My Trail Papa

A few weeks ago Todd and I set out to run the old half marathon course that extends from the Ed Page entrance at Blackwater Creek out to Amherst County and back. We pulled into the empty parking lot, a mix of snow and rain falling, and silently but harmoniously dreamed of our warm bed at home while we waited for the rest of the group to arrive. We gradually made our way to the restrooms and let the fact that no one else was showing up sink in. I was headed back to the car to grab my gloves when I saw Grattan Garbee pulling in, late, but right on time. We embarked on a run that no one really wanted to do and came back soaked, goose-fleshed and shivering but uncomplaining, a personal best for the half marathon distance had made the run beneficial for me, the showing up of a friend who helped carry me to that personal best had made the run worth it.

Later, after patting us all on the back by way of my Facebook status, a friend whom I've run trails with from the very beginning commented that we had gotten too fast to run with. I was taken aback, crestfallen, at the comment.

I don't really remember when I met Mike Mitchell. When I think back it must have been over the course of several Wild Wednesday's, the weekly trail run put on by Riverside Runners every May that continues once monthly over the rest of the summer, that a small group of us now carry on weekly throughout the year. If I don't remember meeting Mike officially I certainly remember what Mike has come to mean to me over the past few years.

If Rebekah Trittipoe is Sarah Quigg's self-proclaimed trail mama, then I like to think of Mike as my trail papa. Just as my father taught me how to take my first steps walking, Mike directed me in my first trail running steps. His advice still resonating with almost every trail run, be sure to pick your tired legs up. He is an ongoing source of encouragement. His pride in my accomplishments filling a need that is sometimes left empty by the parent who is absent in my life.

So I realize, as alone as we may seem in this sport of running, how much we come to draw on one another, lean on each for support, advice, and recommendations. This fellowship transcending to a sense of community the more involved you become before ultimately becoming like that of family.  I may not always spell it out, but I am immeasurably grateful for all that I have learned and shared with this family of runners in our hometown. Constantly moved, I am inspired to do better by Jeff Harrington's sunny disposition, Heather Cavaliere's self-discipline, Frank Gonzalez's industriousness, Chelsie Viar's perseverance, Malcolm Miller's friendliness, Marshall Roberts' passion, Cheyenne Craig's fearlessness, Sam Dangc's ambition, Sarah Quigg's toughness and the list goes on and on, countless others with so much to offer, strength and tenacity, companionship and advice, when you look around the effect of this community is overwhelming. I hope to be a part of it for an awfully long while, and I hope to inspire others just as I have been inspired.

When I first took to running I was a funny dressed girl, a little on the pudgy side who had come hurt and it came to pass that I had hurt others. I was still new to parenthood, feeling helpless and perhaps a little depressed. Running gave me some direction and new friends, a keener sense of self and a different view on things that extend far past the daily run. Now three years later, though still a funny dressed girl, I want to give back, if only an ounce, what has been offered to me. I am not sure exactly yet how to go about this, but I have an idea or two swirling around in my mind.

My pace may change, my goals may too. I may someday overcome my fear of running alone and incorporate it more in my training, but I will always need to be surrounded, if only figuratively at times, by my trail papa, and my other family in the running community. It is part of the human condition. I need you all as much as I need running itself.

So I'll see you Wednesday, Mike.