Yesterday I shared the track with a Nike Oregon Project runner and a decathlete who has his own Wheaties box.
Today, I’m on a deserted canal with an old couple on cruiser bikes and a dead fish.
It doesn’t really matter. Miles is miles. The sun is out, the desert has that day-after-the-rain smell of creosote. The clouds beckon in the distance, a companion to the mountains that call out. Come, they say. Just a few miles more. The miles are slow, but the happiness is quick.
My running shoes are my companions. Everything else is just stuff.
But still. It must be pretty cool to be on a Wheaties box …