The end of an era...

Today I was on my last long run before Ironman WI. An easy effort on some of my favorite trails and around the lake. Long runs are always full of different emotions. At first I usually don't feel very good, then I fall into a pace and put it on auto-pilot. Sometimes I let my mind wander to places I have been, conversations I have had, how to handle life better. Today was no different but at mile 5 I encountered something unexpected. I was running along the Olympic Trail in a historic horse farm here in Tryon, called Cotton Patch. For the last year as I would crest the hill I would look over a pasture with 2 ponies in it.

The one pony, Manny, had been my friend since I was 7 years old. We moved here with Manny when I was 12. When my parents purchased him for me he was 7 too but had never been ridden. He was off the pony race track where he had raced as a "trotter" with a sulky behind him. Manny as we called him was officially known as Aristocrat's Stylish Man. He was a "hot" pony who had lots of energy and was terrified of big rocks and cows. He could trot faster than most horses could canter. He was the pony who really taught me to ride. Manny was also quick at going sideways so if I was not sitting tight he would dump me. Occasionally after he did this he would go home leaving me to walk back in my riding boots! (ever wonder how I took up cross country running?) Sometimes he would stick around to let me have another chance. The first summer we moved here I would get up in the morning and go out riding with a woman named Pinkney. We would literally ride all day until it got dark out. We explored every trail there was and to this day I have her and Manny to thank for my extensive trail knowledge.

When I got older and out grew Manny a nice woman named Doris agreed to take Manny to use as a driving pony. When I was in high school I would sometimes go with her to the driving shows where Manny would get to strut his stuff. Since Manny and I are the same age it was always easy to keep up with how old he was getting. Luckily I would see Manny often in the pasture grazing and when I would call to him he would look up and come to me. Last year he was moved to Cotton Patch to enjoy his official retirement.

Today when I crested the hill there was a mound of dirt in the of the pasture. I know all too well what that means. I could not stop the tears from flowing. He was 35 years old, a great spirit and an amazing athlete. He now has a special resting place right in the middle of an area where we had gone on so many rides. He overlooks the Olympic Trail where Olympians trained for the equestrian event back in the 1940's.

Needless to say this was not something I expected to deal with on my last long run but that is the way long runs go. You never know what you will see or how you will feel but the beauty of the long run is that no matter what happens you always have lots of time to review, revise and regain momentum.