It was still dark that December morning when I ran this trail, alone in my disbelief and grief. At 6 a.m. in 1980, my husband at his night shift job at the steel mill, I was a solitary figure on a new bike trail that ran along the soon to open I-480 in North Olmsted, Ohio.
This morning I relived that memory of the morning I heard John Lennon had been killed. I recall running on that mild morning, tears welling up time after time. My desire to be a runner was hard fought, and I have never really become one. I gave up on it long ago. And one thing I know—after that morning, I don’t think I was ever on this trail again until today.
When I heard our hotel was close to Great Northern mall, I couldn’t stop thinking about walking the trail. The area is extremely built up now, not the many fields with a highway cutting through. I was surprised by the number of houses, as I would have told you this bike path was totally remote. I was amused by the barn on one property, so reminiscent of the farm community North Olmsted once was, and the high rise looming up behind it.
Much like that day in December over 40 years ago, I was alone on the trail except for one woman with her dog way ahead of me. The maintenance isn’t great, and I know there are better trails in the area for people to frequent.
Returning here today helped me breathe easier somehow. I can’t help but think again how grief layers into us. The fact that I had no one to talk with about this for a few hours means I had to handle it alone. I can see now why this has always stuck with me.
Delighted by the wildflowers, and happy that I got a 2 mile walk in, I returned to my hotel, my heart at peace and a lingering memory resolved.
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