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Garett Graubins April 18, 2012 TWEET COMMENTS 0

Channeling the Pacific Northwest - Page 3



The sound of my strides up the unpaved road alternated between muddy slaps and splashes. A farm of some kind–sugar cane?—appeared on a ridge. I settled into a rhythm. The rain, naturally, continued.
At a hilltop, miles into the jungle, I came across a small settlement. Chickens scattered from the road.

In the heart of these homes and their holey thatched roofs stood a two-story church painted a brilliant turquoise. Amidst all the dripping dreariness, it practically gave off light. As I stood there, literally soaking it all in, I heard the soft, peaceful singing of a woman on a nearby porch.

For the first time during this vacation, I smiled during a run. I headed back, glancing again at the radiant church. Maybe that’s how trail runners in the Pacific Northwest come to love this weather: they recognize the magical snapshots between the raindrops.

Garett Graubins can see clearly now. The rain is gone.



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