i think spring might be starting.

it's always a tease to visit Philly in April because I'm reminded of the springtimes of yore- which begin in earnest in march.  The island is still relatively quiet, and the laughing gulls are squeaking away.  the ravine and the pines are full of such lush verdure that there's no trace of there ever being a winter here at all. 

Spring, more than any time of the year is a time I reflect.  It's scent for me that is most strongly tied to memory, and the lilac and wisteria and hyacinth all bring me back to days which were nothing short of enchanting.

I brought Owen to the ravine- which conveniently enough is my father's backyard- and I showed him the words and dates on the trees that a much smaller me carved out with a knife- memorializing a more innocent time of tree climbing and poison ivy having.  He is much closer in age to myself then than I'll ever be again.  and still the creek trickles on below whether we're down there or not.  I haven't been there in ten years.  Well, I have.  but not in earnest.  just one of those instances of never really being able to go home, I guess.  so much time offshore has brought me to new homes, and I suppose I've seen too much to ever really sew roots somewhere and not find myself restless for the places and the people I have loved.   

all things considered, I find myself wondering how I've arrived at this station of life.  a tiny little barefoot alpha girl in her dad's race shirts who wanted just to run forever and never be assed by the norms of society- have her heart (and her Champagne glass) always be full, and always have lots and lots of wide open space that goes on forever.  That was me. 

I never thought I'd be somebody's Mom.  But here we are- and it is Springtime that  introduces the urgency to go back and be sure that my son lives out a childhood full of every single thing that made mine so astounding.  I feel like I never did construe a proper anthology of the days spent wholly out of doors, with dirt beneath our nails, swinging hammers, and running through rock quarries, along the dunes, and through fields of wheat. 

final thoughts before race day-

time to head south-

 
   bags are packed.  I cannot go back and change any of my training.  all that is left is to pin my number on and perform the way I've always performed.  with more efficiency.  this is not an ultra marathon.  this is not a race I aspire just to complete.  there is no trail, and no track.  just one long, straight sprint from A to B that I've done ten times before on this familiar course.  it is not scenic.  but the city streets are full the entire length of crowds watching all forty thousand of us pass.    

it's just a run.   and every year I make it to the finish faster than I ever did before.  I only race against myself. 

because that's all there is.