A Mountain Run :: Exploratory Essays Research Papers

A run to the top of a mountain can be understood in terms of numerous practical figures: 1407 feet in elevation; 2.5 miles (4 km) of trail; 2.4 foot strides that shorten as the trail steepens; 110 pounds of body weight striking the ground in two-month-old (400 miles of summer training) GT-2020 Asics running shoes; 18 minutes and 17 seconds clocked on an 8-lap memory, digital Triathlon Timex; a 420-calorie breakfast (a bowl of cereal, half a bagel, and a banana) eaten three hours earlier; muscle cells using the glycogen stores from this food and incorporating the free fatty acids in the blood for energy; muscles in need of oxygen utilizing chemical processes that free oxygen from within the muscle itself; wastes building up in the muscles faster than the blood can remove them. These physiological, mathematical, and anecdotal elements are, however, some of the furthest from my realm of consciousness as I approach my ascent. Jogging on the Point Reyes Peninsula’s Bear Valley Trai l, I come to the head of the Sky Trail, a trail that climbs up Mt. Wittenberg, a mild but memorable little mountain in the National Seashore. Beginning this run up a mountain feels somewhat like starting a race. Throughout the eight years I have run competitively, I have never felt completely comfortable with the fact that I choose to stand, leaning forward on a line while nervously holding my breath, waiting for some gun to announce the start of a completely uncomfortable journey. There are plenty of reasons not to begin a race, and there are many more reasons not to run up this particular mountain. Deliberations, however, are more agonizing than the run itself. Although this morning’s run lacks all of the hype of a big race, I can’t help feeling now the same as I would then: just let the movement begin. In his novel, Once a Runner,John L. Parker’s character, Cassidy, envisions the start of a race with the urgency most runners share: â€Å"The all-consuming roar, the overwhelming psych would begin then and would build up until he stood ready on this line, at once controlled and near lunacy, fear less and terrified, wishing for the relief of the start, the misery of the end. Anything! Just let the waiting be done with!†1 Although numerous haunting â€Å"why’s† are tempting dissuasions before any unnecessary physical exertion, I cannot bear to ponder them all at the base of this mountain.