I Think I Can

Echoes reverberate off the mountains sending undulating waves of sound up and down the basins before spilling out onto arid plains like a cacophony of waterfalls. The coal trains snake along the valley bottom, running on schedules known only to the universe and the CPR gods. Their diesel engines spit and huff, chug and sputter as they pull their snakelike bodies around river bends, over bridges, and through thick stands of Lodge Pole pines.

It’s four o’clock in the afternoon on a Saturday. Kai and I are out for a long run, thirty kilometers today. The sun is hot and scorches the top of my head, and I try to calculate how far I have to go to my next water drop.

The trail I’m on comes out of the bush unto a set of tracks which are unoccupied for the moment. What are the chances that they will remain clear for the next half hour, I wonder. My water is stashed on the other side, keeping cold in the frigid, gin-clear waters of the Elk. But I still have five K before I will allow myself this break. Kai splashes into a muddy ditch, and her undercoat drips with grime; she laps indiscriminately at the filthy water.

I turn left along the trail, taking my chance that a train will not be here when I finish my loop. After all, it is Saturday at four in the afternoon. The CP guys are probably getting ready for their shift break.

Kai leads the way as I head up into the mountains. She’s been here before, many times. Her nose examines the air and her tail goes up as she picks up a new scent. It’s up hill for the next four K, and I’ll be sucking air and dragging burning muscles up the last stretch, which is so steep that I can use my hands near the top.

My running partner is a no-show today. She has missed many of our long runs as we enter the final stages of our marathon training schedule. Neither of us knows that she will pay for the next five years after the race when she is unable to run even a kilometer. It’s a good thing I’m okay with solitary runs.
My running partner may not be, but I am determined. After all, this is my Bucket List. I press on, striving towards the end of the trail. This is fun, I tell myself. This is good for me. It’s a mantra we have chanted to ourselves for the past twenty years of social running. This is fun. What a lie – of course it isn’t fun; its hard grunting, sweating, and on occasion nerve-wracking work.

I run because it’s fun. I run because it’s fun. I run because it’s fun.

I come hurtling down the last kilometer of the loop; it is almost a near vertical drop. Sweat stings my eyes and my knees sound like someone is snapping twigs below my waist. Kai opts to zigzag down, using her tail and all four legs as an occasional brake. I see a train trundling along the tracks towards the trail which will take me to my water bottle.

I decide that I can outrun it. I need that water more than I need to be cautious. My legs are screaming at me as I pick up speed. A bellowing blast issues forth from the engine as the engineer realizes my intentions.

I think I can beat him.

I think I can.

I think I can.

Holy shit that was close!

Image Credit

“How to cool off after a run” by David Ingram. www.flickr.com. Some rights reserved.

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