Breaking Through

I was thinking as I drove along about the race that was near the end of September, the half marathon that I’d been half training for and half not. I was headed for the trail, the one where all of this madness had begun only a short eighteen months ago, the four and a half mile stretch of asphalt that became so familiar during the summer and fall.

I’d decided earlier in the week that my Sunday run, usually the longest of the week, would take me in the opposite direction, through the wooded portion, a measured ten kilometer round trip. I hadn’t done that yet, not the ten K, I’ve run my share of those, but the trip through the woods. I’d been hesitant, wondering if there might not be obstacles; fallen trees perhaps, or rocky areas that could cause an injury. Today I would find out, and then decide afterwards whether or not I wanted to
continue on.

It was early when I arrived and only one other car occupied the lower parking area where one could take either course. A light fog still hung in the air as I started off along the path, and the noise of the traffic on the busy two lane highway evaporated almost instantly, giving way to the soft crunch of my sneakers on the fine gravel, my own breathing, and the sounds of the birds that seemed to be everywhere.

I had crossed the two, short wooden bridges and was passing the back of the house that had been the farthest I’d ventured, adding a little extra to the four and a half when I felt strong enough, when I spotted a narrow post with a .5 carved into it. I was disappointed, wanting the end to be a bit of a surprise. I hadn’t planned on ticking off the miles. I could do that on the treadmill anytime. Fortunately, they seemed to disappear after the one mile marker.

The forest began to drop off to my right, creating a valley while the hillside rose to my left. The path became a little more course and was laced with brown pine needles that had been arranged by the runoff from the recent storms. This trail was obviously well maintained by the town and I knew that there would be none of the obstructions that I’d feared.

A toad croaked and as I neared what looked to be a swamp I thought about the ponds in the rural area where I spent most of my teen years. The ponds where we fished with sticks and line and balled white bread skewered by a little barbed hook. We always tried for perch but the sunfish would attack in large numbers. It was nearly impossible not to catch one of those.

The water was stagnant and coated with a thin layer of algae. Leafless trees stood erect while others leaned, poised to fall and be consumed, and still others little more than rotted stumps. New life sprouted from the decaying carcasses, leafy vines and shrubs, and even a few flowering plants. The coating broke up, and then was gone, allowing the surface of the still water to mirror the scene as perfectly as any silvered piece of glass, the dark, almost black where the timber broke the surface, the grays of the weathered trunks, and the greens of the new growth. The only signs of movement were the tiny concentric rings that insects generated as they alit briefly and then moved on.

Now I had to wonder, were there fish here, and if there were how did they get here? Was it possible that evolution had taken place in this very spot and a form of pond life had developed from a single celled organism into one that was scaly and finned and nibbled on the insects that disturbed the peaceful water? I saw no evidence of this, but I had to accept that the possibility did exist.

It was all woods again now and I thought I must be getting close to the end of the trail. This was confirmed by the return of the mile markers, this one proclaiming three. Another tenth and I would be on my way back. The sun was moving higher into the sky, the fog had lifted completely, and the light penetrating the branches streaked the path and draped across the hills as delicately as a silk scarf tossed over the arm of a sofa.

I spotted a dollar bill on the ground as I circled to go back and picked it up. I had no place to put it, no pockets, so I held it between my thumb and index finger for the duration. This would not be my only reward today.

As I passed the reflections on the return trip I thought about the call from my sister the other night. My father had left me a message, sent me an email as well, asking why I hadn’t responded to his call. I didn’t respond to that either. He’d phoned her and had asked if she knew why he hadn’t heard from me. That was a strange thing to do, unless she’d informed him of our renewed contact. Up until April in San Francisco, we hadn’t spoken more than once every couple of years for as long as I can remember. I admitted to her that I had no desire to speak to him, and that he was probably just trying, once again, to get me involved in the project that I had expressed no interest in. I explained to her that the last time I worked with him it had put me out of business, that he’d personally driven the final nail, and had thought nothing of it, so no, I would not be returning his calls, not for now. She understood.

The scenes were familiar now and as I neared the end I became anxious, feeling strong and knowing I could go on. I thought I would run the paved part, add another four and a half to the six plus I was nearly done with, I wanted to be done with this part, I wanted to be on the asphalt.

Finally, the parking area and the water bottle that was waiting for me on the front seat. I grabbed it, took a few swigs and left it on the trunk to facilitate my next pass. I also put the ten K into my back pocket, convincing myself that I was just beginning. I was planning to go farther now, but just how far was unclear. The upper parking lot and the return would bring me to a little over ten and a half miles, if I made it, my longest to date being nine and a half, but I was determined.

I’d only seen one other person during the first part of my journey but now the trails were becoming busier, with walkers and other runners, cyclists, leashed dogs and strollers. As I reached the crossing that was halfway to the upper lot I thought to myself “you can do this, just keep moving”. There was no one here to cheer me on, no one to coach me or keep me motivated, and nothing waiting for me at the end.

This terrain was almost overly familiar, the labeled berms, the benches, the overpass and the new signs that had been placed in the spring. I made the turn, just a hair less than eight and a half miles in and I was moving well, now I was counting and calculating. I would be at ten point six when I got back to the gravel trail and the water bottle that I was becoming a bit desperate for. If I went on, perhaps to the mile marker and then back to the crossing I would end at around thirteen eight, farther than the half marathon that I aspired to complete, and then I could casually walk the mile and a quarter back to the car.

With the crossing behind me once again I was now approaching the nine and a half that was once my limit. As I moved through the invisible barrier I looked down and saw a shadow, one that was new, one that was in no way threatening, I smiled and pressed on, through the lot and then onward, back along the gravel, and a new calculation. I was weakening and would turn at the half mile marker and then return to the crossing... no the overpass, just a little beyond, that would guarantee I would be clear of fourteen miles when I passed the snow fence and the wooden uprights for the last time.

I was breathing heavier now and I tried to quiet myself, I’d come this far and I couldn’t back down, I had to find out, I had to know if I could do this. I was talking to myself, at times loud enough for others to hear, telling myself over and over that it was only a little farther, only two more miles. The bridge had looked to be a hundred miles away but I was heading back now, and after passing the farm for the fourth time I could see the guard rail that led to the finish. I could see it, I could smell the dampness of the woods, and I could taste the rusty metal on the edge of my tongue.

My calves were aching and the pain was beginning migrate north. Another half mile, then only a quarter more. Anyone along the trail could hear me now, audibly coaxing myself to go on, and then the fence and the uprights and the cramp in my stomach that hit just as I approached and then suddenly it all was behind me. I stopped and let out a yell that probably could have been heard at either end of the trail, possibly in the next town.

It was over.

As I drove away I thought about the shadow that I’d seen at nine and a half miles, it wasn’t gray and it wasn’t blurred, instead it was a lush, mottled green and the outline was crisp with every detail clearly visible. I’d recognized it immediately but just to be certain I’d held out both of my hands and splayed my fingers as widely as I could. The shadow did the same. It was true, I was alone, there were no others here, no ghosts, no one else pulling at me, no history, no battles and no baggage. It was pacing me, running alongside me, not as an adversary, not as an outside force imposing its will, but as a companion. I understood the moment I’d seen it that the past was just that, it too was over, it too was behind me, and my real journey could finally begin.