This one memory has been going through my mind lately and I thought I'd write it down.
It was July 4, 2005. I was up at 6:15 to go for a run in the canyon. It was that perfect Utah summer weather. A cloudless sky, just after dawn, cool morning air coming down from the mountains. Not a hint of humidity. After I got dressed, I sat on the stairs outside my apartment tying my shoes and smiling.
At 6:30, the guy I was running with came over. We'd been on maybe two dates, which had been enjoyable. This hinted at something more- meeting so early with no one else around, going to the seclusion of the canyon- but it didn't seem at all out of place. I had the car, so I drove, with the windows down to the mouth of Provo Canyon. We stretched a bit and then started our run along the River Trail.
I remember thinking, "This is probably too fast, I won't be able to keep this up," but I never hit a wall. The life around me was filling me with so much energy I felt I couldn't contain it. The sound of the river. The cool air. The smell of pine and aspen and moist earth and rock. The sun breaking over the mountains. The solitude. The intimacy of being with just one other person and the whole majestic, giant world around you. The adrenaline of liking that person more than you expected to. I was transcendent, immortal.
We did stop, after maybe 6 or 7 miles. I know we did. Because I remember driving home and meeting him later while our friends played Jimi Hendrix on the roof and gave away free pancakes and the parade marched by. But when I think of that moment, I think of us running forever, together, through paradise.