Wandering the Single-Track

The hot weather reminds me that delaying going out for my run isn’t all good. At 10 am I am realizing that my large Camelbak is missing, and my Fuel-belt bottles were put away dirty (mistake) after my last run. By the time I arrive at the park it is already 10:45 am. What makes things worse is that I have an afternoon get-together for which I would need to shower, and pickup stuff for Rootbeer Floats. *sigh* Why should this run be any different from the rest; it seems like the case for all of my runs these past few months.

The difference is that I am alone today. I will not need to worry about YaYa on his bike, or keep a conversation going with anyone. Today, I will run where I want, and at my own pace. It is good.

It is 5 miles into my run when I finally arrive at my favorite portion of the trail. With the steepest climbs behind me, the trail narrows to a single-track that is partially framed with a wooden fence. The trail begins to flatten out for a short bit and then rolls and climbs in switchback fashion.

It’s hot out and I welcome the shaded running path. I let my mind wander where it wants. It takes me back to the day when Tom introduced me to this part of the park. Back then, Tom and I were both beginning marathon runners training for our first marathon. Back then, he was healthy, or so we thought. It is likely that the hip pain that he experienced in his training was related to the tumors (rather than the running). Little did we, or his doctors, know of what was growing within him.

My mind wanders so more, remembering the first time Tom and I did our 20 mile training run on this course…It was pouring down rain and I had never traveled that far on the trail. We discovered that it is miserable after the 8th mile. But Tom was a trooper and it was I who was spewing fowl words from my mouth on the way to the turn around point. By the time I’d reached the end of the road, I was mindset on heading back as soon as we could. I watched my watch closely as we had a sitter that had a limited amount of time available to watch the boys.

I waited for Tom, who joined me a few minutes later. He walked through the horse gate and continued on. “Where are you going?” I questioned, noting that we had done the distance. Me told me that the road was just 0.2 miles more and that he wanted me to see it. “Come on” he urged “You can call it ‘bonus distance.’” I grumbled and followed, irritated and amazed at how content he was to go further after such miserable travels to that point.

Although the weather is hot, today’s run will not be miserable. I rarely go out past that 8 mile mark. Today, I will run until I reach it and then turn back as the steep, uneven, rocky terrain does not allow for what I would call “running.”

I loved training together (word used loosely). The aches and pains bonded us. The accomplishments validated us as a couple. It was something that we had in common besides the kids.

So, when Tom stopped training at the end of our training for Big Sur, I was saddened. I couldn’t blame him though. It was tough times; he’d been laid-off and was unable to find work. His every moment was dedicated to finding work. Although he was depressed and tired, he pursued his networking and interviewing with tireless effort. I admired him even more as he put everything into his efforts for returning stability to our family once again.

Now, as I run alone on the trail, I feel my body struggle to climb the hill. It is more fatigued today than it has been – an outward sign of the extra energy that it takes to grieve. I slurp down another GU packet, and within 15 minutes can feel my body revive. I reach the tower that marks my turn around, stretch, and turn back.

The downhill is like a celebration of reaching my destination. I relax and listen to the sound of the things, inside of my near-empty Camelbak, moving up and down. The ground crunches beneath my feet and my breathing is easy. I feel alive and that is good.