TheBanyanTree: halfway there

[NancyIee at aol.com]

In a message dated 2/18/2010 3:31:58 P.M. Eastern Standard Time,  
jateague at indiana.edu writes:

This is  what it feels like to run seven miles in the frigid cold on an 
ice-caked,  snow-packed rail trail, squelching through pools of black 
mud in the few  spots where the limestone banks on either side flatten 
out to meet a  street crossing allowing some weak sun through the tree 
limbs to melt the  ice: it hurts.


Though I never trained for a marathon, there were days in 'olden times'  
when I had to go out and feed horses, lug hay bales through snowdrifts, to  
break open and toss out into the pasture, clean the packed ice out of their  
hooves with an ice pick, hack the frozen stuff out of stalls (and there's  
nothing like a frozen flake of horse poop whacking up into your eye). I was  
breathless just trudging through thigh-high snow, leading a plunging horse 
from  barn to pasture gate. The subzero always made them super frisky. 
Swinging a  sledge hammer to break the ice in the water trough so they could drink. 
The last  chore being to throw all my weight against the pickup to break 
the tires loose  from the icy driveway, being as it was water when I parked 
there. It was  two-wheel-drive, and unable to walk out of the ice on its own.  
Then, to  limp back to the house for coffee and aspirin before hitting the 
day.
 
I feel your every ache.  But, keep it up. It won't kill, but only  makes us 
tougher