September 13

Dusk, still alone, eating dried figs at six thousand feet. The darkness brings cold quickly, the wind delivers bone chilling moisture, the rocks become silhouettes. The marmots whistle at me from the rocks. Every bone in my foot burns. Over the course of 28 miles today, the trail climbed almost six thousand vertical feet and descended over three thousand. You climb up, just to climb back down only moments after reaching a saddle or a crestline. Certainly the most climbing I have done in a single day since the Sierra. Hard walking over rock fields, alluvial slopes -- crushing the joints, bruising the feet and ankles. All this solitude -- six full days now -- and I think I've found a place in my mind that is truly silent, something quiet takes over, my mind shuts down and allows me to soar for great distances with little effort (all effort), stopping to rest only a couple times in twelve hours. A harmonics of no noise, measured by the tones of breathing, lungs operating at full capacity, always asking for more air, the heaving of the chest. I can acknowledge the difficulty and the pain, but the strength of my body lets me transcend it. It has taken months to get this strong.