. . . got the T-shirt to prove it!

I'm certifiably insane by my own standards. If you'd have told me I'd gladly pass up sleeeping in on the Saturday morning of my first no-obligations weekend in a while, I'd have raised my eyebrows. If you told me that, instead of sleeping in, I'd be voluntarily traipsing up and down city hills in sub-freezing temperatures, I'd have been thinking about having you committed.

But I guess I'll do almost anything, within reason, to have the t-shirt--a size small--and to be able to fit into that t-shirt.

There weren't a lot of us hardy souls this morning running or walking in the first-ever Run/Walk for Books. But I was there--lived to tell/write about it (walked 4K in 40 minutes 14 seconds)--and brought home the proof!



Let's see if I can say the same after April's longer, higher, tougher Cooper River Bridge Run/Walk . . . I would have gladly rested on my Grace Memorial (1994) and Silas Pearman (1995) laurels/t-shirts, but there's this new bridge . . .

3-28-09 FOOTNOTE (from Wikipedia, b/c I couldn't find the 1995 t-shirt ["get over it," right???]): With entrants exceeding 8,500 and a new 7,000 meter walk added, totaling over 10,000 participants, and tighter restrictions on weight on the Grace Bridge, in 1995 officials returned the Bridge Run to the Pearman bridge, with all three lanes being used, as traffic to Charleston could now be diverted to the Don N. Holt Bridge near Daniel Island on Interstate 526, which had opened in 1992.

third wall . . .

We as adults have too many walls. I know they are often meant to protect us, but I am finding letting them fall can leave you vulnerable to the occasional attack, and I’m sure will lead to some pain. But I also find that without walls, the radiance of the world around us can finally reach us – as the warmth of the sun can only do when you are outside.

I have this thing about walls . . . so this piece in today's email from a family member touched quite a chord . . . Walls--inside and outside of me. Walls I touch. Walls I build. Walls I let down, only to rebuild, piece by broken piece, to wall out the pain, to shelter the memories I want to hold close . . .

Almost two generations ago, when poetry was my release, my healer, I penned these concluding thoughts . . .

End?
Not end.
Third wall awaits,
But where?
I did not know--
Two walls suffice for weary eyes;
Four walls is house and home.
Third wall is deciding.
When?
Tomorrow.

I could not have better predicted my life . . .