Abstract:

If someone was to ask me what I identify myself as, I would quickly say that I am a
runner. I identify as a runner rather than a student or a rafter or climber because I feel that
through running, I am able to forge a connection with places that I cant find in any other way.
Pushing my physical limits in beautiful places like the San Juan Mountains takes me to a state of
mind that I consider to be my place. Rather than attempt to identify one place out of the myriads
of places that I find special, I think that my sense of place can be best captured by describing my
feelings in just about any place that separates me from civilization. This is best described as an
ideological sense of place because it isnt one specific place, but more a state of being that I find
most special. As I say in my essay, My place is not, in the conventional sense of the word, a
place at all. It is a place that I have to find inside, that I can only arrive in by entering this certain
state of mind. Even so, I would describe this community attachment as rootedness. I feel a very
strong connection to my place, and that connection isnt changed at all by the fact that my place
isnt necessarily a physical location.
My environmental ethic comes directly from my sense of place. I believe that my
place is one of the things that keeps me alive, and as such, I think that we should protect the
wild places across the country so that everyone can get to their place if they so choose. Our
society tends to base much of its policy off of what we need in a very scientific sense. We
bulldoze pristine woodlands because we need to grow more food. We move mountains
because we need the minerals to make new technologies. My environmental ethic is centered
on the idea that there are other things that pristine wilderness gives us that arent tangible in a
scientific sense but are immensely important all the same. I highlight this in the last sentence of
my essay: Because as I stand on this solitary escarpment, I can feel the heartbeat of the
mountain vibrating in the air, and I know that when its heart stops, so does mine.
Runners High
Gordon Gianniny
The heartbeat of the mountain is hard to hear at first. It filters in and out between the
white noise of a summer morning in the high country: The burbling of a small creek making its
way through the forest, the song of a thousand birds hidden in the swaying canopies of the spruce
and fir trees, the wind weaving through the trunks and boughs like the exhalation of some
massive creature. Here one moment, gone the next. The trail twists ahead, ever upward, past the
breathing of the forest, in to the tundra and beyond to the distant peak. It finally vanishes in to
the crazed jumble of talus that slides from the shoulders of the mountain, frozen in an eternal
shrug of indifference to the flatlands below.
The intense green of the underbrush contrasts with the deep blue-grey of conifer needles.
Now and then, the trail twists through an aspen grove, the bleached skeletons of the trunks
covered by coats of green leaves. Mossy boulders are sprinkled at regular intervals along the
way, sometimes adorned by the watchful eyes of a songbird or the bushy tail of a squirrel. Tree
line comes suddenly; the seemingly endless forest shivers as its upper fringes encounter an
invisible wall beyond which the growing season is too short to support anything less hardy than
grasses and small shrubs. The trees go from constant to sporadic, mighty and tall to stunted and
gnarled, and then vanish entirely. Up here the world is dominated by the wind. Visitors do not
stay long; the combination of high elevation and intense weather sends all but the hardiest
scurrying for cover below tree line in short order.
I too will not stay long indeed, my stay will be even shorter than most. My body craves
the warmth of a sleeping bag, the shelter of a tent, the comfort of hot food. My mind, however,
comes alive above the trees. Here in the thin air above 12,000 feet, where the sky opens and the
air is clear, I can finally think, can finally feel. Before me, the mountain looms larger than ever.
To either side, the mountains spread on in to the horizon, lofty summits and long ridges framed
against the vibrant Colorado sky, tossing against one another like colossal waves frozen in the
midst of a violent storm. My goal, for today at least, is not a common destination. It is not the
highest or most impressive or most challenging peak in the range, just one of many such summits
that punctuate the spaces between the more notable peaks. As such, no one else ascends towards
this summit today. Its just me, the trail, and the mountains.
I am running, for in my mind, the pure and simple effort of running is the best way to
connect with a place. To really experience it. There is very little oxygen up here, and my lungs
strain against my rib cage, my breath coming in gasps, searching for the elusive air. The trail
steepens and tapers as it reaches the base of the first scree field, disappearing in to the confusion
of rocks, large and small. My legs burn as I bound upwards, my stride slowly but surely
shortening until it is barely more than a shuffle. Still I continue skyward, the scree shifting
beneath me as I reach the ridge line. The valley beyond the peak becomes visible, lush and green
with an emerald lake sparkling in its center like a gem. Clouds swirl around the peaks on its far
side. The sight gives me a new strength, and I turn to the right, up the ridge towards the summit.
The slope angle increases until it reaches the pitch of an expert ski run. I am barely able to keep
my slow run from deteriorating in to a walk, heart racing, legs burning, breath straining.
In this moment, I become connected. My focus is on each step, putting one foot in front
of the other. I forget the comfortable sleeping bag, the safe tent, the satisfying food that awaits
me far below. I dont think of the summit that waits for me only a few strides ahead. I think only
of the present, only of taking one more step. And then one more. And one more. My mind is free,
free of the confines of everyday life and focused on the raw power of movement. I feel almost
disembodied, as if I am hovering on the wind and watching as someone else slogs upward. This
is my place, both in body and mind. It is not just this peak; in fact it could be almost anywhere.
My place is not, in the conventional sense of the word, a place at all. It is a place that I have to
find inside, that I can only arrive in by entering this certain state of mind. It is a state of extreme
focus that can never last long, and soon it is over. Soon I am standing still, with the heartbeat of
the mountain ringing in my ears, staring out over a landscape of valleys, peaks, rivers, streams,
and forests. Soon the feeling returns to my legs, the burning sensation subsides, my breathing
evens out.
In the distance, I can see the unnaturally straight path of a power line. Near it, the
highway climbs laboriously towards a high pass. People, normal people that would scoff at the
idea of running up a peak that could be just as easily conquered by walking or driving in a jeep,
rush by in their bright colored automobiles, a three-day hike away. Most turn their heads towards
the peaks around them with awe, but a few, perhaps the few most like me, look upon them with
longing. I cannot help but feel that I am somehow different than these people in their cars with
their fifth generation smartphones and wireless internet. Like all humans, I am a social creature,
but I often feel less connected to the power lines, roads, and people below me than I do to the
breathing forest or the stoic peaks. Give me the mountains, and I need little other company.
As I stand upon the highest part of the highest rock on the peak staring out at the busy
progression of civilization, I feel immensely gratified to know that it was my energy, my power
that brought me to this place. I need no power plant or wire to carry electricity to power my legs;
all I need is focus and dedication. This is real power, a power that each person possesses but very
few ever need to use in our progressive, civilized world. It is an energy greater than that
released by a splitting atom, but immeasurable by any tool of science. For all of our innovations
to extract power from our environment, most of us are unable to extract a much greater energy
from within ourselves.
I invite you to join me on the top of this high summit. In the cool and clean mountain air
far above tree line. I invite you to join me as I look out over this vast ocean of rock and forest.
Place yourself in the moment. Feel the wind on your face, smell the monsoon rains on the air, see
the sun making its way through the trackless blue of the Colorado sky. And now try and tell me
that this place, this moment, has no value without being used for something. Do you feel the
need to harness the power of that free wind? Or to extract the energy stored in the heart of the
mountain below? Do you recognize the beauty of the wild? Because as I stand on this solitary
escarpment, I can feel the heartbeat of the mountain vibrating in the air, and I know that when its
heart stops, so does mine.
I raise my arms to the heavens, energy flowing through every part of my body and in to
the stony peak below. Power vibrates in the air, an uncontrollable power that emanates from
somewhere deep inside, a power that brings me closer to every detail of the scene before me. My
heart beat evens out as I recover from the climb, beating ever slower until it matches with the
beating of the immense heart of the mountain.