Running down a mountain on a wilderness trail can go one of two ways:
It can be exhilarating and fun, almost like you’re flying. There can be moments when you feel more alive and connected to your body and to the world than you’ve ever felt in your life.
It can also be terrifying. If the grade is too steep, if the path is on loose earth that slips under your feet, if the trail is too narrow and a drop to certain death lies to either side, you can find yourself questioning your sanity. You’ll fight momentum in a desperate bid to slow down, your heart racing as you try to keep your feet under you, doing everything you can to avoid pitching forward face-first or misplacing a step that sends you hurtling down a cliffside.
That latter experience is what I’m feeling right now. Momentum is pulling me forward, and all I can do is try to keep from falling on my face. Disaster is just one slip away.
I don’t know where or when or how this ends. I’m scared and I’m tired and I’m in pain, but the grade has me, and I’m committed. One way or another, I’m coming down the mountain.
One way or another.
