It's been a week since my last post; even longer, the post before that.
I haven't said anything meaningful — at least by my definition — other than over analyzing a shitty marathon experience and seriously modernizing (or some may say bastardizing) the works of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. I used the blank canvas to whine and complain.
It's most tragic to have a million beautiful phrases swimming around in your head, but no great way to weave them together in a gorgeous presentation. This feeling stifles me, like a hand on my throat; there's so much to say, but the words can't come out. When an occasion calls for a purposeful conversation, I tend to shy away or even stumble over myself. I can't quite form a verbal eloquence to support much of anything, but give me a voiceless medium and I'll just flow. I used to write...a lot...with pen and paper. Old journals, arranged on a bookshelf in my bedroom, remind me of the times I spent spilling my thoughts across those pages.
I credit my enduring love of running for rekindling the passion I had for the written word. I wrote in high school and silently, focused on it in college. Family, work, and other past times prevent me from dedicating enough attention to this fading habit. What I need to do, with everything I enjoy, is make the time. Sometimes, what's really needed to jump start things is a fresh perspective. And that's what happened this weekend.
Running brought the Crazies together about two years ago. Today, we're still running strong, but the course is different. Sure, we might not literally hit the road together as often anymore (different goals, injuries) we're still in the race, together. We've been through a lot of interesting times, both good and bad. We always try to keep our friendship going with activities OTHER than running. This Friday, we left the Valley for a weekend getaway in Rehoboth.
Without giving away too many details, we revived our friendship with laughter, too many snacks and some libations. I celebrated my 25th birthday, we paraded the bachelorette party through the outlets and threw down a mean game of Cards Against Humanity. These frames of life were captured with the help of a few selfie sticks (maybe the best invention for this trip). Two near-death experiences wedged themselves between slow motion moments of breathless giggles enhanced by afternoon sunshine.
Today, I familiarized myself with the morning as a soft alarm tone roused me from a deep slumber. I didn't want to crawl out from under the covers, but a hot tea was prescribed. Two Crazies and I walked out of the house into the intoxicating Sunday sun for a tall drink. An occasional conversation broke the comfortable silence, soon followed by the sounds of our shoes and the secluded singing birds. Peace fell on my soul, a sensation I maintained for the remainder of my travels. I completed the run over a wood planked bridge lined with lush topiaries and blossoms. I felt safe on the planks — safe to say anything, encapsulated by nature. I inhaled deeply until I flirted with the burn at the base of my lungs, breathing in the light of the day.
It's been some time since I really enjoyed a run. Lately my focus had been nailing the workout, which has been resulting in failure. Sure, I love the run — the prep, the act and the subsequent high. But, today was different. A rejuvenated force whispered life into my body; my feet felt light as the road came up to meet them. I tasted the slightest hint of the sea salt scent, softly sitting on my skin.
I can't let external forces grab my throat and stifle my words. Like a run, they need to fly.