It was just a few weeks ago that I was finally able to rake up the dead skunk that had been frozen all winter to the ground in the first curve of our humble, wind-swept dirt track at 7,888 feet altitude. At that point I was excited for the upcoming season and the prospects for my athletes. I hadn’t the first clue what was about to happen. Since then, The Blur and I have gone there weekly, running some 400s, 800s and 1600s with warm-up, recovery and cool-down laps. I’ve seen that tracks are closed in larger communities, and actually wondered if we might be questioned by the authorities, but there was nobody else there. Just the clouds, the breeze and one conspicuous whirlwind. Our county is sparsely populated and crowds are virtually non-existent. I am thankful that we are able to do this and remain “socially distanced” and all that, but I sure miss track, coaching and all my other kids. One Saturday passed and we noted we would have been going to Mosca, where Harrison ran in his first meet in middle school five years ago. Each week we cross another canceled meet off the calendar. I’ve endeavored to keep him, and my other runners, motivated and running despite the fact that we may not have a season at all. In the final analysis, we are all just competing with ourselves, striving to be better than the person we were the day before.