In all the years of my daft adventures, I have never once doubted the fact I would be coming back but for no obvious reason, this time felt very different. Struggling to gain breath, I fired up my wee netbook to right down everything that was in my head (which to be frank, was a full blown cluster fucking mess). In the notes, I wrote a pile of goodbyes and thoughts for the folks I would be leaving behind, some last wishes for stuff and some requests for a couple of good friends whom I have trusted with my life (in a mountain environment) in the past. I wrote a “last will and testament” of sorts …dinnae think it was all that legal but explained what I wanted at least.
When I finished writing, I quickly re-read it, put in on a memory stick and placed it somewhere obvious. I then sent a text to my closest friend and told him that if I didn’t come back to make sure he read the contents of the stick and shared it with friends and family as quickly as possible (there is a playlist and MP3 files of great music for the funeral on it).
I left for the airport still shaking and for a brief moment, considered turning back to the relative safety of “home”.
In early January, I had read a blog report called “Seeking Dispersers: A Call to Embrace a Wild Life”. More than anything else I have read for years, the concept and detail stuck in my head. There is a line in it which states “Safety is an illusion, my friends, it doesn’t exist”. What was it that was scaring me – I only knew that it was not a fear of getting lost, planes crashing or attacked, it was the worst kind of fear, I didn’t actually know what I was scared of.
By the time I boarded the plane to start, the panic was under control and I accepted that whatever was going to happen would simply happen …it always does (fate and karma are two forces not to be messed with).
About a week or so later, a bunch of Mas Loco runners were starting the hike down into the canyon. We stopped at a small footbridge and Luis Escobar climbed up onto the bridge to say a few words.
We all took the Mas Loco pledge:
“If I get hurt, lost of die - It’s my own damn fault …amen”
Luis then informed us (should that read “warned” us ? …dunno) that if we chose to continue the journey, that once we crossed the bridge, life would change forever and there was no way back. Initial physical reaction put the hairs on the back of my neck up and short and shallow breathing kicked in – was this related to my initial feelings before leaving Glasgow ? The next reaction was to laugh a bit – Luis also informed us that he had laughed when Micah first told him the same thing!
Over the next week, amazing things happened constantly. I am not going to try to describe them here since I am not that good with words, some simply defy description and some are intensely personal – maybe one for a dram late at night in front of a bothy fire.
Some dark stuff and for want of a better word “demons” have lived with me for almost a decade …maybe longer – nae idea where I left them, but know that some are sitting down in the Barranca del Cobre and some left me during a Temazcal.
This all happened prior to race day. The run felt different …the only way I can describe it was running feeling “lite”. Every time I needed something, it appeared – sometimes it was an aid station, sometimes it was another Gringo or Tarahumara runner, sometimes it was a shout from a stranger …without exception, it always came when I needed it and without asking. In hindsight, I had the best run of my life …not without pain or challenge but certainly the best ever.
The days after gave a bit of decompression to think …but no immediate answers came. Managed to sneak in another mad adventure which involved an insane taxi journey …but hell, every second was worth it.
If you are still reading, you are probably wondering what this has to with the start of my ramblings here or indeed what it has to do with anything. My purpose is simple …
I was fully correct in my initial feelings – I didn’t come back and probably was never going to. Luis was also correct with what he said at the bridge and life has changed. For the meantime, I will continue to live here in Glasgow but “home” is no longer a place …it is a feeling.
The next chapter in the story has still to be handwritten but I have never been as clear on the direction it will take. If I appear different, you are correct, but dinnae worry …it’s braw!
As the Tarahumara say Kuira Ba.
Nice wee side story to end with – the blog article I mentioned was mostly written by a guy called Mike Miller from Colorado. First night we arrived in the canyons a bunch of Mas Loco were sitting in Mama Tita’s place sharing wonderful tortillas, guacamole and cerveza – I was sitting with Kate, Peter and enjoying meeting various folks who had been arriving in town all day. A guy rambled up and asked if the seat beside me was free (which it was) …he sat down and said “Hi …I am Mike Miller from Durango Colorado” – that kind of stuff happens all the time down there.
"it's a mighty world we live in but the truth is, we're only passing through"
No comments:
Post a Comment