A Trail of Regression?

For most of my life I have felt stuck at the age of 17, roughly. Before I was teenager, I often acted far more mature than my age, yet with a mix of childlike enthusiasm, optimism, and naivety. Once I passed the actual age of 17, I was still mature, maybe, but also still mixed with enthusiasm, optimism, and naivety. In my 30s I seemed to have begun to age and lose some of those qualities. I am probably more like a 23 year old just out of college. In recent years, I've found myself thinking a little too much. Especially things like: can I jump across those rocks? should I climb that? What is my point? This weekend I may have regressed a bit, thankfully. I had almost a perfect day Saturday. I won't bore you with the details of the entire day, just the most significant, my regression.

After pacing one of my high school girls to big personal best in a 5k that morning, I got back into my “Wild Specialist” truck and headed to the mountains for a run. A quick detour on the way turned into my unexpected regression. I stopped at Rob and Stacey's house to drop some things off for Stacey. Stacey and I talked a bit which is always good, but... As I was really preparing to head off for my mountain run, their kids, Harper and Isaac, asked me to come down into the woods to see the fort they were building. Fortunately, I had learned long ago to not hastily overlook the invitations of kids just to get on with our overly important tasks. They had already gone down as I finished talking to Stacey. I could tell they were surprised that I showed up as I had told them I'd come down before I left. They had piled sticks and hunks of bark around an old fallen tree. There was a wind flag up as the 20 mph winds kept it flapping. An old tire found in the woods was hang overhead in a tree along with a piece of concrete tile. Isaac had hidden light sabers in notches along the old stump. It was quite the fort. I began helping gather sticks and adding them to the fort. I helped pack leaves in between the sticks to insulate, then adding more sticks. We worked out a piece of the stump and dug out more to increase the room inside. Isaac wanted to show me an old airplane he had found in the woods. As he showed me the pieces and described how they would have fit together, he said it probably wasn't a real airplane. I said that didn't matter, it's good to see more than what is actually there sometimes.

We returned to the house briefly and I went to my truck to add a hat and gloves. Stacey had sent her kids out to play in the woods in 30 degree weather with a howling wind. Sounds like good parenting to me. I had also gotten an old blanket with a couple of mouse chewed holes which worked perfectly to hang it as the door. We each took a turn inside, it's a one person fort, and talked of more building ideas. I had probably been fort building for an hour, an hour and a half. I don't know as I never looked at my watch. Finally, Stacey came down to inspect the fort additions and announce it was time for lunch. Stacey asked if I wanted a sandwich too. Of course my answer was yes. Somewhere in here I must have totally forgotten my age, as I asked Stacey if I could have some hot chocolate too. Soon after eating Rob returned and asked Stacey if she had fed the kids. Then looked at me, but asked her, “All of them?” I told Rob, “I consider that a compliment.” I'm glad I have friends who appreciate a 39 year old playing with their kids in the woods. All three of us turn 40 this year, at least in human time.

I soon left and ran the 6 miles through Stone Mountain Park to the top of the mountain where it was 20s and 30 mph winds with a little snow. Then the 6 mile tumble back down. It was a great day. That is one of the things I love about trail running. The opportunity to still play as an adult. Jumping rocks, logs, and stumps, then sometimes jump on and off them as well. Splashing through cold creeks, sliding through snow. Playing a game of king of the mountain, only 6 mile style. I hope the trails continue to keep me young of mind and body for many more years. In the woods, I told Harper, who is 10, “Don't ever grow up too much, so you no longer build forts in the woods.” She gave me a strange face that said what a silly comment. Which if you know Harper, you know which face I'm talking of. Then still with that bewildered look, she said, “I won't.”

As I told Alison later, “Sometimes I forget that I'm not 39.” My tendency to misspeak things was probably more accurate than if I'd said it right.

Called Unto the Mountain

Flat Rock Ridge - 3 Miles Up

I was summoned to the mountain today. I hadn't really planned on going out there today, nor really planned anything too specific for my run. Something between 8 and 18 miles, which Alison thought was quite a range. Any mountain run is at least 20-30 minutes away. But Flat Rock Ridge Trail was calling to me. This trail, and the others it links to, is about 28.5 miles away in the middle of nowhere and therefore more than a 30 minute drive. I listened to Mumford and Sons on the drive and by the time I got there, I was bursting from my cage. The air was damp and clouds hung on the mountainside in layers as I ascended through them. I was where I belonged. A changing combination of dirt, leaves, rocks, roots, logs, grass, and ice under foot, all often off camber. Trail runner is probably one of the better descriptors of me. Add in mountain and harsh and you are really starting to have me pegged.

I could probably stop there, but most may not understand what I am saying. I'd consider myself an odd mixture of homo sapien. I don't see it as either positive or negative, it just is. To expand, I once thought I was road runner. I was a runner. I ran quite a few road races. Most of my training was on the road. A road has rather straight lines. When there are curves, they are generally smooth arcs. A hard, stable surface is the norm. Conformity, predictability are the standard. My friends are already thinking that's not him. Nothing against road running, it's just not for me if I have a different choice. Of course sometimes things necessitate road running, but even then I'll sneak of the edge at almost every chance. Deep inside or on the surface, I'm a trail runner, mountainous and harsh.

But aren't trails more forgiving to us? I'd like to think so. I believe trails are gentler on the body. Though, I also believe trails make us stronger. Steep climbs and descents leave legs weary. I like it that way. Weary legs one day will be stronger for a future day. Treacherous footing works our entire bodies and mind. One must always be paying attention on a challenging trail. I like switchbacks, up or down. But I do appreciate a trail straight up or straight down a steep grade, harsh. A good mountain trail can look much different depending on your projection up or down. Those switchbacks can turn into never ending upward turns one after another. Or a punishing acceleration/deceleration recitation on a downward plunge. Eighteen percent grades don't look kind in either direction to most, though I'd beg to differ. A hard, strenuous trail to some is a challenging playground to another.

I think a good mountain trail describes me as a person quite well. I'm not for everyone. I'm not easily definable with clear lines, nor smooth arcs. I think of myself as meek, forgiving, though some would say harsh. I'd say harsh, but in a good way. I'll call it blunt, direct. Don't ask for an answer you may not want, cause I may give it. A good trail does that to me. If I complement or praise, I meant it and it was deserved, earned. I don't throw many things about freely, though hopefully grace like a rain shower. I'm probably full of treacherous footing of pointy thoughts, slippery slopes, hard realities. I contain many a switchback, which may look completely different depend on the direction and speed you come at me. As a trail is not always neatly ordered, I am a mixture of grades and footing, unpredictable. I've come to like these qualities about myself, but like them or not, they are what I am. I am a “good” and “bad” Christian all in the same switchback. I could no more pretend that I'm a road runner than a straight and narrow Christian. Maybe I'm a trail Christian. My path is crooked, more like a good mountain trail. Maybe that's why the mountain was beckoning me today.

Canoeing the Nantahala River - February '99

Coach Mitchell Running the Nantahala Falls '98

Life is surprising. Sometimes the most significant events in a person's life might seem ordinary to an outside observer. What is possibly the most significant event in my life, caught me entirely by surprise. It was a canoe trip on the Nantahala River. It was the moment I was standing cold and naked on the bank of the river. To be more accurate the precise moment was just after I put clothes back on, but it sounds more dramatic to say when I was cold and naked. I didn't see this event coming, but life doesn't always happen as one plans it. So here's the condensed version.

The Nantahala is a whitewater river in western North Carolina. I went there for first time in August of '98 with my high school running coach, who taught me to paddle. I was taught old school, open canoes, not kayaks, no floation. I liked the larger rapids and bigger waves on the Nantahala. At the end of the eight mile paddle is Nantahala Falls, a Class III rapid with a tricky entry and a significant hydraulic at the end. On that first trip I ran the Falls upright and fairly correct, but took on too much water and ended up “swimming.” I flipped the canoe. That was my first time “swimming” in my 8 years or so of canoeing. Coach Mitchell said it was good to finally see me swim, I wouldn't say I felt the same. I went back in February of '99 to conquer the river. You can guess that things did not go as planned.

It was cold, probably 30s, but the river is always 45 degrees as water is dumped into the stream from the bottom of Nantahala Lake on top of the mountain. If I flipped at the Falls, it'd be no problem as it is at the takeout. Fortunately, I was not so arrogant as to not prepare for the unlikely possibility of overturning on the eight mile paddle down to the Falls. I had a change of clothes stashed in a dry bag, just in case. I would not have fared well being wet for an hour or more in 30 degree weather. I set out on the two hour trip with the river all to myself. I rolled through Patton's Run, Pyramid Rock, Delebar's Rock. This river was far too easy, was the water low? I was ready to get to the Falls and conquer, find a more challenging river. Of course, that is when life happened in the form of Quarry, a rapid with some of largest waves on the river. And I had always tended to aim at the biggest waves or toughest part of a rapid. The canoe went half airborne, I had done that before. Only now, the wave kicked the canoe tilted to the left. I knew I was in trouble as soon as the canoe shot up out of the wave. I was out of the canoe and in the water immediately. The tame river just moments ago didn't feel the same as I grappled for paddle and canoe. Getting to the shore was a struggle, the current was strong and volume was high, not low. When my feet found riverbed, they were met with the jolt of stationary rocks as my body was now part of the fast moving current. I finally got to the shore about ¼ mile downstream. I was cold. I grabbed the dry bag and stripped naked. I was colder. I got dry clothes on, packed up the wet ones, dumped water, and prepared to return to the river. Then life really happened and I paused. I had the strangest feeling and even stranger thoughts. It took me a moment to identify the sensation. Then I recognized it, it was fear.

Honestly, I don't think I had ever experienced real fear, at least not since childhood. I was a good paddler minutes before, I was now a sloppy paddler. I didn't act on instinct, I thought, I doubted. I made bad strokes. I was actually not a very good paddler for probably a year. I'm probably still not as good. (Or maybe just a different paddler?) I questioned if I could even make it down river to the Falls. I questioned if I should go over the Falls. The fear grew, I was afraid of what life held for me. I became more fearful about life than about the river. And then I knew life was about to send me a rapid that I was not going to run dry. I was going to “swim.” I prayed a lot on the rest of downstream ride and not about paddling. I believe in God, so personally this experience was God's preparation for me to not get trapped in a hydraulic of life and drown.

For the next hour, I continued to question whether to run Nantahala Falls or pull out above the Falls, give in to the fear and go home safe. Most canoe paddlers don't run the Falls anyway. People are often surprised to see a canoe try the Falls. But another thought began to echo in my head somewhere, “I didn't come here to not go over this Fall.” I did run the Falls, but badly. I'm not sure if I even made a single paddle stoke to orient the canoe correctly toward the Falls. I never had a chance, I was sideway and rolled in the hydraulic like a novice. I did save the canoe from getting wrapped around a rock, but got my hand trapped between the canoe and rock. A couple of new scars to add to my work beaten hands. Deciding to run the Nantahala Falls, knowing I was going to “swim,” was one of my best life decisions.

A week later I was in the river of life, no longer riding on it. I think I swam for years, not a ¼ mile. But the more significant life experience was being on the river, in the river, cold and naked on the shore, on the river a different person, and “swimming” again. Not the Class VI rapid of life that I eventually survived. I tipped over the precipice on February 28^th, the marriage downturn that led to Kathy's and my divorce. Not sure of all the life lessons that began that cold February day. I did eventually learn to deal with fear. I did learn how to “swim” when forced or warranted. I learned that I don't control life as much as I thought. I became more human. When describing this experience to a teenager in our church youth group shortly afterwards, he said, “Welcome to being human. Not to be mean, but its good to see you fall off your pedestal.” I said that I had never tried to be on a pedestal, but he said I was on one nonetheless. I was definitely not on a pedestal any longer. When nerves hit on the starting line of races or doubt creeps in during a race, I sometimes think, “I didn't come here to not go over this Fall. Sink, swim, or conquer.” I say this phrase to myself often with various life experiences. I did go back and run the Nantahala again, almost 7 years later in December 2006. This time Alison was shuttling me, last time it was Kathy. I promise to post that story in March, a little tease. That trip had more life lessons and two unique twist at the end.

My advice is: Of course, run the rapid. You never know what might happen. You probably won't die.

WARNING: You may not want to read this, Crystal.

For those of you like my friend, Crystal, this may be one of those blogs you will want to skip.  She has said that she can only handle me in small doses.  Thankfully, Alison can handle a large, continuous dose.  Though I may leave some of you wondering how.  This blog actually came about from my recent thinking on how good life is for me right now and thinking more about the Bel Monte race.  I guess I could have written a nice, overly romanticized blog about a seemingly perfect life.  Problem is that is not real, for me anyways.  I doubt I would see life as so wonderful without the un-wonderful portions.  My life has had the surviving sections, just the same way Bel Monte had a tough surviving section.  That is one of the great things about ultras, many times the races will have ups and downs, literally, and emotionally, and physically.  One of the biggest impacts on my life was going through divorce.

Going through divorce changed me and changed me more than any other life event I can think of.  I use the phrase "going through divorce" because just the fact I was once married and got divorced isn't the key factor.  It was all that I had to deal with personally, how I view life, and how I had dealt with life previously.  It would be a book to write all of it so I'll just hit the high points.  One, I wasn't ready to be divorced.  I was a Christian, in some ways strict.  I'd only be married once, only know one woman, love forever.  I still love Kathy, my ex-wife.  Personally, I don't understand how you once really love someone and stop.  I do believe in God's love, the agape love, and in living it.  Most people only seem to apply this to children.  Kathy and I are still friends and talk regularly.  Some people don't understand this.  I don't understand any other way and haven't lost a rational discussion on the subject.  The love has changed.  It's not romantic or sexual.  I love my sisters, I don't need to say more.  But part of my dogma is once I care about someone, I don't stop regardless of the situation.  Some folks have said they couldn't deal with my views toward Kathy.  I guess that is one reason in a list of why I'm not married to them.  I couldn't deal with someone who doesn't get my point of view, cause all they could offer me was a temporary love or concern.  The point is that changing that type of love with Kathy was tough and rocked me to the core.  What did it say about me that I would say I want out?

I also kept myself neatly packed inside in my younger years, before 26.  My internal life was like a post office mail box.  Everything was tidily categorized and ordered.  Some boxes were locked shut.  Things went in and disappeared from my mind.  My divorce dumped everything back out on the floor for me to sort through again.  I spent years sorting back through my past life, some parts I'd seemed to have forgotten.  I'm not sure what I've done with all that crap now.  I've written quite a few poems and some journals.  To be honest, I drank some on nights I felt too overwhelmed.  But one description of me now is that I am not afraid to be naked.  If something about me is good, bad, indifferent, it is what it is.  I'm not ashamed of any of it.  I struggled with being a "perfect" Christian before.  I'll just say that I don't now.  I know that bothers some people, especially when I say exactly what that means.  If I did it, I'll tell you.  I might say it was or is bad, but I did it and in some instances will probably do it again.  To use Christian terms, I sin, I know that I will repeat some sins.  I'll try to sin less, but I sin as a willful act, a choice.  I don't believe in the "it's not my fault, I couldn't resist."  I'd rather own my actions.  I might not be a perfect person, don't even want to be, but I'll be honest with you.

Somewhere in that rambling is how divorce upset my previously perfect, and falsely, balanced life.  Divorce was a hard process for me that brought out some good things in me, some bad.  It definitely changed me for better, and worse.  I do like that I am more like I was as a kid.  I wish I could recover the naivety I had as kid(that will be a good blog sometime), but I won't.  One of my best lessons was that life, time, the movement of the sun and moon stops for no one.  We each have a limited amount of time and I plan on living mine up.  I don't want a gravestone when I die(don't believe in that, for me), but if I did I would want it to say, "He did too much," or "He did too much living."  The second sounds a little arrogant, but I can live with that.  I also have much greater appreciation of life after divorce.  I am much more thankful for anything, even some of the "bad" and "difficult."

Below is a poem that I wrote this weekend.  It's a first draft, which I seldom like.  I like some of what this poem says, but not exactly how it says it.  It was brewing in my head for years and finally fell out.  Anyway, I thought I'd toss it out there.  So the point of all my rambling is that some parts of life must just be survived.  During my process of divorce, I made some different choices from before.  I didn't try to be perfect.  I shouted at God, cussed God, questioned my belief in God, but I talked to him and I talked honest.  I was merely surviving for a year or more, and not doing that well.  Just as I had to survive a large section of Bel Monte 50 Mile.  You force yourself to put one foot in front of the other, whether it is fast or slow, running or walking.  When you can, you make yourself run and good things can happen.  If you walk when you could be running, you'll miss an opportunity.  Other people can judge whether I'm good or bad, better or worse.  You can judge.  I'm not sure how much sense this blog makes, but who cares.  It's me.  I'm definitely different and not afraid to be judged or disliked or liked.  But I plan on using my time up and I'm not afraid to be naked.

Drunk and Naked on the Floor

Looking back,

it was just a night 

alone in the sea. 

At the time, 

it was night after night, 

drunk and naked, 

alone on the floor. 

Where was my God? 

Though I've asked, 

he hasn't spoken. 

Too many nights, 

I couldn't sleep 

and the Comforter 

never came, 

maybe my hard words 

kept him away. 

No one wants to see 

a bare soul on the floor, 

naked and drunk. 

Someone came and walked away, 

a man stripped a little too much. 

They'd worry in silence. 

I'd suffer alone. 

Sometimes you have to 

swim on your own 

or drink 

yourself naked and drunk 

on the cold soil.

It seemed like years, 

it seemed like a night or two, 

maybe there's little difference. 

A bad mind lost time, 

a day, a year, 

I remember little of either. 

So looking back, 

maybe just one night,

maybe four years, 

a minor detail 

of a corrupted mind. 

Not sure who rescued me, 

or if I swam the ocean alone 

and found the shore. 

God hadn't walked away 

having seen me stripped bare 

ranting in my nakedness.

Shrivel feet on course soil, 

clothed once more 

suddenly appropriate again, 

but not underneath. 

Though, the Comforter 

could cover 

a multitude of nakedness. 

She'd say I still wasn't right, 

though she found me 

far from removed 

from the shore 

only sometimes 

naked and bare.

Just a single night 

alone in the sea 

left me different and bare. 

Maybe God needed 

a man, 

naked and bare.

The One Thing I've Figured Out and Know I'm Right About

There is one thing that I am absolutely, unequivocally sure that I right about.  I have spent some time thinking on this fact and I have found it to be true repeatedly in my life.  It is one thing I no longer waste any time thinking on, it is a proven fact.  I am wrong, a fallible human being.  On a daily basis, there are any number of minor things I may be wrong on.  It is often how long it will take me to do any given task, I never seem to plan enough time.  Alison will attest to that.  It may be what time I ran at a recent race or the lyrics to a song.  Just any minor thing I may be wrong about.  Then one day I had what I'll call an epiphany moment while thinking on how often I can be wrong on all these minor things.  If I can't be reliably right on something minor, how could I ever be reliably right on anything major.  (This started as a blog about the basis of my faith, but thought I needed to precede it with this point first.)  Realizing the fact, and depth, of my wrongness was a true epiphany moment in my life.  It changed how I looked at the world and the people I encounter.  Whatever I may think, I could be wrong about it.  Whether that thought is about God, the universe's origin, or another human's motivations, I could be wrong in what I think.  In fact, by recognizing my wrongness I don't actually need to have the answers, because I might be wrong anyway.

Interestingly, most people seem to like my personal truth.  I think many believe that they can teach me the right path in life.  I know some girls that I have dated seemed to think this.  They knew what was right and right for me.  I remember one in particular really seemed to think this way.  I don't think she understood why I would confess my wrongness and not readily follow all her guidance.  She also didn't seem to get the fact that words are rather important to me.  I mean exactly what I say, most of the time.  And what I don't say is just as important as what I do say.  She just filled in the gaps of what I didn't say with what she wanted to hear.  So human interaction has led me to a second truth, though it took me a while to get to, mainly because I did not want to put labels on other people.  But I believe this fact is almost as important as my wrongness.  Other people are wrong too.  In fact, I give very little credibility to a person who believes they are right on most anything.  I'll listen to anyone and learn from anyone.  But too often you can find something inaccurate in what a person may say or believe, but they will stubbornly believe they are right.  They are right!  Period.  It is nearly impossible to prove to some people that they are wrong.  And when you do, they have a hard time accepting it.  For myself, to follow a person who is "right" feels dangerous.  They will lead you wrong with no apprehension.  Actually, a pet peave of mine is people who say they are sure they're right on something and then be wrong.  I know people who will do this repeatedly.  All a person has to do is say that they believe or think something correct.  Just don't say you are sure.  If I tell you I'm sure about something or I know something, I am sure.  But I will only use that language on some minor fact.  Pittsburgh won the Super Bowl in 2009 or at least they had more points at the end of the game.  My height is... are you asking without shoes or with shoes, and which shoes are you asking my height in?   Another descriptor for me, everything is complicated with me.  I think that is true about me, but I could be wrong.  I digress.

Some may say that I do not believe in absolute truths.  That all I see is grey, no black and white truths.  I do believe in absolute truths, I just don't know what those truths are.  I believe there either is a superior being(s), God, or there is not.  Evolution and the big bang theory is correct or incorrect.  I'm faster than a screech owl or I'm not.  There is right and wrong, black and white.  But I don't have the answer, maybe a few ideas, but no definitive conclusions.  You could say that I live in a world of grey or I would like to think a kaleidoscope of color.  And I hope that I appreciate all the color, the beautiful and the downright ugly.  I believe in seeing it all, then choosing a path with no regrets.  I make the best choice that I can and move on.  If or when I find that I am wrong, I make ammends if need be and set a different course.  So a coming blog is about the basis of my faith in God, which is based on hickory nuts, a couple of canoe trips, and my running.  And Cory, whether you read this or not, we need to get together for another run soon.  Since I'm putting this in a blog, you can talk more on our next run.  Maybe.

CENSORSHIP

My close friends are going to say, "Well that sounds about like Jason."  This is your warning on reading further, some of you may wonder what's wrong with him or not.  On a lighter note, I'll make the next blog about running.

I think one of the things that has kept me from doing a blog is censoring myself.  I really don't like doing it.   I could simply write about my running and all the niceties of life.  It would be a normal blog, maybe a normal running blog.  I like reading my friend's blogs, but their personality is not my personality.  I'm not normal, some of them aren't either.  Writing has always been my outlet, so blogging falls in that category.  Personally, I think that I am a rather odd person, which is probably one reason I like runners.  Many runners are a bit different.  I realize many or most people think that they are odd.  Though over the years, I have had many friends confirm my above average sense of weirdness.  An added problem is that I'm quite comfortable with my uniqueness.  Why be ashamed of who you are?  I don't require or expect people like me.  I hope people do, but I don't spend much time worrying about it.

Many people that a person knows or are acquaintances with only know a small part of you.  Blogging can put yourself out there for all to see, at least with me it will.  Even family only knows certain side of you.  Which a friend of mine told me today that I may not want to tell my family about my blog.  My family is rather religious, Christian, Southern Baptist.  My father is a pastor and has been for the majority of my life.  An example of my dilemma is "curse" words.  I rarely use them, in fact I never used them until I was 26(a blog for another time).  I do sometimes now, but I am generally careful around whom I use them.  Although the majority of my cursing has taken place while talking to God in the years between 1999 and 2002(also maybe a blog for another time).  I also don't really believe in "curse" words.  I believe in bad or inappropriate language.  But is an individual word "bad" just because most of society deems it "bad."  Back to my example, I have never heard my parents use "curse" words.  Many friends and most of my family have never heard me use "curse" words.  My parents would be surprised and disappointed about some things they would read on my blog.

I like being real, though.  Probably too real for most people.  Probably too real for my wife, Alison.  I believe she is concerned about what I will write.(She is going to censor my blog for now.  For your own protection she says.)  Though, realness is one of the things I love about the Bible.  It is no holds barred, real.  Church tends to hide from this, one of my issues with church.  I like reading about people in the Bible and seeing its truth.  Abraham followed God on a journey.  He made many poor decisions, laughed in the face of God, but eventually learned to have real faith.  I once gave a message to some youth titled, Noah got Drunk, Peter fished Naked, and I mooned my Sister-in-Law, You're Probably Okay.  I believe Christians too often spend their time pretending to be perfect or very close to it.  I will claim to be wholly imperfect, but believe God is okay with that.  He may instruct me on being better, but I'm not going to make it to perfect.  That is my journey.  I believe we have the opportunity to be Living Bible Stories.  I like getting to know people, the real person, warts and all.  Those are the people I learn the most from and experience God in.  I doubt anyone can really shock me.  I know that I am full of s___, but I'm willing to share it.  Maybe later I'll stop censoring myself so much.

Stacey, you said you try to write as if you are talking to me, or Coach, or Crystal.  I tried to write as if we were talking at a meet or on the bus.  What do you think?