The Drive

Always like to spend a few Saturday morning moments reflecting on all the small graces that crowd surfed me through my week.

Lugged myself to the track on Monday morning hoping to breathe in some good ideas before work. The track sits behind the high school. Aside from a couple sets of bleachers, the hill paralleling the length of the track is nothing but grass. When I arrived at six a.m., I saw one of the high school's longtime maintenance workers already on the hill trying to get a head start on the day's blistering heat. Taking it on all by herself. Armed with only a weedwhacker that occasionally choked on the tall grass, causing her to pause and fiddle it free again (and again).

She was still there by the time I’d run outta gas and filled my tank with the ideas I’d come for. She’d covered some good ground, but had only made it to about the 20-yard-line, by measure of the practice field that sits inside the track.

But by the next morning she’d crossed midfield. Had her eyes on the Red Zone.

When I popped back over this morning for some Saturday laps, I tipped my cap to the hill’s fine buzz cut. Can’t imagine how many hours it must’ve taken her, braced on that hill.

But she knew neither the grass nor the day was going to wait for her. So she got there early. Armored against the sun (not to mention the heat of tick season in these parts). Despite the gravity of the assignment working against her, she planted her feet and went at the enormity of the thing bit by bit, working with the tools she had at hand, pausing when she needed to.

Far as I’m concerned, the best summer school teacher in the district, right there.

In the quiet shadow of an empty school whose constituents were off savoring their summers, she was there alone on that hill racing the week's sunrises … keeping it all just so for when they return.

I come to the track for ideas. She left me genuinely inspired.

Just wanted to throw that up on the scoreboard.