Yesterday, I returned to the trails, and even before I finished my brief run, I already looked forward to a longer trail run today. So, I was caught off guard when I didn’t bound out of bed to hit the trails, and as the hours passed by and my excuses mounted, I thought that I would end up on my couch instead of on the trails. As I grew increasingly frustrated with myself for not taking advantage of the sunshine and warm temperatures to spend time outside, I began to listen to my heart, instead of my head. For every logical reason not to run, I countered with every intangible reason why I trail run.
As my list of heartfelt reasons grew, so, did my motivation and determination to finally go on that long trail run. By the time I arrived at the opening of the trail, my heart, mind, baby soul, and soles of my feet were in sync with one another, and I ran with wild abandon along those sacred trails. As I ran, I reflected on the many reasons that motivated me to run this afternoon. I ran for:
- Myself, first and foremost. I ran not to train for a race or to accompany a friend, as I have done in the past. Now, I trail run for my own physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being, and I control every aspect of my run. I run when I want, where I want, at the pace I want, and for as long as I want.
- My daughters. I want to be the best possible mom for them, and trail running definitely helps me to feel my best on every level. I also want to exemplify the benefits of finding something that makes you feel happy and healthy and the pride that comes from reaching a goal and overcoming a challenge.
- Those who cannot run. One of my dearest friends is fighting for her life, and she, along with many others, have limited physical stamina, strength, and mobility. She cannot run, but I can. She is always with me in spirit, especially on this day, as she was weighing heavily on my mind.
- My sanity. There’s something about being covered in mud, sweat, and tears on the trails that uncovers a stillness that quiets the swirling thoughts that occupy my mind. The feel of the earth beneath my feet and the motion of being propelled forward with each step heal past hurts, diminishes the fear of the unknown, and keeps me present.
That’s another story . . .
Categories: That's Another Story