This Saturday, Jonny ran his first frozen trail run. We ventured out into the foggy morning, on unknown country roads with minimal visibility. The white was all around. In the air, clinging to branches and bushes, settling on the ground.
By some miracle, we made it to the trailhead. It was a scrappy sort of affair. No big sponsors, or bumping music, no trophies or lines for the snacks. Just a crazy group of ultra runners, out in the boonies, gathered round a small campfire. A handful of volunteers and a couple hundred racers. A tent filled with real food and a space heater. A few dogs and some ATVs. Trails marked with colored flags and trucks parked on the sagebrush. Empty shotgun shells mounted on blocks of 2x4 served as awards. It was perfect.
His parents and I were there to cheer and see him take off at the starting gun. After only a few paces, the whole group disappeared into the mist.
He told us his anticipated return time, and we went to seek shelter in the car for the duration. We just missed him at the finish line, since he ran much faster than he'd predicted and we weren't quite there yet. We were so proud of him. He tackled those hills even with the damp of the January fog seeping into his bones. One by one, the runners appeared, coming down from the top of a hill and materializing out of the vapor to reach the end of their journey. Some ran 5 miles that day, some ran 50. Each one returned with ice crystals on their eye lashes and the tips of their hair.
I think some of life is running through the mist, unable to see into the future, unable to turn back. The only option is to keep running, keep moving, one foot in front of the other. Heart pumping, legs burning as we take on our own proverbial hills. It takes courage. At times we may feel completely alone on the trail. Luckily, if we will pay attention, we will notice flags guiding our way at key turning points. There are people watching out for our safety. There are other runners, who appear when we need encouragement on our way. And there are loved ones waiting at the end. My bet is, they won't even mind if we arrive exhausted and sweaty from the effort of our trip. Maybe they'll greet us with a banana and a water bottle, and a great big squeeze.
By some miracle, we made it to the trailhead. It was a scrappy sort of affair. No big sponsors, or bumping music, no trophies or lines for the snacks. Just a crazy group of ultra runners, out in the boonies, gathered round a small campfire. A handful of volunteers and a couple hundred racers. A tent filled with real food and a space heater. A few dogs and some ATVs. Trails marked with colored flags and trucks parked on the sagebrush. Empty shotgun shells mounted on blocks of 2x4 served as awards. It was perfect.
His parents and I were there to cheer and see him take off at the starting gun. After only a few paces, the whole group disappeared into the mist.
He told us his anticipated return time, and we went to seek shelter in the car for the duration. We just missed him at the finish line, since he ran much faster than he'd predicted and we weren't quite there yet. We were so proud of him. He tackled those hills even with the damp of the January fog seeping into his bones. One by one, the runners appeared, coming down from the top of a hill and materializing out of the vapor to reach the end of their journey. Some ran 5 miles that day, some ran 50. Each one returned with ice crystals on their eye lashes and the tips of their hair.
I think some of life is running through the mist, unable to see into the future, unable to turn back. The only option is to keep running, keep moving, one foot in front of the other. Heart pumping, legs burning as we take on our own proverbial hills. It takes courage. At times we may feel completely alone on the trail. Luckily, if we will pay attention, we will notice flags guiding our way at key turning points. There are people watching out for our safety. There are other runners, who appear when we need encouragement on our way. And there are loved ones waiting at the end. My bet is, they won't even mind if we arrive exhausted and sweaty from the effort of our trip. Maybe they'll greet us with a banana and a water bottle, and a great big squeeze.
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