He was glad he had kept running through the haze of work and hospital visits over the last three years. His lungs seemed to adapt well to the 14,000-foot elevation and he breathed easily in the thin air. There was no sign of a man-made trail but it was hard to get lost. On one side of the thick blanket of snow was a cliff with shriveled trees and large boulders, on the other a steep fall to the frozen Ganges. There was nowhere to go but straight up. He walked along on the packed snow, slipping into a comfortable rhythm, looking ahead not below, keeping his neck and back straight and his shoulders loose, just as his track coach at Trinity had taught him years ago. About a mile in, he came across two uprooted trees on his path. Max scrambled over them using the snow-covered branches for support. Just a few steps ahead, he ran into a boulder, then a few more, followed by more uprooted trees, all seemingly the effects of a recent snowstorm. He looked up. Not even a wisp of cloud covered the afternoon sun.
