We recently lost a running buddy, Todd Alexander. I didn't know him outside of our running group, but he touched my life in a meaningful way, and I feel incredibly fortunate that our paths crossed.
I'll remember him for his kindness, his quiet humor, his humility, and the unique kind of friendship that only forms when you run alongside someone, mile after mile through the seasons.
One Sunday morning, on a quiet trail during a group run, we came upon a small pond where a Great Blue Heron stood peacefully on the opposite bank. We stopped, and Todd shared a story: in Native American lore, the heron embodies self-reliance, wisdom, and patience, and every time you see one, you should pause and reflect. Naturally, this set off a round of banter and genuine conversation about the value of slowing down — the kind of exchange that only happens on a nice slow run with good company. It stuck with me. I've thought of it often since, and I find myself returning to it again now, in remembrance of Todd.
On patience. The heron moves slowly and can stand motionless for long stretches. It teaches us that when our hearts are heavy, healing often begins in silence and stillness — that waiting, or the absence of visible progress, isn't weakness. It's a quiet kind of strength.
On self-reliance. Its heavy body rests on impossibly thin, long legs, a reminder that stability doesn't require massive outside support. Our internal resources are often enough, and peace of mind can be as simple as a single breath.
On wisdom. From the heron we can learn to listen — not to speak, but to listen with our hearts, to sit in stillness long enough to hear our own intuition and find clarity for whatever we're facing.
It's a rare gift to have friends who can hand you lessons like these with so few words, through nothing more than quiet example. For that, Todd — rest peacefully, my friend. You will be missed more than words can say.
