reality's truth is often bizarre." - Anon
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Cead Mile Failte!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
This picturesque setting is a favorite place for Bill and I but as evidenced by the number of people present, we are not alone.
Male and female, old and young, fast and slow catagorized the huge ensemble of runners, walkers, skaters, bikers and variety of canine critters who took advantage of the beautiful evening to gather at and traverse the greenway.
It's a great time to be living in the Blue Ridge.
See you out there.
“Dip him in the river who loves water.” - William Blake
Monday, March 12, 2007
Saturday, March 10, 2007
But as I traversed 5 ½ miles this morning, I thought of the all the times over the past few years my running partner, Bill and I, have experienced a vacillation in our regimen; often in sync and sometimes independently.
The causes for falling off the wagon so to speak are many and as I ran this morning, the spring like atmosphere led me to contemplate Bill’s other passion (and potential cause for increased vacillation); golf.
If you’ve perused Bill’s blog - Tow Da Line – you know he is an avid golfer. But I know he is not only an avid golfer, but also an exceptional one. And by exceptional, I mean both in terms of his skill at the game as well as his willingness to golf with those with little or no skill, like myself and in doing so, lend his expertise in helping one improve their game.
Golf for me is a very enjoyable exercise even though I consider breaking 100 to be cause for celebrations involving Dom Perignon and a fine Cohiba.
It is with this in mind I offer the following dissertation penned after a particularly challenging day on the links several years ago.
It goes without saying to step up to a tee box and address a golf ball in the presence of others is to, in a sense, expose and lay bare one’s self for all to see and more importantly, critique. However, the undeniable truth known to all who play or have ever played is that, it is the ball itself, which is the genuine intimidator. This small, seemingly unassuming dimpled orb sits smugly atop the erect tee, silently taunting and jeering as one struggles to dispel the voices of despair that incessantly echo within one’s ears.
As the golfer attempts to complete his or her pre-drive checklist; feet at shoulder width, head down, elbow locked, measured back swing, coiled release and follow through, the object of their obsession continually interjects painful reminders of; the ball swallowing pond to the right, the Black Forest where balls have been known to vanish forever on the left, the sand trap created by a meteor strike and the $896.22 that has obviously been wasted on clubs, lessons, videos, green fees and apparel.
Adding insult to injury, this demonic device will periodically fly in the proper direction, attaining sufficient loft so as to allow it to travel an acceptable distance, thereby perpetuating the illusion that one may actually possess some degree of knowledge about that which one is doing. Of course, it is very likely that whatever smattering of confidence such a shot may have produced, will be immediately and totally obliterated as the second shot will either dribble a pathetic ten feet along with a just excavated boulder sized clump of earth or will instead leap from the sod and fly in a direction that is exactly 90 degrees away from that which was intended. Either result inevitably produces a rejuvenated effort by the ball to further its goal of dominating its opponent to such a degree that what remains is no more than a wretched and dismal mass of poorly dressed goo.
Striving to survive this battle of wits and therefore their sanity, golfers often employ various tactics which are designed to improve their odds of overcoming the ball’s antagonistic attacks. These include wearing a favorite hat or sweater, carrying a lucky ball marker in their left pocket, sacrificially slaughtering a goat prior to beginning the round or drinking volumes of adult beverages before the hour of 10 am.
So why do we play?
Why do we subject ourselves to this abusive, sadistic ritual of self-degradation?
Two reasons, I believe.
The first is the thrill of the occasional good shot produces a sensation which is both euphoric and addictive, not unlike heroin. In fact, if the truth were known, I would speculate that many a 7-Eleven has fallen victim to the unstoppable cravings of a gaudily dressed golfer in need of money for green fees.
And second, in an obscure way, golf provides us an opportunity to restore some degree of balance into our lives by not so subtly reminding us we are about as far from perfect as anything can be.
Now if you will excuse me, I have a goat to slaughter.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
If you haven't yet done so, plan to visit soon. Oh and by the way, This guy is holding the starting gun from today's race.