Fourth of July

We decided over a month ago to dissolve the "official" Highlands Roadrunners Club.  Membership had been dwindling for some time, and we no longer organize races to generate revenue.  Over the course of 20 years, though, we raised nearly $18,000 for local fitness-related causes, mostly scholarships for deserving young local athletes.  For several years now, under the leadership of Derek Taylor, the Rotary Club has been organizing the Twilight 5-K and 10-K in August, and it has attracted many more participants than the races we organized (although it is unsure whether or not they will be able to hold it this year).  With the Covid-19 restrictions in place since early March, we cancelled all group runs, and there are no events on the calendar.

Still, several of us continue to run on our own "unofficially," in pairs, or in a larger group on Saturday mornings with appropriate social distancing.  Martha and I, Art and Vicki, Fred, Tom and Debbie, and Karen are all regulars.  The Club is still out there on the internet, too, so visitors continue to find us, which I have always particularly enjoyed.  We have met some very interesting runners over the years and continue to do so.  "I'm coming to Highlands for a week; do you know where I can run?" a complete stranger will ask in an e-mail, and most of the time a friendly runner will show up on a Saturday and we can have the opportunity of running a few miles together. 

This week, a young woman named Mary wrote such an e-mail, and she arrived on Saturday morning accompanied by her identical twin sister Susannah and their dad, John, who was a very accomplished marathon runner.  What a pleasure it is to run with new friends and to show them our usual running routes!  Karen and Fred were there, and we all started out on the regular three-mile loop, talking about anything and everything the whole time.  The twins had just graduated from Furman University, and Mary was training for the Chicago Marathon, keeping her fingers crossed that it would be held.  So many races have been cancelled this year due to the pandemic, including the famous Peachtree Road Race in Atlanta, which has taken place on this day since 1970 and has been completed by several of our runners. 

I had started early this morning, so by the time we had completed the three-mile loop I had five miles under my belt; but our visitors seemed to be enjoying having a "local guide" so much that I took them back up Chestnut Street (pointing out the route to Big Bearpen on the way) and around Lower Lake Road, which circles the Highlands Biological Station and picturesque, water lily-dotted Ravenel Lake, then past the Nature Center and the road to Sunset Rocks.  By the end of the morning, I had completed the eight miles that I had planned to run, and also met some new friends.  "It is always a pleasure to show Highlands to visitors," I later wrote to Mary; "It seems to help us look at it with new eyes and appreciate it all the more."  It is often that way when showing Highlands to visitors.  I remember several years ago my nephew helped us move my Mom here from Florida, and when we returned the rental truck to Franklin, he insisted that I stop again and again on the road along the Cullasaja River.  "Don't you have rivers in Florida?" I asked.  "Yes, but not like this one!" he said.  I had been taking the beautiful waterfalls, the steep gorge, and the roaring rapids of our own Cullasaja Gorge for granted.

The Fourth of July fireworks had been cancelled for this evening, but the streets were still filled with visitors and traffic was heavy for Highlands.  We decided to spend the evening quietly at home, enjoying one of my favorite dinners, Martha's recipe of salmon with peaches and mint over couscous and sugar snap peas.  It tasted especially delicious after eight miles!  And on our own private dining room deck.

We sometimes wonder why so many people never use their deck for dinner.  There is nothing like al fresco dining here in Highlands, surrounded by the heavy fragrance of rhododendron blooming in such great profusion - like little explosions of fireworks - all around us, watching the sun disappear behind the trees across the road.