Rising Sun

Pony Express 100 2014 002

Nearly all of my runs start before the sun has begun to brighten the sky. As the fingers of pink, yellow, and orange stretch into the spreading pale blue, my spirits rise. It doesn’t matter if I’m at mile 3 or mile 93 the rise of the sun always brings hope and joy.

Some of this is due to the rise in serotonin levels in the brain. But I also think that it is tied to instinctual knowledge that has been ingrained in all life since the beginning of time. The world becomes cold and dark and then it becomes bright and warm.

This cycle is just a part of life and a part of every run. There are miles of darkness and miles of brightness. There are many causes of this up and down swing during running, sugar depletion, mental doubt, and aches and pains. You can get through this by remembering that it always comes back up. Give it a few miles, the sun will once again rise.

Our training goes through cycles too. We deliberately put ups and downs in our training programs to allow for recovery and building. There are weeks were we are just beat and our times are all off, and then there are weeks where we crush every obstacle that dares to attempt to block our path.

All of the runners I coach, come to me at some point disappointed in their times or telling me how they struggled through a run which is normally very easy for them. I remind them that it can’t be sunny all the time and it can’t be dark all the time. It will come back up, just stay focused on the training taking it one day at a time.




Men in black and grey suits stood on the street corner across from the stone white courthouse checking their phones and watches. Rays of sunlight streaming over the peaks of the mountains ricocheted off the curved glass windows. The walk light blinked on. The dong of the clock tower sounded 8:45 am. I stepped off the curb tugging my rolling briefcase behind me.  It rumbled across the red brick crosswalk. My hand tightens around the handle as I step over the train rails and pull my briefcase across.

A few steps from the curb, a boy and girl hand in hand rounded the corner. A smile tickled the corner of my mouth and erupted in my eyes. So young. So innocent. To me, they are perfect and out of place.  They weren’t be more than fourteen years old.

His brown hair was short with a rounded neckline.  He wore a light blue button down short sleeve shirt with flecks of sea green, untucked from his khaki shorts that hung below his knees.  My smile widened to impossible depths when I noticed he was wearing almond dress shoes with black laces, no socks.

She wore a white short-sleeved dress decorated with crimson poppies that hung just below her knees.  Her brown hair swept past her shoulders and fluttered at her elbows. She had rouge on her cheeks and light blue eye shadow, makeup that was wrapped in pink princess wrapping paper for her birthday.

Despite it being late summer, both are pale skinned without any tan lines. Not sickly pale, but pale as innocence, one who has not been burned by the world passing around them.  Christmas morning fills their expressions as they glance around and at one another.

It’s a full court calendar this morning, a parade of what goes wrong in children’s lives drugs, violence, poverty, and worse. I watch the two cross the road away from white stone of the courthouse.  Locking their image away safe in my mind, I drag my case files up the ramp to the revolving door. I lift my briefcase up on the conveyer belt to go through security.

People in front of me set off the security sensors, but I don’t. I’ve been through it too many times. Nodding to the police officers, I set my briefcase on the floor and pull out the handle to its full length. It clicks out a familiar rhythm as I cross the marble tiled floor to the stairs.

I lean to the left to offset the weight of the briefcase as I climb the stairs to the second floor.