Trail's End

Augustine was sitting on an exam table, legs outstretched. A doctor was examining his left ankle, which was grotesquely swollen and deeply bruised. His wife was gently holding his right hand. Both hands were bandaged.

“No more running,” the doctor said in a clipped tone. “With your disease, it’s dangerous. This injury won’t heal well. The next time you fall, it could be even worse.”

For some reason, his falls had increased in the month since his 54th birthday. But usually when he fell, he was fine. He laughed, got up, and went on with his day.

But not today.

That morning, he had decided to do a quick run on the Jim Bailey Nature Trail, a half-mile loop near the entrance of Montgomery Bell State Park. The trail started alongside a shallow, rocky creek, then rose up a gentle incline, curving through a thick forest of hardwoods and pines. The dirt trail was well-maintained despite being crisscrossed with roots.

It was a Tuesday, and the park was deserted. It felt strange to be there alone. His wife, Erie, loved the park and running the Jim Bailey trail, but she was at work.

He got out of the car and stretched briefly, then started running down the path. He looked forward to the euphoria that would follow the run. His legs felt strong and light as he hit a comfortable stride. Sunlight was filtering through the treetops and spring wildflowers were blooming. He felt free, and grateful to be running in this beautiful place.

Suddenly, without warning, his left ankle crumpled, and he landed hard on his palms.

“Shit,” he said, wincing. He looked at his hands. They were skinned raw. He carefully brushed off the sharp, tiny rocks that had penetrated the skin. He hesitantly looked at his ankle. It was unnaturally bent; he knew it was severely sprained or broken. His bleeding hands made standing difficult. He balled his hands into fists and forced himself up, but cried out in pain the moment he put weight on his left foot. He fell back onto the trail.

How the hell will I get out of here?

The pain in his ankle and hands was starting to overwhelm him. His mind found its way out of panic and into problem-solving mode. He took out his phone and called the park ranger’s station, telling the ranger that he was injured, and where he was. He felt embarrassed. Within minutes, a ranger was there, helping Augustine limp back to his car. The ranger asked if he should call an ambulance. Augustine said no. He would call his wife.

Augustine ran track in high school. He was a decent sprinter and long jumper. It was thrilling to run at top speed and then take off and fly, power-jumping into the sand. It felt dangerous. The sand exploded at his feet. But his favorite event was cross country. Running in nature gave him joy.

After high school, he stopped competing, but continued to run outdoors for pleasure in college and beyond. Unless the weather was extreme, he started every day running, and sometimes ran again in the evening. He was a naturally happy guy, but when he ran, he entered a new plane of happiness. Solo runs were great for clearing his mind, but he also loved running with Erie. Sometimes they would talk, and at other times they would just run quietly, holding space for each other. They had recently spent a weekend running a 10K race at Cummins Falls State Park, a flat route that meandered through woods, countryside, and animal pastures. They ran while holding hands. Augustine made Erie laugh by mooing at the cows. Augustine loved hearing her laugh.

Fourteen years ago, when Augustine was 40, he woke in excruciating pain, his calf muscle locked in a cramp. “Erie,” he said, awakening her. “I can’t move my leg.” Erie tried to help by massaging his calf, but it didn’t help. The cramp eventually released, but it scared him. Night after night, it kept happening. He did research and found relief with magnesium supplements, epsom salt soaks, and new stretches. But soon he developed additional strange symptoms. He lost partial sensation in his toes and feet. Parts of his shins burned with pain when touched. His ankles weakened. He tripped over rugs and cracks in the sidewalk.

Finally, at age 41, Erie convinced him to see a neurologist, who ordered a nerve conduction study and a genetic test. The doctor asked them to come to the office in a week to discuss the results. After a stressful week of waiting, they arrived at the neurology clinic. The doctor flatly explained that Augustine had inherited a progressive nerve disease with a strange name: Charcot-Marie-Tooth, or CMT.

“But don’t panic,” the doctor said. “CMT usually isn’t dangerous or life-threatening. Most people who have it have a normal lifespan.”

Erie had been holding Augustine’s hand tightly, but then he felt her fingers relax.

“CMT impacts your peripheral nervous system—the nerves outside of your brain and spinal cord.” He drew a rough picture on a notepad of a body with a brain, and squiggly lines extending to the feet. “Your brain tells your feet to move by sending electrical and chemical signals through your nervous system. In your form of CMT, the axons in your neurons shrink or deteriorate, so when the brain tries to send a signal, the message doesn’t get through. Without the signals, the muscles in your feet and legs start to atrophy.”

“Atrophy?”

“Muscle wasting. Basically, the disease has been slowly, quietly killing your muscles. Nerve damage also causes your numbness and pain.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Erie asked.

“There is no cure. No treatment. CMT is progressive, meaning it gets worse. Eventually you will likely need to wear braces.”

No cure? No treatment?

Augustine’s face flushed. He felt sick. His body was turning against him, despite all the years he had been running, healthy and fit. Erie squeezed his hand again.

“It’s unusual for CMT to be diagnosed so late in life,” the doctor continued. “The good news is that running and staying fit likely delayed the progression of your disease.”

“Can I still run?” he asked, his voice weak. “It’s important to me.”

“I can’t tell you what to do. Every CMT patient is different. Running isn’t my favorite option, but regular exercise is essential. You can’t replace muscles that are already atrophied, but you can do two things. First, try to keep the strength and flexibility you already have. Second, you can strengthen unaffected muscles to help do the work of those that have atrophied.”

“Why isn’t running your favorite option?” Erie asked.

“Anything high impact like running risks injury and nerve damage. But if you are careful, it should be okay for now. But because CMT is progressive, there will be a time that you will likely have to stop and find a safer form of exercise.”

That day was 13 years ago. Now, at 54, he had to admit that the doctor was right. His disease had gotten worse. He was easily fatigued. His muscular runner’s legs had become skinny. He limped. When he stumbled, friends jokingly asked if he was drunk. He had been determined to keep doing everything he needed to do in life—working, driving, housework, taking care of his apple trees—he just had to do them more carefully.

And despite the doctor’s warning, he hadn’t stopped running.

Augustine stared at his swollen ankle. The day that he found out he had CMT was devastating, but today, he felt worse. Erie touched his cheek and encircled him with her right arm.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered.

I can’t run anymore.

Will Erie go running without me?

He had met Erie while running. He remembered the day perfectly. He was 34. It was a cool, sunny Thursday afternoon in February. He was running in Warner Park, on a paved trail flanked by tall bare trees and mossy stone walls. His eyes were magnetically drawn to a woman running ahead of him. She was wearing black leggings, a red t-shirt and a blue beanie with a red ball on top. He was gaining on her, so he slowed down. He couldn’t stop watching her. He hadn’t seen her face, but somehow, he knew he would like it. She bent down to tie her shoe. He awkwardly stopped, pretending to look at a bird. She turned just slightly, and while she didn’t see him, he saw her face. His life changed. She was the one he had been waiting for. She was the one he wanted to talk to every day for the rest of his life.

She stood and started running again. He kept running behind her. He had long legs and generally ran at a good clip, so it took effort to stay at her pace. He focused on her left hand and was fairly sure she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. They both kept running. He didn’t know how much time or distance had passed. To Augustine, it just felt like endless happiness. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and he was quietly enjoying the presence of this amazing human being running ahead of him. He could keep it up forever. But at the trail’s end, she veered left, taking the path toward the parking lot. He panicked. He hadn’t planned ahead.

Now what?

She opened the door of a small, bright blue car. The tailgate was decorated with state park stickers. The car reminded Augustine of a friendly character from a Pixar movie that he had watched with his nephew. There was a black bear on her license plate, registered in his county.

Thank God. She isn’t a tourist. She lives here.

He desperately wanted to speak to her, say hello, invite her to coffee, but he couldn’t. He was frozen. What if she thought he was a creep?

He stood near the edge of the parking lot and watched her. She got inside the car and closed the door. She backed up and drove away.

He bent over. He missed her. He wanted to cry.

Every day for 14 days, he ran the same trail, at the same time. When he drove, he scanned the roads for bright blue cars. He knew he would find her.

One Thursday at around 3 pm, he pulled into the parking lot at Warner Park, and there was the happy blue car with the state park stickers. His heart caught. This time he wrote down her license plate number. (He knew he was venturing into creepy territory, but he was determined.)

He sat on a bench by the trail so he would be sure to see her. He would be brave this time. He had planned his conversation starter. He bounced his legs to release tension. He pivoted his eyes from the trees to the trail and back to the trees, so anyone watching him would think he was watching birds. There were birds flitting in the treetops, but without binoculars, it was anyone’s guess as to what species they were.

To pass the time, he noted park visitors and their dogs. Middle-aged woman with wrinkly brown hound. College girl with giant, white, curly dog. Older man with flat-faced, fluff-ball dog. Augustine had no idea how to identify dog breeds. He lifted his eyes back to the trees.

After nearly thirty minutes of fake bird and dog watching, he identified the one person he truly wanted to see, running on the trail. Running in his general direction. His heart caught.

That morning, he had worried that he may have been a bit crazy the first day he saw her. What if she wasn’t the one? What if when he found her, he was disappointed? But he had wasted his worry. She was even more impossibly perfect than before. Her cheeks were flushed. She was wearing a green t-shirt with a bear on the front, black leggings and black Nike running shoes. The same blue beanie with the red ball on top. Her right wrist was stacked with colorful beaded bracelets.

The time had come. Augustine got up. “Hi!” he said.

She stopped. “Hi!” she replied, smiling.

She has a beautiful voice.

She didn’t seem afraid. There were people around. Happy people walking dogs of unidentifiable breeds, enjoying the park and the sunshine.

He took a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes. I saw you running here a couple of weeks ago, and I wanted to say hello, but I froze. Every day since then I’ve been sorry. I’m not going to blow it this time.”

She laughed. It was a glorious sound. She held out her right hand.

He took it.

“I’m Erie,” she said. “Like the lake.”

“I’m Augustine. Like the saint.”

He invited her to coffee. She accepted. She had a cafe latte; he had a cafe mocha. They talked and laughed for two hours straight. He felt drunk and giddy.

How on earth had he been so right about a woman for the first time in his life? His previous attempts at love had started at a college party or a bar and had ended soon thereafter. But he had never attempted to find love while running. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this before. Running always gave him extraordinary mental clarity. This time it had cleared his mind to magically recognize his perfect partner.

From that day, they fell into an easy rhythm. They spent days and nights together. They spent many afternoons at Warner Park, where he loved running by her side instead of behind her. Erie was lovely, clever, funny, quirky, and kind. They were the type of couple people smiled at because they seemed to belong together.

Four months later, in May, they were running together at the park. Near the location where Augustine saw Erie’s face for the first time, he bent down, as if he were tying his shoe. Erie stopped for him. He smiled up at her. He took a diamond ring out of the inner pocket of his running shorts. It wasn’t a flashy ring; he was not a wealthy man. She cried and said yes.

The doctor gently tapped Augustine’s toes with his fingers. “Stick to walking, my friend.”

Erie was beside him, as she had been for 20 years. She kissed his bandaged hand. She helped him into his wheelchair. “Gus, sweet love, let’s go for a walk.”