On the campaign trail with my running mate

All of us need a running mate. At the moment mine is Flo Rida. With the ipod on I lace up my running shoes. Dawn has arrived and I'm trying my best to get from the bed to the trailhead. Flo Rida gets me out the door then passes the responsibility to Joe Purdy. Still getting the lay-of-the-land from my temporary digs I scramble from the bedroom down the sandy hillside until I reach the dirt path.

The trail shoots east before turning into a wide loop that descends to the bottom of the gully, from there it's a steep climb back up to the house. I never time how long it takes to run this loop. It doesn't matter. If I had to guess its only about 5 or 6 songs long. 

Thoughts start cranking with each stride. I evaluate my priorities, reminding myself of Ghandi's words "actions express priorities." I think about where I want to live. I quickly reorganize my contacts that have expressed possibilities of employment. What about the French Chef who taught me so much during those weeks I helped him at that cooking school in Provence. Surly he could help me find a gig in New Orleans while I land something full time.

Joe Purdy hands off to Wye Oak. The cold morning air which first cooled my core now feels good. I can feel my heart beat. A doe jumps and bounds from the trail down into the tall brush. I stop and stare. Our eyes lock on each other. Neither of us move. The Roots start to play in my ears as we turn and run from each other.

The trail narrows into single track. I love this section. There's a short stretch here where yellow leaves litter the trail. Like a bridge that connects one season to another I race across the leaves deeper into the gully. At the bottom there's only one way home. Up.

Straight up, heart pounding, sweat inducing, its just a matter of how far I can make it before doubling over gasping for breath. No thoughts, only short strides. "Simmer down" by Bob Marley starts just as I stop on the side of the hill.

I'm on the homestretch. Only a couple hundred feet left. Switching to a slow walk, I enjoy the first rays of sun on the side of the valley. Old school Pearl Jam plays as I drop my running shoes, now damp and dirty, outside the door. Eddie Vedder has long been one of my favorite running mates in this campaign called life.