The Big Picture

The unseasonable warmth that is preceding the Arctic Chill continued on this Veterans Day; it is supposed to be raining or snowing by midnight, but it doesn't look like it today, with the sun shining and temperatures again in the upper 50s.  I wasn't sure where I was going to run this morning, but I wanted to try a different route.  It is easy to get in a rut as a runner, running the same route every day, the same races every year.

As I neared the top of Chestnut Street, I realized that I had not run to the summit of Big Bearpen Mountain in a very long time.  We began the year running in Atlantic Beach shortly after New Year, and when we returned in early March I was recovering from the Myrtle Beach half marathon and preparing for the Flying Pirate half marathon in April, so long slow runs were on the agenda.  And then I had my hernia surgery.

But I have missed this mountain, the familiar, relentless grade that never lets up until the determined runner reaches the very summit, legs aching, ears popping with the altitude, rounding the first curve with its view of Satulah Mountain.  I always stop here to stretch and to marvel at the uncanny silence at the top of this mountain, a phenomenon I have noticed at the top of Mt. LeConte and other mountains.   On clear days, Lake Keowee can be seen shimmering in distant South Carolina, far off to the southeast.

On the back side, to the northeast, there is a splendid view of Whiteside Mountain with its steep cliffs.  I pause here, too, and gaze in wonder at this distant mountain I have climbed dozens of times.

The descent is always a delight, the gentle downward road.  I thought about all of the other runners who have climbed this mountain with me.  The first one was veteran Fred (see previous post), who lives at the very top.  When he was quite a bit younger, he would run down the mountain and meet the running group on Saturday mornings, run a few miles, and then run back up to his home; the unspoken rule was that one of us should accompany him, and I was often that companion.  I've run up here with Martha, too, and countless other runners, some of them no longer alive.

But today I climbed it, as I usually do in recent years, all by myself, along with my thoughts and my prayers of gratitude.  This is one way to get out of a rut:  run up a mountain, and take a long look at the big picture.