6/9/20, Missoula - Kim Williams Nature Trail, Montana

The sun rose to another average day. Light blared through my window barking at me to wake up. I wrestled in my mind attempting to find a good reason to roll out of bed. It swung back and forth to find a separation between yesterday and today, lifting up rocks to uncover a treasure just for that specific day to stop it from being a repeat of a day I have lived countless times. Nevertheless, I opened one eye to a room filled with books and a Rocky poster hanging behind my bed. I tore off the covers, sat upright, and pondered how should I start this Tuesday morning. The answer was found in a habit I began last summer. After my morning Bible devotions, I laced up my running shoes to take a lap around my college campus, a route I have taken repeatedly for the last few months.

I ran the half-mile from my apartment to campus at a slow warm-up pace, passing grueling trails leading up Mt. Sentinel that I in no way planned on taking. Once I reached campus, I ran up to the front doors of Schreiber Gymnasium, to see if I could say good morning to any cadre that might be in there, but the doors were locked. Last summer I stopped by regularly to say hello, but those parts of my runs were discontinued with COVID. I was slightly disappointed, but still content with just running the two and a half-mile lap with no significant interactions. I have grown used to running alone, almost to the point where I prefer it. Think about it, if you run alone there is no challenge from competitors or friends to improve yourself. There is no challenge to give anything extra of yourself to care for others. It is just you, running down a lane you have done so many times. You can stay content in running in a circle. I high kneed my way up the stairs to get back to the sidewalk and then continued downhill. I ran past the trailhead of the M-trail, a route I take when I have the motivation to challenge myself. This was not one of those days.I began to round the bend of the Washington-Grizzly Stadium, a benchmark on my route flagging that I was reaching the halfway point to a place I am meant to call home. As I was rounding the bend, to my right was the Kim Williams Nature Trail. I had run this trail many times in the past, but I guess I felt a little guilt for skipping the M-trail, so I took the nature trail to add on a mile or two to my run. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but just different enough to make a distinction between yesterday. I switched from running pavement to gravel.

The gravel felt hard pounding against my feet urging me to return to the pavement. I passed the first .1-mile marker in no time at all. Progress was being made! Progress toward what? Still, it felt good to pass each marker, which kept me going a little farther and keep me from focusing on the pounding in my feet. Not before long, I came across something I couldn’t ignore: a giant rock sticking out of the mountainside that totally looked like it could be climbed! I walked to the edge of the gravel and stopped before the grass. I thought, “Do I really want to take this silly detour to my run?” I ran through the grass and shot up the rocks.

The rocks were slanted making climbing with running shoes a sketchy attempt on untrustworthy, slick rocks. The climb up was completely vertical, and the top was not in sight, which is never a good sign for an unprepared free climber. I was proud enough of my attempt and lowered myself down from the first piece of slanted rock. I darted out from the grass running onto the trail, which might have spooked my co-worker, Veronica, on her morning bike ride.

She asked, “What were you doing?”

I replied, “Oh, I was just trying to climb that rock” pointing towards it.“Do you mind if I run with you?” With that, we were off.

My pace quickened to something like a 6:45 mile and it felt great. My lungs weren’t giving up and my legs begged to go faster. I ran just ahead of yesterday, so maybe when I got to tomorrow it would be different. I was able to keep up a simple conversation by only exchanging a few words at a time. The nature trail goes on for three miles, and I had no intension of running the whole thing, so once we reached a half-mile, I called that it was time for me to turn around. Veronica turned around with me needing to be back home by a certain time. I ran with her almost the whole way back until she sped off noticing she was running short on time. When Veronica left, I saw a woman we had passed earlier staring up the mountain. My curiosity had an edge on my need to complete the run by that point, so I stopped by her to look up.

Walking above us were two bighorn sheep right in the backyard of Missoula. Both of them tip-toed along the mountainside without a hint of fear searching for shrubs to fill their stomachs. Part of me wanted to climb up there with them, so I could be near the sight. Of course, I knew there was no way I was climbing those rocks and I shouldn’t be harassing wildlife in the first place, so I stayed in my place. There was no place I had to rush off to, nothing I had to accomplish by a certain time, all I had to do was stand there and appreciate the sight.

Other runners began to pass by, and another excitement welled up inside me. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, a joy isn’t complete till it is expressed and one way to express joy is to share it with others, even a stranger. Walkers, runners, and bikers alike stopped to see what must be so captivating. It was my delight to point both of the sheep out hiding behind the shade of trees at times. Some shrugged their shoulders and said, “That’s cool.” Others stopped in place to be lost in the sight of unexpected joy. Other trail users kept their earbuds in and seemed too embarrassed to stop to ask what was so great. My heart sank a little more for each person who just ran by, totally oblivious or just apathetic to what stood in clear sight of them. I wanted to shout, “Look up!” Too bad shouting makes no difference when people don’t have ears. The two sheep were marvels begging to the everyday man to stop and lookup. Too often we run down the road of the ordinary, rushing around in a circle to get back to tomorrow, which will be the same as today if we don’t stop to look up at the extraordinary.

I stood there for at least fifteen minutes as the sheep walked back and forth on the mountain. I knew I couldn’t stay there forever. I began my run home, returning to the pavement. I could feel the difference between the gravel and the pavement. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe the gravel leads home? Maybe it will lead me to a meadow where I can make my bed in the warm grass where the sun shines. In that place, I can stop running. There is no trail to take or time to make. I can just lay there and lookup.