Written May 29th
The alarm rang early this morning as it has for the last two weeks, 5:30
am. This is not because of a requirement from our contact, we don’t
have to be harvesting maize or painting until around 8 am… Africa
time.
Already dressed in appropriate attire, I crack open my
sleeping bag. I manage to sit up and gather myself, this is not always
true. The dedication required to run over a one hundred miles a week
disappeared in December when I stopped training regularly. Roberto is
snoring as I slip on my trusty shoes and slide out the door. I look
around for any other early risers. It appears I’m the only runner this
morning. It’s still dark but the horizon is bright enough to get
started. It’s winter here, but being Africa that means a perfect 50
degrees.
I recall an old man named David Horton once
saying “You can’t do it! You’re not tough enough!� to my inquiry about
completing the beast series. Well, I proved him wrong. Today my goal
is to run for an hour, what a drastic change from a year ago. I push
this out of my mind as I start to trot. “Just worry about now� I remind
myself. This is one of the few times of the day that the orphanage is
quiet. I slip out the main gate as the horizon over the closest ridge
line begins to brighten.
I have to slow my pace after a mile on smooth dirt road. What
used to be effortless, has me breathing hard and my legs already
aching. And its only been a mile. Free roaming cows have cut a system
of trails across the low grass of the mountain. I step off the road and
try to relax. While mostly smooth, I’ve lost my ability to run
technical trail. The trail wastes no time in beginning to climb up the
mountain to a low pass about five hundred feet above me.
I have been using this part of the mountain to measure my lack
of fitness. The trail was actually pretty tame compared to what we
used to run at Liberty. It was certainly no Apple Orchard Falls Trail
(a 2.5 mile section of the Promise Land 50k+ Course that climbs 2500’
with 170+ stairs). It takes about five minutes for me to start
breathing hard. Another three minutes and my legs burn from latic acid,
another two and I can taste the lactic acid. I come to a screeching
halt at the top of the gap. Ouch. I manage to walk to the top of the
ridge line and find a seat on an optimally placed smooth granite rock.
As the lactic acid washes away leaving stiff calves I begin to take in
the view.
It takes about three seconds for me to remember why I came up
here in the first place. The sun slowly begins to crest over the
horizon, a flaming ball that turns the sky into a full spectrum of
colors. The sunrise reflects off the clouds that slowly flow over the
valley below me. I sit for nearly fifteen minutes watching the
environment shift around me. The mountain casts long shadows over the
orphanage and valleys below me.
But
the morning has only begun and I have more ground to cover. I climb
down off of my rock and begin to climb up the first summit. The cow
trail gives away to an open field. My pace slows a bit as I glance
around looking for cow patties and snakes. Snakes are much more of a
concern in the valleys and fields below the orphanage where the grass
grows chest high. The frequency of the granite outcroppings increase
and soon I’m climbing cracked granite faces. I scramble the rest of the
way to the summit and once again face the searing of latic acid. The
views never cease to take my breath away. I follow another cow trail
heading down the opposite side of the ridge line. My feet barely keep
up with the forward momentum generated by the steep downhill. As my
feet loudly flap against the packed trail I’m reminded of countless runs
down the mountains around Lynchburg. Without fear we would say “Let
go, let God, let gravity,� and dance our way down a steep rocky trail.
Not today.
About two hours later I let myself back in the gate. The
orphanage has awoken and the boys ask where I’ve been. Most African’s
I’ve meet have never exercised. They don’t need to, their lives are
tough enough as they are. I stop my watch after I’ve reached the rock
that sits in front of our kitchen and overlooks the valley. I finally
let my shaky knees give in and I spend a significant amount of time
stretching.
When I left for this trip, I knew that my running would have to
slow way down. While I anticipated losing some of my fitness, I still
had hopes of getting in at least one long run a month. Now it’s May
29th, and this is the first month I’ve had a semi-regular running
schedule. My total mileage for the month is well under one hundred
miles, what I once did in 32 hours. My resting heart rate has slowly
crept up from 53 bpm to a normal 80 bpm. What took two years of trail
running and ultramarathons to build up I’ve almost completely lost.
But this is a season of life, and it’s been incredible. So
much so that I wouldn’t trade anything for it, not even my endurance.
Somethings in life are so much more important.
