So begins the next track in the album of life. Yesterday, I turned 33 years old. A smile creeps onto my face when I think back at how much life has gotten better and better over the years. Eight years ago, I was cramming for the Bar exam and getting ready to move to Houston. Nell and I were engaged, but Ezra wasn't even a blip on the horizon. I'd run three marathons, but going a mile over 26.2 seemed not only excessive, but borderline pyschotic. I never considered the pain and enlightenment of the ultra.
And now here I sit, sipping coffee at 4:19 a.m. and preparing to cruise 18 miles around Fort Worth at the very early stages of my training for the Mother Road 100.
Clearly, I have lost my mind in my older age.
Vaya con Dios, amigos.