hurdle mills

i don't think i've been back here in the last 4 years when there wasn't something hanging over this place. my memories make me prejudice to, and judgemental of, my history here. when i see it now. i see decay in all forms and very little sustainability. it's not just related to the objects, either.

i don't live here. i'm not following in the footsteps of my dad's family and the 231 years of history they have here. it's just not my place. the old country store i used to get mountain dew out of the glass bottle for $50 cents is now gone. the pool has been filled in with concrete and there is a storage building built over it so more junk can be hoarded and left unused, wasting in the darkness. the fields lay unplowed, growing nothing but resentment in it's soil. early 19th century farm houses are abandoned and have porches falling in on themselves.

i remember sneaking upstairs in the house my father was born in and peeling newspaper off the inside of the attic ceiling that was used as insulation back in the war and reading the headlines and news from the mid forties...

the stearmans and airtractors, or what's left of them, lay rotting in decay. grass grown up through the holes in the fuselage where my grand daddy used to sit while he sprayed all the fields in this county and more. this same stearman where, as an 11 year old, he told me to hold the stick while he ate his bologna and mayo sandwich mixed with motor oil from the rotary piston engine...

i'm not that old. it doesn't seem like it was that long ago. what happened here? my memories are raw and still feel fresh, but eyes show me something else.

is this what's happening to america?

it's like this place just outgrew itself and nobody stayed. folks are growing old and dying, but none of the children have any interest in this place. no cable tv here. it's "an hour ta town". tobacco farming died, as it should have, but nobody wanted to farm anything else. industry left soon after. people stopped working hard and working together. now, it's a modern day ghost town. those who remain are the fortunate few who can still afford to pay the taxes or those who are too scared to leave because it's the only place they have ever known.

i've noticed the field behind the old church is overrun with headstones, but the pews are emptier when the preacher gets up to speak. they'll be adding another permanent resident to the field on sunday, and that's what brings me back here...

what happens now?

measuring

since the fracture, my running had been limited to spurts of progression. i was keeping it flat. allowing the tissue around the heel to reform and get used to rigors of running. i hadn't been to my trails on foot. i was scared of the instability and i had been advised against rushing back into the singletrack. today, after hitting a few other markers and milestones. the sun was out on a rare eugene winter day. i decided it was time.

i was nervous. virginity nervous. curiosity about how it was going to turn out. i had decided against working in some possible alternatives or bail outs. the mind was positive and forward thinking. the mind of the injured athlete is hypersensitive and full of demons. we step gingerly awaiting that twinge or ache to return and the ebb builds with every pain free step.

the rewards (if you can call them that) for time away from something you have spent a great deal of time on, is that you get to see things anew. discovering the grass beat down by the changing of the season. a new bridge completed by volunteers. trail work enhancing an overused area. even new construction in an area you have passed a thousand times and never noticed before until you saw the landscape reshaped by clearing and earth moving. in some ways, it's a re-dedication of sorts to your spirit. allows you to reappraise that which you usually take for granted from periods of overexposure.

it wasn't my longest run, but it was the best one of the year. i am sure those sharing the trail with me wondered what the fuck i was smiling at...i am not going to apologize. if i could share with them the last 6 months, maybe they would understand. maybe not.

it's good to be moving forward.

cartagena

eat like your poor and smile often. respect the local beer and enjoy the freshly caught pescado whenever you can. run shirtless and sockless and don't set an alarm. making friends with folks who don't speak your language, but don't seem to mind that you don't speak theirs, either. realize that juan valdez has become the starbucks of colombia and avoid at all costs. accept a piece of tin foil as the "lid" for your coffee cup. look both ways because they aren't looking for you. smack yourself to see if you have died and gone to donkey heaven. go to parties that feature african dance and mariachi's. hugs. wisdom. guidance and knowledge. history of battles won and lost. 3 wheeled, pedaled, coaster brake'd rolling businesses that will sell you lunch cooked right in between the wheel wells. love. fireworks. good scotch and a new year. lucha libre with a moustache and a tuxedo...yep.