On Falling

I discovered this post from August of last year, and I couldn't believe that I had written it then. This idea about switching to trails has been brewing longer than I even remember.

I could feel the rock on my toe before I saw it. The collision reverberated through my shoe, and as I fell, I could see the fine detail in the dirt, the excruciating awareness that this fall was going to hurt. Stinging pains shooting through my knee - it's not enough to fall, but I have to fall on the rocks...

It had been such a beautiful trail run. 900 feet of elevation gain in a mile or two, beautiful canyon vistas, a babbling creek and deep green forest cover. And now it was going to be a painful trail run, blood streaming down my leg and my knees swelling with deep bruises.

This is how I run on trails.

I don't know why I feel called to run through the forest, but I do. I am not particularly good at it. My gait is what one what call "shuffling" - I do not expend a lot of extra energy picking up my feet. Consequently, I frequently stumble on low rocks, especially when I am daydreaming. But I feel such peace when I am out on the trail that I cannot help but hear its siren call. I want to run long on trails.

I feel an interior shift happening. I have been thinking so much about speed lately - going faster and faster - that I am getting burnt out. I want to run for fun - to have no idea about how far I've gone, only that I've gone for an hour. I want to relax and let go of the competition, which for those who know me probably sounds pretty ridiculous. But it is true. I do not like that competitive side of myself. It never lets me relax and go for the ride.

Enough of that. It is time to let go of the old ways and to find some new, more joyful ones. I am done with accurate mileage counts, with pace, with precise workouts that focus on results.