Skip to main content

up again.

the alarm went off. I quickly muted it and put my ear to the window. rain. I opened my weather app on the phone, to make sure this wasn't part of a dream. yes, it was raining.

I went back to sleep, curling up to my husband. my original plans of Pfiefferhorn to White Baldy would have to wait. I wasn't going to do that solo in the dark and rain.

40 minutes passed. I woke with a jolt, whispered to my husband I'd be running near Alta. I threw on my prepacked clothes, grabbed my vest, and slipped out the door a few minutes later.

driving up LCC

up I drove. up again. the headlights reflected from the fog ahead of me, always whispering of things ahead that I could never catch. beyond the beaten paths little cottonwood has everything in mountains I love-- it is wild, treacherous, and free. the rain that dusted my car deepened as I drove up.

the trailhead
as I started up the Catherine's Pass trail the sunrise avoided me. the light seeped through the rain and fog; clouds danced between the mountains. my legs were  heavy, so heavy. too many long days, too many peaks...they were still in there. I am strong, but that strength gave me this weakness. mentally too I am weak, broken... a sharp pencil reduced to a stub, still trying to draw lines in mountains I haven't drawn yet. my legs are lead, but I won't stop drawing. not yet.


I took pictures. the flowers distracted me from my breathing. clouds shifted around, changing the mountains. on a ridge, unable to see on either side of me. am I on a ridge? is this a summit? or do I keep climbing? the clouds move again and the drizzle shifts. I am near pine trees. wait, are pine trees on this ridge?


why again? I've done this ridge several times already this summer. yet again I'm up here, wandering around, more lost than I've ever been, because I can't make out the trail I'm standing on and I can't tell if the ridge is to my right or left or underneath me. I'm not sure what is a summit and what just is. does it matter? and I take another photo and wander to my right and to my left, trying to see.


we are playing cards, the mountain and I. the rules are ever changing, and I can't keep up. so I take the pace down; I wander. enjoying the wet granite, the sopping clothes, the terrain. with no view I only have each step to look forward to.

why again? because this time is different. every time is different. this time is lonely in a joyful, meditative way. all the noise of races and alarms and events and group runs.... why again?

am I up again? or am I down? and it doesn't matter, I am sleepwalking through the clouds, dancing each step alone.

a short lived view; whispers of mountains

the effects of exploring a new-to-me side ridge in fog

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

a new year; a wasatch akitu

“Think now history has many cunning passages, contrived corridors, and issues, deceives with whispering ambitions, guides us by vanities. …The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours.”
another new year startled us today. somewhere between the late night meandering into a warm bed, after the clock already struck a replayed chime marking the change of calendar (for, we can DVR the change of year and play it in every time zone,) and after the morning coffee, sunrise, prayers, or routines—the time has changed, and so have we.
the Wasatch is a flurry, the new recreational pursuits settling into it as the heavy snow settles onto it. it has been a dense year of both snow and increased use of the snow.
although this mountain range sits above a major metropolitan area, it retains pockets of wild refuge still hidden from its’ own mountain refugees. these pockets of frozen time are still filled with change. no man steps into the same Wasatch twice, for it is not the same Wasatch, nor is it the…

that WEIGHTY issue

It's been said to us climbers that what we do is dangerous, and irresponsible. How could we risk our lives like this? And distance trail running, if it compromises our health why do it? How dare we take that time away from our families? And yet, to even make mention about a different lifestyle, one of weight, obesity, and all of the very dangerous and risky components it involves is socially disgraceful, insensitive, and cruel. I bring this up only to show how much weight, in general, is not "ok" to talk about. It's a sensitive subject, even, no, especially, for those of us already at a healthy weight who use our bodies to their fullest daily...

Now, this blog is about running, ain't it? Yep. So while there's a lot of "weight" we could cover in this "weighty" area, we'll just go over one. Running.
Running and weight are intertwined. I'd like to say that this post is primarily for the ladies, because we typically store more weight t…

standhope 60k

it seems like the last few years I've aged, and I've grown. I lost my identity as a runner. if I didn't run frequently, if I wasn't in the mountains, if I wasn't pushing my own limits, what was I? 
I'd retained the identity as a mother, daughter, sibling, friend, student of literature and wilderness. this was a shift - less time, less comments, less messages with the running community that I didn't know well, a deepening of friendships and relationships with those closest to me.
it felt odd, going into standhope. I didn't have goals, I wasn't sure where I was at with running, I wasn't in shape for racing. I had this idealism, that if I raced hard, I could inspire others, not to run, but to pursue life with passion. but, what about when I can't race hard? when life is racing too hard for me to train?
earlier this year my Dad was diagnosed with mantle cell lymphoma. visits to the hunstman increased, my mileage decreased. when looking at anoth…