In 2010, I began to trail run as part of my training to complete another half-marathon, and I immediately was smitten with it and continued doing it long after my training ended. In 2011, I would hit the trails in a desperate attempt to escape the depression, anxiety, grief, and loss that made life off of the trails so excruciatingly painful for me. I literally was running for my life. In 2012, I would trail run to heal my heart, soothe my baby soul, and find my happy. Today, I went for my long overdue first trail run of 2013, and it took on a whole new meaning for me.
As soon as I woke up this morning and saw that the weather report called for plenty of sunshine, light winds, and temperatures in the 70s, I could feel the trails calling me “home”. The anticipation of heading to the park to trail run made me feel like a child the night before Christmas, as I was that giddy and excited. I finished up some household tasks, and then, in the early afternoon, I went back to the safe haven that I have not visited since December 2012.
When I stood before the entrance to the trail, I felt a huge smile spread across my face and happy tears spring to my eyes. Before me was the familiar canopy of trees welcoming me back with their boughs and budding leaves, flowers showing off their brightly colored petals, and the dirt and debris that can only be found in nature waiting to co-mingle with my sweat and tears, and I gratefully accepted their warm welcome and disappeared into the woods, lost in my thoughts and music. For the next six miles, I managed to stay on my feet, out of my head, and in the moment, and I could barely feel my heels strike the ground as I ran with pure abandon. It felt like some invisible force was propelling me forward, not into the great unknown that I used to fear, but into unknown greatness that is mine to claim. I no longer was running away from anything, nor was I running aimlessly. I was running not to find my happy, but I was running with my happy as my companion. I finally was at home in my own skin, and I was and am happy.
That’s another story . . .
Categories: That's Another Story