I am in charge of how I feel
and today I am choosing happiness.
Today I stepped off the pavement and back onto Forbidden Drive for 5 snowy miles on my old time trails. The last time I covered this particular section was in late October during a marathon qualifier with Students Run. That last run was heavy on the burden side of "must qualify these kids for that marathon" and light on the magic. In contrast, today was a prediction run where watches were not permitted and I got to run short and hard without the pressure of pacing.
There were about 70 of us, gathered in our brightest Winter gear and shining against the snow, ready to run and raise money for Team in Training. We shook out the jitters, bounced off the chill and huddled together, a skinny pile of athletes fighting the fight of a lifetime against the big C.
After looking at my left wrist for the 30th time in 5 minutes, my mind finally caught on that there would be no quick runner-math or need to amp it up or slow it down. My job was just to run straight, take in the snow and the trail, wonder why the river wasn't frozen, marvel at the kids climbing in the woods, fantasize about hot chocolate and coffee, and just be there. There was blissfully no pressure. The absence of intervals or tempo; the complete void of race pace and despair; the way runners chatted and smiled back at each other. All of that was evidence of people at their best: filled with wonder and touched by peace.
It was the uncaged and remarkable run I needed to launch back into marathon training with a more grounded heart. The miles flew and my feet fell without hesitation over the ice. I was not afraid of rolling that left ankle but I was keenly aware that an injury was always a possibility. And in those thoughts, I found my gratitude for the very idea of a run without time and for every powerful stride that took me to the finish line at almost exactly the time I'd predicted.
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