"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start."
-John Bingham, running speaker and writer

In a deep rem sleep I am awakened by the low beeping persistence of my phone's alarm. It is now 4:50am, my eyes are burning with sleep, so bad they begin to water. Finally coaxing myself out of bed I begin dressing myself, it has become so routine that the motions are nearly subliminal. The questions of why I sacrifice mind and body in form sleep deprivation just so I can get in a run has often popped into my head. Yes it hurts and I would rather stay in a warm bed, specially in winter when it is still dark and cold out, but the painful sleepiness quickly dissipates as you begin to move.

Crossing quickly yet quietly across the house I grab my shoes, my watch and headlamp. Standing on the back porch staring out into the dark, morning chill, I'm consumed by the darkness but not phased. I actually enjoy taking in the first crisp breath of fresh air, and the quiet eerie feel of the winter darkness, I find myself oddly at peace. Without wasting any time I head out front to meet my running partner, Richard, for the morning.

Within minutes of departing into the darkness, I find myself alone in my thoughts as Richard drifts ahead a few yards. Sure the purpose of running with someone is for the camaraderie and conversation but for us we share few words in the beginning then again maybe in the middle. This is in part due to Richard being a stronger runner, but at the same time we have an unspoken bond and friendship that we share without needing words. I fall into a rhythm of my feet pounding lightly on the dark tarmac surface, and the beating of my heart - no other sound is present. Deep in my own thoughts I'm immersed in the near solitude, it becomes a very Zen like experience and a mental recharge.


A little while into the run, the sun starts to melt the darkness away and slowly the town starts to awaken. Families getting ready for work and school. Commuters leaving town in hopes of squeezing through rush hour, all the while I'm soaking in the morning, my coffee at 5 mph. Little escapes me as I glide along the towns walks, under the street lamps and through still dark neighborhoods. It is Eerily how peaceful it is when you first start, not a creature is stirring and gradually over the course of the run the town quietly awakens. 

Stepping back into my house, my family is now awake, I'm fully charged and ready for the day. I used to loathe getting up early, now I love my mornings, even though it hurts for a minute :-).

          

A lesson in Suffering..

“What is best about our lives -the moments when we are, as we would put it, at our happiest- is both pleasant and deeply unpleasant. Happiness is not a feeling; it is a way of being.” Mark Rowlands



My partner had stopped a few hundred yards back to re-organize his gear and now I realize for the moment I’m alone. Making my way up switch back after switch back, a footstep being silenced by the soft wet earth under my foot.The dark green of the dense forest gives way to the subtle eerie contrast of the fog I was now enveloped in. It was Peaceful and Zen like; I take this moment to try to clear my head and the stress of everyday life. The mountains are an amazing natural force, and not one to take for granted. While they are known to be incredibly nurturing and healing, they can also just as quickly maim or kill you. They decide who stays and who goes.
 

About this point in the climb, I went from feeling decent to downright suffering. The accumulation of long work hours, lack of fitness and other non tangible niggles had caught up to me. My Legs went from jello, to pudding to not really wanting to move at all, it was beyond frustrating I had never felt that way ever. So close to the summit I refuse to quit, even though everything in mind and body tell me to just go home. Soon enough my body starts to rebel with nausea. Breaking out of the forest to the sub alpine terrain, the approach starts to steepen, my legs are whining even more. Push, step up, stop, push, step up, stop and repeat. It's all I could do to keep from wanting to vomit. As I reached the saddle, I took a minute to revel in what I had achieved so far and was in awe at the landscape and super pleased that after leaving a down pour at the trailhead, it seemed like it was breaking with the sun intermittently poking through. It seemed like I may get to climb after all. After soaking in the surrounding beauty of the thick white clouds rolling over the ridges like a tidal wave, and crawling up the mountainside like a flame would crawl up a wall, I turn my attention to the final summit block.
 

What lied directly ahead of us was a very obtainable wall in dry conditions or if I was roped up. It didn't look any worse than maybe a low 5.8, but since it was wet, plus we didn't bring a rope we decided not chance fate. Scouring the wall a little more to the west, we found a better option a very short low class 4, maybe high class 3 rock that led to a ledge that you from there you could essentially walk up. After donning our climbing shoes, Richard starts up the first bit, it is easy climbing but I reach this one stretch where there isn't a whole lot of option for foot and hand placement. Considering the wet rock, and gloved hands I was not super excited about the predicament of having to down climb this. I look at Richard who was already topped out on the ledge, “Does it look like there is a better solution to down climb available from your view point?" I asked. He told me it looked like the ledge sloped down to a low lying shelf that could be easily down climbed. That was enough for me, and up I went. The rest was fairly simple boulder hopping to the summit, but in my condition I still felt worked, and I was still suffering. Once I reached the top and gave Richard a high five, I had to sit down. I was trying to relax and allow my body to adjust to the stress; I was fighting the ever growing urge to vomit. It was not how I envisioned the adventure, but sometimes just like in life, things don't go as planned and you have to roll with the tide. I knew the trip down would be less taxing on my body, if I could just hold on a little longer. Making quick work of the down climb, we reach our stashed packs. The last little uphill to the packs did a number on me. I leaned against the rock wall, with my helmet resting against the wall, closing my eyes praying that I will get through this. A few minutes later I didn't get my prayers answered but I felt significantly better.
 

I suffered greatly that day, but I persevered. It is moments like these that make us tougher in mind and body. They also create better stories, or memories to remember because let’s face it how often to remember the easily obtained goals. It was an epic trip that I will soon come back to.