It's curious and amusing how much my perspective on running can shift when my experience becomes unstructured and without any specific ambition, save enjoying the touch of cool wind on my face, the pounding pulse of blood in my veins, and the sense of stones beneath my feet on the open trail. In these times, the mystery and intrinsic value of a bounding human body returns, and my mind is clear of time, distance, pace... I am free to just exist on the path, my mind committed to the rhythm of footfall, focused on the next spot my shoe will meet terra firma. To me, running is essential. Primal and real. It is the purest of the sports I pursue, having limited gear, no pretense, no referees.
On this day, a few hundred paces onto the dusty thoroughfare I am conscious of nothing but the sensations, the landscape unfolding before me, the slight burn in my hamstrings and quads as the body slowly warms to the experience. There is a short time when it feigns aversion, but as the lungs expand, memory and mantra take control: you have never felt worse after completing a run than you did before starting. Onward then, I pass the scrub oak, pinon pine, juniper, and occasional ponderosa, their slender arms reaching towards me and occasionally stroking my arms and legs. When one protrudes farther than the rest and scratches my skin deep enough to draw blood, I am momentarily shaken from my meditative state and curse it out loud as if it were a person with a conscious determination to assault me. I quickly forget as the trail pitches up and my stride is forced to shorten, my breathing and heartbeat lagging behind the effort but sure to hasten. I concentrate harder, determined to avoid those irritating spindly twigs, giving extra effort to keep my footing as the trail climbs up on a slick bed of fallen leaves. Fall changes the feel on the footpath. Not only do you don more clothing fending off the brisk air, but the congregation of tree litter masks the hazards, and the beauty of the warm autumn colors can distract from the immediate moment. I exaggerate my high-step to avoid some of the perceived threats and continue on the snaking trail, recovering steady breath in downhills and flats. Even though I have run this route countless times, there are always sections I forget, and I am happy to relearn them today. My upper body swaying in the turns, I press my chest forward and lean into another downhill section, vaulting over a couple larger rocks as a grin forms on my lips. I do not lose concentration, but on an open section where trail crews have built slash piles for winter burning, I allow my thoughts to drift for a short time. I reflect on an interaction with a friend from earlier in the week, an article I read recently, think of what I want for dinner...
Not for long though. On the next set of rollers, I notice that my get-out-of-jail-free card has already been redeemed, and the burn returns to my muscles. It's offseason, and although I feel pretty good, fitness is not where it was even three weeks ago. It's time to seek home before the joyful hurdling becomes a painfully slow slog. I sharpen my concentration knowing this is when I most likely to make a stupid mistake and roll an ankle, and even once mutter "focus" aloud. To add an element of risk, daylight is rapidly disappearing, and I periodically fail to spot a rock in the dying sunlight. Why did I wait for evening before initiating this run? Because I wanted the test I'm now taking, the uncommon experience of an absolutely clear mind watching day turn to night while scampering amidst the forest. One step, sight, the next step, backing off the speed a little to be sure of placement. Soon, I am approaching the trailhead, spotting more signs of human traffic and watching the path widen underfoot. Back home I go, until the next time...
