Tom’s Run hurt. It hurt a lot. But, like everything but death, we humans have great capacity for getting over it and coming back for more.
I’m back.
In mid-September I’m going to wade into a 12 hour run with Bob (the intrepid 100 miler *finisher, btw* from Tom’s Run), Amanda (who crewed like a mad dog for me at Tom’s, suffering through those last 14 miles with me), and Dan (my equally intrepid business partner). It’ll be a funfest. Goal=live to tell about it. Subgoal (that I’m not telling anyone) = run 40 miles.
Woo-freakin-hoo (and stuff).
For many years now I've left a trail of flecks across the Internet. Just begun novels; explorations of culture, music, writing, food, the future, mountains, long distances, shallow oceans, deep canyons, oddly-composed music, even more oddly-constructed poetry, impassioned editorials, strident analysis, and a slew of images, sounds, and scribbles. Most of this has passed into the aether, waiting only for some semi-sentient algorithm to pull it from obscurity twenty years hence. In the meantime, there is this lodestone, gathering what it can.