"My heart is my own, the trapped hare belongs to the hour"
(Frank O'Hara)
The sudden death of an individual known for his exceptional running and commitment to competitive racing in the Niagara region is tragic enough. I am particularly saddened because I knew Jerry and had run with him years ago in countless long- and short-distance races (He was by far the stronger and more impassioned runner). I also remember Jerry as a very kind, encouraging and inspiring person.
It's tragic that very fit and dynamic people can be whisked away in an instant, as Jerry was. It's a reminder to people like me that commitment to strenuous physical activity must be its own reward: because if the limits are unknowingly transgressed and the run happens to be your last, the hope is that the breathing, rhythm and intoxicating pains of exertion will have been our only comforts.
It's been many years since I've run with Jerry but here I homage his spirit: I homage as poetical the sport of running whose elegant exemplar he was for so many years.
A tern's passing shadow--
the runner
