A New Season

Fall officially arrived at 10:21 Thursday morning, and it is beginning to look like it in Highlands.  The tips of those maple trees next to the Presbyterian Church on Fifth Street look like brushes whose tips have been dipped in crimson paint and are standing on end. 

The Joe Pye weed is nodding along the road, the jewel weed is flecking the woods with gold, and the burning bush has begun to blaze.

It is beginning to feel like it, too, cool enough in my chair on the deck this morning to see the steam rise in wisps from my coffee cup.  It is surely the best time of year for running, which is why so many races are held here in the South during these coming months.  We are eyeing some of them, starting with the Autumn Breeze 5-K on October 2.  And who knows what more?  It is a new season.

Buck Trott

I have attended too many funerals this year, and I wonder if that is normal for someone of my age.  Now Buck Trott has finally succumbed after lingering in Fidelia-Eckerd for a very long time, not knowing family and friends in the past few months, and I attended his funeral today at the Church of the Incarnation.

I knew him when he was a vital, energetic, hearty Mayor when I served as Town Administrator.  He knew every single employee of the Town by name, and would often visit the Warehouse on Poplar Street at lunch time to talk to them; he was a tireless advocate for good salaries and good benefits, and he appreciated (as did I) the important and often thankless jobs of the Electric Crew and the Sanitation Crew.  Well into his 70s he still had more energy than most of us.  I remember "fighting the good fight" with him on more than one occasion.  Once we left for Raleigh early in the morning to battle against some misguided folks down the river who were trying to thwart our plans to expand our environmentally superior wastewater treatment plant.  I remember him standing and passionately addressing whatever Committee it was - everybody in Raleigh knew Highlands when Buck was Mayor! - and persuading them by, I think, his sheer earnestness.  At the end of a long day we were driving back to Highlands, and it was growing late; I kept asking, "Buck, would you like me to drive?  Take a break?"  But taking a break was not his style.  "No, I'm fine," he would insist, and then embark on the next topic of conversation, looking at his instrument panel in the dark, as I imagined he did on one of those many missions he flew in Vietnam; I could almost see him gazing left and right to check his engines.  He sometimes attributed his good healthy and energy to his exposure to Agent Orange, which I decided might be a Fountain of Youth if a soldier could outlast it.

He did so much for the Boy Scouts and the Church of the Incarnation, and when he was no longer Mayor he stayed involved in everything.  He delivered home delivery meals to my Mom every week for a long time.  "How's your Mom?" he would always ask.  And, of course, he was the best Santa Claus anyone has ever seen.

Now he has flown his final mission.  And I will miss him.

Climbing into Fall

I have written in this blog before about climbing to the summit of Big Bearpen mountain.  It has become a weekly event for me on Mondays, and since returning from our trip out West it has paid just as many dividends as the weekly long runs and the intervals.  Two weeks ago, upset about the sudden death of my father-in-law, I even ran it twice.  You can burn up a lot of stress running up therapeutic mountains like this one!

We cancelled our planned trip to Cades Cove this year, too, an annual outing which had been scheduled for Friday (Alan's birthday) and Saturday (Jane's birthday).  It was surely not the right time to leave and we could not have enjoyed it.  But Anthony, Sharon, Vicki, and Art all went and Anthony took this gorgeous photo, which made us want to return to this magical place next September, or perhaps even sooner.  As I was on the way down Big Bearpen this morning, I ran into Vicki on the way up, and stopped to ask her all about the weekend; eventually, I decided to run with her to the summit again.  And by the time I reached the top the second time, all of the lingering fog had disappeared and you could see far into South Carolina, and around the back side Whiteside Mountain stood out clearly against a blue sky.  Leaves had begun to turn a golden shade on some of the oak trees on the summit.

And so I felt that I was climbing the summit of another season this morning, leaving behind not only the hot and humid mornings, the thick curtains slanting through green trees, but also the heartbreak and the sad memories of the past.  I felt that I was climbing with renewed strength into new possibilities, a place where the bright colors and the distant vistas grow clearer once again.  Climbing into fall.

Alan Lewis

I see that my last post on this blog was August 29 and it was called "A Little Suffering."  The rest of the week was very encouraging - Big Bearpen on Monday, a set of 400-meter intervals on Thursday, and 10 miles on Saturday as planned.

But everything can change so rapidly, in the blink of an eye.  Martha was talking to her Daddy on Saturday night a little after 7:00 p.m., finding out about his day.  It had been a good one for him, too, taking his King Midget to Town twice (pictured below with his friend Bill) - visiting with his fellow lovers of old cars on the Loafer's Bench on Main Street - and now he was sitting in his favorite chair watching NASCAR on television.  And then suddenly he stopped talking, and just like that he was gone.  "Out, out, brief candle."

The rest of the evening was a blur - the frantic dash to Town, the blue and red lights flashing in the dark, the EMTs there in less than five minutes working as hard as they could to bring him back - but Martha knew in her heart that he was already gone.  His 86th birthday would have been September 16, and now there is a large void left where this decent and gentle man used to be, his wonderful sense of humor, his devotion to his family and his church.  We miss him so very much!

But he always insisted after all that he was living on borrowed time; his own father, a Methodist minister, had died in his sleep at the age of 51 of a heart attack.  And surely this is the way he wanted to leave this world, with absolutely no suffering and no pain, as if God had tapped him gently on the shoulder and led him away in a moment when he was supremely happy.  Immediately after his death, the house was filled with an astonishing outpouring of love and support for Jane and the family.  He was buried on Wednesday, a sunny and unseasonably warm day, family and friends filling First Presbyterian Church and then gathering at beautiful Highlands Memorial Park to celebrate a life well-lived. 


And I will miss him, too.  I ran hard yesterday, and although he was not a runner he was with me every step of my run.  And now he has crossed the final finish line.

Rest in peace, Alan Lewis.

A Little Suffering

It's been more than a week since my last post, and I was thinking about that statement I made:  "This means I have to do some real work, and experience some suffering, if I am going to get back in reasonably good condition again." 

One of the earliest lessons I learned about running was that in order to get faster you have to do some training, and that training puts a runner out of the usual comfort zone and into the area of suffering.  There isn't anything wrong with simply running every day, at the same pace and distance.  Running like that has plenty of benefits.  But I remember standing at the finish line of our local 5-K many years ago with Coach Richard Smith, who at the time coached cross country for Highlands School.  "I'd like to be able to run a little faster," I admitted, as we were watching runners finish the race.  "If you want to run faster, you have to train faster.  You have to do speedwork," he said.  So I began to learn about interval training, from him and from other runners in our running club like Morris Williams (who is reaping the benefits of grueling hill repeats these days).  It is not easy to do this kind of running, physically or mentally, but it never fails to pay off.

Keep in mind that there is a distinction between pain and suffering.  I used to admire those T-shirts that brave young boys would sport at races that said, "Pain is weakness leaving your body!"  Those are the slogans you use when you have never been injured.  Real pain is your body telling you to slow down, or stop.  Suffering, on the other hand, can be endured.  And those of us who do speedwork on a regular basis suffer through it because the results are almost magical.  Week after week, those interval times become faster and faster, maybe only by a second or two, but there is definite progress.

My commitment to running intervals was reinforced when the daily motivational quotation I receive from Runner's World arrived in my in box today:

Suffer on,  fellow runners! 

The 2016 Twilight 5-K

It has been two weeks since we returned to Highlands, and I have been working on this blog ever since, going through the notes I took in my journal, and also taking care of all of the chores that have accumulated over 30 days - an overgrown yard and garden, new drapery rod for the sunroom (that suddenly collapsed in my hands when I went to open them last week), and all of the bills and mail that have accumulated.  You know how it is if you have traveled for some time:  returning is sometimes difficult!  But we have been rewarded by the memories we have, and updating this blog reminds me what a wonderful journey we had.  So many people have followed our journey on Facebook over the past month, and now perhaps some of them will read this blog.  My friend Christy told me at the race last night, "I want to come with you next time!"

Running - since that is what this blog (ostensibly) is all about - has also been difficult.  I fared pretty well from the long drive, because in reality Mini Coopers are designed for motoring and they are comfortable cars.  But I am terribly out of shape!  Over the past 30 days I managed to run only 14 miles, although admittedly they were runs so memorable that I will never forget them.  Last week I managed to get in 13 miles, and this week 15 miles, including the Twilight 5-K last night for which I was totally unprepared but was not about to miss.  (Martha had better judgement!)

This race has become a big one, and it is well-organized by Race Director Derek Taylor and the Rotary Club of Highlands.  The new timing system went well, and participation was up from last year despite the rain that, as expected, waited all day and then obligingly began to come down in cool, silvery curtains midway through the race.  I was surprised and gratified to win a second place award in my age group!  (Beaten out of first place by Mayor Pat Taylor).

But this means I have to do some real work, and experience some suffering, if I am going to get back in reasonably good condition again.  So be patient with me, fellow runners, as I struggle over the next few weeks, and as my speed and distance gradually improve.  Because I have faith that it will.

The next big challenge will be running the 11-mile Cades Cove Loop in four weeks.  And perhaps there will be a race or two before then?  Who knows? 

"Crossing the starting line may be an act of courage, 

but crossing the finish line is an act of faith."

– John Bingham

Chatanooga to Highlands

On the last day of our journey, I go outside to do my morning Tai Chi, and find myself gazing at a little mountain behind the hotel upon which a cloud had nestled overnight, just like it does in our part of the world, and it makes me a little homesick.  And then I run out of ink in my pen for taking notes in my journal!  I have run out of everything, including the last of the Holy Granola from San Simeon 4000 miles away.

Lookout Mountain is a revelation, a beautiful place, and I regret that we did not make a special trip here years ago to walk on these trails, through Fat Man's Narrow, up to Lover's Leap, through narrow passages, over gracefully arching rock bridges and across swinging bridges.

I have indeed run out of everything, because at the top of Lookout Mountain, a message comes up on my phone that I have no more storage and can take no more photos.  So I reluctantly begin deleting some of them, including a great shot of a soaring hawk that keeps circling high above us where we sit down for lunch at Cafe 7.   There we sit and enjoy the view of seven states, as advertised (although in the haze of the morning I admit that I could not see them all).

I know we are back in the South, in Tennessee, when our waitress tells us her name is Scarlett, and she grew up in Chattanooga.  "That river used to be polluted!" she said.  "But now it is beautiful."  And we have the quintessential gourmet foods of the South:  not tacos or pasties or buffalo quesadillas, but catfish, fried green tomatoes, pimento cheese, and succotash.

I have always enjoyed the drive back to Highlands along the Ocoee River (which we have made many times after marathons), site of the 1996 Olympics.

It is hard to believe that they were held exactly twenty years ago! ( I am looking forward to watching this year's contests when we return.)  Today the river is packed with white-water enthusiasts as it never is in December when we have always driven this road.

And so the roads become more and more familiar as we near Highlands - Murphy, and then Franklin, and then as evening approaches a lovely little town unlike any we have seen on our journey.

I try to take a photo of Main Street as we drive down it, but by now I have definitely used up all my photo storage.  But there it is, peaceful, with a little bit of August haze on the mountains.  It is good to be back home again!

And as if a book-end for our long 9000-mile journey, we pull in the driveway in heavy rainfall, dash down the walk in the kitchen, turn on the light switch, and . . . nothing.  Our power has been out since 11:00 a.m., we later discover, and will not come on until 1:00 a.m.  As it was the night before we left!

But perhaps it was meant to be.  Instead of busying ourselves with unpacking and doing laundry and sorting through our mail, which we have stopped to pick up at the Post Office, we sit at our little bistro table on the back porch in the waning light, straining to read the newspapers and find out all that has happened in our little town in our absence, enjoying a cool glass of Pinot Grigio.  And thinking back over the last 30 days and our epic journey across America in our little Mini.