I have no camera when I run. Which is practical, but also unfortunate. It makes some of the sights almost sacred, since no one in my immediate world has or even will ever have any intimate knowledge of what I’ve seen. And while it’s useless to try to explain it in words, I will anyway.
There were times, on a fourteen mile run through the Sawyer Camp Trail just past dawn in the outskirts of San Francisco, when the road would bend and open up to a vista of tall and rolling green mountains, white clouds resting on them delicately, and wide, rich, crystal blue lakes as far as my eyes would let me travel.
I have no proof of how majestic, how soul-shatteringly beautiful it was. You just have to trust me.