It’s been one year since I started recording our weekly Saturday Morning running. I’ve written in sickness and in health, through the torrent of the seasons. My personal life has been a backdrop of my running, inspiring me to dig deeper and find clarity and truth on this path called Life.
It’s light out early in the mornings now, and will be so for another two weeks until time Springs Forward with Daylight Savings Time. Then, we’ll be running in the pre-dawn and witnessing the miracle of daylight all over again.
I haven’t run with the gang for two weeks. Because of my absence, or maybe because of my emotional state, I feel disconnected from the group, like an outsider peeking in. I know I can run the trail, I know in my mind that I’m welcome, but still… I’m not connected and the loss saddens me.
Instead of running Doudy Draw to Eldo Canyon as was planned, we changed course after a round of hand-raising and headed up the Mesa Trail to North Fork/South Fork. There’s trail and parking lot maintenance happening in the Doudy Draw parking lot across the street and the fences are meant to discourage us. We comply and mentally prepare for a steep up-and-down instead of the gentle trail that I had been hoping for. I even brought my camera to record the morning light on the canyon walls as we came through the “wind tunnel” in Eldorado Canyon. No matter. The camera is tucked inside my CamelBak waist pack and is easy enough to bring next time.
Last week Sophie and I took a fast road trip to Pittsburg, Kansas. I recently reconnected with a long-lost college friend (thank you FaceBook!!) and decided to go see her. She and I left the University of Northern Colorado at the same time, for what we discovered were ultimately the same reasons. Our lives have taken drastically different paths and yet, here we are, converging again. The metaphor to running is so strong it almost feels trite.
She started running a few months ago for the first time in her life. She recently separated from her husband and finds herself a single Mom in graduate school. She tells me she felt compelled to sell everything, buy a van and take off. Instead, she laced up her sneakers and decided that the old model didn’t apply. She’s sold everything and headed out so many times she’s lost count. Instead, she took her figurative desire to run away and created a literal outlet of running… running toward health, sanity, fitness, and herself.
She’s recreated herself in so many ways over the years, and yet, sitting with her in that cozy little house on the edge of the Kansas border, she’s still the same person I laughed with fifteen years ago. Her life experiences have left her changed but not jaded. She knows herself deeply now and doesn’t dwell on what didn’t work. She belly-laughs about some of the crazy things she’s done and shakes her head in awe that she was able to walk away from it all unscathed. We did a little reminiscing about our college days and giggled like the school girls we were about some of the college hotties we hung out with, and then moved on to present time.
The trip was so fast; only three days. Sophie and I drove for twelve hours on Saturday and Monday, so that we could stay in Pittsburg on Sunday. My right hip was screaming at me at the end of the trip by the time we pulled into our own driveway. I could barely walk due to the seized muscles. I hadn’t run in four days and wasn’t sure I would be able to run for another day at least. Stretching was in order. Stretching the body, stretching the mind. I had to make room for the new experiences and thoughts chasing each other around in the confines of my little brain.
The camera in my pack sits snuggly on my tailbone. I remember to use it a few times and even pull off the trail at one point to get an action shot. The women seem reticent when the camera comes out, so mostly I leave it packed away. Sometimes recording images for posterity takes away from the experience of living the moment and I want to honor that feeling of being in the moment for my friends.
Susan and I are careful to watch for the turn-off on the North Fork trail; we don’t want to extend an extra two miles today like we did a few weeks ago. I’m not worried though; there’s no snow or ice on the trail to distract us from making the turn. We won’t be watching our feet for safety like we did a few weeks ago when we went off pell-mell down the trail, and then grunted and slipped our way back up again.
I can tell spring is heading this way because of the clarity of the sky and the barrenness of the foliage. The brilliant blue of the sky is caused by the angle of the earth, and is only apparent in this part of the world for a few months. I love seeing the cobalt color; it reminds me that miracles happen above us, out of reach, as often as they happen in our own backyards.
I’m pensive today and don’t feel like talking. I’m alternately in front, behind, solitary, and within a group. My presence seems as fluid as the air I’m breathing. My lovely trail running shoes keep my feet firmly in place and the only time I’m utterly aware of my body is when we’re gasping up South Fork and my hip is hurting bad. It hasn’t gotten back to where it was pre-road trip. On that note, neither has my mind. I’m still whirling in outer space and am working really hard at pulling myself down and grounding. My most sincere wish is to hibernate for the next month and sort out my thoughts. Change is on the horizon and I desperately want to hunker down and prepare.
