Running for Snow

Running for Snow

We met in front of a musty, wooden corner market. Rain plodded on our heads. This was Arizona; rain came scarce, so whenever the sky did cry, we made a point to run in it. There were six of us. From the market we piled into two vehicles and drove towards the national park. In the car we laughed at how crazy we were. I saw disaster in our future then, but the camaraderie worked like liquor. Friends made the world infinitely safe.

Only ten minutes before we got in the car we decided to run up the highest mountain in the Saguaro National Park. That mountain was named Wasson. In the distance, just below the growling clouds, there was Wasson Peak. On top of Wasson Peak sat a spotty coat of snow. We were the Marana Cross County Team and today, it was decided, we would touch snow.

The team was only six strong this time. Our other members couldn’t make it. Wendy was our first teammate. Running Wasson was her idea. She had run it before, but during sizzling summertime. Wendy was petite for her age. At restaurants she enjoyed ordering from the kid’s menu and deceiving waitresses. They treated her like a child almost every time. Zack was our next runner. Zack was faster and more determined than all of us. He knew that running was about hard work. Zack was also a walking dictionary of obscene jokes. Next there was Hector, one of the nicest guys you could meet. We ran the same speed back in the fall, but Hector was getting more and more serious about running. He was beating me now. CW was our next comrade. He earned the nickname “Soulless One” from freshman year of high school. He never said much back then. CW has a soul now, and a good one. Albert was our last teammate. If you asked Albert for anything, he would give it to you. He let people borrow money, and then he refused to be paid back. Albert wasn’t as fast as everyone else, nor I believe, as determined, but the team wouldn’t be the same without him. It wouldn’t be the same without any of us.

We stood at the trailhead and signed a guest book. I looked up at the cloud-covered mountaintop. I scanned over our warm weather running team. I asked CW and Albert, “You guys really don’t have any sweatshirts?”

“Nope,” they laughed. Everyone was wearing gym shorts but me. I had sweatpants, so I was the most prepared. Nothing would stop us now, so all I could do was laugh along. The journey began.

Zack zipped past the rest of us. This first stretch was flat and sandy. We were used to this. Hector and I followed. Wendy came next, and then Albert and CW. I still hadn’t gotten over the idea of us running alone, in a storm, and up a four thousand foot peak. I yelled, “Zack, wait up! We have to stay together!” I was the herder.

The trail gradually raised steeper into the desert mountains. Cactus and thorny plants lined the path, and later, loose rocks. The air had that distinct, almost moldy, smell of desert rain. That same rain had reduced to a chilly drizzle. It wasn’t wet so much as it gave an extra bite to the wind. With every step we looked back more frequently over our shoulders. “Where are we going?” Albert asked, “Wasson is that way.” Wendy said that this was right, so we pressed on.

Soon the incline had risen from thirty degrees to sixty. Every step was fire. I would place my foot on a rock and exert downward force until my leg was fully extended, and then my opposite leg would follow. Finding my footing took concentration. The path crossed back and forth as it rose up the mountainside. We still weren’t moving towards Wasson. Hiking trails were never what they seemed. Never have I witnessed one to go directly to its objective. No, instead, whoever designed the tantalizing things formed them left, right, up, down, and everywhere but straight. I thought, “Damn it, we have a long way to go.”

We did indeed. We had reached the top of a ridge. The trail wound, loosely of course, through the spine until too narrow to be seen. It traveled in Wasson’s vicinity, and more vitally in the direction of snow, dark clouds, and airstreams.

Wendy, Hector, and I watched CW and Albert scrambling around thorny plants and crumbling rocks. They had given up on the trail maker’s curvy antics. “Cheaters,” I said.

“This way is more challenging,” Albert replied, “you’re the lazy one.” At this point the wind chill increased dramatically. Although the workout tricked us into feeling warm, the cold was already eating. The ridge lay lofty and open. The vista would have been spectacular had the visibility not given way to a foggy white curtain. That whiteness felt isolating; combined with the precipitous mountainside there was a sense of vertigo.

The trail evolved into a staircase. This continued for a good three quarter mile. Albert and CW had fallen just out of sight. Hector and I were resting more and more frequently. We were in decent physical shape, but mountains were something else. The icy air shortened my breath. The trail bent around a tall ledge a ways ahead. Zack was there, pacing. I set it as my goal and pushed myself. I increased my turn over to a full stair in every stride. I watched my feet, ignored my legs, and breathed. Running could be such torture, if there ever was a good torture. I made the final step up to Zack. Hector followed.

Zack had stopped at a peaceful rocky projection. It held the possibility for a great panorama, if not for the weather. The sky might have been described as gloomy. However, after catching my breath I said, “There’s snow!”

Zack said, “Oh yeah, there is.”

“Snow!” Hector yelled.

Snow was the one thing in the world that could purify that constricting white sheath over Wasson. It took me a moment to realize that it was snowing too, sort of. Wendy came around the corner. We showed her the snow. I thought this would be a great place to get the team back together. It was cold, but cold plus snow equaled happy cold. Zack and Wendy decided to go ahead anyway. Hector stayed with me.

Five minutes later Albert and CW still hadn’t appeared. “They weren’t that far behind,” I said.

“I don’t know,” said Hector. He was looking off into the white. I felt colder.

I cupped my hand to my mouth and yelled their names. There was no response. Hector followed suit and soon I was taking a few steps back down the stairs. Then we were jogging.

“Albert!” We called, “CW!” The silence inflated. I squinted my eyes and scanned the trail and mountainside.

“Guys! Hey! Come back!” Zack yelled to us from the trail bend. Immediately I knew what had happened. I ran back and said, “Don’t tell me. They cut trail.”

“Yeah, they’re up there with Wendy.”

“Oh God,” I said, “those stupid…”

We ran on. I experienced anger but I couldn’t help but laugh. What my friends had done, no matter how exasperating, was only what they always did. And although I continued to worry, the snow piled higher and fell thicker. I thought only about telling everyone how great desert snow was. We were the only people around, so it snowed only for us.

Finally, we found them, and I took a snowball to the face. CW threw it and, of course, I returned fire and set things right. Albert called to us from on top of an immense outcropping of rock. He said, “Guys, get up here!” The healthy sized mound looked enticing. Everyone obeyed. An inch of delicate snow had settled here. Even the prickly pear cactus had dressed in white. The ground was slippery now. I measured my steps and met everyone at the top. Large snowflakes danced around us and settled in my hair. I felt oddly blissful.

We never did reach the top. The storm became too great for summertime gym clothes. But on that outcropping we reached our own summit. All six of us perched there, laughing and marveling. We were slaphappy and snow-high. White, a chaste white, wrapped us together. We were united as a team, as friends, and as humans. This was life. We all agreed, as I said again and again, that this was the single greatest thing we had ever done.