I'm dealing with endings today.  And beginnings.  What could well be my last uber-competitive 800 is tonight at 7pm.  I know exactly what my life looks like until just before 7:02, but nothing of what lays beyond.  I mean, I know where I live, what clothes I will wear and what car I will drive and where a bit of money will come from to buy food, but that is just the shell of myself moving through the world handling my life's operating necessities.

What I don't know is how to deal with the absence.  For 15 years running has been my identity;  a handful of numbers I can throw out to define the passion and dedication I've arranged my life around. Simple, but effective.  And always with hope for improvement.

Last night, I went to a rehearsal with some friends from my old choir that defined so much of me my senior year of high school (that memory laden year).  A new group of graduates of that choir is starting under our old, now retired, choir director.  It's a dream come true.  Think of Mr. Holland's Opus with all his graduates playing in the orchestra.  Walking through the hallways of yesterday as we approached the rehearsal room, I saw my old locker, the auditorium, site of so many concerts, blinked at shadows of old crushes as I walked past familiar classrooms, and even sniffed phantom smells of Otis Spunkmeyer cookies that used to be sold at lunchtime in the main hallway.  My life of college, then running in Los Angeles, Eugene, working for RunnerSpace, and all the places, races, and people I had seen since I ate those cookies raced across my mind.  I nearly choked on my own nastalgia. 

A girl walked up to a friend I was catching up with and introduced herself.  I knew her immediately.  She was the star diva soprano who didn't make it to the All-State Choir as a junior, when I, as a freshman boy soprano whose voice had still one year left before cracking into maturity, did.  I expected to see the same glimmer of hatred in her eyes that I saw 14 years ago when the audition results were announced.  But it never came.  Imagine my relief!  And by the time rehearsal was over, I had a roomful of 25 people encouraging me to move back to Portland to be a part of this resurrected choir.  Is that what my life looks like at 7:02pm tonight? 

I suppose it's appropriate that I watched "The Bucket List" today, a movie about the mortal conflict on whether a man has lived a meaningful life or not.  Endings begetting beginnings. And questions, endless questions.  Many do I have to face as I lay to rest the only lifestyle I've known since my schooling. 

I've decided to run the OTC All-Comers meets this July.  It would be great fun to use my fitness to try to get after some of those ancient PRs left over from high school (i.e., anybody up for a 3k?).  I can imagine going through some post-running depression, and I realized that's probably not a good place for me to be when it comes time to cover the U.S. National Championships! 

I think it's helpful for me to admit when I can't quite read the compass clearly.  My constant guide being my parent's instructions throughout my upbringing.  "Always do whatever it is that you enjoy doing."  I will enjoy tonight's race, and thanks to those friends of mine who notice a former 1:52 guy trying to get after it one last time!