Re: Monday, August 20th Boomer Runs
11 hilly miles along Spareribs' old marathon training trails - Mineral Springs Road.
The road dates back to colonial times and is effectively the hardest way to travel between two villages. It starts in the Ramapo River valley, climbs a 500 ridge, descends into a gap, climbs the opposite ridge and finally descends into the Hudson River valley.
It was fairly lonely, which I like. Some rabbits, a friendly yellow lab, an owl, a hawk, and a flock of turkeys (but no one I recognized).
I was on the final climb when it happened. I'd reached the zen-like state of being able to entirely ignore the stimuli my body was providing. Ragged breathing, sweat stinging my eyes, screaming thighs were acknowledged as interesting phenomena and set aside as I churned up the final hill in metronomic efficiency.
About a hundred yards from the final summit the road curves to the left. At first I wasn't sure if there was anything there at all. I was half blind with sweat and more than half dazed with fatigue. Standing quietly under a spreading oak tree stood a gaunt ghostly figure, dressed in in yellow shoes, shorts and singlet. He stood favoring his left leg, as if he had a sore hammy, and watched me stride towards him. He seemed to flicker in the dusk.
"Ribs!" I called. "Is that you?"
As I approached he raised a hand in greeting and motioned for me to keep on running.
"Tuck in your shirt," he advised me. "Don't spit on the road," were his final words of encouragement.
As I reached the crest I turned to see him limping slowly into the woods.
Not that the picture really fits, but I like them. & it's moss free.
