songs of experience

I am slowly coming out of the running doldrums … thanks to some not-so-chatty runs with one of my Janes running mates. Last week we ran a trail that used to be called “Airplane” (because of an old, rusty bi-plane that was downed near the trail) and I was heartened to learn that my training partner was feeling totally unmotivated too!

“What’s your next goal?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Me either.”
We run for a bit in pleasant silence … up and down the single track … following a trail that only a few Chapel Hillians know exists. This fall when I ran there with my seejanerunners I headed out 10 minutes before the group carrying two zip-lock bags of flour to drop marker-dollops along the way. I was like Hansel or Gretyl leaving bread crumbs.

This winter I have felt a lot more like the wicked witch than a child in the woods.

“I can’t even bring myself to buy the teacher gifts this year,” I confess.
“Don’t expect any of those home-made cookies from me,” she commiserates.

More silence.
Crunchcrunchcrunch. Step up. Log. Slippery. Ice.
“Careful,” I say.
“Thanks.”
Crunchcrunch.

“How’s Tim?”
“Oh. You know. Its that time of year.”
“Yeah.”

Crunch.
“Just a sec.”
Stop. Re-tie shoe. Do I have to pee?
No.
Carry on.
hinh-huh-hinh-huh-hinh-huh.
Inhale. Exhale.

“How’s your mom?”
“The same.”
“Coming for Christmas?”
“Nope.”

Crunchcrunchcrunch.
More logs, some roots, a rock. Pop. Ankle.
“Fuck!”
“Are you okay?”
“I think so. Yeah. Stupid rock.”

hinh-huh-hinh-huh-hinh-huh
“Out-and-back or loop?”
“Whatever.”

Crunchcrunchcrunch.
Crunch. Pause.
“I don’t feel like going up any more.”
“Okay.”
We turn around. Down.
Head back to our cars and our lives off the trail.

Over the same hills. Over the same rocks and roots.
Crunchcrunchcrunch.
Inhale.
Exhale.

In the clearing I point, “Check out that winter sky.”
“Wow. Beautiful.”

I find my keys, behind the driver’s side wheel.
“Thanks for the run. I needed that.”
“Me too.”