Good luck Jamie, Tim, and Sandy!

QOTD: I read poetry once in a while. I have A Treasury of Poems collected by Sarah Anne Stuart on my bed stand so it's handy any time I get the urge. One of my favorites that's running related:

If by Rudyard Kiplinger
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Ron Clarke, the great Australian runner of the 60s, titled his autobiography The Unforgiving Minute.

Morning all!  Best of luck to the racers this weekend!  Had a nice 5-ish mile run yesterday evening- it was raining pretty hard just prior to my run, as pulled into the trailhead, the rain let up and eventually quit, the clouds parted and the sun came out- nice 

qotd1: I'm guessing "there was once a man from Nantucket" probably doesn't count?   actually I do enjoy poetry, probably need to spend more time looking for it

qotd2: some house cleaning, relatives coming the following week- hoping to get a 12-ish mile run in on Saturday, something shorter Sunday

Got in a short, but fast, jog around the neighborhood last night. Heading out shortly for 4 or 5 miles before the rain starts.

Good luck to all the racers this weekend!

gator-- I'll second Harrier's suggestion for a lyme test on your dog. For a sporting breed (GSP, right?), 8 is still quite young and the onset seems too quick.

qotd1:  Nope, poetry has always been lost on me.

qotd2: swim meet, both days.  Thankfully, the kiddos have the late afternoon session (vs a 5 am wake up) and there are trails nearby, so I'll at least get a dirt run in on Sunday.  Saturday the trails are being used by a large mtn bike race, so I'll run before the meet at home.

Good luck to all the pacers and pacers.  I'm going to head up on the mountain for 8-10 miles then it's off to work for the night shift.

Thinking of reading poetry and John, I realized that I really haven't even delved too deeply into his book . Sits here on the shelf next to me, and only been open once or twice.

QOTD:  Rarely read poetry. Always liked this song and for years never really thought about the lyrics too deeply. Recently I was listening to some of Dr Hook's stuff on You Tube and this kept coming up on the recommended list. Started looking at the lyrics and thinking about it a little more deeply. A lot of people find it morbid.  I tend to look at it as a person who lived a life full of experiences with close friends and an appreciation for the beautiful things around them saying goodbye. Both lamenting that they have to go and celebrating a life lived fully.

Season's in the Sun.

(Terry Jacks)

Goodbye to you, my trusted friend
We've known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we've climbed hills and trees
Learned of love and ABC's
Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees


Goodbye, my friend, it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that spring is in the air
Pretty girls are everywhere
Think of me and I'll be there


We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time


Goodbye, Papa, please pray for me
I was the black sheep of the family
You tried to teach me right from wrong
Too much wine and too much song
Wonder how I got along


Goodbye, Papa, it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that the spring is in the air
Little children everywhere
When you see them I'll be there


We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the wine and the song like the seasons have all gone
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the wine and the song like the seasons have all gone


Goodbye, Michelle, my little one
You gave me love and helped me find the sun
And every time that I was down
You would always come around
And get my feet back on the ground


Goodbye, Michelle, it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that the spring is in the air
With the flowers everywhere
I wish that we could both be there


We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the wine and the song like the seasons have all gone
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the wine and the song like the seasons have all gone
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the wine and the song like the seasons have all gone

QOTD2:  Work, Work and more work. Hopefully I'll be able to get in a couple of 5-6 mile runs.

 

 

QOTD:  Rarely read poetry. Always liked this song and for years never really thought about the lyrics too deeply. Recently I was listening to some of Dr Hook's stuff on You Tube and this kept coming up on the recommended list. Started looking at the lyrics and thinking about it a little more deeply. A lot of people find it morbid.  I tend to look at it as a person who lived a life full of experiences with close friends and an appreciation for the beautiful things around them saying goodbye. Both lamenting that they have to go and celebrating a life lived fully.

 

DW and I were talking last night about how music has become the poetry. Jim Morrison, Paul Simon etc. would be yesteryears poets.

  The start is at 6pm today. Looks like we'll have on and off rain for 24 hours with temps in the upper 50's then it will clear and the temps will drop to about 40. I've got warm dry stuff in the drop bags for that.

 

Saw the Radar. Looks like a lot of periods without rain. Stay warm and dry.

Nice title! Good luck everyone - seems I know an awful lot of people testing their mettle this weekend. And safe travels, AT, have a great time.

qotd: I am a huge fan of song lyrics, though I don't think of good lyrics being the same as poetry. A part of their resonance is contained in the music, and as a 'musical' person I've always found them easier to access. I've always been more fickle about poetry. Robert Frost is a great example of an exception to this. I love a lot of his work. Maybe it's that there's a rhythmic pulse in his writing, or maybe it's that connection to the natural world, because I also find it in the poetry of Mary Oliver. The following is, in my opinion, one of the finest poems ever written, and somewhat appropriate to the season as well:

In Blackwater Woods

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it
go,
to let it go.