A Long Run Through the Vineyards
It was going to be one of those mornings, the kind where dawn holds a certain magic. To the east, the sky was brightening behind the hills. To the west, a full moon was setting, crisp and bright in the clear sky. On the drive to our meeting point, steam rose from the warmer lake into the cold air. There was something about this day.
We set off like every other week, up the endless hill that marks the first mile. We were ahead of pace, much to our surprise. Still ahead at mile two. We decided to push our goal of “10, maybe 11 miles” to the full 11, just to see how we could do. We were 20 seconds behind our best-case scenario pace at the 10 mile mark, and finished the full 11 miles at a pace that was 29 seconds/mile faster than last week. That’s a pretty big deal, even at our pace.
I left our run feeling tired, but strong. Accomplished. Like anything was possible. And as I looked around me — the winter-green hills, the neatly aligned rows of grapevines, the bright blue skies — I forgot the issues that I have with this state and remembered why people move here in droves. It’s lovely.
And so, for those of you who are stuck elsewhere, buried in snowbanks and subzero temperatures, I present a photo gallery of springtime and hope.
Most of the trees are still stark and bare, all except for the blooming trees which are an explosion of tiny blossoms.
And the daffodils are brightening lawns everywhere.
The bees are buzzing, the birds are chirping, and the allergens are plentiful. And today, it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.