Walking the Wiss

I've been to the Wiss twice before, though only in the summer, and both times during the cross country pre-season. The whole team–at least those who could run–piled into the BMC athletic vans for a morning run along the trails. I remember covering a good five-six miles, climbing up hillsides, jumping rocks, skirting tree branches and hurtling small streams, cursing the hills for being so steep only to feel the elation of finally cresting the top. Rain aside, the Wiss was just as gorgeous coming back in the spring as it was in the summer and I did enjoy my time there. At the same time, however, I could not help but feel my own limitations. I wanted to climb to the top if the rock formations, to run up the trails as they spiralled higher and higher till they reached the top of one slope, only to find another slope still left to summit. I wanted to run like I had so many months ago; to take in the fresh air, the dirt, the rocks, the trees, the river; to feel that same freeing happiness I remembered. Yet this time around, it felt like I was watching myself and my classmates enjoy the experience, like there was a wall separating me from everything else. Maybe it's just the concussion talking, and regardless I loved being outside and escaping the confines of my dorm room, but I couldn't help but feel that something was missing...