Running hasn’t come easily in the last few months. In the wake of a manic summer capped off by a 200-mile effort in the Winds, my motivation, the fire that keeps me centered in my running practice, has faltered and faded more than ever before.
Whether it is the ripples of letting go of a long term goal, the secondary effect of a post-run depression, or just the weights of darkness, cold, and snow that inexorably compound in these Montana winters, I am unsure. But regardless, I am faced with a new task, one that hasn’t been a strong feature in my running life; to be with this feeling, to find the acceptance that comes begrudgingly with time and effort, and to coax the flickering candlelight of my creative being back into a steady crackling campfire.
I write this in part to allow myself to admit the challenge. The easier thing is to be swept along by the current of social media and one-upmanship that asks me to find a new goal and devote myself to it. To double down, as I have doubled and doubled and doubled over the preceding years. Some part of this may come to pass, as goals and routes ebb and flow in conversation and inspiration.
As I navigate this change in pace, I’m finding equal joy in refocusing on the daily and weekly practice of movement, and on the internal task of inquiry, the gentle asking for direction. Some things that have brought me towards equilibrium:
Running in shorts
laughing with good people, and alone
critters and their passings
teaching children about trees
learning about trees
crying
moving
reaching out to old friends
listening to copious books
telling people that this feels hard
telling people that I am okay
perusing topo maps
reading blogs
not running, not skiing, not doing, not moving
lifting weights, and finding out I like it
nourishing my body
saying the words, even when I don’t believe them
my face turning up to the sun
eyes closed
like when I was a kid
and the sun feels like its pushing
pushing my eyelids, all yellow and orange and pink
like grapefruit
and the grass is tickling and itching my legs and I
never move
and I breathe
and the birds sing
and I breathe