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In Loving Memory Of My Father

 

I love to run.

Especially on days like today.  There was a magnificent sunrise. White swans floated silently through the mist rising from the Colorado River that runs near my house.

The stirring city was so silent this morning.  All I heard was my breath and the rhythm of my feet striking the path as I ran along the hike and bike trail that meanders alongside the river.

I love to run.

Especially on days like today. Where my breath comes easily and my muscles work comfortably, in unison, like a well-greased machine.

I love to run.

Especially on days like today when the words of my high school coaches – telling me I was not good enough to make the team and that I should join a club or play chess – mean nothing.

I love the fact that today I don’t need to be PICKED to run.

I don’t need permission to run.

I don’t need to try out to run.

I love the fact that I CHOOSE to run.

After failing as an athlete, in the eyes of the coaches throughout my school life, I enjoy the fact that I CANNOT and WILL NOT be cut from my team, this team of one, by anyone other than myself.

I love to run.

Especially in different places like Boston, Cape Town, Bujumbura, London, Nairobi and even Bronkhorstspruit.

I love to run.

Especially at dawn when I feel the spirit of my late dad running alongside me, the two of us breathing as one.

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