The more I run the more I think of running. When running more I often ponder over the day’s run- what it felt like, what it meant to me, its lesson and how it might improve me in all things. When running more what I generally think of most, though, is the next run. When. Where. How long. The route. Etc. In Charlottesville, sitting at my desk the picture window a computer monitor partially blocks looks out to sky, adjacent rooftops and the interweaving tree branches climbing Carter Mountain. In return, plainly, Carter Mountain looks in. To me.
For years one of my primal desires has been to host a mountain view from home. Now that I have it the feeling is not lost in its importance. The current view ironically, yet by no accident, also happens to mask trails, shielded beneath its sloping landscape tree branches, moments from doorstep, intersecting their way over and through the hallows up to the ridgeline of Carter Mountain. Virginia’s Piedmont region sunrises say hello from the east. Sunsets from the other side force the eye over Charlottesville, west, and beyond to the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Back home, peering through the glass it is hard not to re-imagine the run. The air. The flowing of blood. The energy. The awaken feeling of loose muscles and a mind free to explore true feelings. These memories are short; however, and quickly thoughts transition to the next run. The run which no doubt begins with a similar, singular goal: to experience a feeling and maybe- just maybe- make it up the trail in fewer steps and with fewer breaths.