(from May 28, Wilder Day 3; post Mckenzie Trail Run)

The trail. The beauty. The river rushing. I had lost footing and tripped and rolled my ankle already. I was mesmerized with the insane wild place around me, yet forcing my eyes constantly down so there would be no falling.  Keeping up, listening to the chatter of the others. Body strong, confident, capable. I started to feel almost weightless in the effort that was translating as pure joy.

As I fell I didn’t even have a micro-second to react. The realization came simultaneously with the impact. A quick sting on my head as it bounced from the protruding rock. My shoulder and ribs were suddenly punched by the earth that moments ago had seemed generous and kind.

My first thoughts were anger and relief and they came at the same moment: anger that my head was on fire and that the beauty of the moment was marred by my clumsiness. Relief that I was fairly sure nothing was broken. And I was pissed that this most amazing run of my life had been interrupted by something as derelict as tripping over the trail.

The engagement of the others was kind and genuine. I felt an embarrassed guilt at disrupting their pace. And an acute embarrassment that I had peed my running shorts somehow during the fall. I felt like an inconvenience as they hovered over me (thought no one acted anything but concerned for my possible concussion analyzing the rapidly growing goose egg on my right temple). Sitting up I was washed in dizziness and curious panic over whether or not I would be able to walk out of here. I started imagining a stretcher made from fallen sticks and a paramedic having to hike who knows how far to get to me.  The 2 fast girls I’d been joyously (barely) keeping up with ran on ahead to let the team at the checkpoint know that I was injured and that they weren’t sure how bad. One of the girls behind me ran back to another group to let them know we needed help. And one stayed: a woman I hadn’t yet even talked to. I was baffled by her kindness and the sacrifice she was making to wait with me, giving up her moment of freedom for an injured girl she’d just met.

It was then that the shock started to dissipate and the pain throbbed and I got up and started walking. After a few minutes the fog cleared just enough that I was jogging or trotting or something similar, but definitely determined to get going again. I started remembering the dream I’d had the night before that was throwing me into a nauseating deja vu sensation and I wondered if I was dreaming or awake.  I was pissy and petulant when we got to the support van and I was told to plan to hitch a ride to the end point. I wanted to keep running. I sat quiet in the van with ice on my head, staring out the window at the beauty which I had been completely clothed in moments ago speed by at an obscene pace. I pieced together fragments of last night’s dream interspersed with the moments before I fell and moments after. I wondered if I was still dreaming.