If running is my first passion, my second is a quest to visit all the National Parks in the United States with my husband Mr. rUnladylike. Today, I had planned to share with you some highlights and details from my adventure at Crater Lake National Park last week. But after reports recently surfaced about a fellow Floridian my age who fell to her death in the Grand Canyon on Friday, she is all I’ve been able to think about.

Less than two months ago, I was in the Grand Canyon hiking 10 miles from the floor of the canyon to the top of the South Rim. 6,000 feet. Last week, I was in Crater Lake telling Mr. rUnladylike not to get too close to the edge of Wizard Island’s peak. On two occasions at both Zion and Arches National Parks, I vividly recall moments where I was temporarily scared for my life. I experienced two very memorable hikes in two parts of Utah where I could have been this woman. We could have been her.

I think about all the photos Mr. rUnladylike and I have posed for after sumitting challenging hikes, our backs to the edge of a cliff or mountain or our bodies just inches from a ledge.

The older I get the more conservative I get, but it only takes one tiny wobble, one misstep, to go from comfortably hiking upright to being swallowed by the Earth.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the girl who fell to her death in my beloved canyon or the friends who were with her … there by her side one minute and standing without her the next. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her family who was probably looking forward to seeing photos on Facebook of her adventures, now their lives in complete despair and heartache. I can’t stop thinking how easily this could have been Mr. rUnladylike or me.

Our National Parks are sacred ground. They are inspiring and awe-inducing and thrilling all at once, but just as we must respect the distance of the marathon and what it can do to us on any given day, we also must respect the wildness and uncertainty of nature. When we were at the Grand Canyon in May, I remember finally climbing our way out after being in total isolation and disconnectedness for four days, only to find a family of boisterous children clutching a wild squirrel along the railing of the canyon’s steep rim (a squirrel that lived in the canyon!!!!) with their parents egging them on and taking photos of this “feat.” I was enraged at that moment, having just been inside the canyon where we were reminded time and time again about preservation and how to respect this sacred place. And because nature is nature and accidents are more permanent than we can ever imagine. Alligators can crawl out of magical places and rob parents of a child. A gorilla can grab a toddler who tumbles into its home and play with him like a rag doll. And people like you and me can fall off a cliff in one of the most beautiful places in the world, simply by being kind to another group of hikers.

Once again, I’m reminded how precious this life is that we have. I hope that we can all reflect on this during our next run, and dedicate a silent mile to the woman whose memory will forever remain in the canyon.