THE MUD YOU MEET

The irony wasn’t lost.

For the past few days, my head, heart and soul just haven’t been in sync. It’s a combination of lots of little things — nothing really big — but they were all colliding at once.

 

Thankfully, (and, I thank Global Warming for this), it was unseasonably warm the other day and I went out for a long, slow run around the local dirt track. I was excited to be off the road and to just have the luxury of plugging in my headphones, tuning out the world, and trying to reconnect with myself.

 

The rhythm hit.

 

I closed my eyes, turned up the volume, and ran. Soon enough, the salty sting of sweat mixed with the tears on my face. Not sadness, not exhaustion, not anything — just not quite me. But, I grew comfortable, secure, and started to figure some stuff out in my heart. I was on my way to feeling whole again.

 

But, somewhere in the 6th lap, the sun had warmed enough that the frozen dirt track that struck a rhythm with my feet was turning into a mud puddle. I could no longer shut out the world — for, if I did, I would end up flat on my back. Where was my safety? My rhythm? Where do I go? What do I do?

 

There was the mud. Staring at me. Calling me to come and figure out what do to.

 

So, I ran. Right through it. And, I ran through it again and again and again.

 

At times, I lost my footing. I felt tense. My rhythm was all off. And, I couldn’t just run — I had to think about every step and every muscle. Whenever I thought I was steady, I fumbled. When I thought I would surely fall, I was strong.

 

I walked cautiously at first, feeling my feet sink into the ground. I felt my leg muscles tense up, my hips square off, and my arms reach out to balance. I wanted to move off to the side. I wanted to quit. I wanted my frozen, steady, solid, and sure footing back.

 

Soon enough, I found myself laughing. I smiled as the mud squished up into my ankle sock and down into my shoe. And, soon the salty sting of sweat mixed with tears of laughter on my face.

 

And, I reminded myself, that life is never about finishing the workout.

 

It’s about the mud you meet. 

post-run

Peace, love, and making my way through,

Liza

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One Response to THE MUD YOU MEET

  1. Pingback: THE MUD YOU MEET | Mastectomy Recovery

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