The Turkey Trot

The years we were runners, I must ask him at dinner, does he remember?  Early morning dashes across the Trinity Bridge before the sun had even come up over the skyline of Dallas.  How Oz-like it appeared?  Or those heated weekend mornings out at White Rock Lake when the temperature pre-dawn was 85 degrees and by 8 am too intense for anything but shade.  Or the Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning, all that silliness and then gorging ourselves with friends?