I’m so late on posting this week, but since I’m still thinking about the incredible run I did this weekend, I want to take a few minutes to write about it.
My long run was Sunday instead of Saturday, due to tech rehearsals and the like. I thought I’d be wiped out on Sunday but surprisingly, I woke up refreshed and excited about running the 10-miler I had planned the night before. After piddling around in the kitchen for a bit, I headed out to see what the morning held.
As I knew it would be, my brain was spinning. It’s hard for me to turn off the noise sometimes, and leave the theatre where it belongs. So many thoughts about the kids, the lights, notes I wanted to be sure to give, items that needed to be crossed off my check-list, things I wanted to address with my Stage Manager student… spinning, spinning. The music helped give my brain something else to pay attention to while my body got warmed up and settled into the rhythmic motion of running.
My route was easy; 3 miles up the bike path to the top of Davidson Mesa, then 3 miles around the Mesa and 4.3 miles that looped onto the Coal Creek Trail for a few minutes on the way home.
The first three miles were steady. I wasn’t out to break any records or do any more than just enjoy the morning, the motion of running, and breath. By the time I got to the top of Davidson Mesa I was warm in my running shorts and long sleeve. The warm breeze kept sweat from pooling in my sports bra and was a welcome change from the cold temps as of late.
As I started into the second segment of the run I eased up a bit, reminding myself that this run was just for the joy of the movement, so settle in and FEEL it. Enjoy it. My brain was releasing its grip on the constant chatter, and the music that had thus far been background noise started get interesting. I found myself tuning in and listening to Tab Benoit sing about the moon comin’ up over the hill, and my facial muscles slid into a smile. This was all right.
At some point during the 3-mile Mesa loop, I became aware that the brain noise was gone. It had been quiet in my head for a bit and, like when sleep takes over, I hadn’t noticed the departure of bedlam. I had been running in a kind of zen-daze for an unknown number of minutes and I “woke” feeling rested and energized.
I wore the Garmin to track my mileage, though for once, I was completely uninterested in my pace. At some point I glanced at it and realized that five and a half miles had coasted by, and I was nowhere near tired.
Michael Jackson’s “Will You Be There” started playing and I about melted. I adore that song for the sheer gospel quality of it; plus, it gives me goosebumps every time. The arc of the music and intensity is powerful, and every time I hear it I’m thankful to be on a run. I don’t know, something about that song really does it for me. Crazy, but I never heard it until it somehow got downloaded onto my iPod. Serendipity?
The Mesa loop behind me, I cruised down the hill into the valley of Louisville, and onto the Coal Creek Trail. The sun was warm, the breeze felt good, and I had that incredible feeling that I was in the perfect place on the perfect day. I hate to sound too corny, but the word that kept floating to the forefront of my brain was “bliss”. By the time I finished my 10.3 miles I felt like I was floating. I had a serious case of perma-grin. My brain had shut up, I had come down to settle into my body, and I was absolutely present again. For the first time in weeks, I was one with my body and in the moment. Some people can find this by sitting still; I’m not that advanced. I need to do a rhythmic motion (like RUNNING) so that my brain can let go of its self-important spinning and give me space for my soul to settle in and just BE.
