When I do something good for myself, something consistent and healthy but not always easy, I envision it as a tether. A strand within a cord of rope, woven into the skin of my back, right above my hips. The earth I occupy is grassy, and the sky is blue with little white clouds, and there is no gravity. Without this stretch of cord, I would float high above my sandbox. I would enjoy the view at first, before losing sight of it completely. The tether lets me float without worry. Lets me turn and tumble and close my eyes and free my hands of the grass they used to cling to. There used to be nothing but the grass. Now there is rope.
Lately I’ve been running. I should say: lately I’ve been running again, but this kind of running feels different from the kind of running I did before. I used to run when I was frustrated. I ran to feel the anger leave my body in waves of heat. I ran fast, for as long as I could, as many days as I could. I ran to temper the screaming of the kettle.
In that glorious low point of my life, running was my only method of building trust with myself. The problem was, I confused trust with accountability, and my singular outlet eventually piled on to the list of things I was actively failing at.
Running three miles on Tuesday because you said you would is accountability. Slowing down and extending your warm-up because your legs are still tense is trust. Running fifty miles in a month because you said you would is accountability - and if you do it like I did, a sure fire way to give yourself stress fractures. Biking this week’s long run because your back feels tweaked is trust. Life herself has spent the last few years slamming this lesson into my head, and it only just clicked.
Now, I run to explore. I run because music sounds better when you move to it. I run to take time away from any noise at all. I run to smile at other runners. I run to feel the difference between runs. I run because I have two legs that can. I run to the water. Over the bridge and through the forest and to the garden. In squares on streets and in circles around grass. I run to feel the shape of the city I traverse. I run to feel the shape of myself.
I run to tether myself to the earth, and then lengthen my leash.
I made it nine miles the other week and at the time you receive this I’ll be going for ten. Wish me luck!
Jordan
Enjoying your beautiful writing and relate to the ways some of us are inclined to make some things prescriptive vs fluid and the path back to creativity and healthy relationship with the things that (sometimes) bring us joy.
Beautiful!