One. More.

Uno más. Uno di piú. Ein weitere. My teammates and I have found many ways to say it. Sometimes, when one of us releases a bit after a hard pull up, we yell it. Other times, as we look up a hillside before our last interval, we exhale it. Many times, as we count up our speeds and realize we’re on the last one, we holler it (read: holla).

Because, tis’ the season. The season of ONE MORE.

Here we are, midway through summer, far enough away from March to have forgotten the triumphs (and pitfalls) of last season but also dreadfully distant from snowfall. While I have stopped looking back, I sometimes need a fair amount of imagination to look forward.

Every time I squint towards the horizon hoping to catch a glimpse of a future squall, I reach the same conclusion (one that I will probably have to rediscover a thousand times before it actually connects): that all I’ve got is right now. Here. Today.

There’s something romantic about “one more.” Even though I can’t feel the energy of being on snow, I can still reap the gratification of getting every last drop of whatever sundry summer exercises I happen to be doing at the moment.

Sometimes, I can do one more. Sometimes, I can’t. Other times, I shouldn’t. But it is always there.

In athletics, there is always uncharted territory, there is always more. While it may be the tragedy of the human ego to desire more, to strive to be better and reach for meaningless improvement, for now, I’ll take it.

The mere temptation of one more can keep me trucking…at least until snow flies.


Props to Ben and Erika (and Gatorade..I guess..) for thought provoking distance discussions this week. (Photo of Packer and Saxton slaying one more speed from

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