The Slow and the Fast
Slow. I yell it, please slower. The fear is an amoeba sitting on my chest, coating my hands and tongue.
Fast. My descent feels so swift past all the moves I just made, zipping by all the places I thought I couldn’t go higher.
Three Things for Three Days
These are the goals for the next three days of trail running fifty-ish miles in the Colorado Rockies.
The Fruited Desert
The town was originally called Junction, but a place that holds improbability should have a little more zing. It’s a rare example of good rebranding.
Not Quite Night
For a fistful of minutes, the bats performed their choppy waltz with each other and their prey. With each change in direction or newly chosen flight path, they reacted to shifts in our shared environment that I couldn’t see, hear, or understand.