By Matthew B. Tong

Orcas Island

Finally, Cricket and I reach the Mt. Constitution Summit for the second and final time today. Cricket laps up a quick bowl of water with the snack I gave her.

We bolt for the raucous 2,000’ Cold Springs trail descent to the finish line. Cricket and I have our wings on, riding the wind down the picturesque ridge trail looking west across Rosario Strait to Barnes & Clarke Islands. To the south we look down on Mountain Lake near where we started this morning. With the Salish Sea shimmering in the distance, the long journey to this gorgeous viewpoint is evident.

We hit the Cold Spring trail. I change my stride to heel-to-toe strikes as we rumble down the mountain. Gloves on, eyes up, sunglasses dialed, headphones blaring — we’re ducking under tree limbs, jumping over boulders, crouching down for switchback turns. It’s dynamic, dangerous, and fun!

Today I set out on an adventure with an objective, but the true purpose of the experience is about to find me along the way. My goal, to redeem my poor performance in Rainshadow’s 25k trail race.

I’ve got 20k complete and feeling great. A quarter of the way down amongst my hooting and hollering, Mumford and Sons’ “Little Lion Man” surprisingly comes on, and I am instantly taken back to the East Coast in 2011. Wanting to stay in the magic of this moment, I start to change the song while running. But I am unexpectedly compelled to let Mumford and their Sons play on.

I didn’t realize that my close friend Jessica Arnold was transcending through their music to posthumously say hello. At first, I thought it was just memories coming through. Jess playing “Percolator” with her and Micah’s wedding Excel spreadsheets out, organizing until her bubbly heart’s content in their Boston apartment. Or Jess playing Ray LaMontagne jams with our regular brunch crew back in Seattle. Or she and I getting stuck in traffic on our way to a music festival, smoking a joint, turning the radio up and enjoying life together regardless of what was thrown our way.

Jess was a wicked smart, strong, sweet, vivacious, successful, courageous, determined, gorgeous force of nature with an enormous heart and love of massive dogs. She was a cornerstone of my bi-coastal post college friend group for nearly a decade. Her presence and love of life inspired me. Tragically she went from happy and healthy traveling in Europe with Micah, wanting to start a family to taken from us by cancer in less than 3 months. After her wake in early 2013, I started living much of my life by the “if not now then when” mantra. And why I amicably walked away from the best job I’ve had just three weeks ago to follow my passions for trail running, writing and spoken word.

Quickly I feel Jess’s presence and “hand” on my shoulder. She’s visiting me on Orcas while Cricket and I are sprinting down these switchbacks? My mind and emotions are racing. Confused but welcoming, I have not caught up with the moment yet. Wondering “Why here? Why now?” I try and speak to Jess outloud, but my breath is consumed by the draw of my sprinting legs. Words rifling through my brain at a mile a minute, I gasp: ”I miss you, Jess.” I get reassurance back and a smirk that says I’ve been with you watching. I’m losing it and trying to make sense of this experience. All the thoughts play through my head like a montage of knowledge, a Matrix-style download, gasping again with my eyes starting to well up with the flooding emotions. “You … really??” The If-Not-Now- Then-When mantra is in my head, my many one-sided conversations to Jess over the past decade play through. In an eternal instant I understand. Gasping, “Jess, you are one of my angels?!?!?”

Feeling honor, pride, surprise, and happiness. The acceptance of a gift. Like I have Ali in my corner for life’s fight with a fierce and warm lioness heart. My eyes well up uncontrollably. Tears are flying. I’m wheezing my way down these sun-drenched switchbacks. I let the feelings and emotions soar while Jess and I have this tongue and cheek energy exchange. I lean in and share how much she has meant and still means to me. My goal to inspire others through example to follow their passions in life like she gave to me. Jess shares back: she is proud of me.

Smiling and crying, I am still running down this steep, rocky, root-filled, 12% descent. Emotions taking greater hold. I well up to perilous levels. My eyes filling so aggressively with tears they are bouncing off the back of my sunglasses from the violent thumping. Running blind, I close my eyes in stride, lift my sunglasses and wipe again, hoping not to trip and end this moment prematurely. Sufficient vision restored. I savor what’s left of Jess’s energy focused on me. She says she’s with me on my new trail/writing/speaking adventure through life. As the song fades, the direct connection dissipates and I am left with the warm residual feeling of Jess with me.

Four minutes have gone by. I quickly realize I have not checked in on Cricket. I spin my head and there she is, hot on my heels. Tongue out, smiling with the classic Australian Kelpie black fur coat and brown markings. Similar colors to Jess’s Bernese Mountain Dog Zoey, less the white highlights and massive size difference. Zoey would have loved the first half-mile of this run before turning into an anchor on the leash.

I spin around and we close out the last bits of this roller coaster course with strength. It is a beautiful day that feels complete before noon. Reflecting at home I check our inconsequential pace. We ran over 17 miles and climbed 4,300’ in a run I doubt either of us will forget. Though we shaved substantial time and redeemed the January race effort, the true purpose of the run today was to see an old friend.