“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.” Steve Prefontaine

For those unfamiliar with Steve Prefontaine, he was a mythical figure, a legendary University of Oregon and Olympic track and field runner who raced with his hair on fire and died as he lived at age 24 in 1975. Perhaps it was Pre from the great beyond that channeled the subject of gifts to me on June 12, 2017. After previous days’ visits to Hayward Field in Eugene, Oregon where Pre gained his fame; a run on Pre’s Trail; and a visit to Pre’s Rock, his crash site-turned-memorial, I was running a trail toward Tamanawas Falls near Mt. Hood when I heard the words that would factor in leading me to my nontrepreneurial journey: “…Enjoy these gifts I have given you. Trust.”

Whether it was God or Pre speaking to me or simply my own inner voice is unclear. What is clear; I heard the words again on August 8, 2018 in the Rockies near Breckenridge. It was past the mid-point on a hike up Spruce Trail, one that wends through aromatic pine forest, past an alpine meadow with ponds, upward to a scenic waterfall and long abandoned log cabins, and ends above timber line at the Lower and Upper Mohawk Lakes. However, this time I wasn’t alone and the message was more expressive. Although similar to the one in the Cascades that said “the gifts” were specific to me and that they were the simple gifts for appreciating nature and having the physical ability to run through it, this message was expanded and had a harder edge. It included the gifts of family, friends and even strangers. The gifts weren’t for me exclusively. And an obligation was attached. The gifts given to me were to be shared. And the delivery was more a harsh scolding than wish. It was like being a kid and having your parents throw up their hands and say, “Are you ever going to learn?”

Had I been enrolled in an English lit. class recently, I would have recognized the foreshadowing. Shortly after I, my elder daughter, and her three children arrived at the trailhead (in separate vehicles as my daughter planned to head back early with the 17-month old toddler), the eight- and 10-year-old boys were raring to go. Just not necessarily on the trail. I called them in for conversation about dos and don’ts of the trail to make sure we all had a safe trip and respected the space. The 10-year-old was focused on throwing rocks (likely what I would have been doing at his age in his situation) and didn’t seem to hear me. I used my coach voice to make sure he heard the next call. Uh-oh! I sounded mad or mean to my family, upsetting everyone – including myself. The cool morning became chillier as we set off – my daughter saw no need to record our experience with a selfie. Much of the walk was in uncomfortable silence. I was disappointed in myself. This was a rare opportunity to do something special with loved ones. I had looked forward to it and I blew it. I sacrificed the gift.

I contemplated my mistake, seemingly with each step. Fortunately, by the time we reached the meadows, the gifts of reconciliation and forgiveness had begun. Unbeknownst, Emily had already snapped a few shots of the boys and me hiking along the trail. We talked at the meadows pleasantly. It was time for Emily to return with Adeline. I asked the boys if they wanted to go on. Johnny decided he would go back with his mom and baby sister. Gabe said, “Let’s do this PaPa.”

As Gabe and I progressed up the mountain, we shared observations, thoughts, pleasantries – as well as moments of silence in which we listened to nature’s and our own heartbeats. I continued to think about what I had done, the opportunity missed and how I needed to change. For most of my life, I’ve considered patience an overrated virtue. No more. If I had shown more patience earlier, I wouldn’t have to deal with regret. If retirement/sabbatical isn’t the right time to practice patience, when is? I’m working on it.

Gabe’s energy and curiosity fueled my own, though I did not feel his urge to climb atop every boulder along the path. At Mayflower Lake, we took a break for a snack. I asked if he was still game to continue upward, he replied with his new refrain, “PaPa, let’s do this!” We proceeded up to a scenic overlook of the falls and explored some of the rough-hewn log foundation structures and the one ramshackle cabin that you could still enter, theoretically seek shelter from a storm, and even sign your name as a visitor. In our exploring, we got confused about where the trail picked up. It appeared there were three different trails going up the mountain. After probing all three for short distances (we later discovered all three came together further up the trail), I suggested we consider heading back down the trail. To be sure, stopping short of a goal is not something I am wont to do. But reaching the top would mean climbing a rocky trail in the heat above timber line and facing the possibility of afternoon storms on the descent. I felt the lakes goal was minor compared to the major goal of giving him a good first-time mountain hike experience. He was still game to press on but OK with the decision. We had a great, relaxing trip back down the mountain, stopping occasionally to play or dip our fingers in the icy mountain stream water. I worked at being more patient the rest of the trip. And being more the non-anxious presence I had promised to be – with the possible exception of our scrabble game the night before we departed our mountain vacation home.

My takeaway: Recognize a gift when it is presented, show gratitude, be generous in sharing it, and never sacrifice it.