Yesterday I went for a run, and I have to say, I was nervous. Not because I thought I couldn’t do it but because I don’t know if I know what it means to be a runner anymore. Due to life topped with a shitload of anxiety and whole bunch of other things, running hasn’t felt good for awhile. I admit though that I’ve forced it. You see, running a lot and racing a lot has been a part of my identity for so long that it’s hard to look beyond. I’ve struggled with injury, burnout, and mental fatigue but this feels different. Running has just felt bad. Climbing and simply walking have felt good. Reading and writing have been a lifesaver, hell even crying has felt good in a weird, painful way.
When you try to ignore your emotions, covering them up with other things, discounting them, or even denying them, it can get ugly real quick.
This is all a long way of saying, yesterday I went for a run and I fell in love all over again; the solitude of the trail and I in the softly falling snow, the 6 lakes I made my goal to visit for no particular reason except that I thought a “lake loop” sounded cool. The run was about 9 miles and roughly 1700 ft of gain, and going into it, I honestly had no idea how I’d feel. I took each step with gratitude and before I knew it I was back at the van in the Glacier Gorge parking lot, sipping on hot Skratch Labs horchata recovery drink and stretching my calves.
The lesson I Iearned yesterday was, don’t ever force something or do it because you think you should. Do the things that make you cry with overwhelming inexplicable emotions, the things that make you feel truly alive.
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