What is it like when a day of running ends and I come down out of the mountains? Though my thighs are not always able to lift the foot high enough, I am strong. With my limbs caked with mud and my clothes soaked with sweat, I am clean. Though fatigue pulses through every nerve, I am well rested. With my skin torn from brambles and poking Balsam fir, I am whole. I've been around for 46 years, but the mountains and I are eternal. We will visit together as often as I can manage. And one peaceful day, I will return home forever.