Originally published August 19, 2015
There are 10,000 acres in the Sewanee domain, on which the University of the South is located. Most of those acres are woods, located at the top of a mountain. And there are more than 50 miles of trails that wander through those woods. After a short hiatus from running (if you call five years short), I have returned to it, albeit carrying a few extra pounds on each run these days. And five more years. So my body is reacting differently to running than it once did. My knees aren't as appreciative of the pounding that roads provide, and were beginning to ache uncomfortably. Then we moved to Sewanee, Tn., where there are more than 50 miles of trails!! Isn't God sweet to provide me trails to run on that will be kinder and gentler to my knees than pavement? Really, it means no more excuses. Get out there and run. Which is fine, really. I like to explore new places, and there's no better way to do it than by running. I'm not really going that fast, and I can see things, and hear things, and smell things, and experience things I wouldn't otherwise see in a car. Saturday I ran a few in-campus trails that lead surreptitiously from dorms and houses to the academic quad and dining hall. I passed memorial benches, stone bridges, historical markers and even a cow carved out of stone. I'm still not sure what that's about. I don't mind a runabout, but wanted a little more direction to my running. So I carefully examined the trails to see which would best fit the limited mileage I am able to accomplish at this stage.
I picked the Tennessee Williams trail to the Cross (I'll talk more about that in another blog), then thought I'd cross over to the Morgan's Steep trail. That goes to Morgan's Steep (duh) which is a spectacular overlook. Then I thought I could exit there and walk back through the neighborhood to my car. Neat and tidy.
I do this thing that Michael calls "death marches." That's when I insist we take a trail or a route that I am not necessarily familiar with, and it ends up being twice as long and twice as hard in the rain.
The trails looked easy enough on the map, but when I got on them, they were twice and long and twice as hard. And it was raining.
Rocks were slippery, crags were dark, the trail was narrow, the underbrush thick and the drop-off steep - and just inches from my feet. And I'm sure there were snakes under every rock, bears in the caves, and foxes in the bushes. I was genuinely afraid as I ran into the woods.
Don't tell me there's not a bear in there!
I was genuinely frightened. Frightened of falling off the edge, because I'm not in that great of shape. Frightened of a snake slithering out from under the next rock. Frightened that a bear would appear in one of the many shallow caves I ran next to. Frightened that a fox would jump through the underbrush onto the path.
Then I looked up, and there is a mountain literally hanging over my head.
The mountain towers over you.
So now I'm not only worried about what's in front of me, next to me, behind me and under my feet, but now there's this mountain hanging over my head.
I felt like I was running for my life.
I had to persevere this trail. I had to endure this trail. It became a metaphor of this entire journey for me. I began to pray. I began to say the 23rd Psalm. I just wanted to get through it, and get to the view at the end, which is supposed to be spectacular, and exit the trail into a neighborhood. Where there are houses, and people, and automobiles, and asphalt.
Then I ran into this rock, and I mean a rock I had to scramble up. So I'm standing on top of this rock, and I look down the other side, and I see the hashmark for the trail on a tree 100 feet below me.
How am I supposed to get down there???
This is a picture I found on the internet. I was on top of this rock, having climbed it from the other side, not knowing that you're actually supposed to walk through it.
I was in total panic mode. There was no way I could shimmy down this wet, slippery rock to keep going on this trail. (I had missed the actual trail, which goes through the rock. You can see the opening above. That's why Michael calls these things I do death marches. I just march ahead without all the life-saving information.)
So I had to turn around and GO BACK. By those caves with bears in them, over the rocks with snakes in waiting, by the foxes ready to pounce, across the slimey slippery rocks.
God, are you kidding me?
I will make a covenant of peace with them and rid the land of savage beasts so that they may live in the wilderness and sleep in the forests in safety. Ezekiel 34:25
I continued to pray, then thought of the words that Isabel uses to encourage herself:
Girl, you got this.
Such a 15-year-old thing to say, but it works.
Girl, you got this.
I ran stronger, prayed more fervently.
Girl, you got this.
I stepped lightly on those rocks.
Girl, you got this.
I prayed for patience and forgiveness.
Girl, you got this.
I ran swiftly by those caves.
Girl, you got this.
I prayed for peace.
Girl, you got this.
Then I came to the end of the trail.
I walked to my car, laughing at myself. I was thirsty and my legs were shaking. I drank a sip of water from a bottle I had left in the car. I enjoyed the light rain on my shoulders and face.
Girl, I got you. It's all going to be ok.
That wasn't me, or Isabel.
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