Last time I ran the Upper Rim Trail, it ended up being more of a sludge fest with the goal quickly shifting from hill training to simply staying upright and not losing my shoes in the thick, sticky mud.

That was two weeks ago, and like today, it had just rained 24 hours prior to my arrival. In my twenty plus years of coming to the Lafayette Reservoir, I’d never experienced the trail as sticky. Had I known, I would not have chosen that path that day. Sticky mud took its toll on my ankles and knees by creating an unbalanced gait with the addition of five pound mud weights stuck to each shoe and tweaking my knees from kicking off those heavy weights after each stride. That particular path was not my wisest choice – especially since I had a perfectly good alternative on the clean, paved path below.

I’m sure my dad is not the only one to have said these words of wisdom, but he was the first one to have personally bestowed them upon me:

“It’s not stupid to make mistakes. It’s stupid to repeat them.”

Dad offered these consolatory words when I was in high school after my first car accident in which I was entirely at fault. I vividly remember how calm he was about the whole incident. Maybe that’s also why his words stuck with me.

So when I arrived at the Reservoir this morning already feeling wiser, I had my “dirty” trail shoes on fully prepared to take the path that would not render me limping and lamenting for days. Weather-wise, it was a sunny, perfectly chilly day for a run.

I saw a park ranger near the entrance and asked him about conditions on the Upper Rim Trail. He shook his head and said “I couldn’t even go up some of those hills in my ATV yesterday.” Disappointing words. That should’ve been enough for me to choose the lower paved trail, but at that exact moment, a runner shot past us from the base of the Upper Rim Trail. My eyes immediately went to his shoes. Clean. As were his ankles and calves.

Hmmm….

Now the question became “Whom do I trust?” I needed to get in a good hill training but didn’t want a repeat of the last mud fest.

I decided to go with the runner. The evidence was clear – or clean – that it was not the same conditions as the last time it rained. I cautiously headed up that first hill determined to not repeat the mistakes from two weeks ago and fully ready to turn off onto the lower trails if it really got bad. Turned out to be a near perfect hill training day on soft, slightly muddy trail. Since more rain was in the forecast this week, I took advantage and went around for a second loop for a total of ten miles.

As I was running – actually running, not sludging this time – I saw ATV tire tracks along the path. Except for the steepest hills. I thought about how often I had safely run this same trail and taken it for granted. I don’t normally stop to ask about trail conditions before heading out. If I hadn’t seen the park ranger or runner, I would’ve just ignored the signs, proceeded, and hoped for the best.

Why did I ask this time?

Lately I have a “new normal.” The things I have grown accustomed to and routines I am lovingly dependent on have been tweaked much like my ankles trying to sustain heavy mud weights. Life as I know it changed after we found out earlier this month about Dad’s health situation. It felt like a massive weight on my shoulders which made the pounds of mud on my shoes feel like feathers. At least that’s how it initially felt.

Although I am abundantly, overflowingly blessed with family to team with on this new journey, my natural tendency was to go the path unguided and trudge my way through alone. During those alone times, I found myself deeply entrenched in self-inflicted guilt. One morning I woke up remembering a scene from a few years ago in which I missed an opportunity to help my dad. The following days I kept thinking about instances when I could have/should have been more proactive and patient with both parents which might have alleviated some stress factors. I also realized I had ignored the signs.

I’m exceedingly good at the self-blame game. I win every time. The prize? Guilt.

It feels like trying to run through thick, sticky mud. Just when you think that first layer of mud on the bottom of your shoes is bad, more mud keeps accumulating and getting heavier until you literally can’t take another step. Guilt is heavy. It also creates unnecessary strain.

I did not see this coming. Obviously. If I had known, I would have done things differently.

Isn’t that the case with most things in life? Like in racing, in the hundreds of races I’ve run, there has never been a perfect race. That means there is always something I could have done differently to better my outcome. The race that illustrates this best is 2012 C.I.M. aka The Monsoon Marathon. So much training and preparation go into any marathon. Had I known just how bad the winds and constant downpour would be beforehand, I may not have even shown up at the start line that morning. At the very least, I definitely would have dressed differently. And brought more energy gels. And hydrated better. And took a melatonin to sleep better.

All these woulda/coulda/shoulda’s. Had I done them all, would my results really have been that different? Maybe. Maybe not.

So now I have new “shoulds” – new opportunities each day. Become more knowledgeable about the new path. Seek wisdom from those who have already gone this path. Practice new trail safety – don’t go alone. To name a few.

And like my dad says, don’t repeat mistakes. Funny thing…God says that, too.

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3:22-23 NIV

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6 NKJV

“Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up.” Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 NKJV