The Infinite Lift

As I rode up on the ski lift, knowing this was my last time on this godforsaken mountain, the last time I’d finish with the same three-quarter mile misery that I had done thrice before, probably the last time I’d ever ride on a ski lift without snow on the ground (or with, for that matter), I tried to enjoy the view and not foreshadow the dread of having to get off and run again.

I tried to see the large granite boulders on the mountainside.  I tried to open my mouth and eat the oxygen right out of the low-hanging clouds that weren’t quite so low considering I was approaching nine thousand feet.  I tried to reach out and put my hand on the many pine trees that I sailed past, but they were always further away than they appeared.

I remembered the look on A’s face after finishing this loop, the gleam in his eyes when he talked about riding up the lift.  His time was during the wee AM hours, when the sky is at its inky best.  He spoke of the stars and the moon and maybe he even saw the Milky Way.  I was riding up in the heat of mid-morning, but I closed my eyes and imagined this journey at night, with A by my side sharing one blanket between us, as we lift off over the mountain ridge and float away into outer space.  Then I opened my eyes and saw the bright blue sky and looked down at my feet dangling over thirty feet of emptiness and willed myself not to slide beneath the safety bar and fall into the below.

The terminus began to swell into view as I inched ever closer to the point of departure.  Knowing there were seven unforgiving miles ahead of me, I contemplated staying in my seat, taking the ride back down, giving a thumbs-up to the confused attendant as I circle past.  I could always ride up again.  Or I could stay on this bench forever, waving to the operators at both ends of the lift until they became new friends who are happy to see me every seven minutes or so, delighted to have a permanent resident in orbit.  They’ll look forward to my smile as I flex my legs over the landing, teasing them, goading them, making them wonder: Is she going to finally get off?  Could this be our last good-bye?

The end looms near, and I hear the concerned voices that carry so very far from below the mountain and even from a future time.  “Where is she?”  “Why hasn’t she finished yet?”  “Is she hurt?”  and “Will this race never end?”

And as my bench slows before the turn back towards civilization, I push the bar over my head, I point my toes down to touch the hard earth, and I start running.