Phedippidations

I “once belonged” to a community of fellow runners. I understand that many of you and this association have always considered me to be a member of the “run local, think global” team, but I haven’t felt that way for some time. That’s my problem, and it’s okay, that’s going to change.   I “once belonged” out on twelve mile long run around my town, through the hills of an Old New England farm trail, past the birthplace of the “Angel of the American Civil War Battlefield”, Clara Barton, past St. Roch’s Church and the Roman Catholic congregation that I left a few years ago, past our town library, built in eighteen sixty-nine where I wrote the first scripts for Phedippidations and then past the hearthstone marker of the Johnson homestead, where John Johnson and his three children were massacred in sixteen ninety-six.   I “once belonged” to a group of running podcasters and bloggers in a “run net community” of content creators who spoke and wrote about their passion for the sport.   I “once belonged” but I lost my w