Instead of rambling about my running history, which I am sure will happen at some other date, I want to explore a couple of recent runs before they leave my mind for too long . . . a couple of weeks ago while running a local trail for the first time this winter (right at snow level) I came across a herd of elk and had to marvel at my good fortune. Their wildness made me feel wild. I felt their existence, even if it was for only the briefest of moments, and was no longer civilized human. I was the visitor suddenly cut off from all the trappings of my life: it was an excellent moment. They simply watched me, took a few steps away, turned and watched me continue on my climb. There is something especially cool about experiences in nature when you are alone . . . I don't mean to sound anti-social, but there really is something magical about being caught within the experience of nature without the safety-net of other humans around.
I have lucked out in this general area of my running terrain a number of times in the past few months . . . just before the New Year I was running on a ridge in the same general area when I came across what seemed like 200 elk and noticed within their midst a couple of coyotes trying to find suitable prey. It was definitely a wow moment. Both me and the friend I was running with at the time (Ed) were thrown into jaw-dropping shock. There are certainly more adventurous spirits than I who may have these moments on a regular basis, but my city-slicker ways had to count this as one of the more memorable wildlife moments of my life. It was the kind of scene that connected our presence on that ridge with the history and pre-history of our ancestors: what a fantastic run! We started at about 3 in the morning with headlamps and winter gear at the ready and found ourselves transported by sunrise to another existence entirely.
The other run I wanted to scribble down happened this past weekend and is unfortunately much less romantic, but certainly in terms of the rigors required no less important in terms of my goals for the upcoming season. Once again I started before sunrise, about 5 in the morning, and made my way towards the trails and hills above the city. My initial optimism turned sour, as I realized how difficult the terrain would be for the course of the day. I had purposely chosen a relatively easy route that climbed and descended around 4,500 to 5,000 feet of vertical during the day's 40 miles, but the recent combination of snow, rain, warming, cooling, and general winter mayhem had left the trails a mess. In the morning, the trails were frozen over completely and at times simply painful. I only had a running partner (Joel) for miles 5 to 10 and planned on keeping a fairly easy pace throughout the run, but even the early miles were leaving me less than enthusiastic. I was in a negative place. I was mad at the mountains. I was mad at myself. I was angry at the trails for being tougher than I expected. Everything, both mental and physical, was moving at a pace slower than anticipated. This was not Zen. This was not cool. This was not fun. Around mile 13 or so I ran into a couple of other runners, including familiar faces, heading off in the other direction. They seemed to be doing much better than me. They were in tune with the day. The couple of moments shared as they went off in the other direction were the first truly positive moments of the morning. I was reminded of where I was. Don't get me wrong: I was still looking for a good excuse to cut the day short, but at least I knew there were other people on the trail and that my troubles were mostly inside my mind.
The real change in my run started a few miles later when I ended up sliding in behind a couple of runners for nearly a mile on what turned out to be one of the few sections of trail clear from snow, ice, or mud. I don't think I said one word the entire time I was behind these two runners who were busy rambling on about something or another. I simply enjoyed not having to think. Running behind them was almost like a vacation from myself. I only had to look at the ground immediately in front of me and run the pace they set. As I left them to head up another climb, I felt for the first time that the day was going to work itself out. I felt new energies start to flow into my legs and found that I was actually starting to enjoy the absurdity of the conditions. I should have thanked the couple for the relief they unknowingly gave me, but it didn't occur to me until miles later when the day had truly turned the corner . . . when I met them on the trail I was still in the darkness of my own spirit. It's strange how we can sometimes move through the widest range of emotions and sensations during a singular run, but as long as we keep moving our legs forward the journey is in full force.
2010 Race Schedule:
Buffalo Run 50 Miler
Pocatello 50 Miler
Big Horn 100 Miler
SpeedGoat 50km
Wasatch 100 Miler
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