Running for Sherry

Runners across the country took to the roads, to the trails, mud, snow, and sunshine to honor the memory of Sherry Arnold, a Montana woman that disappeared last month while out running.  After reading several reports, some ran to honor her memory, some ran to make the statement that women can’t be scared away from enjoying the places and activities they love, but all of us ran because we know that it just as easily could have been any of us. 

SUAR's virtual run.

My Saturday was supposed to be a rest day, but after a week of battling what I thought was a cold without progressing symptoms, I realized what it was: seasonal allergies.  I cut back mileage to recover.  By Saturday, I had a long run to squeeze in.

The sun was already low in the sky when we began our run.  It would almost certainly end in the dark.  And I’m afraid of the dark.  I read the trailhead sign boards, waiting for Matt and Alex to be ready.  “Salmon travel up the Elk River to spawn.  One rarely sees a dead salmon on the banks because bears eat them soon after they die.”  It’s the perfect sentence to read before embarking on a dark trail run in the forest, right?

 It is always an honor to be present when a friend baptizes a new pair of running shoes.

The first few miles passed on a wide gravel trail.  After crossing the Elk River Bridge, the hillside towering over us plunged our world into darkness.  Climbing the ridge through mud and tree roots I could barely see, I was afraid. Afraid of falling.  “We should see who can hold out the longest,” Alex suggested as I switched on my headlamp, “Looks like it is just between you and me Matt, Karen already wimped out.”  I always have a lot more to lose if I fall, so I had no problem being a wimp. 

Mist and fog hung in the air and I found myself seeing only a white cloud lit up by my headlamp’s beam.  

 After fidgeting with it and finding the low beam setting, we were back in business.  As we reached the top of the ridge and the old growth Redwoods, the skies cleared and stars appeared.  Shadows of giant trees mixed with a sea of stars.  Knowing my camera wouldn’t take anything close to a useable photo, I ran along just enjoying the scenery.  No thinking about the best angle or camera setting, just enjoying the moment.  I’d never been in the Redwoods at night with a full moon.  It was beautiful.

 Then the boys reminded me of the possibility of bears.  Of course, seeing one makes my heart race a little bit.  But I’ve never had a dangerous experience with bears and somehow it makes me a little less afraid of them.  I’m afraid of the dark, but not of bears.  Something may be wrong with me.  “I think that if we saw a bear, I’d be more upset by the fact that I wouldn’t get a photo of it,” I said, “not that it would eat me.”

Soon we plunged into total darkness.  Descending to the Elk River on a slick muddy trail, the pace was slow and calculated.  With a week full of hard runs and stress of allergies, it was exactly the pace I needed to go.  

 Not the muddiest day, but a good start.

We talked about our upcoming summer plans.  About training.  About everything really.  Under a secure blanket of darkness, I always find myself more open with others than I am in the light of day.  With my running buddies, I can bare my soul without fear of judgment.  Training with a friend is the best kind of therapy.

Although my 12 dark miles weren’t done alone, I believe that confronting a personal fear was a fitting way to spend this day of remembrance.