Thoughts on the meaning of life & mortality

I've not posted in ages as I'm not running thanks to a recurring back problem. It's been really getting me down. I feel like a bird with clipped wings, denied my evolutionary birthright to run & run. I so firmly believe that we were meant to run, that to find that I can barely run half a mile after years of enjoying distance running is intensely frustrating and depressing.

Suddenly, my problems have been put firmly in their place by the tragic death of a man younger than myself, a fellow ultra runner who has been responsible for organising the last 10 West Highland races. Dario Melaragni was one of those special people who touched on the lives of so many people but especially the lives of ultra runners. He truly was a "father" to many many ultra runners, not just runners from Scotland but from all over the world. He offered a vast amount of encouragement and support to countless runners and his enthusiasm brought out the best in the many many volunteers needed to make the WHW race happen, year after year after year.

That he should have died so young and so suddenly makes me realise how lucky I am to be as fit as I am and how lucky I've been to have run the WHW race under his stewardship.

So what do I think about my running future now? Well, for a start, although I'm still no more certain that I'll be fit for next year than I was before his death, I'm much more comfortable with the thought of biding my time and just accepting that eventually my back *will* be better and that whether my back is better or not, I'll be involved in next year's and future WHW races one way or another.

My thoughts at this time are with not just his immediate family but with his extended ultra-running family, particularly those members who were with him on that fateful day on Lochnagar, Dario's last Munro (and by an odd reverse coincidence, my first).