It was March 1st today. We woke up to one of those mornings in between rain storms when LA is at its absolute best. My husband usually goes for a long run on Sunday mornings, and I decided to go with him and walk the hills while he ran. As we got out of the car, we could smell the fresh wet leaves on the breeze. Early bright yellow wildflowers popped up on the side of the fire road, and the sky was full of great, puffy clouds moving swiftly across the valley below. Some were edged a deep menacing gray, others were a brilliant white. I couldn't stop stopping to look at the view. Soon enough, we arrived at the trailhead.
Bye honey, I called, as he took off down the path. I put in my headphones and set off on my own. The slope went down steeply in places, rose gently in others, but was mostly downhill all the way. The sun shone and I was sometimes hot in my oversized sweatshirt but there was plenty of shade and the air was still refreshingly cool.
There were mountain bikers and couples with dogs and runners and girlfriends out walking and talking with big hats and sunglasses. I nodded and smiled at them all. The chapters flew by in my audiobook and the ocean appeared behind impossibly green hills.
Almost three miles in, I saw my husband, at first a small moving figure far below me, growing closer as I followed the trail down towards him. He wordlessly signaled to a side path that lead up to a crest, and we met at the top, grinning.
It was glorious. We took photos and he looked at my sweat-covered face with a hint of concern. It's a long uphill from here, he said. I'll run to the end and come back and get you, he said.
I'm fine, I said.
And, this time, so unlike
last time, I meant it.
Off went the book. On went the music. And back up the hill went me, arms swinging in time to the beat.
Happy.
