The Long Way Back
By Derek Neighbors on June 4, 2025
This morning, the sky was overcast and the desert smelled like rain.
I laced up my shoes, stepped out into the hush of drizzle, and hit the trail. A simple out-and-back, I told myself. Three miles, maybe four. Just enough to feel good, to check the box.
But the mountain had other plans.
About halfway up, soaked in humidity and creosote, I found myself arguing. Not with the weather. Not with the run. With myself.
Do I go further? Do I push the pace? Do I play it safe?
That’s when it started. Not with ambition, but with gratitude. I remembered how much I love this: the smell of wet desert, the grit of trail beneath me, the way the earth feels alive when it’s drinking. And in that gratitude, I remembered: this isn’t punishment. This is privilege.
Then something flipped.
Gratitude gave way to drive. Ambition stepped in. Not the hollow, performative kind, but the real kind, the kind that knows I’m not here to dabble. I’m here to dominate. To become something more, or maybe, to return to who I’ve always been.
And that voice inside me got louder:
This is who you are.
I remembered the kid who hiked his own backpack into the Grand Canyon.
The kid who ran desert trails because they were his backyard.
The kid who didn’t need permission to chase the horizon.
Derek at Havasu Falls, Grand Canyon 11 Years Old
Derek Supai Trail Grand Canyon 11 Years Old
And I realized, I’m not becoming him. I am him. I just buried him under survival, responsibility, and the slow, creeping drift of adulthood. I traded the trail for the treadmill. The thrill for the checklist. The edge for the illusion of safety.
But not today.
Today I remembered: I’m fighting for my life. For health. For presence. For legacy. I want to dance at my grandkids’ weddings. I want to walk beside my children, not behind them. I want to finish my race with nothing left in the tank.
And I know what that takes.
- Longer runs.
- Harder questions.
- Fewer excuses.
- More sweat.
It takes a decision, every day, to take the long way. To reject the easy out. To stop negotiating with mediocrity.
Final Thought
Don’t just train.
Don’t just show up.
Don’t just check the box.
Return.
Return to that truer version of yourself, the one who wasn’t afraid to get dirty, to get tired, to get lost in the pursuit of something worthy.
Because this work we’re doing? This pursuit? It’s not about optimizing. It’s about honoring. It’s about becoming the kind of person your future grandkids will point to and say,
“That’s how you show up.”
The mountain is waiting.
The rain is falling.
The trail is calling.
Take the long way.
