Ran the straights today, walked the curves. My body is sore from the cross training regimen of chopping wood and hauling water. The water part is just for the rhythm of the sentence. Yesterday I walked and ran a little in the afternoon as promised. Took my camera and saw my neighborhood getting ready for fall. The late sun lit it up like gold hiding in pasture not yet gone to winter grey. This morning, in addition to an ambivalence about love and life and its demands, my stomach said enough of the muesli, let’s get back to eggs. Despite all the physical grumpiness, distance was run, time put in under a star filled sky, whose constellations played hide and seek with a rolling fog that is still hard upon the valley.  M was not there to describe the celestial journey but B and R took note. My favorite local Russian coaches were there again, wondering at the fog but warm weather after the days of rain. Miami was not like this she said. No, it was hotter and more humid he said. Then they laughed and started yelling out splits to their proteges. I was reminded yet again that running with purpose is not necessarily the same as training for an event. Sometimes the reward is in the distance, or the surroundings. Sometimes it is in the time over distance and sometimes it is in the companionship of other seekers out there before daylight. For me it is  a commitment to continuity and self expression requiring nothing more than a pair of shoes and an opportunity to take the first step.