When I, the beast, entered the park, I began hunting a tree to fulfill the request of The Urban Runner. Howbeit, that search got negleted quickly.
This sanctuary of nature also hosts our little league baseball fields. Empty baseball fields flood my mind with childhood memories. I was lured to the field to relive a particular memory. Like Fields of Dreams, I enterd a different time and place as soon as I passed through the fence opening.
I swaggered up to home plate staring down the pitcher. (I ignored the real life guy that drove up in the pickup truck staring at me strangely). I got into my batter's stance. The pitch came into the sweet spot. I swiftly swung and hit that imaginary ball over the heads of the outfielders. I took off for 1st as the ball rolled out to the fence at the 200 yard marker. I headed to 2nd where a glance toward the outfield told me to press on. I took a wide turn around 3rd and knew I could stretch this baby to a homer. One hard smack of my foot on home plate brought the fantasy team out of the dugout as I cheerfully jogged back. Illusory high fives were given as a big smile sat upon my face.
Back to that tree, I put one barefoot on a couple of trees but didn't feel ready to master any. Maybe next time. In the mean time, I challenge all the run smileys to hit a few home runs of their own.
I resumed my standard form of a 30 something mom, wife, runner and headed out of the park to run a bit further, walk a bit further, and run a little further again. One thing was constant in whatever form I was in, I smiled.