Pace Setter : January 2026

The Cactus Trail

The Cactus Trail - By Michelle Merlis

 

My body missed the memo. Well, to be clear, it seems to have missed a lot of them, but that’s another story. At this moment, the one I’m thinking of is the mnemonic for remembering desert vs dessert: you always want more dessert so it has the second “s”. Except, I could care less about dessert. Instead, I don’t just want the desert, I feel like I need it. As much of it as I can possibly get. 

In my mind, desert deserves more s’s. For its appeal to the human soul, but also because it’s more snake-like - desssssssert - the sun, the cacti, and the rattlesnakes wrapped up in all of those s’s. Maybe the gravitational pull toward the desert is what everyone’s body craves as it boards a plane from a cold, windy, snowy location like Albany, NY in the middle of December. An internal alarm calling for the sun. For one more hour of daylight.

The sun is rising behind the peaks of the Rincon Mountains. Mica Mountain is just shy of 9,000ft, which provides an ample amount of dawn. The western facing slopes are shaded as the rest of Tucson comes under light. For now, you can still see your breath as you exhale. Slow inhales and exhales as you breathe the morning in, assessing how the body feels. 

At first, we run away from the sun, Saguaro National Park (East) and the Rincons to our backs - a bike path to please my other half. Beautiful, but still a bike path, 6-10 feet of pavement, aligned next to a road with cars whizzing by. The internal compass pulls - quiet but insistent.

 

 

Today I’ll do 4x5 minutes hard - a 9-10/10 RPE (rate of perceived effort). Back in the park, the terrain will be variable, with a little bit of pavement to start before I hit the Cactus Trail, my main destination for this workout. I’ve only been doing workouts again for a few weeks, so mixed terrain and rolling ups and downs are more than welcome. Unlike the track, pace means very little here. This is an opportunity to work hard and know it - not because a number on my watch tells me so, but because my body does.

Having fully crested the peaks, the sun starts to warm my skin at the same time my legs start to turn and my breath no longer moves slowly. 

Crunch.  

A right turn. One step off pavement and the rules of running change. 

 

 

When I look at the trail in front of me, everything is narrow, my world reduced to a few square feet of rocks and dirt. When I look up, I feel the vastness of the world around me. There is an expanse that I try to breathe in, deep into my lungs so that it might touch my soul. 

As I flow down the trail, I take stock in the feeling of being the singular moving object. The saguaros stand tall, watching. I think about their groundedness, occupying this one tiny parcel of earth with stillness and resilience. As I pass, they remain. 

The sun starts to beat down. Drying me like it dries this desert. My sweat, the only potential evidence of my sacrifice out on the trails this morning, evaporates into thin air, a reminder of how fleeting life can be.

The speed of my movement, the thump of my heart, the aches of my legs are all temporary. Feelings that will come to occupy just a few miles before disappearing into the horizon. 

Now, I slow. The narrow moments begin to expand. Saguaros, ocotillos, prickly pears, chollas. An unbothered audience for the day. Settled under the big blue sky. Sorry, no high-fives for you guys! 

As I wipe salt from my face and dust from my legs, I feel the desert settle into me. And I know I’ll be back for seconds.