Birds hate me. I don’t know why. Maybe I stuffed too many of their friends back in my zoologist days.
I should really rephrase. Birds hate me while I’m running.
Are they worried that I’m going too fast and I might just take off and start flying, thus eliminating their main advantage over humans? Or do they just have it in for me personally?
I have now sustained two injuries from bird-related running incidents. The latest was 36 hours prior to a fantastic hike up 14,115 foot Pikes Peak. After mourning the loss of my summer fun from the recovery time needed due to a quad strain or from my August full of business travel, this last climb was going to be epic and put an exclamation mark on the season, as if to say…I’m back, Baby!
Long story short…running down the trail…bird flies out of bush…startles me…I trip on rock…fly forward…hit another rock…break a rib. Bye Pikes Peak.
After 24 hours of denial and many tears, I finally realized I just had to get busy healing. Everyone with whom I told this story gave me these words of comfort — the exact same words: “Pikes Peak isn’t going anywhere.” It must mean something when EVERYONE says the same thing. My heart’s response: I’m not going anywhere either.
I can rationalize and go to a place of broad perspective. Lots of people have horrible injuries and won’t ever recover. I am lucky I have the opportunity to climb mountains for fun at all…and so on. That is all true. But today, it still hurts and I can’t breathe. Today, Pikes Peak did go somewhere. It disappeared into the future.
I guess it is just one more reminder of the broken world we live in and the promise that awaits us all. Whether we can climb it or just stare up at it … rich or poor, man or woman, weak or strong…we are all still just reaching out to something higher. You are right, my friends. Pikes Peak isn’t going anywhere. Thank God for that!