“Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm.”
― Winston Churchill
Failure to failure to failure to failure, in my case. Another DNF was entirely too much to take, especially on my own turf.
I lost more than my enthusiasm after my most recent failure at Big Cedar Endurance Run. I lost my passion, my soul.
I threw my favorite trail shoes in the trash.
I bawled as I emptied my drop bags. I wanted to throw it all in the trash as well. I didn’t want to be reminded of what was supposed to happened, but didn’t.
All that time. All that effort. Gone. And there was nothing I could do about it, but cry.
My friends posted something about a get together on the trail this weekend to share war stories, drink beer, etc. When I heard about it, I immediately thought, I can’t go back to that trail. It would be like going to my own funeral. The scene where the devil sucked my soul from my body.
But this is MY trail. I know every single inch of it. The tree where a little knot ripped the entire side of my arm when I fell two years ago. The little stone walkway that is slick as ice even when it’s dry. The section of Ranger that blooms with what I call the “Horton Hears a Who flowers” in the spring. The trail where my friend Hercules, the world’s largest rattlesnake lives. The owls that stared at me during the night this weekend. It’s the trail where I run up the steepest hill racing my friends to the top. This is MY trail. And fuck you mother nature for trying to take it away from me.
I’m not done being mad yet, but I’m not done running yet either. I bought a new pair of trail shoes today. The other ones had lots of stories to tell. And so will these. They will hold the stories of my destination, my journey and my home.