why I am

As much as I like to be snarky, cynical, bitter, whiny and mean, sometimes the clouds part and I feel this little smattering of pure bliss inside the empty chest cavity where my heart should be.

Last night was one of those nights. (Yeah, I know yesterday’s post was particularly garbage-y, but trust me, I drafted that hours earlier. Cut me some slack.)

It occurred to me as I was stomping through Eagle Creek in my 9 oz. Adizeros that have about as much moisture protection as your average sheet of tissue paper, in the dark, on snow-covered trails, with my nose running like a faucet, that I was having one of those Moments. It was my very own Some Enchanted Evening.

We got a late start so it was completely dark by the time we set out. And yeah it was cold, but it was also preternaturally still and calm outside. All we could hear was our breath, our shoes squishing over the soft snow and the occasional critter noises of the woods.

At one point, we lose the trail and we’re crashing through the trees just steps away from the 20-foot drop onto the snow-covered frozen surface of the reservoir. The light from our headlamps glance off of a few scattered flakes of snow starting to fall. Far away, across the water, we see the long line of red tail-lights from the traffic backing up on 56th Street. But we’re so far removed from them, they could be on a different planet. We cling to tree trunks for safety as we shimmy down an incline and climb over a fallen tree and Kate says to me, “you’re about to get pissed, aren’t you?” I said, “I don’t think that’s even possible right now.”

You see, that’s the other me. The one that doesn’t get pissed when we lose the trail. The one who doesn’t roll her eyes with a noisy sigh of entitlement. The one not trapped in corporate purgatory. The one not afraid to plummet down an icy slope in the dark and the one who is perfectly at ease standing in a foot of snow on the edge of a cliff.

This might come off as sanctimonious drivel, but I really feel sorry for people who can’t experience that.

And by “that,” I don’t necessarily mean “snowy trail run in the dark.” Just, you know, that. That sort of breathless OMGZILOVEYOUTHISFEELSGLORIOUS feeling you get when your heart is pounding and your adrenaline is pumping.

It’s not just a clever blog name you guys, it is truly what keeps me sane.

Well, that and beer.

Now get into this real quick — it’s one of the only Christmas songs I’ll tolerate. And if you change up the entire meaning of the song, it’s somewhat relevant to this post. Dap!

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6 thoughts on “why I am

  1. I enjoyed reading this. Some runs are truly, truly magical like that. Maybe magical is a cheesy-sounding word to use, but… yeah. Not every run gets to be that special. And I would NOT file this post under the “sanctimonious drivel” category. (ps. second post in a row that you’ve used that word, it’s one of my faves.)

  2. Definitely NOT sanctimonious drivel. You’ve managed to put into words why so many of us love running. It’s a really hard thing to explain to non-runners, because it’s just….those runs. Where by all accounts you should be miserable – because you’re working your ass off, or your feet are wet, or it’s freezing, or whatever – but instead you feel pure joy.

    If it were rational, everyone would do it. It’s because we’re a little crazy that we can harness those moments of bliss.

    (Whew, deep stuff. I need a beer.) 🙂

  3. Word. Those runs for me are few and far between but when they happen, I breathe every little piece of them in.

    Love the Tracy Chapman shout out. Its the only Xmas song I can stomach as well.

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