Yesterday morning, I was due for an 80-minute training run in preparation for a long race I have coming up at the end of September. I was "up north" on a whirlwind wedding planning visit with a close friend, and in our efforts to accomplish much in little time, I had to have the workout over by 8 a.m. This meant facing the long run very early in the morning, and breakfast at 5 for adequate fueling. I was not thrilled by the idea, but in my determination to maintain the training schedule I groggily got up and went through the motions.
Armed with my water bottle, phone, jelly belly sport beans, and the pepper spray my mother insisted I take in case of dog or bear, I headed out into the foggy chill of 6:30 a.m. I hadn't run in weather that melancholy since early spring, and had to try very hard to simply stay focused on one foot in front of the other. It was going to be a looong 80 minutes!
Within the first mile, I saw a white-tailed doe and a couple of fawns. They were startled to see me, and ran back into the woods. Despite their skittishness, they helped me feel less secluded on the country road. By mile three, I was on a dirt road flanked with cattle grazing fields and barbed wire, a place where I was feeling glad it was cloudy because I know how hot the sun can feel on such a road. A few paces later, I heard a rooster calling, a sound I never hear in the city. It called over and over before I even realized what it was, and when I did I had one of those glorious runner moments when I felt at one with the world around me: the rooster, the night crawlers on the dirt road, the cows in the fields, the skittish deer. The moment stretched on, and before I knew it the long run was half over, my breath working in perfect consort with strides hitting the ground with comfortable precision. It was a moment where running felt how running should feel, the moment all runners are running for even though we experience phases where those moments are far and few between, eluding us like skittish deer loping through the woods.
The moment reminded me that fitness is not the only reason to run. Often, fitness is the driver, the goal that gets us off the couch and into the gym or onto the trail. But once out there, we find golden gems in our workouts having nothing to do with physical fitness. To lose oneself completely in an activity, to feel so connected with the rest of the world, is a sensation beyond fitness and one well worth seeking. I was grateful for the moment yesterday morning. Its wonder made even chilly fog beautiful.
