OTHERBORN: GRANITE HIGH

EPISODE THREE

TABITHA

I'll make this my training and I'll run into town. I calculate it will likely be a twelve . . . fifteen mile trip, most of it downhill, but rocky. I have never taken this particular path—the one at the bottom. I've only hiked the top half where I live.

Yeah, I had to get up early in darkness.

Yesterday, I'd worked on both of the routes in my mind: the path, the dips and gullies, the climbs, timing to shady spots I can make out from a distance and when I might need to hit them depending on pace, gravel, lose shale, where the river cuts through . . .

Grey mists this morning lead me to deciding between the high or the low path.

The high route will go over the Pinyon Pine, bridging the walls of the canyon at the point where they come close to touching each other. And the low route means swimming—and the river is fast.

Sometimes too fast, so I'll make a final choice when I see how high it's rushing today.

I know this part of the climb really well. I can run in the cool. My favorite weather.

So, before I've even eaten and hours before heat, I first jog uphill, maybe five hundred feet, winding to the edge of my closest "out-waffle" where the best spot for a view is a few miles east.

I run along the edge. It's just the shadows I watch. They kind of trick you.

I love calling the canyon rim "waffles." That's where the sides are so carved out over time that from above the rim is a waffly zigzag.

I see how the water is running today. It's far below. Time is frozen stillness, alone. I love this!

But I shouldn't wait.

My extra surveillance climb has added a few extra miles. I've arrived. So I choose. I've checked the river. It's running okay, not too turbulent. I can likely swim that.

I nod. It's the low route, for sure then. And I go.

After a drink and quick refill of my bottle from the spring at the top, I will return home, with still time to have breakfast before the longer run next down to the school.

Career Plans would chill me, but I'm tuning that out. Up here is my passion.

I haven't eaten yet. Better stay light. I'll mix up trail snacks in another half hour, before the real distance when it will be warm, then blistering hot.

Dawn hits the plateau and is filtering along the watercourse now from the angular ridge.

I ponder the Donny thing: I'll try to impress upon this boy (I'm way too drawn to) that I don't need his thanks. Or if he is quick, I'll accept his thank yous—as long as they are sincere—and just leave it at that, and face the music of "Job Search Assistant" or whatever the thing's going to be. Eww. Eww.

I now crest the rise to find the chattering spring that always bubbles crystal refreshment. I plan to quench my insides and dump as much as I can over my head. A luxury here. My soaked head will stay cool for a while.

But today it's silent. The water's not flowing over the rocks. It's only a trickle! And I'm not sure it's clean.

Dang. I should have conserved. I didn't expect this. A lethal mistake to make on a run. I give myself Jet's practiced lecture on "expecting the worst"; and thank goodness I'm still close to home.

I don't even touch my bottle anywhere near to the spring. I pour out the last few drops that I had in it onto my forehead and wipe off my face with my shirt, licking just moisture.