|Sunrise from Grandeur Pk. Matt and Craig moved during the panorama|
I checked the time. I was meeting my sister for a birthday lunch soon, but I could squeeze this in: a quick summit of Mt. Wire. I wouldn't have time to come down George's Hollow, but if I came down the face again I could change in the car and hurry to make it lunch on time.
This would be my first time out since the Buffalo 100.
|Cherri on Parley's - Emigration Ridge|
No more procrastinating.
This was what my body was waiting for, anyways. The oft busy BST trails were empty, likely due to the weather that had turned to hail. It was quiet, if the pattering of hail can be called quiet. Each step my achilles and calf would burn, but they'd burn with excitement. I struggled to find a rhythm I had forgotten- the rhythm of deep, sharp breaths on a steep slope, a rhythm lost to me during my many flat training runs.
|Jen Richards finding the uphill rhythm while running the Zion Traverse, her report for our run here|
I approached the section of trail strava has named the "no talking zone." Steep and rocky, this section reminds me of a mountain ridge, an exposed spine of choppy, uneven steps. The are rare and lone trees, and brush lurks beside the spine. Every summit, this is my favorite part. I relished each step, each noisy breath, each cut-out rock tangled into a trail. I pushed harder; I felt alive. I was alive. Pushing life into each step, existing in moments caught between footwork and views. The clouds enveloped me and snow began to dance around. I ran the rolling portions between the brush. I never can decide if I'm grateful for the trail through the tangled scrub oak there. I have a special place in my heart for breaking through brush.
|Matt Williams on the summit of Perkins Peak|
|"cougar cub" tracks on Wire (for Scott. ha)|
Searching the summit views I was grateful that the nearby mountains were masqued by clouds, I couldn't hear their beckoning call. I was allowed the peace of the singular mountain I was on, reassured that from this point forward, I could run summits. No roads. No tempos. No quick 10 milers. Just quiet, peaceful peaks.
|Grateful for friends who aren't afraid of a little brush.|
|Coming down Wire on Georges in April snow, photo by Craig|
The aggression and passion of mountains match mine. We bite, claw, redline... but stop to let minutes tick by to observe a sunrise, dip tired legs into a cool stream, and lay on a summit laughing with friends. Extroverted by appearance and introverted by a harsh, misunderstood nature. Despite my love, the mountains will never give me anything. Still I swirled the thoughts of peaks and summer goals around, rolling them over and over in my thoughts. This was satisfying, even if it only was Wire, my "baby mountain." My baby mountain.
The hail turned to heavy rain, and I was grateful to approach the parking lot. I had summited in a PR time for me, although I hadn't planned for it, and the time wasn't impressive. Still, my body was yearning to go up, up, up. No more flats.
No more running.
*note: all pics are from the last month's "recovery" summits. Only 3 runs since Buffalo 100 haven't included a summit, and two of those still included 2000+ vert in very few miles.