In my desperate longing for the trails I ventured out onto the Pinnacles today, but my attempts were wrought with reminders of a strained muscle not allowing me to run as I once did. When I reached my favorite trail on the Pinnacles a flood of emotions rushed over me. Many times before I have ran down this hidden trail that threaded its way precariously down the side of the mountain, and yet today I was barely able to maintain a lite jog where I once flew. I just wanted to cry. Later in the afternoon/early evening as I was teaching class the window displayed a view of the Pinnacles, the very mountain range I had ran so many times before. At the moment I gazed out the window a turkey vulture glided by, and then another one, and then another. As I admired the view watching the majestic flight patterns of the vultures I felt my connection and place in the world, which is not specifically defined by running. Running is the activity I enjoy, but connecting with my roots is where I belong. I realized at that moment that my life journey is not defined by my choice of activity as much as it is by my experiences.