On June 17, a 39-year-old husband and father of three, Zac Zimmerman, was killed in a fall while on a trail run with friends in Bell Canyon. When I heard the news, I was sitting in my hotel room after having just finished my own epic adventure running the spectacularly scenic and extremely challenging Bryce Canyon 50K.
In that moment, I felt extreme sorrow and shock, followed by the overwhelming thought that this could have happened to anyone — even to me. I reflected on the six hours I had just spent running in near record heat, pushing the limits of my body and mind. I thought about the rocks and tree roots I had narrowly avoided, and the sharp turns that led to steep drop-offs. I remembered the exhausting heat and longing for water before each aid station.
All it would take was one wrong step to cause tragedy to strike.
For a moment, I questioned what I was doing and why I was doing it. Was I putting my life and the lives of my family members at risk because of my longing to experience sections of this Earth that I may not be able to experience any other way?
As I sat there, my mind wandered to six years ago when I first met Zac. Rather than meet atop a mountain peak or on a ultra trail running adventure like many of those in our circle of friends, my first encounter with him was at a local 5K of all places. There was a $100 prize purse that we were both on the hunt for in our respective gender divisions, and had I not coerced my lightning-fast husband to join, Zac would have taken home the coveted prize.
When we finished, Zac came up and congratulated us on a job well done, then smiled and shot out a Nancy Kerrigan reference — for next time.
The next time we met was a few years later, when a friend and I decided to join a group of runners for a midnight run up Tibble Fork Canyon in the dead of winter. When I saw Zac, there was no crowbar in his hand, but a warm handshake reminding me of our first meeting that I had forgotten about until then. The 10 miles that followed were filled with a lot of good conversation about family, nature and our very cold hands as we did our best to keep moving during those frigid cold miles.
Over those miles that night, there wasn’t ever a worry that any of us wouldn’t make it home. Like most who love to experience the outdoors, we weren’t afraid, but excited and prepared for our adventure ahead. We had done our research and we knew the terrain and the elements to expect. We were adventure seeking, but never reckless and always respectful. And each of us that night had family at home whom we couldn’t wait to share stories with.
As I sat in my hotel room, I was filled with feelings of elation from my newly completed race, coupled with sadness, shock and uncertainty of my future as an outdoor adventurer.
Just then, a friend posted a picture he had taken of Zac checking out the view from Big Horn looking toward Utah County on the morning of the accident. He looked so peaceful, content and respectful of the landscape surrounding him.
When I saw that picture, I knew that I shouldn’t fear the outdoors, but continue to respect them. I shouldn’t shy away from adventure, but live life to the fullest when given the chance. And I need to take opportunities to experience sections of this Earth with friends and family alike, just as Zac did.
Because what happened to him was an accident that could have happened to anyone — yes, even to me.
Arianne Brown is a mother of seven young children who loves hearing and sharing stories. For more of her writings, search “A Mother’s Write” on Facebook. She can be contacted at ariannebrown1@gmail.com. Twitter: A_Mothers_Write.