Jog, walk, sprint. Jog, walk, sprint. Jog, walk, sprint. It was before dawn still and the humidity thick and heavy. Small birds began their morning chorus. The light slowly increased in the sky and I could see other soldiers doing PT, too, the sounds of their running shoes on the pavement. An occasional vehicle passed. The drivers would slow their speed a bit when they glimpsed the flashes from our reflective belts and running shoe reflectors. After I turned around and headed back for the final stretches, again I was moved by oaks, cedars, and cypresses. These were in an old cemetery, and I paused to capture the moment. I cannot explain my fascination with trees, but for some reason, they move me deeply, as if their years are telling a story.