Saturday, August 10, 2024

Mountain Man

It's late Saturday afternoon.  Jude and the boys are gone to play golf on the course at Sewanee.  I'm on the back porch, enjoying the breeze and the bluff view, listening to John Coltrane.  All while sipping a Calumet Farms 15 with one big rock.  Alone with my thoughts.

Heaven on earth?  For me, pretty close to it.

JP and I went for a run this morning.  I parked at the Sewanee football field and he was gracious enough to run the first 1.5 miles with me.  I turned around at that point because my plan was to run three miles.  
We ran, together, down University Avenue, past a Saturday morning farmers' market, and onto the Mountain Goat Trail.  When I turned around to head back home, he fist bumped me and off he went.  

I plodded back to the football field, running 30 seconds or so per mile slower than normal.  My right hamstring has been hurting when I run ever since the softball tournament a couple of weekends ago.  When I start a run, it hurts a lot, to the point that I limp noticeably.  As I warm up, it feels a little better.  Still, it feels like I don't have any strength in my right leg so it's hard to push off with my right foot when I run.  That, I think, slows me down considerably.  

I'm torn - pun intended - between shutting it down for a couple of weeks or trying to run through it.  I think I'll just keep running lower mileage and see if the hamstring get better on its own.

When I finished my run today, I sat in an Adirondack chair under a tree across the from the football field and waited for JP.  It was a beautiful morning on Monteagle Mountain.  Mid-August with the temperature in the high '60's.  Gorgeous.  Simply gorgeous.  

When "Just Breathe" played on my ever-expanding Spotify playlist - The Haunting - I smiled sadly, as I thought my late fraternity brother, Steve Bettis.  He died in the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic after being exposed to it, most likely, on a flight from Park City, UT, to Chattanooga.  He was a larger than life figure with a personality to match.  Always, always enthusiastic.  Loud, funny, strong as an ox, caring, competitive, emotional, and driven. 

Steve was a graduate of the Baylor School in Chattanooga and, in later years, an important booster and trustee.  At the memorial service - which was packed - in the chapel at Baylor, they played "Just Breathe," so it always reminds me of Steve when I hear it.  That's good, I think.  It's good to be reminded of Steve on occasion and to think about how the world isn't quite as fun of a place with him not in it.  

I worry, sometimes, because JP is so driven and focused.  While we sat outside at Stirling's Coffee House after our run this morning, I talked to him about the importance of enjoying life while it's happening.  I want him to appreciate the little things and not to be so hell bent on succeeding, on winning, academically and athletically, that he can't find a stolen moment to admire a beautiful sunset or to appreciate being 16 and alive in this fascinating, sometimes confounding world.  

He's wound pretty tightly, I think.  I want him to know it's okay to take his foot off the gas occasionally and just be still.  And see.  And listen. 

Just breathe.  

That's what I want him to do.  Be still and just breathe.




 

No comments: