The Secret that the Mountain Taught Me
Nov 26th, 2008 by admin
I learned an amazing secret several years ago on one of my favorite trail runs. Less than 20 minutes from my home, it’s in north central Phoenix where there is a desert mountain preserve that spans about 11 miles from east to west and 4 miles north to south. Go five minutes into it and you’ll lose any sense of the city that surrounds it.
The trails, beautifully rugged and rocky, traverse all through the 11 mile valley and the surrounding mountain slopes. I’m not sure what geological events created this valley, but the area looks as if it was created by hundreds of small volcanoes. There are hills and peaks enough to challenge the most athletic runners.
I haven’t always run. For several decades I had stopped running, choosing instead long distance biking. I had a story that my knees were shot and the pain wasn’t worth the effort, yet I secretly longed to run. I’ve always believed that we were made to run. Why else would we have legs to pump, hearts to beat, and lungs to breathe? Why the endorphin high if we weren’t designed for stress?
So I started to run. One day, after hiking up a peak on the eastern edge of the preserve, I just started running down the trail. Anticipating the old familiar pain in my knees, I carefully choreographed each step, but to my surprise it wasn’t all that bad.
After I cleared a steep part of the decent, I opened up my stride. My feet just seemed to know exactly where to land on the rock strewn trail. From my mind’s eye, I watched in amazement as I floated down the trail.
I woke up early the next morning an hour before dawn, excited to be on the trail again. I wanted to reach the peak in time to see the sun rise and then enjoy the thrill of the downhill run again. I started up the trail slowly, warming up for this first quarter of a mile and then increased my pace. It wasn’t long before I was on the steep part of the trail, pushing myself to go a little faster.
With lungs heaving, legs burning and Achilles tendons stretched to the limit, I reached the false summit, a beautiful spot that levels out just before the final and steepest part of the climb. My super ego was screaming at me to stop, “You’ll die. Heart attack!”, but I knew if I stopped, I wouldn’t likely continue.
I had once read about an extreme skier who trained in the summer running straight up ski slopes as hard and fast as he could. He figured he’d pass out or puke before he had a heart attack. I didn’t know if that was true, but I sure hoped so. I ran up the rest of the way as fast as I could.
It wasn’t pretty. My nose running like a two year old with a cold, and I was retching, sweating and swearing my way to the top. I had pushed myself before, but not this way, not in 100 mile bike races or slogging through the muddy jungles of Viet Nam. An alarming voice in the back of my head was telling me that my heart was going to explode. My super ego again. I told it to shut the #$&% up!
I reached the top a few minutes before sun rise, heart pounding, lungs heaving and legs trembling. Then it happened. The Arizona sky lit up with luscious lavender, orange and golden hues. Every cell in my body was in a peak state, electrified. My senses amplified every sound, sight smell and feeling. I was joyously and totally alive. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I wept a prayer of thanks. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
That night I wrote these notes in my journal: Today, I touched the numinous and the eternal. What an incredible gift… I am blessed with the miracle of aliveness…legs churning, lungs pumping, heart bursting, thinking, seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, my body feeling.
Remembering words from My Dinner with Andre, I wrote: I cherish the sacramental elements of my life – my marriage, my work, my family, my friends, my world, and my universe. I am living each day as a prayer and a possibility. Thank you, God!
Nothing creates a sense of grace and peace in me more powerfully than simple gratitude. I breathe in and I am grateful. I hear my ears ringing and I am grateful. I feel my heart beating and I am grateful. Everyday. Thank you.
