Turkey Trot!

On a team of five, we ran, shuffled, and pushed our aching legs for 4.97 miles!  Through a thin white fog, we trod a track of stately homes and fallen leaves, past deluxe duplexes and fancy hotels back to the Bojangles where the warm biscuits and coffee went home on the arms of moms, dad, and grandpas in bright yellow boxes, the sunshine of happy taste buds.  The start line was packed; it was the obvious the race had sold out.  Though we five started out together, we separated in the massive herd, so Kathryn, Patrick and I ran the whole way together, despite Kat's aching joints and side stitches.  Kristie and Elizabeth kept a brisk pace for themselves, wisely pacing their jog to gently challenge their muscular endurance.  They finished a mere quarter hour after us.

We finished with quickened beat and wheezing lungs--but fast!--over the finish line, right under an hour for the 8K. 

Visiting the hills of Tennessee in the fall of the year is a walk into another world than the one we live daily on the flat coastland. On the flight over, we saw the Appalachians crowned with deep lava-red and girded with remnants of green at their warmer feet, where lakes and winding rivers lie like piles and necklaces of diamonds that glitter in the sun. This time of year, they are no mere hills and hollers. With the sun shining through thinning branches of yellow, red, orange, and punctuated by sturdy evergreens, the wind whistles and hums tunes of long-ago memories and hints of the future, preparation for coming storms.