The bison once ruled the heart of North America. They crossed rivers, mountains, grasslands and braved storms. They moved not because they knew where they were going, but because movement itself was life.

The myth of Lazarus echoed through the Chester Valley well before the birth of this Nation. Legend has it he became captivated by horizons. Every time he reached one, another appeared. Every ridge revealed another valley. Every river led to another crossing. So he kept going. Season after season. Year after year.

Some say he wandered east centuries ago in search of his herd. Others claim he was born within a storm over the Great Plains and never stopped moving. What everyone agrees upon, Lazarus has been traveling for a very long time.

The American bison is unique among most creatures in the way it faces adversity, a lesson learned through generations of unfathomable survival.

Most animals retreat from a storm. The Bison runs directly into the heart of it. They know running from the storm means it is always at your back, chasing your every step, while facing it head-on shortens the storm’s effects and duration.

So Lazarus lowers his head and walks into the howling wind. The storm swallows him whole. Lightning strikes. Thunder rolls. Snow and rain erase every trace. When the sky finally clears, Lazarus is nowhere to be found, but he has not yet reached the limit of his journey.

Those who run with the spirit of Lazarus understand there is no finish line waiting to make you whole. No destination that suddenly makes everything easy. There is only learning to be comfortable in the uncomfortable. The trail ahead. The next step. The next hill. The next unknown. The next dawn. So the herd carry’s on.

The limit has not been found.

And you're Not Dead Yet!