When you pull up to small town America, on the night of one of their biggest events of the year, and no one is there, you know something has gone terribly wrong.
The Witchy Wolf Run is one that I have loved since the first crazy night I laced up and chased a bunch of strangers around some trails, in the dark, in the Ann Arbor, MI area. It was a group that was “training” for this “Witchy Wolf” run. An Up North, small town race, that everyone in the community comes together to help be a part of in some way or another. My favorite are the “wolf droppings” (chocolate-no-bake-cookie-deliciousness)! I’m pretty sure that doing “these” off the beaten trail, trails, are what keep me in love with running. Running freely, jumping logs, dodging low branches, hopping streams, climbing hills, all under the light of the moon and the glittering stars. Just running for the sake of running.
And so, we all, and when I say we all, it was a group of running friends that just kept growing and by the time we left, I’m not sure you could have squeezed in an extra pair of shoelaces into the truck. We were laughing from the moment 7 adults squeezed in with all their winter night running gear, into a truck made for exactly 7 people. (Good thing I’m small.)
We made the, little over 2 hour drive, happily squished, laughing, telling stories, and making plans for keeping warm as we watched the temperature drop as the sun went down and the stars began twinkle and the snowflakes twinkled down from the clouds. That’s when we pulled up to the, usually crowded, church / jail / courthouse / race-staging area to a view a perfectly empty parking lot.
The note on the door told the story of the cancelled race. The Race Director had gotten sick (as in go-to-the-hospital-kind-of-sick). We put in a call to wish him a speedy recovery. And then looked at each other, shaking our heads. (This also was the final clue as to why I got a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize earlier in the week. I didn’t answer the call because I was teaching, and my voicemail was, per usual, full so there was no message left. But……..the fun that was had would have never been had, and so I argue: I was never meant to answer that phone call, because us friends were meant to get together, and have one wickedly fun run with endless stories and laughter that we’ll be telling for the rest of our lives.)
The thing of it is, on a course like this, during the night, there wasn’t any real reason why we couldn’t just support ourselves, and just go run the thing. Together we had support, fuel, clothing, shoes, and desire……..and so as they say, we turned lemons into lemonade, with a twist of spirits for extra warmth, and off we went…..under the light and spirit of the spotlight of the Witchy Wolf Moon.
We ran together, told stories, laughed, told more stories, ran more, told more stories, appreciated the view, followed what could only be the paw-prints of the “witchy-wolf” and all finished respective winners when we crossed the ‘post-office’ finish line.
So, at the end of the day, we had all gone to a small town, in the middle of nowhere, to run some adventurous miles under the light of the moon, hopefully seeing, but not getting eaten by the “witchy-wolf.” So in my book, we vanquished the spell cast by the witch ~ and everyone is going to live happily ever after!
Groovy Girls Go …. And When Necessary, Turn our Own Frowns Upside Down