Running with the Pack

I met some friends out in the woods before day break Saturday morning. Just about the ONLY way that I will get up in the dark, windy, wet, cold morning to go running is for the social benefit. My friend J, who runs through the woods regularly, suggested sticking to the sticks rather than the main road to protect us from the wind. We chatted and huffed and puffed our way through the woods as it gradually got lighter and lighter. I was looking further down the path when this BEAST darted across the path. It was the size of a deer but was dark and had a long white plumey tail and a dog head. My first question is, are coyotes THAT big? My second question is, why after totally freaking out, did I continue to follow my friend TOWARD the BEAST? She claims it was a deer, but I got a better look and (in my eye docotor's words) I have "better than perfect vision". Was it because I was afraid of being lost in the woods? Or because I have no brain of my own? The truth is that I subscribe to the family mantra, "It is better to die than to look bad."

This truth was taught to me in my formative years mainly by my dear Uncle D. Without actually ever being told so, everyone knew that you just don't lose face in front of Uncle D. For this reason I found myself with my toes curled into vertical red sandstone climbing up to Indian ruins, or biting my lip as I crossed the gates into the ungroomed back-country at Alta, or trying not to close my eyes and cry while motorcycling through rivers and up steep hills, or strapping on a waterski, kneebooard, or bump-r-ride knowing that Uncle D had a homing device for the most wavey portion of the lake. Why is it better to die than to look bad? I'm not sure. But I have had a lot of fun almost dying over the years, and I think it actually built a little confidence in me over the years.

However, now that I have 3 children who depend on me, I informed J. this morning that I will not be running through the woods before daybreak again.