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Showing posts from October, 2014

Forrest Gump Runs 50 Miles: TNF ECS Park City 50 Race Report

"Please tell me that's a Bubba Gump hat."

The voice came to me as a man with curly hair strode up to run beside me. I turned to face him, my headlamp blinding him as I smiled.

Not that he could see my smile under my beard and mustache.

I had been keeping my head down and mouth shut.
I didn't want to be recognized so early in the race.

We chatted. The wonderful connector between trailrunners is ultras: we meet, we chat, we laugh with complete strangers, we tell funny stories. Some of these have strangers have become close friends, and their kids and my kids become the best of friends.... and others, like this man, I'll never remember his name or where he's from, but we still shared a moment.

Chatting with this curly-haired man was shortly after I had been passed by a pack of 3 women. Each face serious, focused. Strides relaxed but with purpose. Game face. Race face.

As much as I felt it was silly, literally running around in circles and racing each other, I was envio…

Forrest Gump Runs 50 Miles: TNF ECS Park City 50 Race Report

"Please tell me that's a Bubba Gump hat."

The voice came to me as a man with curly hair strode up to run beside me. I turned to face him, my headlamp blinding him as I smiled.

Not that he could see my smile under my beard and mustache.

I had been keeping my head down and mouth shut.
I didn't want to be recognized so early in the race.

We chatted. The wonderful connector between trailrunners is ultras: we meet, we chat, we laugh with complete strangers, we tell funny stories. Some of these have strangers have become close friends, and their kids and my kids become the best of friends.... and others, like this man, I'll never remember his name or where he's from, but we still shared a moment.

Chatting with this curly-haired man was shortly after I had been passed by a pack of 3 women. Each face serious, focused. Strides relaxed but with purpose. Game face. Race face.

As much as I felt it was silly, literally running around in circles and racing each other, I wa…

my own azrael

I imagine her
with a granite cliff underfoot
wisps of hair, her thousands of wings
reaching to paint the sky

keep me away from the edge she'd say
or I might fly off
and a breeze would take to heaven
her soft, sweet laughter

and she'd tell me sometimes
the rain doesn't stop at noon
the weatherman, that liar,
he would never hold fate.

our mountains sing
music only she can hear
and she walks on their ridges
carelessly kicking her steps

so I claw at the mountainside
desperate to see her
screeching, trapped between city and sky
oh, come to me, azrael.




poetry copyright Jennilyn Eaton
photo courtesy Craig Lloyd

my own azrael

I imagine her
with a granite cliff underfoot
wisps of hair, her thousands of wings
reaching to paint the sky

keep me away from the edge she'd say
or I might fly off
and a breeze would take to heaven
her soft, sweet laughter

and she'd tell me sometimes
the rain doesn't stop at noon
the weatherman, that liar,
he would never hold fate.

our mountains sing
music only she can hear
and she walks on their ridges
carelessly kicking her steps

so I claw at the mountainside
desperate to see her
screeching, trapped between city and sky
oh, come to me, azrael.




poetry copyright Jennilyn Eaton
photo courtesy Craig Lloyd