It means the sun is out this weekend and the weather is fine. It also means I’ve found a trail to run. So, you can’t see it in my shadow pic, but there’s a huge grin on my face.
I use the term “run” in its loosest possible way today. I have that pesky foot problem that’s still giving me grief, but after a very painful shot, and two weeks of wearing a “toe condom” (don’t ask) and wearing only comfortable (read: ugly) shoes; the issue is feeling much better. So, of course, on the first pretty weekend in a while, I decided to put it to the test.
My man and I loaded up our little camper and headed to the woods yesterday. He to burn up the trails on his dirt bike, me to skip along them at much decreased intensity. We’re at his riding club’s lease, so he has lots of company. And, even though it’s a very large lease, I still have to keep my ears open for flying trail bikes, and get out of their way accordingly.
He and I took our bicycles out yesterday after we got here so that he could show me the paths and help get me oriented. What he tends to forget in his perfectly balanced world, is that I’m always too focused on trying to stay upright as we plow over rough terrain to pay attention to the route. I won’t ever be a threat on the trail biking circuit, that’s for sure. I much prefer my feet (flawed and painful as they are) solidly planted, thank you very much. And, I nearly always find my way back by myself. So far, at least.
There’s something intensely satisfying about a trail run, even an excruciatingly slow one. Other than the sound of distant dirt bikes, I’m kept company by the sound of the wind and the occasional flutter of birds as I scare them up out of their nests in the ground. The open blue sky, the rattle of the leaves, the smell of fresh dirt. There’s nothing likely to make me feel more grateful to be alive and for the ability to run. However slowly.
I’m reminded to never take the run for granted. I’m reminded that I don’t “have” to run, I “get” to run, and that every single one of my runs has taught me something. Especially the bad ones. Mostly small, inconsequential things, like what not to eat before a run, or to never try out new shoes (or bras, socks, shirts, or skirts,etc.) on a long run.
While those things are important to me, the real lessons have been subtler. For instance: everything in life is a choice, including gratitude and happiness. Yes, those things are affected by circumstances, but the final decision to be happy, grateful, content, rests with me. And, just like I have to choose whether to run or not daily, the decision to live with gratitude and to be happy is made each morning, also.
While trail running on dirtbike paths has its dangers, it also has some perks. It’s hard to get lost. Between the rutted mud tracks and the sound of engines revving, I can always find my way back, even when I take a wrong turn (as I often do). But, I think the thing I love most about sharing the trail with men who fly through the woods and around trees on two wheels for fun, is hearing them laugh while they’re doing it. That childlike delight of reckless abandon can be clearly heard above the whine of their engines.
The sound of pure joy.
That’s the sound my heart makes when I run. I’m profoundly grateful for it.