Eight times I've sat down to write on May 1st, and somehow I keep circling back to the same truths from different angles.
In 2003, I was collecting peaks like merit badges, chasing that "better experience" high through the Catskills. Then came 2012 when I finally admitted something crucial: I'm terrible at multi-day racing because I actually want to notice the earth's gifts. Why suffer through delirium when you could mosey and see things?
By 2013, I was pushing my bike through three feet of snow and feeling giddy about it. That post captured something essential about seeking diversity rather than comfort. 2014 brought darker themes, finding sanctuary in an abandoned structure, learning how partnership keeps you fighting.
Then 2020 revealed the simple wisdom of small-town waving, how acknowledgment itself is survival. The 2022 desert shapes reminded me that sometimes beauty needs no words, just attention. 2023 kept it simple with Dry Creek.
And last year, Hendrix and I chased golden larches up Carlton Ridge, that perfect September day when everything aligned.
What strikes me now is how consistent the core remains: I'd rather experience than conquer, notice than rush past, share than hoard. May 1st keeps teaching me the same lesson in different landscapes.