Some days are just a blur, and today certainly feels that way -- from waking up, going to cover the Burns track meet, writing the story at the Press, dinner, to several hours at Jaime's -- And now here I am in bed, barely realizing yesterday was Christmas...

But at the meet today I was reminded of the elegant grace of the high jumper. She stands, set alone, apart from the crowd, carefully eyeing the approach. No one talks to her now -- she's in the zone. She looks ahead and eyes the route, figuring out the steps and when to leap. Up, onto her toes she extends, loosening the muscles, working the blood surging through her veins as anticipation builds. Then down from the tips of the toes, left foot planted and right two steps' worth back -- She rocks, her left leg extended straight in an angle to the floor, the foot anchored at the heel, toes pointed upward -- As she rocks back, she plants her right foot, bending at the knee, then straightening it -- All this time, her arms are held out from her body, hands clenched, elbows bent. The rocking continues -- back, forward, up on her toes again she goes, then down again -- Poised. Set. Now time to approach -- And she goes with graceful, well-placed steps, bouncing in a smooth, measured movement across the floor into the turn to approach the bar more parallel -- The steps are closer now, more quickly she goes -- Planting her foot and up she goes, her arms lifting her, extended above her head as she ascends, shoulders-first, back to the bar -- And they're up, her shoulders clearing the barrier to success, her body now arched as a quarter-moon, head to one side -- the safe side -- feet still lingering in the past. The spin continues and witha flip of the legs, the feet come over and -- FLOP -- onto the mat almost somersaulting backwards and folding herself in half. Yes, the elegant gracefulness of the high jumper.