Dry River Run

Never is a mighty long time. I feel certain that as long as I am able to run I'll never tire of running in the desert. This morning, waiting proved to be the hardest part. I sat around the hotel room delaying my run long enough to ensure I'd be out on the road when the sun took main stage in the day. Waiting didn't disappoint.

I lumbered down Speedway Blvd past the Pima Community College Downtown Campus. My agenda was to watch the sun crest over the mountain chain. What a remarkable sight that inspires me each and every time! After that I simply enjoyed the invigorating desert air. To my delight a bike/running path crossed Speedway Blvd. I eagerly joined it and cut through the Santa Cruz River Park. The path moved along the river, however at this time and season, no water flowed between its banks.

I let my imagination run as fast as my legs. I considered a roaring river being fed by the washes. I thought of stories, songs and poems rooted in rivers rushing, gently flowing, or like this one, rivers that run dry. I couldn't contain myself any longer. I hopped the guardrail and shimmied down the steep riverbank. I ran right through the middle of the river. What fun!

When it was time to return I looked for the least severe slope to get back up to the paved trail. Not many encouraging options presented themselves, so I just plowed right up the wall. Slipping and sliding, I dug my fingers, toes and knees into the loose dirt and rock and clawed my way to the top. I managed it with a minimal amount of bleeding.

For a place many see as a barren wasteland, I see the desert as one of nature's best places to run.     

Tom