I was converted 20 years ago. I was only nine, so I was already active, but becoming a runner gave me something specific to put my energy toward. I came into it so young from a mixture of hopes that running club would look good on my transcripts for college, a desire to not miss out on what my friends were doing, and a pleasant approval from my mom at the word ¨free.¨ I´m so glad that running became my sport even though I didn´t put it on college applications and I´ve spent most of my life avoiding parties so I could wake up early and hit the trail. It´s simply part of my identity at this part; not something I do, but part of who I am. Just like a great artist sees the world in shades and light and colors, I perceive the discomfort of certain surfaces and the potential of new routes.
Perhaps some runners consider themselves trail runners or street runners or short distancers. I´m an experimental runner, scoping out new trails or streets, always looking for a new situation. It´s special because it means I just run to enjoy. I´ve never run to get better at running like I do other things. It´s just me going my own pace doing whatever I want. As a mom, I´m so thankful for that since my three year old can´t keep up to ask for an explanation of whyyy.
Running has taken me to so many places. Never to a podium, but to the sights. While my grandma basks in the beauty of the Colorado Monument from her steering wheel, I have explored every nook and cranny down below. She´s seen the sunset drifting off over the astounding red rock structures and I´ve weaved in and out of them like an ant on a path of inconveniences.
I´ve stood at the top of a 14er in my shorts and running belt looking out over the seemingly endless Rocky Mountains, euphoria growing as my breath shortened.
I´ve been to the bottom of caves. I’ve scurried away from large bodies of water after the ground below trembles at the thunder. My domain has always been mountains, but my running shoes have been filled with beach sand at sunrise time and time again. I have run through protests and crazy arrests. I´ve retreated from a pack of raccoons. I have run through sketchy highways in foreign countries. I have run into the dark of the night, led by only moonlight a dozen miles back to where I came from. In snow two feet deep and past buddhist temples at 110 degrees. I´ve run in nine different countries and in so many terrains.
I´ve also reaped the consequences, chafing between my legs and under my arms and on my clavicle, and anywhere any piece of fabric has ever touched me. I´ve watched my big toe nails turn to black and disappear. I´ve survived near hypothermia and had the diagnosis of ¨ruthless runner¨ to prescribe me anti-inflammatory meds. I´ve had to poop in more situations than the average Joe, along rolling rivers, in dirt piles, and unfortunately in open fields with only harsh rocks to wipe myself. It´s all just comes with the territory.
Despite the often ridiculous repercussions of running, especially senselessly in often brand new places, I hope it never comes to an end. There is always a new trail around the corner, and often a new view of this same one. Tomorrow I´ll decide where I´m going when I get there and just enjoy feeling like me.