There’s a heap of stones piled up on the East Boulder Trail that I haven’t noticed before. Probably because I haven’t run this far on the trail yet this year. In trumpian fashion, I didn’t intend to run this far today. Maybe I was into a song, but I ran past my turn-around target, which was a couple hundred meters above this hill. Seeing this cairn direct my flight toward the newer southeastern path, woke me up. I stayed the course and ran down the hill.
I knew that, in my current state of fitness, running down that hill might be a mistake. Odds very much are that I’ll have to return back up that same hill. By the photo above, not only is it clear that I made it another quarter mile, but the footbridge has finally been repaired after the last big flood.
I did make it back up that hill. I’m not saying I didn’t walk a bit of it. I will say that I took both the downhill and uphill pictures together, on my return.
I made it back to my car, feeling like I just experienced my best run of the year. Not only did I best a recent-distance metric, but my confidence level was boosted by the accomplishment. Accidental or not.
I pronounce cairn like my wife’s name, Karen, but with an Irish lilt that moves the second vowel ahead of the”r”. Some pronounce it like the word farm. It’s Scottish-Celtic for a heap of rocks with a meaning. A monument, if not a landmark. Cairns are one of the best forms of aesthetic function you’ll ever come across.