Passing and Redemption

As we cruise down Highway 20, eastbound through Texas, I flash back 14 years, to when we took the trip to Florida to meet my biological father for the first time. I was chalk full of anxiety, curiosity, and hope; not fully sure what to expect from a man who left before I was born and seemingly never looked back. Today, years after establishing a relationship, we undertake the journey once more, but this time with a heavy heart laden with resignation and acceptance. In three days time, I will say goodbye for the final time, and his body will lie in rest.

The journey to find my father was full of many intrigues, but was also ripe with regret, doubt, hope, forgiveness, and ultimately redemption.

At the age of 14, I began an earnest search for the elusive man who I knew only through a faded photo taken in the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs somewhere around 1980; a year or so before my birth. While my parents were concerned about what I might find when I located him, they ultimately supported my decision, and my search commenced. I wrestled with the decision as I was sure this was hard for my parents, especially my dad Frank, who had raised me as his own since I was a small boy. I simply held onto the hope that they knew how much I loved them.

For the next ten years, I searched the burgeoning directories available on the new fangled "world wide web", flipped through countless phone directories from several cities around the country where I believed he might have been, and placed countless phone calls to errant or disconnected numbers asking if they were - or knew a Mike Jordan.

I will pause at this juncture and say that my random placement of calls resulted in more than one hilarious and awkward conversation with a few Mike Jordan’s (or various women who answered), when I told of my search and confirmed they were, in fact, NOT my father. Hopefully, there were no unintended consequences when we hung up. Haha!

My father and step-mother - Mike and Houl

Finally, when I was 24, I decided to pay $250 to a private investigator in Goddard, KS, to locate him. Three days later, the gentleman called back and confirmed that he was living with his girlfriend in St. Petersburg, Florida. I recall well pacing on the front porch of my house, holding a scrap of paper with his phone number, debating whether to place the call. I did, and am forever grateful that I made that choice.

The next hour we spent on the phone confirmed he was in fact, the missing man I had been seeking for over a decade. About 30 minutes after we got off the phone, I received a call and spoke with my grandfather for the very first time. I learned that my grandmother, Ruth, had passed away just months before and that my grandfather had no knowledge of my existence before that night.

Roughly one month after the first call, and one DNA test later confirming everything, I was standing face-to-face in the humid Florida sun with my biological father. There was a slight resemblance to the man standing before me, but with his 6’3” tall height, I was now completely convinced I got the short end of the genetic stick. I’ll blame that one on my mom. ;)

Papa Bill and the boys

Over the days of the first trip, several significant things happened. First, and the most significant for me, was the recognition of the depth of regret he had experienced over the decades for his decision to walk away. The second, was when I met my grandfather – Papa Bill. Looking back, while I had hoped for a significant relationship with my father, it ultimately paled in comparison to the relationship built between my Papa Bill and I (but that’s a post for another day). The third significance was the new connection with numerous new family members into my life. Suddenly, I was meeting and connecting online with several aunts, uncles, and cousins around the country. I learned about an immense and extensive family history and learned significant medical background. A gap had finally been filled.

My Cousin Chis Jordan - he has some height too!

The past 14 years has had its ups and downs, as most relationships do. For the first few years, we talked regularly, as he was a history guy like myself, and we compared and shared books that we each had read. A few years later, he was in an auto accident that left him in a coma with a traumatic brain injury. After months of hospitalization and rehabilitation, he returned home but was never quite the same again. He could no longer work and despondency set in. Conversations became short, and his girlfriend Houl (who would later become his wife) and I often talked about his tendency to spend his days drinking coffee and staring out the window for hours on end. He battled numerous health conditions over the years following the accident and for the past 7 or 8 years was on dialysis at least four times per week. As time marched on, some normalcy returned and we talked intermittently and still traveled down to visit. He was a complicated man who chose to live a difficult life, and who made many decisions over the course of his life that ultimately caught up.

Aunt Karen, cousin Katie, and Uncle Paul

A week ago, amidst a busy day, I missed a phone call from him. When I called back the next day, Houl told me they were back in the hospital, and he had called because he wanted to talk to me. He was back in the hospital due to a poorly tended wound that had gone septic, and the infection was spreading. But I was too late to talk to him – his medical condition had quickly spiraled over the prior night, and he had slipped into a coma, suffered a massive stroke damaging his brain, and was on life support.

In the early hours of the morning yesterday, after several days of communicating back and forth with the hospital and Houl, I received the heartbreaking call from his nurse that despite their best efforts, the doctors were unable to revive him after his heart had stopped beating. He was gone.

A family shot a few visits back

As we travel down this long highway, heading down to finalize the funeral and lay him to rest, I reflect on the numerous things I’m thankful for. I’m blessed to have had the last 14 years to get to know my father; to see the similarities between us, to build a relationship, and for finding him. I’m thankful that he was able to get to know his five wonderful grandchildren and beautiful daughter-in-law. I’m blessed to have connected, and remain connected, with several of my new family members. I’m thankful for my little Vietnamese stepmother, Houl, who has loved him so incredibly all these years. I’m thankful for a loving mom and dad who raised me, and who trusted that my love and appreciation for them would never diminish by my search. And I’m thankful for the journey for it changed me in many profound ways.

I will miss talking on the phone, sitting around his living room recounting stories from our respective childhoods, and spending time talking about history or his latest medical ailment. During a conversation several years ago, during a very rare moment of personal reflection, he said something that will forever stay with me. He admitted he had made many mistakes over the course of his life that he wasn't proud of, but that I wasn't one of them. The childhood memories that stirred within me…wondering why someone would walk away from me before he knew me...no other words he could have said could have been more significant. The adage says “It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” Few truer words have ever been spoken.

Through forgiveness, redemption was found and a relationship restored. There are silver linings to be found in life's many circumstances...we simply have to open our eyes and look.

You were loved and will be missed. Until we see you again...

No Lonely Trails

A couple of days ago, I was trudging down a worn gravel road a few miles from my house after a long, but relaxing run. The weather was pristine; sunny and high 70's with barely a cloud in the sky. As often does when I'm out walking, my mind began to wander, and I found myself thinking about how similar life is to hiking down one of my favorite hiking trails.

There is a three-mile stretch of trail out at Camp Horizon that is one of my favorite places to run trails.  It's a twisty hodgepodge of trail complete with rocks, boulders, fields, wildflowers, woods, and prairie to run through.  In those three short miles, a person can experience a vast array of beauty, scenery, and wildlife. One of my favorite things about this stretch of trail is when you are on it for the first time, you have no idea what is coming up around each bend. No sense of what mystery awaits you.  If you're not paying attention, you might not see a tree root sticking up, poised to trip you. You might not see the tree whose branch is prepared to collide with an inattentive forehead. You also might not see the wild blue indigo whose flowering beauty comes into bloom in mid-spring.

Isn't life kind of like that? Full of wonder, surprises, pitfalls, and beautiful things?

I'm going to be very open and honest and say that for years, I had been so consumed with the pursuit of my career that I often left everything, and everyone, on the trail behind me. My singular selfish focus was on advancing my career. It took nearly a decade of racing down the trail before I ever even bothered to look around. As I slowed and glanced back down the trail...I realized there were only one set of tracks...mine. I was alone. It was at that moment, a couple of years ago, I made the decision to stop running and begin living my life. I decided opportunities would present themselves whenever life decided it was time, but I would not waste my life pursuing them at the expense of living. I would no longer let my career be my singular focus, but rather a part of the broader scenery that is my life.

So I started enjoying my life. Made a bucket list. Began enjoying the people around me. Heck, even made a few new friends. Started to appreciate the efforts of my friends at work and all they do for the college. I took time to slow down and look at all of the wonders I had been running by...without so much as a passing glance. Although I have not yet mastered the art of all of these, my journey continues by putting one foot in front of the other.

If you're lucky when you are out trail running, you sometimes get the opportunity to meet up with folks on the trail. If luck holds, you may even get to spend a few miles hiking or running with them. You talk about the trails, life, or whatever suits your fancy and for a moment you are simply enjoying their company...no longer worried about where the trail is taking you or how difficult the terrain may be.

A few years ago, about the time I started to realize there was more to life than my career, our trail began to merge with a few others. Before we knew what was even happening, our path had become intertwined with a few other couples from the area. We walked and talked along that trail, got to know each other, spent long late nights laughing and enjoying each other's company.  We have had many memorable moments on cruise ships, down trail races, around kitchen tables, and a myriad of other places we have all been together. Some of my favorite moments have happened in our cedar lined backyard by the bonfire, wrapped up in blankets on a cold night, having a beer or two and enjoying unguarded and honest conversations. Simply being in one another's presence.

Along our journey, we discovered we shared many of life questions and concerns; kids, marriage, career, anxieties, joys and so on.  In them, we have found a companionship that runs to the very depths of the heart. They have touched our lives, touched our hearts and have left their mark on the very fiber of who we are. They love us for who we are, flaws and all. They don't ask us to conform to any expectations or pass judgment. They just love. And in return, we do the same for them.

Another close friend recently told me of a quote by Favia Weedn that seems to sums it up nicely:

“Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some people move our souls to dance. They awaken us to a new understanding with the passing whisper of their wisdom. Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon. They stay in our lives for awhile, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same.” 

Life is temporal and all journeys will eventually draw to an end.  As we move along, ever closer to the end of the trail, I won't have to look back and wonder what I will find. Rest assured there will be other footprints on the trail behind us...left there by friends traveling right by our side. 

Stepping off the Cottonwood Tree

Here I sit on my weather-stained front porch – warm cup of coffee in hand as the sun begins to climb over the eastern horizon. For people like me, who spend many of their days under fluorescent lighting and glued to a desk, there are fewer joys than taking in the fresh air of country life. It hearkens back to earlier years…

You see, I spent a great deal of my childhood when I wasn’t in school or stuck in detention (stories for another day), wandering the woods and trekking alongside the streams of our families small farmstead. Our little 40-acre slice of heaven had three ponds, a large creek, and a small spring fed stream that lazily twisted and turned down the property until it spilled into the creek. During warm summer days, I would hook the old wagon up to the faded old Arien lawnmower grandpa gave us, and putt-putt-putt our way down to Eagle Creek – the small shallow creek that formed the southern line of our property.

We would walk out to the gravel sandbar, and I would bargain with my brothers to jump in the creek and swim. It seldom worked, but I was never one to let someone hold me back, so I would usually just swim by myself.   I would crawl out onto an old fallen cottonwood tree, which had been uprooted years earlier during a flood and now lay across the entirety of the creek.  I’d make my way out to the middle of the tree and stand up tall, close my eyes, plug my nose and jump off into the deep swimming hole.  The chilly water of the murky, muddy creek washed over me and for a half-hour while my brothers watched both petrified and envious from the shorelines, there wasn’t another care in the world. After a while, I would climb out of the creek, dry off and we would putt-putt-putt back up to the farmhouse (for the sake of my brothers being sure I’d hit every bump on the dirt path I could find…)

It is moments like these I pray my kids have the opportunity to experience. It’s one of the driving factors for why we decided to look for a homestead of our own on which to settle. When we finally happened upon an available farm to buy, it took me only seconds to decide we would buy this neglected piece of property – complete with acres upon acres of johnsongrass and junk – and turn it into our home. Each night after hours of hard work getting the house ready to move in, we would put away the tools, and occasionally I would stop for a brief moment to take in the twinkling of stars, something I haven’t truly noticed since my childhood. For that one moment, I would realize there is more to life than the race and chase of a career. More to life than the constant push to give into our consumer culture. More to life than often we realize or remember is there.

Decades after wandering my childhood farm, I have a wife and five kids of my own and finally appreciate one of the greatest gifts my parents could have given me; a place where my imagination could run as free as the wind that raced through the trees around me. Years from now, when I lie in bed at the end of what was a long and meaningful life, surrounded by cherished family and friends, I pray one of my final thoughts will be of bare naked feet pressed to the bark of a fallen cottonwood tree moments before I plunge into the water.

Lake Perry Rocks - Half-Marathon Run Report

Me

I think it's possible I'm growing obsessed with running.  It has  gotten to the point at times where I have to make a conscious effort to keep my conversations in check around people so they don't end up a) casually - but noticeably - looking for an escape from the conversation or b) giving an obligatory 'uh huh' accompanied by an agreeable head nod to get me to stop talking.  It has gotten humorous at times, but serves as a good reminder that we don't all share the same passions in life - even if I think mine has a unique ability to...say...prolong your life. 

A few weeks ago I took a trip up to Topeka with Jeremy and his son Dylan for a run in the Lake Perry Rocks half-marathon trail race. While I have a natural tendency to want to stack it up against Flatrock (humans sure do like to sort, compare, and measure things right!?!?), I've come to learn in my infantile stage of trailing running it is impossible to fairly compare any two trail races.  It's like comparing siblings; while there are obvious similarities, it's their difference that make them unique. To hold them to the same standard is to do neither justice.  That said, I'll attempt to avoid comparison and give this as independent judgment as I can.

Lake Perry's trail has a very gradual ebb and flow about it with most hills not mounting too much of a challenge for novices like myself trudging on the road toward peak physical condition.  There were a nice mixture of surfaces ranging from a traditional single dirt trail, to pea sized gravel, stony paths, and naturally plenty of tree roots reaching up to grab at your ankles.  Fortunately, I only fell once after hooking my foot on just such a tree root, but was saved from a nasty downhill spill by a thin tree that broke my fall and scuffed up my palms a bit. The grunt I let out upon loosing my footing caught the attention of the guy about 50 yards down and around the bend, and he was good enough to ask if I was "... alright back there?"  I am a believer of the 'don't waste your money running the event if you're going to whine about it' school of thought, so I dusted my hands off, let him know all was well, and continued on down the path.

Jeremy

 

For someone looking to get their feet wet with a competitive trail race longer than 5k, this would be an excellent way to put in some miles and do so without feeling like you've bitten off more than you can chew.  The weather was absolutely perfect, and being someone who doesn't find cold-weather running appealing yet, was fortunate to land a beautiful clear day for the run.  This is of course, the time of year when tree are beginning to blanket the forests with freshly fallen leaves, so the course itself was truly a sight to see.  The leaves also offered an additional obstacle of its own as highlighted by the Race Director when he reminded us "With the freshly fallen leaves...be prepared because it's 'trail by braille'."  Despite the inability in places to see the rocks beneath the leaves, most appeared none the worst for wear at the end of the race. 

Ben - Jeremy - Dylan

As with the last race, the one setback that continued to plague me was cramping.  Despite bringing a healthy amount of Hammer's Endurolytes along with me, which I might note I consumed 12 of throughout the race, I was about 8 miles out when my left calf began to tighten.  This time around I made sure to stop and stretch it out rather than attempt to run through the cramping. As a result, the pain and cramping this time around was much less frequent and far less intense than my legs endured at Flatrock.  I picked up a good piece of advice a few weeks ago from our college cross country/track coach that perhaps my issue wasn't in training or electrolyte imbalance, but rather I need to reduce or restrict the amount of caffeine I take.  Given the fact I was going through a gallon of sweet tea every two days, he may very well have a point.  I've since cut my caffeine intake dramatically and have stopped drinking sweet tea at home, so we will just have to see what happens this next time around.

Why Run?

Snapshot of the trailhead at Camp Horizon where we train.

Since taking up running recently, I've been asked numerous times by co-workers and friends why I would pick a sport that takes as much effort and conditioning as trail running.  So, I thought I'd take a moment to put into words what has led me to where I am...and the proverbial trail I'm headed down.

About 3 years ago, I picked up a book that a buddy had recommended I read - Wild At Heart by John Eldredge.  Until a little over a year ago, the book had remained tucked away on a shelf in my home office, all the while collecting a fine layer of dust.  After finishing another of my books, I was shuffling others around trying to find something worth investing a little nose time in.  Recalling it was a 'recommended' book by a friend, I picked Wild at Heart and began reading.  Although I would hesitate to say it profoundly shaped my life, it did awaken in me the idea that I had distanced myself from the very nature that God had created me to commune with.

I was raised on a small 40-acre farm in Lyon County Kansas, neatly situated between the little rural towns of Olpe and Hartford.  Throughout much of my childhood I can reflect on countless days spent roaming alone through the woods that ran behind our house, crunching through the underbrush during the fall, and breaking out my pole to fish the spring-fed back pond when the weather began to warm up in spring.  We didn't have a central a/c unit in our house, and only turned on the window unit when it reached extreme temperatures, so when the sticky hot days of summer came along, I'd load my little brothers into a yard wagon and I'd tow them down with the riding mower to the back of our property to swim in the creek.

As I grew older and hit high school, we moved off the farm and into town (Olpe) and I spent more and more time indoors - going to school, washing dishes in a local restaurant, and getting hooked on computer games and TV. Looking back, I was never even aware I had gradually walked away from an intimate relationship with nature.

While examining the origins of my faith, when we look at the life of Adam, we see a man who at every turn in his life was intimately engaged with the land in which he lived.  Prior to their fall from the Garden of Eden, he and Eve were immersed in a paradise which I imagine made the rainforests of Brazil look like offshoots of scraggly sagebrush.  After snacking on the now infamous fruit, he and Eve were cast out from the Garden and sent off to live a life toiling in the dirt struggling to make crops survive.

Since the dawn of time, mankind has been integrally linked with the earth, depending on its bounty for nutrition, shelter, clothing, and our very survival.  While we still have a dependance on the earth for the basic necessities of life, we find ourselves in an era where our food is as manufactured as the vehicles we drive and arguably more dangerous.  That however is a rant for another blog at another time.

So here I find myself at 30 years old, out-of-shape, overweight, and looking for a way to reconnect with the memories and fond experiences the outdoors held for the years of my youth.  Last year, through the mentorship of my church pastor, aka Pastor James, I spent several early mornings creeping through a field with him up and climbing up a two-man tree stand to bow-hunt deer.  Granted, I didn't get a deer last year, but at the end of the day it was less about bagging a doe and more about spending time observing nature at work. 

Trail at Camp Horizon - about 1.5 miles in.

Why I have now taken up running all comes down to the fact that in some primal and innate way, I just miss being outside.  I miss the scent of rain just minutes before it arrives. I miss the smells of burning pastures and fresh cut alfalfa.  Most of all, I miss the sounds of life that accompany a quiet walk or jog by myself through the woods.  I've recaptured pieces of these, and as I continue to strive to reconnect with nature, this time around I won't be foolish enough to let go.

How I got to the Flatrock 25k...

A Little Background
Up until a couple of months or so ago I would have never classified myself as a 'runner'.  In fact, I have always been more of a 'If you want to run, I'll bring you Gu and Gatorade at your marathon stops' kind of guy.  To be forthcoming and honest with you - I would have rather opted for a colonoscopy than pick up running.  I really saw no point in lacing up my shoes, running long distances (which until recently I qualified 'long distance' as anything greater than 1 mile), and coming home smelly, exhausted, and sore.  It kind of reminded me of NASCAR where they drive around in circles for hours...what's the point?

Now, in the interest of full disclosure I had run a few races in the past couple of years at the poking and prodding of my wonderful wife Rachel, an avid runner and resident promoter in our household of healthy choices.  In the past races, all four of which were 5k runs, I earned nowhere near what I would classify as a quick time.  This was evidenced by having paced with, and later handily beaten by, a 7-year old in the local Ready?VanGogh Race for the Arts a few months ago in June.

One important thing you need to know about me before we move any further into this post - there are three personality characteristics I struggle with.  First, I despise anything I'm not good at. Second, if I'm told there is something I can't do...be prepared for me to do it...and chances are achieve it.  Finally, I have to try doing something at least once.  It doesn't matter if it's eating peculiar food or bungee jumping off the Navajo Bridge (470 feet drop...and yes...it's on my bucket list).   It's kind of a nasty little joke I believe God played on me while I was being stitched together in the womb.  It has driven me into more trying situations than I care to admit - the latest of which is more commonly known as the Flatrock 25k - a remarkably challenging run through captivating hills surrounding Elk City Lake that you would swear were right out of a movie scene.

So my wife and I have another couple from church we've gotten to know really well - Heather and Jeremy.  Rachel and Heather stack up well when it comes to running and they train together often with other women in our church.  Jeremy and I stack up well because frankly before 2 months ago, we didn't train at all.  Well it happens that Heather ran the Flatrock 25k last year in 4hrs and 40 minutes and I remember thinking at the time that she just might be a little off balance. Seriously - who runs for almost 5 straight hours??  What could a person possibly do to occupy their mind for that long??

Looking back, I'm still not sure how Jeremy and I were talked into running Flatrock, but I can distinctly recall the moment I clicked the "register" button online after paying the entry fee.  There was a queezy drop in my stomach upon realizing with one click I had just invested money into running this race.  When money is spent, there is no going back.

So let me lay this out in plain view - the entry money is paid, Jeremy and I are nowhere in the shape to run this far or this complicated of a course, and we have a few months to go from zero to hero. I'll save you the training details, but will say that we worked harder than I've worked in my life to get ready for this race.  We managed to set new personal distance records nearly every time we ran, lifted weights every weekday, and both of us began to feel and look better than we had in years.

Flatrock...

The night before the race, after cruising along the lake roads and jumping out of our car to chase a rogue armadillo, we reached the main camping zone where the staging area for the race has been set.  It was evident within seconds of walking into the pavilion to check-in that we had entered another dimension - one in which people were remarkably gracious and treated us like old friends.  After Jeremy and I and our wives sat down to carb-up on some amazing spaghetti and meatballs (and a side-salad covered with a delectable onion dressing one of the volunteers suggested I try), we headed back to catch some shut-eye before the big race the next morning.

Flash forward a few hours. It's race morning.  We arrive and go through the traditional pre-race routine by stretching out, loading our Osprey hydration backpacks, taking our energy drinks, and walking down to the starting line.  Usually I'm a pretty nervous wreck at the start of any kind of race, but the ONLY thing going through my head at the time was "What the heck am I doing? I've never ran 15 miles! I'm not sure I can make my body do this!".  The countdown however had already begun and there was no turning back now. 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...GO!

Up the blacktop we ran for the first quarter mile or so until we reached the edge of where the trail merged with the wooded area.  It was there I quickly realized the training we had done running trails at a local church camp didn't make the cut when it came to prepping for this course.  For those who may not have encountered this race before, it's basically 7.5 miles out to an aid station at which point you turn around and run the trail back to the finish line.  There is one additional aid station somewhere around 3 miles into the course that you encounter on your way out and back.  Jeremy and I stuck together for the first 3 miles, but it was apparent he had the endurance to run a little faster and was better equipped to handle the uphill running that we encountered, so when we hit the first station I told him to run as fast as he needed to as it was obvious my pace wasn't going to be able to match his.

Most of the run I spent alone, lost in my thoughts and observing the reactions my body had to the course.  I've learned through the training, and subsequent run on this course, how important it is to have a measure of focus during the race in order to listen to the signals your body is sending you.  Humans are truly wonderfully and fearfully made with a body that sends messages to the conscious mind letting us know when to speed up, slow down, take bigger breaths, take smaller steps, and a host of other messages to keep our body moving safely.  The trick is taking the time and effort to listen.

At about 300 meters from the first aid station I began to hear the sweet sound of bagpipes filtering through the trails. Naturally, my first thought was there might just be someone crazy (or awesome) enough to be playing the bagpipes at the first rest stop.  Upon reaching the aid station, I discovered a couple of great volunteers who had a car pulled into the area and had highlands music streaming from open doors.  I grabbed a cut banana off the table, which I will take a moment to note was the sweetest banana I truly have ever eaten, downed a cup of Heed and headed back onto the trail.

What impacted me the most during this run was the quality and character of the people.  Prior to this day, I had never encountered a sport where people passing you (on their way out or coming back) take a second to say "Great job!" or "Keep it up!" or "You're doing great!" as they move past you.  At first it caught me off guard, until after several times of this happening, it dawned on me this was the new culture in which I had immersed myself.  Not only was it common place, but by the time I finished the race there had even been a few enthusiastic high-fives given out along the way!

After hitting the half-way point, I was heading back when my legs decided they were ready to cramp up.  I had been slowing to a walk periodically and deep massaging the backs of my legs to keep the cramps at bay, but it was a band-aide at best.  During one intense cramp which shot down my leg to my toes, causing my right calf to invert and my toes to curl under, one of the other runners happened to catch up and see me rubbing down my leg. My neon green shirted, steel haired, savior had arrived! Without hesitation she stopped running and pulled out a little red coin purse full of electrolyte capsules, encouraged me to take a couple, and take smaller steps until the cramping ceased.  Sure enough...it worked beautifully for several more miles.

Long story short(er)...and a few miles later, I finished the course.

Final Thoughts...
What a magnificent trail to run on.  The motto for the race is "If you look up, you're going down." and given the number of loose rocks, boulders, and assorted sizes of stones we encountered, it's a decidedly fitting motto.  Given the perils of inattention, if you take the time to stop and look through the breaks in the trees, you will be presented with a glorious view from stony vistas high above the water.  It may cost you a few seconds in the race, but it's well worth the stop, and if you're like me I wasn't racing to compete...but rather to complete.

By the end of the day, our group achieved new heights with each of us pushing our body and spirit to new physical and emotional limits. We are all hooked.  Rachel and Heather plan to run the 25k again next year.  Jeremy and I are going to take it to the next level - we just signed up for the Flatrock 50k next fall. Now we just need to ensure our legs are ready to see us to the end.

Many thanks to Eric Steele and the volunteers who put on this remarkable event. Can't wait to see you guys next year!

P.S. The most important take-away from the day: I now see the humor in naming the race...Flatrock.