It's perfect. He sits on a mountain. I sit on a bench. He is taking a breather. I took one earlier.
"Control your breathing," he says, and you hate it when he does because all of a sudden it is the most obvious thing in the room.
We laugh when he tells the story about the grouse, and how that dang bird sat there on the side of the trail until the very moment he got about even with him. Then. Heart attack.
"I decided something," he says.
"What?" I brace myself for wisdom.
But he just gives sweet love. "When you get here I'm just going to let you lead. I'll stick with you."
"You know how slow. I'll try to be fast."
We laugh.
Today I am grateful for day one of trail training, for signal, for little maps with little tents and a forward moving arrow; for eighty miles to a meal, but that meal dang. I'm excited about that meal.
Short term goal of trail training: To not be so slow.
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