Over the last week, I’d resigned myself to the reality of the calendar flipping over to May 21. Today Bridger registrants either receive an email letting them into the race, or suffer through the void of electronic silence. With the recent aches, pains, and slow times, it feels like my body is gently telling me not to get my hopes up. Remember, you’re 58, a mere mortal trying to keep pace with a crazy Saturday morning running crew. And as bad-ass as the Saturday crew is, we run in the rich and gooey coastal air, not the thin, oxygen-starved, mountain air of Montana’s Bridger Ridge. Maybe it is best that my electronic mailbox sit empty. There is always next year, and much I can do to improve. More time in the gym, getting stronger. I can survive this disappointment. It will make for a more interesting, longer story. Persistence and resilience should not to be underestimated or undervalued.
Last night we went to a cousin’s wedding in Boise. A young marine, he serves on Marine 1, the helicopter that ferries Obama to and from the White House and Camp David, Air Force One, and other locations. A strikingly handsome young man, with a beautiful, smiling, bride. Heather and I danced till midnight, then up early this morning to fly back to SF. On the way to the airport, I check messages. My short sleep and mild hangover helping me to momentarily forget the significance of this day.
Dear Chris,
Congratulations! YES! You have been selected in the Bridger Ridge Run selection / lottery process!
Either by the strength of your compelling reason, by sheer random selection, or through your past accomplishments, you are officially approved to register for the race. Thank you for your cooperation in the lottery. There were 632 entries into the lottery this year (453 last year).
Holy shit! Really? My heart, mind and soul are equally shocked. I turn to Heather. “I just got a crazy email,” she turns toward me, eyebrows raised. “I’m in. I’m in the Bridger.” Hi fives. “You’ve been thinking about this, working towards this for the last year. It’s your destiny,” she reminds me. Big sigh. Excitement, relief, and a healthy layer of fear: an emotional parfait with a complicated taste. Deep breath. I click on the Bridger website. Ahhh. Those thoroughly intoxicating pictures of the ridge, and it’s ridiculous trail snaking far into the distance. My heart rate racing like I’m climbing Railroad Grade even as I sit on my butt at the gate waiting for our plane to arrive. As I head into an incredibly challenging several-month period at work, I now have to focus, focus, focus, on staying healthy and building up for that slow series of switchbacks up toward Sacagawea Peak from Fairy Lake thirteen weeks from now, inhaling cool mountain air, one step at a time on the hard scrabble trail, leaning forward, adrenalin building, allowing the slightest of smiles to crease my lips, living out my running dreams.