When the wind is at your back

Big hiatus from my last post. If you have been holding your breath I suspect death came and passed long ago and for that I am sorry. It was nice knowing you :)

This one has been stirring around in my mind for some time…since Thanksgiving Day for that matter. We went to Lanesboro for the holiday weekend and you can tell from Kelly’s pictures along the Root River trail that the weather was just gorgeous. Nice enough for that matter, that I got to head out for a run on Thanksgiving Day before dinner. I guess part of me was hoping I could make a deposit at the First National Bank of Indulgence and Trust before the huge impending withdrawal occurred that evening - thanks Jennifer, the Turkey was wonderful!

Even though I have not participated in any real organized sports since football in college, I still consider myself an athlete. It’s funny however that when you envision athletes you imagine huge muscles, flat stomachs and big attitudes. So much emphasis is placed on the physical elements. Only until you become a real athlete do you realize that it is the mind that is where the game or race is won or lost. There is this mythical place many athletes refer to over their careers called “the zone.” It’s an epiphany, a place where your mind takes over like the conductor of an orchestra and the body begins to sing, play and perform in way that you can’t explain or imagine.

The first time I was in the zone was back as a senior in high school in a football game in Stevens Point, WI. Point was undefeated that year and ranked number one in the state. We came in with one win, outmanned, outgunned, outclassed and we rocked their world. I caught a 40 yard touchdown pass, caused a fumble and had probably over twenty tackles on defense. The game went right down to the wire and I remember standing on the field physically exhausted with about two minutes left wondering how I was still standing. I hadn’t left the field for more than a minute or two the whole game and my mind was alive, racing and rearing to go because blood was in the water. On the next play, I went at it again almost feeling like things were in slow motion. I shrugged off a blocker, pushed my way through the line and tackled their star back in the backfield. The game was over and I left everything on the field.

It happened again in college at a football game at Hamlin but I won’t bore you with the details and there have been a couple other times that I can remember where I have been on the fringe of what is to me a not so mythical place. So what in the world does this have to do with Thanksgiving?

As I started my run on Thanksgiving Day, I expected to make it a few blocks and pass out because I have not been all that diligent in my fitness routine lately. As I made my way through town and onto the Root River Trail an old and welcome feeling came across me. My knee didn’t hurt anymore and my breaths were deep and satisfying. The air was crisp and the sound of the river moving along its way put my steps into a familiar rhythm. I hit the old railroad bridge on my way to Whalan and there I was, in the zone. I felt like I could have made it all the way to Whalan and back (close to 10 miles) and still had room to chase the kids for the next three days. The sun was a little brighter, the air a little cleaner and my love a little stronger. It was an amazing gift and made Thanksgiving Day more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.