Finding Familiar

My early morning run is my way of centering myself, wherever I am.

At home, I have a route, a well-worn groove that I trace. Away, I have to trailblaze, which forces me to pay closer attention to my surroundings. In the past, I’ve gotten lost on routes I’ve made up as I go, so now, I generally simplify things by running out and turning back.

This is what I did on my recent trip to North Carolina. I turned off the main road and ran down a residential street, which revealed itself to be 100% downhill and not gradual.

I could have turned around but I’m stubborn and running downhill is pleasant. I had one of my daughter Rachael’s songs stuck in my head and the day hadn’t yet turned steamy. I saw a mama deer with two teeny fawns. The street dead-ended after a mile, which is when I would have turned anyway.

Of course, a mile of downhill reversed is a mile uphill. I tried not to think about that, though I noticed I’d shifted from looping Rachael’s song to counting my inhalations and exhalations. Looking up at the hill made me ever-so-slightly panicky, so I kept my eyes down and imagined the progress I was making. I had a vague sense of the turns I’d followed on my way down, and recognized when I was on the steep uphill straightaway that would take me back into town. One foot in front of the other. Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe. I was elated to feel the ground level out beneath my feet.

The next morning, despite other options and knowing full well what I was in for, I ran the same route. Rachael’s song was in my head on the way down, and this time, it kept me company on the way back. I synched my breathing and my heart to it, and settled into the long uphill not as a struggle, but another kind of home.