Run Like No Ones Watching

When I moved to Washington in September I immediately fell in love with my new home. I live in a forest, well a state park to be more exact. I have the privilege of stepping out my front door and walking ten steps and disappearing into the woods. If I go a few more steps I find my self on a steep, winding, often muddy path leading down to Lake Washington. Needless to say I haven't run on a road in months. 

Last Saturday was one of the most beautiful days we've had here in Seattle, and after months of rain I couldn't wait to pull on some shorts, yes shorts... day glow legs be damned... and run down to the lake. It was amazing! The great thing about running down trails is that it doesn't feel like work. Your too busy trying to figure out where to plant your feet next to worry about your breathing or anything else for that matter. Thinking is nearly impossible. You just fly. Now I understand and appreciate all you yogi's and runners that rejoice in paying attention to your breathing and your awareness of your body and all that, but for me not being able to concentrate on how I feel or analyze what I'm thinking is a welcome gift. It's a time to just be. To just exist. There will be plenty of time to contemplate existence later. Like when your trudging back up the hill for instance. 

I had hoped to go for a swim when I got to the lake but the shoreline was full of people who I'm sure didn't want to have to explain to their kids why, "that girl is swimming in her underwear"so I kept kept going along the shoreline looking for a more secluded spot. Unfortunately this is where the trail ends and I found myself ducking under branches and scaling fallen trees. I really don't mind the end of the trail in the least, it's usually far more interesting, especially since the stinging nettle is thriving. I discovered a moss covered tree leaning 20 feet out over the water and a tiny beach just perfect for one. Unfortunately the water was bone-chilling cold, so that swim is going to have to wait a few weeks. I walked barefoot back to the trail head until my feet had dried and then laced up my shoes for the aforementioned trek back up. 

This trek is actually only about half a mile, but my calf muscles insist the sign is lying. I usually walk up and convince myself that the scenery is too pretty to run past, but that day I ran every bit I could. Since I've started running these trails I've come to find that I approach them in the same way I do life. Run the parts I can and walk the ones I can't. I take breaks to breath and admire the depth of God's love in the world around me. Most importantly when I get the chance to fly... I take it.