The hardest part

Is the leaving.

The night before I left to run St Helens my 2 year old grabbed me and screamed, “daddy, please don’t go! Stay!!” I would be more machine if I didn’t consider it a cosmic message sent from the future as a warning. And yet.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight

Leaving for California tomorrow to run and climb in the mountains for a few days; solo dirtbagging.

Maybe laying in a field staring up at the cosmos.
Maybe peak bagging.
Maybe a headphone rave.
Maybe big miles.
Probably all of it.