Two weeks ago we packed up the Buca and the Piloted southbound. We were welcomed to Zion with perfect weather: warm enough to get sun burned, breezy enough not to feel hot. Anything above 70 degrees in my book is too darn hot. A breezy 68 was perfection for the entire weekend. I wasn't there to run as part of team: Come @ Me, I was merely there to manage the runners and camp to make certain all logistics ran smoothly and to ensure runners belly's were full and happy pre and post run.
I was mostly excited to spend a weekend with my best friend, Kday whom I've rarely seen around these parts lately. Work, church, and general stress has been eating up our time together and I was eager to leave that all behind. There are few things in life that a conversation around a campfire and under the starry night of Zion can't fix.
I watched as each runner headed out and struggled back into the finish area, I calculated run times, rest times, sleep breaks and potty breaks. I stood at the Start/Finish line with a lump in my throat as I watched each of my team members accomplished physical demands, and it stirred the sound slumber of the beast in me. I realized how easy it is to give up on my physical fitness when I haven't been around "the scene" in so many years. I can't believe it's been YEARS.
The beast in me stirred as night began to fall and I inhaled the cool dusk air. I had planned to run the shortest of distances with Kday and my calculations predicted a mid-night run around 2:30 am. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Running in the darkness is such a spiritual adventure, it's demanding and scary, it's peaceful and almost sacred.
Kday and I headed out with headlamps in place and nerves to be settled with the slow dusty path ahead of us. I ran for as long as I could, in silence, gingerly stepping across rocks and the dusty riveted trail. It was probably less than 5 minutes into the run when my lungs and my legs needed a break. Disgusting. I tried to be positive and whispered a quick "sorry Kev, I'm just so slow" and tried to continue to run/walk as quickly as I could. I used as much physical energy as I could to continue moving my feet, and I exhausted my mental energy attempting to stay positive. Time passed more slowly than my feet were passing over path. I slowed, and I slowed, and before I knew it... I was barely walking. I had no more apologies I had no more words of encouragement What felt like hundreds of runners had passed us in the night as I crept along the trail next to my best friend, a snail in the night - with a long journey ahead.
To be continued....
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