Hope

The car was stone quiet as we drove down Route Eighty Seven towards Albany. It was the quiet of those deep in their own thoughts as we each dealt with the news that Mom's cancer had metastasized to the liver.

A day earlier I had formulated a “self challenge” of running to the summit of Phelps Mountain and back in two and a half hours.. The trail, about eight and a half miles with two thousand feet of vertical climb would be mostly runnable with the exception of the mile up and down from the summit.

Bets were made with a generous addition of half hour to complete the run. My only doubt would be the condition of my legs. Had they have recovered enough from a hard 50K four days earlier to allow me to power up the steep Un-runnable sections of the Mountain.

After a decent nights sleep, my legs felt little effect from race or hikes already taken. I knew three hours was “In The Bag” so I canceled all bets with the excuse that I did not want to be put in a position of doing anything stupid. (The question, Why stop now might be appropriate)

Starting out easy, I figured to cover the distance to the Phelps cutoff in forty minutes or less. I managed thirty eight, inclusive of a short stop to offer directions to a hiker. The last mile to the summit has places which can be run but I held back a bit to stave off fatigue in my quads. With only a quarter mile left some indication of tiredness appeared, by then however I knew there was no need to slow down. One hour eight minutes after I left our Lean-to at Heart Lake I stood on the summit.

Standing on a rock outcropping, looking over mountain tops playing hide and seek with clouds, I prayed. I prayed for good news from the tests my Mother would have later in the day. I could not imagine selecting a better place. A gentle breeze cooled then dried me off and soon enough I was on my way back down the mountain.

The site of someone bounding down over rocks brought looks of “What The Hell” from more then one hiker moving up the trail. At the Phelps cut off I once again stopped to offer directions only to bounce from boulder to boulder soon after. The mile and a quarter to Marcy Dam was traveled without thought, just effortless reaction to vision and foot placement.

Returning to Marcy Dam in one hour forty minutes I knew it might be possible to break two hours if I could maintain something around an eight and a half minute pace. “Stretch it out a bit Mike”, I thought. For a while I managed to run hard but a nagging hip flexor convinced me otherwise. Still, as I ran in to camp in two hours five minutes I had bettered my goal.

The car continued to click off miles in complete silence. My mind wandered from thoughts of our trip to Mom..... Dad …... times past ….... times to come. Who knows how prayers are answered, in this case the outcome was not what I prayed for but certainly not as bad as it could had been.

I remain full of hope for my Mother and Myself. This journey, which is difficult, leads us to new awakenings and appreciation for the bountiful life we have already passed through and that which is yet in our path.
 

All my Love Mom …... Mike