Trail Running

I've been running since I was fifteen. In that twenty-seven year interval I have run around my junior high track, around my cornfield of a college campus, around my urban block, along Chicago's sky line and on tree-lined, lakeside avenues. I have run alone, I have run with music, I have run with my thoughts, I have run with my spouse, I have run with a baby in a jogger, with two babies in a double jogger, with two babies in a double jogger and a toddler on a bike. I have run on a treadmill at night and early in the morning. And I have run with friends, with friends and their babies, with friends and their babies and their toddlers on bikes. The routes and cohorts have varied over time but one thing has always been consistent. The routine has been regular and the route has been flat.

When I injured my foot/ankle in June, I didn't care that I couldn't walk or couldn't pack. I cared that I couldn't run! Some people might think it symbolic that when I was about to leave my home, for good, my foot failed me. And maybe it was a physical manifestation of some of the stress. I really didn't have time to think about it. As I hobbled around, watching my children say goodbye to their friends and the only home they could remember, I wasn't thinking about my aching foot. I was thinking about my breaking heart. Yep. A million little pieces. And the only way that I maintain my personal strength, running, wasn't an option.

So now we've been here a month. The first few weeks I couldn't see what I had gained. I could only see what I had given up. And I still couldn't run. Without the clarity of mind that running provides, I did the only thing I could to stay sane. I swallowed Aleve, wore running shoes constantly and I walked; up the hills, the stairs, the beach cliffs, to the market, exploring. I walked the dogs. I walked the kids. You get the picture.

Today the kids went to camp and I went for my first full run and boy, it wasn't flat! Most of it was hills and trails which is awesome. You're away from cars and houses, you go a little slower, you're rewarded by the views, you get your heel strikes solidly planted......it felt incredible. So when I ran around the corner to a view of a sparkling Lake Washington with Mount Ranier just hovering on the horizon, I felt really grateful. My head felt clear, my body felt strong, and both my heart and my foot felt healed.


(note: the bad pun was unintended)