This was Dave’s first half-marathon, with the goal of running the distance in two hours or less. The race organizers provided pacesetters, so Dave began his half-marathon staying with the 2:00 hour pacesetter.
About halfway through the race, he picked up his pace, running the race in 1:55.20.
Finish Line
Sitting on his tailgate at the end of the race. Mission Accomplished.
Shoes on pavement, a metronome of doubt. Still, the body insists— one more mile into light.
I created the blog posting using the photos Dave provided. I was only there vicariously.
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AFTER THOUGHT
The friend who asked Dave to run the half-marathon with him didn’t show up.
Kenne David and Katie on Galveston Beach — Image by kenne
Galveston still has that beach. Kids probably still run it raw. But Kenne and Katie grew up— that’s the real crime. You don’t notice it happening. One day you’re just standing there remembering sand and wishing you’d paid better attention.
Kenne Getting Some Arizona Sun On Our Patio While here he spent some time running in Sabino Canyon in preparation for a half-marathon this February.
Kenne David is visiting us on my birthday, January 15, 2026. He is an ICU nurse in the Texas Medical Center in Houston. What follows is a poem I wrote after learning of the murder of Alex Pretti in Minneapolis.
I can only try to imagine your words and thoughts echo in the long corridors of Memorial Herman, where the scent of antiseptic mingles with your compassion.
I think of him — of Alex Pretti — and of all who labor, sleepless,
hands trembling not with fear, but with the weight of mercy.
Each life touched, each breath steadied, a verse in the grand poem of endurance and love, something Whitman would write: you do not falter; rise again the next day, mortal yet eternal, each healer a leaf upon the same vast tree of humanity.
Old Farm Junk By a Shad in Willowsprings, AZ — Painting by kenne
The shed door sighs open, its hinges trembling with a worn vibrato— a reed instrument fashioned from stubborn wood and time.
That wavering note brushes my chest, and something inside loosens, answers.
I step into the dim interior where shadows keep company with the tools no longer needed, and I feel the strange comfort of being admitted again to the places I’ve outgrown.
