A Perfect Run

I am always amazed how when I go on vacation most of the memories fade, but many of my runs remain vividly in my memory. A few years ago Steven and I went to Switzerland to snowboard with friends. Jetlag can have its advantages and around 5am I set out up a deserted cobblestone street in Zermatt. I ran past clustered houses, chocolate and fondue shops and banks. Many banks.

In this mountain town there was only one direction to run - up. So I set off up a ski trail, my breath creating frosty ice crystals on my hat. Before I knew it I'd reached the top of the gondola and a fork in the road. I chose a path that crossed a stream and zig-zagged across a ridge. As the sun crept over the mountain a small village appeared. It was scattered with cows complete with large bells around their necks. A man with a beard waved at me. To me this was a true picture of a foreign land.

 The town I started in is below the fog.

After a while my oxygen-depleted legs became fatigued and I turned around to fly down the trail, slipping on the snow-packed path. While running down the hill a mom with two kids on a long sled sped past me - on their way to school.

This is the gnome I saw on the way home from what has been filed away in my memory as one of the greatest runs of all time.