Pit Pat Pit Pat.

The rhythmic sound of gentle footsteps echoed through the bleak forest. The area was cold and misty. Dew glazed the desolate greenery. Darkness was upon them.

The Runners.

The 100 selected individuals. The finest of them all. All chosen to participate in the toughest race in the World. A race in which over 60% of the starters do not finish. A race in which an 18,000 feet ascent is included in the journey to the finish. A race where your body is pushed to the limits of absolute endurance. A race where the heat and the cold may cause in the destruction of your very own mind and souls.

The Western States 100 Miler.

The majestically deadly attraction of the event has been a particular life goal for this different breed of humans. Over thousands have tried and failed to conquer the mountains that lay between Squaw Valley and Auburn to conquer this trial of miles. Finishing itself is a remarkable achievement. While finishing under 24 hours was a glorious victory. It gave you the prestigious Western States Medal, the one and only Medal of Honor in the running community.

Among those 100 was Canaday, a mere underdog in the field of elites. The 19 year old was still grieving on the death of his mother after a battle with the infamous Ebola. Running was his alcohol. His way of forgetting. His freedom. His tranquility. Western States was the memorial run for his late mother. A final ‘Thank You’.

He was also hurting.

Canaday was a fine man and an excellent runner, but anyone who had the guts to take on one of the toughest endurance races would face the harsh terrain and high altitude worked together to produce absolute nightmares for those brave souls. Each step up the rocky surface was another sting in Canaday’s blister-full limbs. The cold and misty atmosphere resulted in fatigue and low visibility, making him crave the warmth of the sun. The air was difficult to breathe, fostering immediate disorientation and migraines to form in their already crushed bodies. Many had already dropped out due to a conundrum of reasons ranging from fatigue to frostbite. Canaday, on the other hand, had a much larger problem to deal with.

The cold is a well-known peril of the Western States, but who could’ve thought a hole, an area the size of a football, could threaten Canaday’s courageous attempt. All was well right before the orange orb finally disappeared below the horizon and darkness enveloped the thick woods. The fog descended at an alarming rate, and it was thicker than the type he was accustomed to back home at Kansas. It strained his eyes to the max, causing his vision to be nothing more than a 50 year old suffering from cataract. The Official Guidebook recommended every runner to carry at least 2 headlamps in case one of them dies mid-run, something Canaday did not anticipate to happen. His $10 headlamp from Target failed him at the 86th mile and moments later, his left foot stepped into a lurking hole in the ground as his body lunged forward in a jerking motion towards the coarse terrain. A slight crack followed, and when Canaday pushed his cheeks off the dirt to assess the damage, it was clear that he had strained his ankle as a violet clump began to form on the surface of his skin. The nearest checkpoint was 4 miles away, and there was no way of contacting anyone for help. He had to walk 4 grueling miles on a swollen ankle.

Canaday was forced to search deep within himself as he completed the 90th mile and arrived at the final checkpoint. There were only 10 miles left in this race, but that godforsaken hole resulted in the chiseling of Canaday’s own sanity out of his mind. His rotten legs are sweet with pure relief. His heart eventually has a chance to recuperate from continuous anguish. A poor mind and soul’s cravings for hope and joy were finally fulfilled.

As Canaday sat down on a stool, stuffing anything he could find into his dry mouth ranging from shots of energy gels to cans of hot soup. A few medical personnel attended to his swollen ankle and gave it a thorough check to make sure Canaday wouldn’t come home an amputee as Canaday finally had a chance to gaze at the spectacular view all around him.

The alluring greenery was glowing with life as thin layers of sunlight fell from the heavens. Day was fast approaching. The trees around him waved harmoniously with the wind, perfectly in sync. The distant frozen mountain caps started to melt, forming gracious haze around the peaks which dripped down the boundless sky, icing twigs and grit subtended down below. This was truly God’s canvas right before his eyes. The faint calling of a cuckoo could be heard from the distance, its repetitive yet graceful sound poured a kaleidoscope of relief on Canaday’s eardrums. They listened carefully to the rustling of the leaves and cracking of twigs circling him, signaling that the residents of the forest had begun their morning activities. As the clock strikes 6 and the orange orb slowly ascends above the mountains, the sky lights up with splashes of orange and magenta. Light was all around him.

A little fawn appeared out of nowhere, accompanying it was its mother. They both strolled along the woods side by side with amazing harmony. The fawn had an adorable pair of puny ears and seemed like a creature full of curiosity and joy. It ran circles around its mother while occasionally chasing off birds and insects that populated the woods. The mother was a graceful doe, its white dots looked like they were painted by Da Vinci himself and her eyes bore a warm, loving gaze. The sheer beauty of this sight made Canaday recall similar moments with his mother. She wasn’t the perfect, caring mother who made him pancakes with maple syrup and kissed him goodbye to school every morning. She was the type that would work extra shifts dining tables at the local diner and extend that mental and physical limit of hers day by day just to keep her son in school and provide enough food on the dinner table. Nothing was the same after his father left for some co-worker, but nevertheless they were a happy family, or at least they tried to be.  

This mere sparkle of nostalgic memories and hope inspired him to continue. Canaday rose up and launched himself into the final leg of the journey.

The victory was short-lived. In no time, his body has exhausted all its resources and is running on fumes again in the midst of the ascent. Eternal doom haunted him like a cloud on a gloomy day. Each stride made a creaking sound in his joints, and the burning sensation, a common phenomenon, had made its place in Canaday’s body. His swollen ankle quivered and thighs tensed up with each step. 3 miles to go. Canaday gave his ankle another glance. The violet clump was expanding rapidly. The voices in his head started to shout at this unfortunate being.

The voices thou, were not imaginary. They were real. They were the sounds of the citizens of Auburn. The finish line was in sight!
Canaday’s heart pounded. His brain was exploding. Endorphins filled his body to the wildest of dreams. He sprinted towards the line of relief and elation! Just half a mile to go! The cheering grew louder and warmer with each stride he took. 23:59:10! Hell, he might even break the 24 hour mark! Go Canaday Go! Chase the clock down!

 

“Daddy, are you ready?”

The little voice revealed a boy no more than the young age of 9.

“Yes son. Let’s get started. Let’s go for 2 miles okay?”

“Nah daddy, let’s go for 3. I want to beat all the bigger boys in the mile next week. Coach said he’ll get me ice cream if I win my meet.”

A middle aged man rushed out of the door of a wooden lodge. He then caught up with his son who had sprinted up the trail ahead of his father.

“Okay champ. Just don’t go to fast now or I’m gonna have trouble catching up with ya! By the way, you might wanna skip the ice cream part when you tell your ma.” the father gave out a warm chuckle as they both started on their morning ritual.

Both of them had similar running form: a fast cadence, decent stride, arms held up against their chests and a straight posture, although the father seemed to have an awkward limp every time his left foot pounded the dirt. It was probably the scar of a long, tiresome battle with himself. Both of them dressed alike. A white shirt, blue shorts and matching shoes.

Hanging down the boy’s neck, however, was a Western States Medal.