the body was creaky behind the knees, cold of fingertip, and not quite awake as I began to move six feet in the praying hour on my favorite moose-infested human-abandoned logging road. in the span of five cold minutes on the trail I gave up on completing my entire planned training run, resolving instead to spin once I reached the mileage marker after the first big rise. I clenched and grumped along knocked out of my selfish spoolings upon rounding a glowing bend to find Nason with a slop of some poor animal’s intestines dangling from his toothy grin.

distracted by his exuberance at this odiferous forest gift I forgot quitting altogether and must have sped past the place where the rise flattens and soon found myself nearing the top of the hill where I usually turn around. and then the epiphanies started cascading and I’m afraid I’ve lost the genius I had in those moments of motion.

I realized presence is equal measures forgetting and intention.

I pondered the raucous adventure of the blood shoving itself through my veins and my innate intelligence innervate my intricate fascial latticeworks.

I remembered the c-curve of my graceful spine and pegged my heart rate at 188 - right at threshold - breathing calmly, deeply, fully.

I felt God’s hand in my chest squeezing my heart in autonomic time.

this morning, by the time I plied my feet from my shoes, I’d remembered once again that this craft sometimes elevates to art which over time becomes medicine and on blessed occasion transcends even that to become religion.