Elisa Jones trail running winter

A Quicky with Curt

“I’ve finally become the person I’ve always wanted to be. Do we have to ask why?” – Lieutenant Barclay “Star Trek: The Next Generation”

I’ve been too busy lately to get out for more than a 30 minute stroll. It’s a little sad, but kinda cool, too, you know? It means things are (hopefully) turning prosperous. And soon my kids will be back in school which opens some possibilities for more effective time usage. Hooray!

Now if I can just make it to Friday I think life may go on.

Today I did 3 hours of church a 2 hour meeting with a client, who I would also say is a good friend, and at least 30 minutes trying to talk the crazies out of one of my family members. I was undecided about hitting the road to my mom’s house in the thriving metropolis of Elwood, Utah. So I thought about it while running around Kid’s Meal and up Curt’s Lane.

Decided to throw down and hit the road.

Okay- so here is the deep thought- trails take us to special places. They may not be far from home. We may not go far on them. But they invariably take us to places that are cool. For example, at the top of Curt’s lane there is a little stand of boulders. It is one of my favorite places to sit and watch the sun (rise, set, or just burn holes into my retinas. Take your pick). It’s maybe 500 yards from the TH, but it’s a special place.

When I was 12-years-old I used to take a near-daily walk on the canal road just minutes from where we lived in West Jordan. My friend, Jared Crowford, and I would spend an hour just talking and exploring that trail. Someone had built a tree-house accessible to the canal road and we often climbed up it to scout out our surroundings. One summer my friend Jen and I sat in that same treehouse while she braided my hair into 1 million tiny braids while she taught me to sing “Feeling Groovy” by Simon and Garfunkle. Special place, right? Close to home. On a trail.

A couple years later the property owner died. He was my friend, Brady’s grandfather. It was actually he who found him dead. Disturbing, right? Anyhoo, those who inherited the land sold it piece-meal for new houses and they tore down that tree with the treehouse and paved the road. Gone.

But at least I have those memories, right? I wonder if years from now I will look back and think of some special place that is now gone. I hope not. The world needs special places.

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Final note. Wore my spikey shoes. Worked so super well. Next trail I’m going to take them on: No Thoroughfare