Rocky Ridge

Today and yesterday were 4 mile days. Today was supposed to be a 6 mile day but life did not start out normally and I lost some time and thus my long run is tomorrow. Chat, the dog, did not know the difference. He was just as happy to go out and run as he was to chase squirrels and hunt for deer.

Epiphany #1: Nothing is as hard as it would seem. Running up hill is never as easy as going downhill. Making the uphills hard is the job of yourself. I make it hard because of what I eat and how I train. The harder I train the easier the run gets.

Epiphany #2: This came to me while I was running up City Creek Canyon.

"This road is paved."

"Rocky Ridge was not."

"What I have now is a lot easier than what those handcart pioneers had to do."

"What is my personal 'Rocky Ridge?'"

Two years ago - or so - our church decided to truck all the youth out to Martin's Cove, Rocky Ridge, 1st Crossing, and other highlights of the Mormon Handcart Pioneer Trail. I was not involved in the pulling of the handcarts. I was on the luggage crew. Which entailed throwing bags and hauling tents. Fairly easy duty compared to pulling a heavy cart up and down hills, blisters, snakes, BLM officials, and unlimited supplies of Gatorade.

I was at the time training for a Triathlon with my sister Anamarie. She wanted to have me along for some suffering so I wanted to assist. I had brought my running shoes and had vowed that over the couple of days that I was out there that I would run a bit to get some conditioning in. Needless to say - Mike Bennetts "power beans," Blaine Overson's cooking (excellent), and the fact that I was out by my lonesome did not contribute a whole lot to getting my shoes on.

The last day of the trek is possibly the hardest one. For the youth. For the leaders it was a lot of driving and chucking bags, and driving, and chucking bags. But on the last day of the Trek I got my butt out of my tent. Strapped on my shoes and went for a run. The location of the run was along the trail of the Handcart Pioneers, Martin and Willy, respectively. I ran along a dirty, dusty, rocky trail. It was up and down and straight along a mesa/mountain/large hill. It wound all the way down to the base of the hill. And then it took a 90 degree angle. And then you headed up the hill to Rocky Ridge.

At the base of the hill is a grave. It has several names enshrined in metal of those that did not make it and perished at the base of the hill. It has a little fence that surrounds it. It is hallowed ground. Those that sacrificed everything to come to that point and much more to assist those to go beyond that point. They had fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and those that depended on them. They had hauled their handcarts further than humanly possible. Their spirits were undaunted - but the tabernacle of clay could go no further.

I took the 90 degree angle. And began my ascent of Rocky Ridge. I did not have to far before I realized that I would not be able to make it all the way up the hill before everyone else needed me to help pack up camp and move along for the day. So I turned around and came back down to the cemetery at the bottom of the hill. I paused again.

At the bottom of the hill, facing east. I witnessed a spectacular sight. It was a sunrise. It was not the normal "hey planet how are you." It was a glorious witness of God and His love for me. I understood at that point why these poor wretched souls had struggled up to that point in their lives. It was because they believed that God loved them. That the Creator loved them and that He, had helped them all the way along the plains until that point when He wanted them to come home.

I share this, because during life, my life in particular. I have found my own "Rocky Ridge." I find it at times when I don't expect it. Those pioneers did not expect to be faced with one more trial. But they persevered and took the next step. I don't know if I have the mettle that they had. The iron in the soul that is a witness of their close communing with the Almighty. All I have is myself to conquer. Shoes on my feet. A heart full of desire.

I need to remind myself of what matters. When I get all wrapped up on my menial existence. When I think my burden is too heavy. I think back to that day of the Sunrise at the Foot of Rocky Ridge. I think of the burdens so heavy, feet wrapped in rags, hands gripping the cart, wind blowing cold, snow so deep, the trail outstretched in front. I wonder what really matters. I wonder if I have the juice to keep it going. Stripping away the layers of doubt and finding out what really lies beneath.

I am not sure I know the answer to those questions. But I can take the lesson of those at Rocky Ridge. Just keep moving Dave, Just keep going.