Rock slurries shrouded by mist. Paths cross through Lost known only to its denizens and even they sometimes lose their way. Marmots call out over the rock to locate each other in space. They eat mosses, lichens, roots, and flowers. Spring daisies and wild pansies blossom. In winter, tiny white flowers bloom. In fall, yellow, orange, and red petals protrude from the rocks. The marmots whistle and call. Travelers do not understand their language. Even those who stay among them and listen do not learn their ways. It’s uncomfortable on the rock slurry and there is little to eat — although the marmots are fat enough (they must find hidden fats in the rocks?). Most travelers are on their way to other lands. Some come to Lost from the Rejection Wilderness or Isolated Peak. Even the marmots brown and grey with tiny ears, ears, and tails are difficult to spot among the rock.
Relatable — I used this word in my reviews of Depression Hates a Moving Target by Nita Sweeney on Goodreads and Amazon . It's a nice word, but overused of late. So, it feels lazy. What do I mean? I connected with this book. It made me reflect more on my own first marathon experience. It made me want to put on my running shoes and head out the door again. In fact, I did. Now, typically, my mental health doesn't hinder my ability to do the stuff I want to do and my body flies under the radar. Still, I also felt goofy stepping out in my running gear a lot of the time. I didn't see myself as a "runner" or an athlete. And, I had no idea if I could run 13 miles let alone 26.2 when I started. More to the point, could I stay moving for the 4+ hours straight it would take to complete the marathon? To do the training mileage, I knew I'd have to run through streets and trails on my own and that made me nervous, too. Waves of grief wash us to strange shores. Whe...
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