I love running on Tubbs Hill in the summer.

Come winter, it’s even better.

Then, it becomes a 165-acre winter wonderland of trails, trees, snow and solitude.

My goal, after a fresh snowfall, is to be the first to the top of Tubbs. From the east entrance, it’s a shade under a mile. Despite my efforts, someone generally beats me.

No matter. This is one of the times I’m not worried about how fast, or, more correctly, how slow I’m moving, which is a big deal because I’m usually a fanatic about monitoring my pace on my Apple watch.

This is a time of peace and quiet. Breathing it in. This is a time for stopping, watching and listening. This is a time for really soaking in the spectacular winter views of Lake Coeur d’Alene.

I love it because, oftentimes, I’m all alone. And being alone in the snow on Tubbs is thrilling. Being alone on Tubbs in the winter is when I discover new adventures.

Once, as I struggled up a steep hillside in a blizzard last year, I convinced myself I was in a fight for survival. God, it was fun.

Another time, I slipped and fell on a downhill, landing hard on my side. In the summer, such a fall would hurt. In the winter, it’s exhilarating. It’s then I jump up, brush off the snow and resume running, usually with a loud, victorious shout.

My favorite spot is not far from the top. It’s on one of the less-traveled trails and leads me through a wooded area that seems like something from Narnia. Every time, I have to stop, stare and take pictures. I can't just pass through. I treasure the tranquility. Each time, it comes close to taking my breath away. I marvel that this stunning landscape is just a short jaunt from our home and I'm blessed with good health so I can get there.

On my most recent trek there, during Saturday’s early snowfall, a deer suddenly crossed ahead of me near the top of Tubbs. It stopped and looked back, eyeing me carefully. With a wave and a hello, I left it behind.

I made my way back down, breaking through perfect snow, leaping where I could, whooping and yelling, almost wishing I would fall, feeling very much like a kid again.

When I reached the trailhead on the west side, I considered turning around, going up again, but when you try too hard to hang on to something, the magic is lost.

I'll return. Next week, more snow is in the forecast. I can't wait.

I hope to see you there. But you’ll have to get up early to beat me to the top.