Almost breaking my arm was just the start

At an elevation of 9,200 feet, Heather Lake sits in the mountains five and a half miles up from Hyalite Reservoir, near Bozeman, Mont.

I ran down a mountain. It felt spectacular. I’ve got a nasty blister on the inside of my heel, still. And it hurt when I fell, but I’m grateful that when my left toe clipped a tree root I landed on my shoulder and slid down the trail on a spot devoid of jagged rocks.

Because on this trip to Hyalite Canyon, a popular camping area just outside of Bozeman, Mont., I had family with me, and forcing someone to rush a broken arm to the emergency room would have put a damper on the trip. Plus, what a terrible story. Every where I’d go someone would’ve asked, “Oh, what happened to your arm?” At that point there would have been two options. I could tell the truth and recount how I clumsily tripped on a root, and on an awkward fall, I’d broken my arm as easily as the Cowboys routinely break their front-running fans’ hearts every year since 1996.

Or, when someone ventured to ask about my cast, I could lie, formulate a fabulous story of how a black bear — no, something more furious, a grizzly — had attacked my tent. Awoken from a deep slumber, I managed to maintain my wits and fight off the monster while thinking only for my wife’s safety. But before the beast had escaped my wrath, he’d struck a deadly blow, hence the cast.

If I had broke my arm by tripping over a root while attempting to run down a mountain, I could tell a tale that displayed bravery, a cunning attitude and fighting skill. Or I could’ve explained that I fell and not only could I not manage to run fluidly but I look even worse on the way down.

Luckily, however, I didn’t break anything but my pride running down a mountain. And thank goodness because back at camp the family had set up tents, laid out lawn chairs, gathered firewood, placed the beer on ice and thawed the steaks.

As the warm 85-degree day cooled down and the sun fell beyond the tree-lined mountains surrounding Hyalite Reservoir, the lake reflected the fleeting moments of daylight and the grilled meat tasted, well, like grilled meat — amazing.

Later, after a card game of thumper where I blew an early lead before finishing in the middle — hey, another Cowboys reference — there were s’mores. Can we talk about s’mores a moment? It’s a divine food. There’s just something magical about a marshmallow toasted over a roaring fire. The combination of a browned marshmallow, chocolate — which we stuffed inside the marshmallow — and graham cracker seems to complement the camping experience like peanut butter and jelly or mediocrity and Tony Romo.

One brave camper even used a Reese’s in place of the traditional Hershey’s chocolate bar. She didn’t like it, citing that something about the peanut butter, chocolate, marshmallows and graham cracker was lost in translation.

More than anything, though, through a sugar-induced haze, I realized after I ran down a mountain, the best part was waiting for me at the bottom.