Absorbed

On my run early Monday morning, I saw an owl flying low across the field. I heard the gobbling of wild turkeys on a search for breakfast. I felt the cadence of my feet hitting the dirt mile after mile. The air was crisp, and the stars shone bright. Had I been able to do so safely, I would have run with my eyes closed; I was that absorbed by my surroundings (I actually tried it for a few steps but got nervous).

Six months ago, I wouldn’t have noticed all that I just described. Instead, any talk about a run would have centered on the numbers: miles, pace, time, the grail of 26.2. I would have thought about my form, my breathing and whether or not it was time to get a new pair of shoes. Six months ago, I didn’t allow my senses to be filled with the world around me. On the contrary, my runs were focused on “me.”

Something has changed, however, and while I can’t pinpoint a moment of deviation, I can identify with an altered approach to running; something that wasn’t there six months ago.

Saturday marks the day I was supposed to run my second trail marathon. The decision not to race still saddens me, but I sense that somehow it plays a role in this change. The pressure is off. I’m no longer in “training mode.” I run when I can and sleep in when I need to. I run, not to keep my cardio up, not to keep my muscles strong, not to log a certain number of pre-planned miles.

I run because I can’t imagine a life without running.

My advice to newbie runners has always been: “Register for a race.” For two years, that is what kept me motivated to log mile after mile after mile. I still think it is great advice, but no longer am I driven by the calendar. I canceled the marathon I had been training for…but I’m still running.

It’s as if I’m entering a new stage of running life, and I really like it.