For Times Gone By

We have been organizing a New Year's Resolution Run for more than a decade now - at least as early as 2004, because I have photographs going back that far.  Most of them have been taken by Bob Sutton, and although he is no longer running with us because of injuries, he showed up faithfully to take another photograph today.  We decided to have our run a day early this year because New Year's Day falls on Sunday and most of the runners in the photograph would have had to choose between going to church and going to run.

I always enjoy this run.  We encourage walkers and ex-runners and dogs, old and young, and it was good to find so many of each gathering at Founders Park in 27-degree temperatures to start (or end in this case) another year with a goal of staying fit.  I started out with the front runners, and then I circled back for the slow, the injured, or the happily walking (because I have been in all of those categories this year), wishing one and all a Happy New Year.  Then I circled back again, and again I passed friends going this way and that way on the frigid streets, finally hooking up with Fred and Jennifer as Fred finished out his 10-mile run - what a warrior he is!

I spent some time looking at all of the photos, remembering past New Year runs in colder temperatures than today, in light rain, in blustery wind - "running about the hillsides."  Here is the earliest one I have, and it was indeed sobering to scan over the faces and remember the sunny days of past years.

Many of the runners in this photo were here again today.  But there are some who are no longer with us, and some who have crossed the final finish line.

Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And days of long ago!

For times gone by, my dear
For times gone by,
We will take a cup of kindness yet
For times gone by. 

We two have run about the hillsides
And pulled the daisies fine,
But we have wandered many a weary foot
For times gone by.

No SIM Card Installed

Technology can be frustrating these days.  Everything seems to be clicking along fine as I type this post, but who knows what hurdle Microsoft or Apple will place in this runner's path?  I have already narrowly escaping an unwilling upgrade to Windows 10 (check out the program "Never10" you Windows 7 lovers out there).  Yesterday I had to learn what a SIM card is and why, even though I successfully transferred the content from Martha's old phone to her new iPhoneSE and activated it two weeks ago, suddenly the message NO SIM CARD INSTALLED appeared and it has stopped working.

It turns out that SIM cards break just like everything else, I suppose.  So after reading countless articles on line and making a fruitless visit to a Verizon store in Clayton, I chatted with a faceless Verizon representative today who was actually quite helpful.  "The easiest way to check the SIM would be to try the SIM card from the other phone." suggested Gini.  "OK," I chatted back, "I can try that," but I told her I did not have the little SIM Card Removal Tool that the woman in the Verizon store had used earlier.  "You don't need a tool to pop it open," Gini said.  "An earring, or paperclip will work, too."  I had already found that my colored, plastic-covered paperclips did not work.  So I rummaged around in my desk drawer and found this little costume-jewelry brooch, which brought back wonderful memories, so fitting as we near the end of 2016:

I had forgotten that this little keepsake was in my desk.  My Mom, who died four years ago this coming January, had it carefully packed away among her things, with a hand-lettered note saying that my brother Fred had brought it back from Sicily on his first "Med" cruise.  Fred was a Marine, and so this little brooch reminded me of him, too.

And it popped the little drawer in the side of Martha's iPhone open immediately, as if it had been designed for that purpose, a purpose utterly unimaginable in 1964.

The new SIM card is on its way via FedEx.  Thanks, Fred - Semper Fi.  And thanks, Mom.

Running in the Fog

Today I ran six miles in unseasonably warm weather and thick fog.  Nobody else was out except for that couple I keep seeing walking their dog on Horse Cove Road.  The drizzle thickened a little from time to time, bringing me almost to the brink of discomfort but not over.  The fog was a little dazzling; I stayed on back roads because of the poor visibility, and the fragrance of the wet woods was all around me, the only sound my own footsteps on the gravel.  It made me understand a little bit that well-known and enigmatic line from Macbeth:

"Light thickens, and the crow

Makes wing to the rooky wood."

Round and round I ran, up Lower Lake Road, around Gibson and Harris - the route my companion runners now call "Mary's Four Miler" - back around by the school, and then finally braving Main Street where the cars were scant after all.  It was a misty twisty run in the thickening light this day after Christmas.

I am relieved that this holiday is over, after all.  It has been a stressful time as we have struggled with loss.  Now we can look ahead down the road to a new year, as I talked about in my previous post -  new races to run, new books to read (perhaps I will take up again that Ngaio Marsh book Light Thickens of which Wikipedia reminded me when I looked up the Shakespeare!), new music to listen to and to learn.  Let's go exploring!

Christmas Eve Run

I wasn't sure who would be running this morning.  It is Saturday, but it is also Christmas Eve with all of its time constraints:  obligations of family, holiday dinners, and candlelit services in churches.  But Bob and Skip were there, and after we warmed up a bit, Vicki and Jeff arrived.  The temperature was remarkably warm, perhaps the warmest Christmas Eve in recent memory.  We had run a mile and a half when we heard Fred coming up behind us, and then we passed Sam and Derek, too, all of us out for a Saturday run despite the steadily worsening drizzle.  Fred and I ended up running the longest - eight miles for him, nine for me - probably because we had fewer obligations than the rest.  I ended up running the last mile by myself, calling out "Merry Christmas" to the dog-walkers and shoppers on Main Street.

It was a good time to remember once again how much I enjoy the company of friends on the road.  I ran two runs entirely be myself, both of them 5-K time trials, on Monday and Thursday this week, and like most hard workouts I did not want any company.  Solo runs are a time for reflection and prayer, a time for practicing how to focus, a time for looking around and seeing the ever-changing world around us.  But it is a good thing to have friends, too, and to be enjoying together the gifts of running and health and fitness. 

We talked about upcoming races, books we wanted to read, vacations we were going to take; and we talked about larger plans too:  Skip moving to Tryon next month, Fred moving to another house.  It is the season for summing up what we have accomplished during another year - and in my case in particular moving forward after loss, accepting with gratitude the gradual recovery from injury - and for looking ahead with eager anticipation to the next one.  That's the phrase Fred told me his Preacher had been using in his Advent season devotional.  And my run today was a kind of devotional, as if often is.  The long road winds around and around the curves in the road ahead of us and we cannot see very far down it at all.  But it is true comfort and joy to be sharing that road with friends.

In the Dark of December

These are unusually mild days for December, and I have been enjoying walking the streets of Highlands on the days when I am not running.  It is great cross-training and, as I have declared in these pages before, a slower pace reveals a different world passing by.  It is a world seen and heard in more minute detail:  blue skies, the fragrance of chimney smoke on the air.  Today I walked beneath the outstretched tobacco-colored leaves of oak trees on Fifth Street that were still tenaciously hanging on as they will be for most of the winter.  They made a high, tinkling sound, like sleet falling lightly on the roof.  In the distance a hammer was being swung idly somewhere on Village Walk, where all of the roofs are being replaced by crews of Hispanic carpenters.  I could hear their jovial chattering and laughing as I walked up Chestnut Street.

If you walk through this little Town at night, it is even more magical:  all the lights are on, and the skating rink is beautiful even when unoccupied after dark.

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and the streets today were filled with visitors - families with children, folks exclaiming at the decorations in the shop windows.  I exchanged "Merry Christmases" with so many friends and complete strangers that I lost count.  Despite the alarming headlines in the national news, people in Highlands today seemed to be filled with a peaceful, amiable kind of seasonal warmth.  I am under no delusion that this is the way most of the world lives - strolling brick-lined streets with shopping bags in hand - but I decided to forget about Trump and Assad and refugees drowning in the Mediterranean for just a little while and simply savor the feeling of peace on earth, goodwill toward men, as we pray it might eventually be in God's goodness and grace.  Winter Solstice has come and gone and tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

“I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.

We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.”
 – Oliver Herford"

Unlike Any Other

My last post was about the rain and so is this one.  After such a long drought, it is wonderful to hear the rain on our roof during these December nights, to spend days gazing out the window at fog and drizzle. 

This morning I was doing my Tai Chi on the deck in light drizzle.  The early morning light cast a dim bluish light on the foggy yard below me, but midway through my morning session - I think I was at "golden rooster stands on one leg" - I became aware of shadows moving down through the yard:  two deer, strolling through the apple trees, turning to look at my slow movements but unperturbed by my presence.  I counted myself fortunate that they did not gallop off in terror, as if they thought I was a part of the natural world, like the hemlock boughs gently moving up and down in the breeze. 

My early-morning Tai Chi is such a part of my daily life that I look forward to going outside first-thing, regardless of weather conditions, curious to see what I can see.  If it is raining harder than this morning, or if the deck is slick with ice, I will stay under the overhang of the porch.  Each morning is completely different; each day is unlike any other.  Often I see a thin wash of bright golden light along the northern horizon where the sun is already beginning to fall on the side of Satulah and Brushy Face above Clear Creek Valley.  The school bus with its bright flashing light rolls past at precisely 7:20 a.m., brakes hissing in the curve below our house.  Sometimes I see snowflakes gently floating down.  I have had memorable mornings on sandy beaches watching the sun rise over the Atlantic.  But I am seldom rewarded as I was this morning by seeing these graceful creatures below me, so close and magical.

As I drove up the Walhalla road, I could see fog lying in the valley below, the trees along the road finally bare of leaves by mid-December, the rhododendron glistening with what had now become light rain.

I wondered if anybody would show up at for our Saturday-morning run and was pleased to see Bob in his car; we started off quickly, sensing that heavier rain was on the way.  The rain was really not very heavy - I have run marathons in much worse conditions, something Bob and I laughed about.  We passed two runners we did not know near the School.  And then Sam came up behind us and we rain together, and he had a story to tell, too!  He remembered running his first marathon while loudspeakers were telling people to take shelter from the thunder, lightning, and terrible downpour at the starting line.  And then the gun went off.

I know that drivers see us out in conditions like this and are certain that we are lunatics.  But if this is what lunacy feels like, count me in.  Each day is unlike like other; each run is completely different.

Sweet November Rain

I decided several years ago not to complain about weather conditions, and although there has been a little bit of grumbling and backsliding from time to time, I have not wavered far from that decision.  I recall one day several years ago when I was running with Fred and complaining about the "heat" (by which I meant temperatures in the 80s); he informed me that he had just returned from Atlanta that weekend where it was a very humid 98 degrees.  There really is nothing to complain about up here where runners from Louisiana and Savannah and Florida and "Hot-lanta" escape and join us during the summer for a little relief.  (Runners in those places begin their daily runs at 5:30 a.m.)  On the hottest of days, we run "The Shade Route," down to the end of Fifth Street, up Chestnut, and back around unpaved Lower Lake Road in the cool of the rhododendron, under the shade of towering trees.

So I am the last to complain about the rainy cycle we suddenly find ourselves in, after weeks and weeks of drought - 36 days without a drop of rain recorded at the Asheville Airport, and Gatlinburg in flames.  The wildfires have finally been extinguished, the water table is rising, the lakes are filling up again, and the mountain streams are gurgling under the roads where we run.  I ran up Big Bearpen yesterday morning (which I have avoided because of the dust), between the rain on Sunday and the rain this morning, and all along the way I could see little streams and waterfalls cascading down the side of the mountain.  It is a time of year for watching the weather radar, choosing the best opportunity to run, and perhaps actually getting wet again! 

After such a long drought, what a wonderful experience it is to get wet from time to time, the satisfying fragrance of fallen leaves all around in this sweet November rain, the Christmas lights sparkling in the fog, wet shoes squishing and splashing in puddles on the road.  And a warm home to which we return again in soggy thankfulness.

"He will give the rain for your land in its season,

The early and late rain,

That you may gather in your grain and your new wine and your oil."

 - Deuteronomy 11:14

Christmas Party

On Sunday afternoon, most of the local members of the Highlands Roadrunners Club braved a cold but very welcome rain and met for the Annual Meeting and a drop-in party at Mountain Fresh.  The side porch has a gas fireplace, and aside from the cumbersome picnic tables, it was a cozy place, the rain escalating from time to time to a downpour, then tapering off.  It was a time for seeing old friends who are not running at the moment, make new acquaintances, share memories and stories and plans for the future.  What a gift we share!  I counted 27 in attendance, including little Klara Wilmarth, nestled the whole time in a warm sweater at the chest of her father, Kevin, this future runner looking around with 8-week-old eyes at the commotion all around her.  We run for at least 27 different reasons, and many of  us spoke about what running means to us, and what Skip Taylor means to us.

In my newsletter I will write this:  "The guests of honor were Skip Taylor and MaryAnn Sloan, who will be moving to Tryon next January.  Skip was a Founding Member (AKA “Foundering Member”) of the Club and the Secretary for 20 years; he served in many capacities, helping with races, serving as Race Director himself, organizing the annual parties for the past two years, and raising funds for Scholarships and for the Kelsey-Hutchinson Founders Park.  He has been a steadfast friend and companion to many of us and we have enjoyed countless good miles out on the road with him over the years.  Both he and MaryAnn will be greatly missed by the Club, the Community, and First Presbyterian Church."

But that only touches the surface of our friendship, for we have shared many confidences during those long, deep, wonderful conversations out on the road, as the beauty of the world slides by and the road climbs and turns and meanders its way in deep shade and dappled sunlight, where ideas form and take shape.  There is little that compares to a genuine Running  Buddy!  I hope we will continue to meet from time to time and run some miles together.

Christmas Parade

Today was the day of the annual Christmas Parade in Highlands, so our Saturday morning running group was sparsely attended; only Skip, Bob, and Sam showed up, and I ended up doing the last five miles in my eight-mile run by myself.  I circled the block by Highlands School several times and noticed increasing activity every mile, and finally, by 10:30 or so, vehicles and floats were beginning to assemble over by Harris Lake.

There is nothing like a small-town Christmas parade! - lots of fire trucks and other emergency vehicles, the High School band (this year, inexplicably, the Franklin High School band marched), the Garden Club and their choreographed program, several vintage T-birds and Corvettes, many cute dogs attired in their seasonal best, the men of the free Dental Clinic dressed up like tooth fairies, and of course the Mayor up at the front and Santa in the rear. It is an interesting mixture of the secular and the religious (as, indeed, Christmas in America has become).

The Highlands parade also boasts something many small parades do not have - real camels, handled by three stalwart men from the Methodist Church, and Joseph leading Mary on a real donkey - "The Reason for the Season "  The camels are huge creatures, and somewhat alarming up close as they swing their heads curiously over the crowds lining Main Street. 

A Christmas Parade is not for the cynical!  Some years it seems as if there are more people in the parade than watching it.  But as I walked along Main Street, I found myself exchanging greetings of Merry Christmas again and again, with dozens of friends and neighbors and complete strangers. Of course it was bittersweet, tinged by memories of my Mom who used to enjoy these parades every year and my Father-in-Law who always drove the Mayor in his T-model, both of them gone and missed.  But life goes on and the parade takes place each year regardless of those who are no longer here.  That mysterious warmhearted suspension of everyday life this time of year that we call "The Christmas Spirit" began to materialize in Highlands this morning as Advent begins.