Ten miles…it has been over twenty years since I have run a distance in the double digits, but last Friday I finally reached a point I use to consider trivial.
I spent most of the run flashing back in my mind to other runs, long ones that went twenty or more and how they are still a part of me. Some of my favorite runs were those in places far removed from humanity, unlike today when I ran along a country road careful to avoid the occasional vehicle flying by.
One such place was in South Carolina, near Summerville in a forest owned by Weyerhaeuser. I don’t know the total acreage of the vast expanse of land but I know that I could run one way for over an hour without reaching a state or county road. We would travel on logging roads cut by Weyerhaeuser when harvesting their lands. I say we, because back in those days I had a running companion like no other; a Husky-Shepherd mix dog who we called “Milkshake”. We were both built for running in our youth, lean and long-winded. She was a little over a year old and I was in my early twenties.
We would set out on runs and often not know how far we wanted to go for sure, only that we loved to run. We would see all manner of wildlife; deer, turkeys, otters and a large variety of reptiles. Both of us would watch out for the other as we ran on our daily jaunts. I would spot snakes far in the distance, and try to call her back to me when I did, so as to warn her by making it move before she would step too close. One too many times I had seen her dance the dangerous dance with the coiled serpent, only to be saved upon my arrival. Meanwhile, she would be on the lookout for larger animals that she would often chase off into the woods, only to return back by my side priding herself in her endeavor, both of us glad to have the other by their side.
On hot summer days we would stop and refresh ourselves in ponds bordered by lush vegetation but swarming with all sorts of creatures; everything from snakes skimming along the top of the water, otters playing in the shallows or gators sunning themselves on the sandy loam banks lined with palmettos. In this world, we were the visitors and treated our hosts with humility and respect, trying not to alarm anyone lest we cause a stir to the tranquil settings we were blessed to witness. Cooled and invigorated, we would continue on our way thinking nothing of the last few miles that were the most common, the pathway home.
It was out here in this wilderness that I learned a faithful dog would stay close to its master without leash or tether, always returning no matter the circumstance. Oh there were the odd occasion where she might not do so immediately, but if not, it was not of her own accord. Like the time we set out on a run shortly after a huge downpour, finding streams and drainage ditches close to overflowing with rushing water. This particular time I don’t know what caused her to venture to close to the edge of a rushing torrent; perhaps an otter or other aquatic mammal jumping for cover, but alas, she fell into the raging flood, and quickly began to be sucked into the drain pipe that carried the torrent under the road we were about to travel over. At this point I was but just a few steps behind and I instinctively reached down, grabbing a handful of fur and flesh at the nape of her neck and yanked her back up, all fifty some odd pounds, back to safety. She looked up and me and shook the water from her coat and then as if to say, “Thank you” walked up to me and nudged me with her nose, then turned toward the road and began leading the way, back to our journey, back to the road from which we should have never strayed.
Another time, when we had set out later in the day and were only out for a brief run, starting almost at sunset, Milkshake stopped several yards ahead of me and began staring at something in the middle of the road. From the shape I could tell it was not a turtle or armadillo, which was not uncommon, but something more mammalian in size. Upon arriving, I found her staring curiously at a possum that looked to be dead. I had heard all my life about their “playing possum” but never witnessed it in person. Both of us were stumped, and I fearing it was poisoned began to kick it off the road when to both of our surprise, it jumped up, snarled a horrible hiss through a mouthful of teeth and ran off into the underbrush nearby. Needless to say, we never trusted a sleeping possum after that time.
I learned another thing about the dog’s endurance, especially on the weekly long runs where we would go out and run for over two hours at a time. I knew my pace was nearly six minutes per mile or less, so could almost within a quarter-mile judge my distance. It was on runs of over fifteen miles that she would begin to lag behind. Anything over twenty and she would begin to lose sight of me. I didn’t like to lose her, so would often slow enough for her to catch back up. We both learned a lot about ourselves and one another there in that solitude, far removed from mankind, with only the thoughts of what we carried with us and our God-given abilities to carry us there and back. I took great joy in knowing we could run for the countless hours without seeing another human or worry about traffic alongside a roadway. It was the perfect time, but like all perfect times, they too will pass…like the bad, so does the good.
We enjoyed this blissful solitude until the day we met the hunters who leased the land and called it their own. I vividly recall the day the four-wheel drive truck came into few. Oddly enough, I was by myself this day. I had just emerged from a darkly wooded stand of tall timber into a stretch of recently logged land where the sun was shining brightly. They must have been as amazed to see a human out running in “Their” woods as I was to see somebody else. They stopped me as I started to run past their cab, and with the window rolled down, chewing and smoking tobacco in the cab filled with a number of various weapons, they asked me with a foreboding demeanor, “Boy, don’t you know this is a hunting club? You could wind up getting yourself shot out here and the might never find your body.” I tried to do my best to match their drawl and told them I was certainly not aware of this being anyone’s hunting club and would not pass this way again. I ran away from the truck thankful that I had been given a second chance and knew somehow the good Lord was watching over me. Whether or not they were just trying to scare me or if their threat was honest, I never challenged it to find out. Milkshake and I never returned to the forest after that day. I had felt violated but knew that the potential for danger was too great and all it would take is one trigger happy hate-filled bushwhacker to ruin my life, either by shooting my companion or worse, shooting me.
We both quit running in the early nineties, me to start building a farm and her because of cancer. She stayed with us until 1993 but passed on in September of that year. Her body rests in what was her favorite spot, overlooking the pond up on a crest underneath the shade of a tall white oak tree. I go there to visit her now and again and reminisce about my old friend and running mate.
Like life, the many miles we’ve traveled, whether physical, mental or spiritual, they are part of us and make us who we are. Unlike those long ago workouts, today’s was much shorter in distance but just as strenuous. Like the taste of the sweet fruit, with age we must appreciate more often with less.
Let us not forget these virtues as we go forward into the season filled with wondrous blessings…one step at a time.
