Because I run. . .

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(Language warning.)

Because I run. . .

As I was slogging through my morning run today in this ridiculously toasty weather, I found myself lamenting about my current condition. I was hot, thirsty, my legs were feeling rather log-like, and I was kind of whiny. I was only a little over a mile in when I began thinking. . .

“Running is so hard.”

“This is so damn hard.”

“My legs felt worse today than a week ago when I was out for hours on an extremely tough trail.”

“NO WONDER people always talk about how they want to run, or used to run, or have tried to run–but it’s just TOO HARD, so they don’t.“

Dang, I get it. I get what they are saying. Running is hard. So hard sometimes. Running is one of the hardest things that I have done in my life, especially when I was taking those first steps years ago or on the days like today, when, for a million reasons or none, the run is damn hard.

Knowing I just had a couple of miles to go, I vowed to suck it up and get over myself. I remembered that I would be done soon, and I’d be relaxing on my porch. “Yeah, running is hard,” I thought, “but that hardness is temporary.”

T-E-M-P-O-R-A-R-Y.

As I kept running and working to get a better perspective about my current temporary condition, the words of a dear friend popped into my head. She once said, “Running is easy, it’s life that is hard.” (This is coming from a woman eats 20-mile training runs for breakfast, mind you.) For the rest of my run, I thought about those words. My mindset shifted immediately. She was so right. Running is easy. Life is hard. So fucking hard sometimes.

Job loss, cancer, mental illness, chronic pain, chronic illness, poverty, hunger, racism, sexism, sexual violence, divorce, homelessness, domestic violence, trauma, miscarriage, child abuse, emotional abuse, aging, addiction, separation, depression, anxiety, recovery, loss, death, grief, and all of the other hard things that life brings. That shit is hard. SO. FUCKING. HARD.

Running. . . yeah, that’s the easy stuff.

Running is what has created space in me to be able to face the hard things. I know in my heart that if I hadn’t become a runner when I did, I wouldn’t be writing this now. I’m pretty sure I’d be curled up in a corner, a sobbing, gooey mess most days. But, I’m not–because, I run.

I can be brave. I can face life’s challenges, even when I don’t want to–because I run.

I can grow from my struggles and be a better human. I can heal from the hard shit–because I run.

Because I run. . .

Who are you? What can you do. . . because you run?

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A gratitude adjustment

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Frosty hair and eyelashes on my first run of 2018. That stuff happens when it feels like 20 below. 

January 1- First Run of the New Year

I hit the trails today for the first time in weeks. It didn’t matter that the “feels like” temp was -20, ALL of my being just needed to be outside and moving, regardless of the weather or how I felt. (Multiple illnesses kept me down during the last half of December and I’ve not had the greatest of attitudes about it. Believe me when I say I NEEDED this time on the trails.)

The run was hard. The trails that I know so very well are now snow-covered, which added an extra element of challenge to the journey. At times, I struggled to find my breath in the icy-cold air. My legs, far from being at full-strength after minimal workouts over the last few weeks, felt like jelly after only a couple of miles. I was dressed in multiple layers, which kept me toasty warm, but the layers also made it difficult to move.

Midway through the run, I was struggling a bit. My outer layer of pants was twisting and it was irritating the crap out of me, not to mention making it even more difficult to keep pace. I found myself starting to get whiny but then I looked up for some reason and the sun hit my face. Even though it was frigid out, the sun was so warm on my skin. I stopped for a moment to soak it in, extremely grateful for that moment. Then, after a minute, I decided to fix my pants the best I could, but more importantly, I decided to fix my bad attitude.

Instead of being upset about trivial things like twisty pants and jelly legs, I decided to get over myself and just be grateful for all the glorious things I had going for me. I was grateful that I had legs that could feel my twisty pants and grateful that I had legs that could move, despite their current jelly-like state. I was grateful for my usual good health and grateful that my current illness, while annoying, is only temporary. I was grateful for the sun, And the snow. And the opportunity to be there, in the woods, at that moment, soaking up all of God’s beautiful creation.

I finished my run, twisty pants and all. It was far from fast or spectacular, but I left the woods feeling rather bad-ass anyways for getting out there and getting it done. And, of course, feeling grateful for the opportunity to do so.

Cheers to 2018. I will be striving to greet each day a grateful heart for all that life brings.

Trail time

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As we say in our family, “It ain’t a trail run unless you’re muddy and bloody.” Today’s run delivered both and more…

Still feeling the lingering effects of a ridiculous sinus cold that set in a couple of weeks ago, I headed out on today’s run with no agenda. No set number of miles to complete. No time goals to hit. No anything other than just being outside on this glorious February day. I hopped in my car and headed south, not really even sure of my destination. I ultimately settled on the park that grounds my soul. Every. Single. Time.

The space of time between the snow melt and the new buds of spring gives opportunity to explore new trails, ones far less traveled than the paths that I usually traverse. Trails that are not visible during the overgrowth of summer, had now become visible and invited me in. Sites unseen, I opted out of running for the remainder of my time and instead settled on a fast hike as to enjoy the woods through a new lens. The eagles were soaring and the geese were gathering, honking loudly overhead as I eventually traveled back to the big river in the park.

No time in the woods is ever wasted but some runs are just a little more special than others. Today it wasn’t about the mileage or my mile-per-minute pace, but instead about so much more. I left the park with a grateful heart and a peaceful spirit, in awe of the gift of nature.