Another year passes along, yet the worst day among its 365 remains the same.
Daylight savings ends, and while some study says its good for your heart, I say the sun setting at 4:30 sticks a shiv into a my mental health.
It’s so bad that despite running a 10K with a top personal time, taking a glorious Sunday morning bike ride and helping my friends move, I can’t break depression’s blockade.
My brain recognizes the arrival of the year’s worst day, and nothing can break that spell. It’s made sadder by this article. Sure, they died a while ago, and I can’t remember what I might have been doing aside from refining resumes and working through the Bob’s beer tour in late January 2007, when Columbusites were eager about Greg Oden's long future at OSU.
But when googling your name turns up an obituary, notice must be taken. I got to feel a little sorry for these Melvilles.
Maybe they were run off the road by a cyborg from the future, relentlessly pursuing anyone named William Melville to prevent the resistance leader from being born. Probably not – they look like a good family of Scots, no more special than the Melvilles on this side of the Pond.
While at best distant relatives, we do have this pattern in common - you might recall my tartan tie and scarf.
Because I'm weary and depression is rattling the gates, I've decided to undertake a constructive diversion – the Tennessee State Parks Running Tour.
In eighteen months, I've seen remarkably little of Tennessee –Nashville, its vicinity, downtown Chattanooga and four days in a Manchester field.
Some of these parks lie 400 miles from my front door, so when viewed miles driven versus miles ran, it probably won’t look like a good bargain.I need a journey.
If and when I leave Tennessee, I won’t be accused of running down my time here with blinders on. Try as I might to convince fellow runners to join me, I expect to go solo on this one.
I'll still enjoy every footfall.
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