My hometown

I went back to my hometown earlier this week for my friend's funeral. And yes, I packed my running shoes. The morning of the funeral I pulled myself up early out of the bedroom in my mother's house that used to be mine. I hit the streets. That first mile was anything but pleasurable considering I had spent the better part of the previous evening with another old friend, drinking beer and eating peanuts, talking about life and our departed friend. As a result I chose a flat route in which the first mile or so had a slight down hill grade.
As I ran, I saw kids walking to the high school where my eyes had been opened to so many possibilities. I ran past the elementary school I once attended. I came to the corner where as a sixth grader I was the spiffiest crossing guard you'd ever want to see. I realized the tree I had spent so much time leaning up against was now gone. I saw young mothers pushing their children in three-wheel jogging carriages and remembered carrying my own kids until they could walk, and then run, and then outrun me.
And, of course, I thought of my friend who is now gone. I wish I could say I had a startling ephiany (heck, I can't even spell it)or that the clouds opened up and God spoke to me of what my life will be. But those things didn't happen.
At the funeral later, I did have a strange feeling of peace and actually joy in seeing some old friends I hadn't kept contact with. How weird, they must have thought, that this pallbearer just flashed an ear-to-ear grin.
And when I put the flower and my white gloves on my friend's coffin and said my final goodbye, I felt strong enough to hold up the crushing weight of sorrow.
Is this about running? Heck no. I guess it's about living, about putting your shoes on and starting down the driveway, even when it's rainy, even when you feel a little sad . . .

5 miles through the suburban streets of my youth. A promise to stop dwelling on the loss of my friend, he would want me to be focused on training to conquer Hurricane Point (and, yes, I'm speaking metaphorically as well).