running – Entirely Unlike Tea

Love on the Long Run

Where friendships are made and social barriers fade!

Today I am here as an observer, I am not here to put the world to rights, or solve your latest problem, that is what the “Long Run” is for.

The Long Run – from this moment forward will affectionately be called the LR, is generally a run that is over 60 minutes and essentially it has no limits in length, I have LR anywhere from 9 miles up to 32 miles depending on time and race training for. So, it is ALOT of time either on your own or with a group.

Regarding my running, it is where I have met in recent years the majority of my close friends. A 2-hour run could genuinely equate to 2 months’ work of regular hanging out, I am not sure why? Maybe it is the intensity of the work you are doing, the heightened serotonin, or you just talk a shit ton to fill time? Maybe, you just feel safe, as here is another person doing the same crazy stuff you are doing. I have been known to not knowing someone at the beginning of the run and occasionally revealing all trauma and inner secrets by the end, they never ran with me again :). The high from running, is similar to drinking for me, it makes me honest, ummmm sometimes too honest. But more open than I would be in a bar, or at a social gathering. I also do not trust people who hide their inner workings, trust is the wrong word, maybe I just feel unsafe with how genuine they can be. Maybe that is a 3 x long run crack the emotional crust kind of person.

Whatever it is, I am thankful for the people running has given me, raw, slightly bananas, very driven people. Who are usually outsiders, a little damaged (running keeps us together mentally) we may be running from problems or using it to be safe in the pain we inflict on ourselves to feel sane, happy, included? Running is tribal and religious, it is forgiving of your sins, I do not think it really cares about them. It lifts you up and gives you people you can geek out about paces, races, gear, nutrition etc. etc. all that shit that the rest of world thinks “you are so boring” for being maybe a lot obsessed about!

So, thank you running, for all the sunny, eclectic, wonderfully strange, fantastically beautiful friends you have given me.

Love on the LR

My head breaks through, and I breathe again.

My anxiety is triggered by many things, many things I have to manage on a daily basis. Yeah the whole world has anxiety I know – YAWN – The modern day excuse for not coping with life.

How I see it though, is when my anxiety kicks up a notch and smacks me over the head with a BIG SCREAMING SURRRRPRRRIISSSSEEEE , I am always actually surprised, even though I have been navigating this for about 38 years. Because, after every single episode; that can be as long as a month, but is usually 2 weeks, I think I have it beat and I’m like oh if this happens again, I have totally got this bitch covered.

NOPE! Here I am again, curled up, struggling to breathe, frantically checking my heart rate over and over again, desperately trying to act like all is cool when I am fighting back tears, and crumbling back into the child who is crushed against the floor.

It really comes out of the blue, but I do get clues, when life is busy and I’m continuously coping with its pace, I am not sleeping enough or not getting enough alone time, multiple stressors are thrown at me, and I cope, I cope, I cope and then BOOM I am not fucking coping …

I have just realized that racing kicks me off, WHY? I have goals , I do not want to fail, and now I am in a semi elite group (I am not a semi elite), as the almost oldest and definitely the slowest, I am terrified if I do not perform I will get laughed at or worse kicked out. This is all self inflicted and my own insecurities blooming with the stress of my own expectations.

I AM WORKING ON THOSE!!!

Please understand that anxiety and panic attacks are not me failing to cope, IT IS me coping! I am accepting my own imperfections, sitting in them, falling apart and rebuilding a more resilient version of myself.

Anxiety is not something you can always see, it is a silent manifestation of the mental and physical. Panic attacks are actually my overly sensitive personality combining with my overly busy life, plus dragging up my past and forming its own little package of hellish survival.

I have said this before, but the strange thing is, as much I struggle with my anxiety, I would not give it up. The constant state of high I sit in is beyond anything, my whole entire body is alert and buzzing, the world snaps into ultra HD and colors can hurt my eyes. When I fall out of the cycle, the calm is mesmerizing, and I sleep dreamlessly, my whole body falls loose and the world spins back down to normality, which I cherish. I will never conquer my panic attacks or anxiety, but I accept what they are, they no longer terrify me like they used to and I always know in time they will pass.

This too shall pass. To live my life, is to feel my life in all its gory, painful glory.

This is for all of you who suffer, I see you, I know you, I am you, I am here for you.

Love Kelly (just had another episode and survived) Joy

Why I run! A Poem

I run to release,

I run to reflect,

I run to breathe

I run to perfect

With every stride my life unravels

With every breath another path travelled

I lift my gaze, my sight glazes, the sunlight hits my eyes

I pick up pace, my heart pumps harder, problems simply slide.

Away to the wind, away with the beat, away with the thrum of the race

Pain is rising, heat is building, sweat pours from my brow, mind loosens, no thought is given space.

I flow

I pound

I slow

I float back to the ground

STOP, BREATH, SWEAT, ACHE, BEAT , HEAT, ITS DONE!

Not “Another” Mother runner!

As a mother and a runner, there is something really damn annoying about the title of “mother runner”! It is an over used rhyme, for runners who happen to be mothers. To be a runner and a mother are actually two very separate things for me. Both elements / roles are extremely important, commanding equal positioning in the genetic fabric of my soul, my being, my sanity.

Each have single handedly created a very resilient human being, blossoming from my core. Each have taught me love, deep deep happiness, a sense of order, and a sense of relief. In equal measures they have also driven me bat shit crazy and forced me to look at the reality of my failure. Of missing expectations and grounding myself in the limitations of my “Now”! Not that this has to be continuous, but it grants me the time and space to sit in the moment and to feel, taste, tangibly experience loss and pain, in a safe and controlled way.

Motherhood has been my making, yet, so has running. However, they are not part of the same thing, they are not joined or rhymed or even belong together. But they can flow in harmony, rubbing together with a slight friction that creates the “spark” that is my drive and superhuman powers to dig in and welcome the ability to feel extremely uncomfortable in wilding emotions and pain for long, excruciatingly long periods of time.

Although the Mother runner phrase is ridiculously over used, and even slapped across tee shirts, to be a mother and a runner with goals makes me an outlier, an outsider, a juggler. I cannot make the 7am run or the 8am run, I cannot take naps after a 60 mile week, I like many run on a perpetual empty, I cannot stay and chat, I have to run, pack up and haul ass back to the fold of wild boys, school, runs, packed lunches and activities. PTO commitments, work, dinner planning, shopping, washing, cleaning, folding, doctors appointments. I work fucking hard in my over scheduled life to carve out a daily 1-2 hour slot to run, to train and to not impact my home life. That does not make me a mother runner, but a “Mutha Fucking Runner!”

But, there are others, other mothers running in those twilight hours, alone and dedicated. Other Mother fucking Runners” all juggling, all exhausted, all so badass and dedicated to managing time to have the ability to leave, alone. Propelling ourselves forward, stride after stride. Stride, arm swing, breath, sweat, inhale, exhale – repeat over and over and over again. We run together at 5am pushing each other with a strength and understanding no one else can provide. We hold each other up and listen in those dark morning hours, just waiting for the sunrise to peek above the horizon, beckoning, calling us home. As the light hits the trees we crouch in tiny groups stretching, pulling off sneakers, guzzling water, moving inwards, shedding our runner skin as the mother once again returns, all business as she kisses small children awake, drinks coffee, busying whilst listening for the waffles to pop.

Wake up children! The Mother has returned.

A letter to the man….

Who decides to walk his dog at 6am.

To the man who then decides to skulk over to the track, where I run alone in the sleepy dullness of a rising dawn.

To the man who makes the choice to watch me as I run past, and walk right around the edge of the track as I gradually move to the center.

To the man who loiters around my pile of water bottle, jacket, gloves and keys.

To the man who has his hood up as he circles the track with his dog.

To the man who doesn’t smile, to the man who circles, to the man with the hood and hidden face. To the man who makes my palms sweat, my heart race. To the man who makes me eyes dart, frantically looking for escape routes, who makes me formulate plans. To the man who makes me hold my pepper spray tight in a shaking hand.

I keep on running, running too fast, running in flight, ready to run away.

To the man who finally walks away with his dog, as another person enters the field.

To the man who was probably innocent of all the crimes I imagined him of.

A letter to the man….. Please think about your actions so I can feel safe.

To the man, I say “sorry it has to be this way.”

Love “a mother of boys.”

Run, Release, Reflect

Recently when running with a good friend of mine, we got to discussing the reasons of why we run. I also have to say that this is a person who makes me think beyond my day to day. When I am with them, I formulate questions and answers with a deliberate, careful thought. The question of, “Why do I run?”, actually brought tears to my eyes, tears I quickly brushed away. As I thought about it, my 43 year self-melted to the floor, and my 10-year-old self stood there in its place, wide eyed, expectant, and open. Open to the core feeling of why I ran then, and accepting it is the same reason to why I run now.

I distinctly remember the feeling of running as child. I ran to feel reckless, out of control and wild, there was no agenda. The main goal unbeknownst to me was to express my uninhibited adulation for nature and being alive, no constraints, no rules needed. As a 43 year old I still do the same, I’ll run down a trail with my arms stretched wide, chest open and head thrown back hollering with delight (you may be pleased to know this only occurs in my solitary moments), just me, the earth, the sky and whatever creature that peeps its head up to watch a wildling tumble by.

If you look around, there are many people who train to be competitive and that is their number one goal. Do not get me wrong I am as competitive as the next person, I am an Aries after all, not that that is an excuse for my unashamed competitiveness. But really, why do I run?

I gave it some careful consideration. I run to be open, in general I am a very honest and raw person. I mean I have had to be, otherwise the darkness of a time gone past would have crushed me. I run to be excited. I run to feel the adrenaline high. I run with my inside on the outside. I run for the caress of the wind on my face, the coolness of sweat on my skin, the elongation of my limbs, the expansion of every tangible part of my body. I am free yet grounded. I am like a bird, but a rooted tree, all at the same time. The energy feels all-consuming and warm in my chest, it fills me up and explodes. My deepest feelings can rise upwards to the sun and pour forth, spilling out as I pound past. I cannot count the times a feeling I had thought was so hidden away from years past bubble up and caused me to cry out. To openly sob as I move with abandonment, running to nowhere, but running to everywhere. The release is cathartic, welcome, and needed.

Yes, I train to be competitive, but I run to be unfettered, rough around the edges, reflective, and honest. To be unshackled from the constraints of my life, uninhibited for a fleeting moment. I run to feel my life, feel nature, accept my life, to understand and learn to love who I am. To give my true self to others. To run is to allow myself the moment to feel my emotions, to hurt and not be ashamed of them or myself.

I run because I love to run.

The Run

6am, a Fall morning, deep breath in, blown out and a mist obscures my eyes. Headphones rammed in, house music selected on my old iPod – click, clip and the club sounds of 1995 flood my ears. Swig of water and bottle thrown into the car, beep beep, car is locked. Hat pulled down, heart rate monitor adjusted around my chest; headlamp switched on, and its sickly light seeps across the gloom of a creeping dawn. Watch clicked on, it lights up, Select – “RUN”, click.

The darkness envelopes me and I strike off into the black. Leg strides out, foot hits the ground, crunch. Breath flows in, breath hisses out, crunch, arm pendulums back from my shoulder, it drives forward again, foot crunch. The icy breeze bites my skin, crunch. I glide through the ink, tinges of orange crinkle around its edge, illuminating the horizon, as the sun starts its climb.

My pace quickens, my breath in synch, the first tendrils of sweat bead across my brow and back. Feet snap out and back, thigh muscles tense and relax in relay with my calves, they are in motion and free. Crunch, I hit the trail, crackle I hit the leaves. Surging deeper into the morning light, I can now see the trees, as they come into focus and glow gold, the sun seeping through their branches. Miles tick by, 1, 2, 3, 4 …… The rhythm is soothing, seducing my frenetic mind, it falls silent. All I hear is my breath coming thick and fast, in time to the building music in my ears. I feel calm, connected and at one for a fleeting moment with my consciousness, my body and nature. It feels easy and natural and exactly where I should be. ALWAYS. The adrenaline is hitting my system and I am rising up out of my body and I float above the effort, I drive even harder, miles 5,6,7,8, at times I want to hurt, I want to blast every ounce of energy and give it to my body and let it flood around me, seeping into the earth, feeding the trees and plants and absorbed by the light, ready to cycle back around when I need it most. Water starts to run down my back, my chest, my head, collecting in the creases of my joints, pooling until it flies to the floor from exertion, my shirt is stuck to me, crushing me, as I force the last filaments of energy out. Miles 9, 10, 11 I am almost running “all out”, I check back that last 10%, stride, thump, crunch, swing, breath, drip, 1995 boom boom boom, My heart is racing, my shoulders start to ache, the pain in my legs heats up. Mile 12, time to put it all out, every fiber screams, the warmth is almost unbearable, the fog descends, a metallic taste rises in my mouth, my blood rushes in my ears, suffocating the crescendo of the happy hardcore sounds competing for my attention. Tick tick tick the meters on my watch count down, 800m to go, 400m to go 200m. Kelly run, run hard, sprint if you can, until NOTHINGNESS, click, 12 miles. STOP.

I slump, hands pressing hard on my knees I am breathing with such force, it is painful. The morning has risen to warm my already steaming back, licking away the sweat as it drives from my skin through my shirt and tumbles to the floor, drip drip drip. My heart starts to slow and the metallic taste in my mouth subsides, my eyes clear, and I whisper “fuck” under my breath. The noise in my muscles dies away and I stand up straight. The night has faded and a new day has begun. Other runners have emerged from their nightly hibernation and are tripping past me in groups of 2s and 3s, chatting merrily to the awakening birds.

Click – my headlamp is off, click 1995 disappears, click I open the car door. My day begins.

Cary Edwards – Heart Runner

“I never regret a run. Every run is a positive. It is a fresh start to my day”

“Go big or go home, moderation does not work for me.”

Cary Edwards and I chat over the phone. To be honest we chat on the phone most days. She is my running sister, my confidant, my therapist and she will laugh at my jokes. Cary Edwards is a ball of energy, with a smile that is infectious, a ballsy laugh that can warm the coldest of souls and she will always make a friend at every race she runs. With her dark hair swinging, fierce determination plastered across her face and her decisive, practiced stride, she truly is a running force and man that girl can bust out speed when she wants to.

At 46 years old (she does not look it) Cary has achieved a lot, run a lot, and cycled a fair amount. Cary has run track (she was a sprinter), X country, marathons, she has played competitive tennis, long jumped for the high school team, completed Iron Mans, can ski, water ski and in 8^th grade competed in the Junior Olympics; yes people, the Olympics. She ran in the 4×100 relay. Phew, that woman has done A LOT.

As a person, Cary is open, raw, bright, and intelligent. Everything she does is with an honesty and gusto that is refreshing in an age where people like to hide in groups and behind social media. Basically, if Cary Edwards likes you, then you have a loyal friend for life.

Born in Austin, TX, a single child residing in a small, countryside town, Cary’s sole companion was her pet goat (yes I did say goat) called Pinto Bean. Who she swears would bleat her name, “CAAARRRYYYYYYY” (now read that in the voice of a goat, I amused myself, it sounds pretty good, give it a try). Pinto Bean liked to run. Cary goes on to explain that to catch the bus to school it was 2 miles to the Highway and then 2 miles back. So, to save time Cary would run, Pinto Bean would run with her. She would like to run fast, Pinto Bean liked to run fast. They would run as fast as they could, and Cary’s running days began, at the ripe old age of 12.

As an aside, the “running to the road” and the “goat running” remind me of two books, one I have read and the other to read.

Running to the Edge: A Band of Misfits and the Guru Who Unlocked the Secrets of Speed, by Matthew Futterman

Bill Larsen, the main protagonist of the book, learnt to run by running on his farm and to catch the school bus at the road. – Just like Cary Edwards.

Also, Pinto Bean, the goat that loved to run, reminds me of a book by Christopher McDougall (of Born to Run fame) called Running with Sherman: The Donkey with the Heart of a Hero. Yes, I know it is a donkey, but a donkey that runs with people, just like sweet Pinto, the perfect companion to a probably sometimes lonely child, living in the middle of nowhere.

Both books are available on Amazon.

But I digress. On with young Cary. Now she is running, and she hits the X – Country team in middle school, track and field and is the 3^rd leg of the 4 x 100 team that gets to the Junior Olympics in California. Sprints are her love and forte and as she gets to high school, those quick legs are eating up the 100m/200m/400m and 4 x 400m relay distances. That explosive power is also making its way to propel Cary in the long jump.

“I was always very loud on the track, I have always landed on my heels and even in my spikes you could hear me coming, I sounded like an elephant.” Cary chuckles. “I loved the rush of sprinting, I still do. I have always been competitive and if someone is in front of me, I will chase them down.”

Life moves on and Cary is still running. In college, where she is studying biology and nursing (Cary is a nurse practitioner by trade), she takes a job as a lifeguard at a country club and she starts to swim recreationally. Which also keeps her safe when she fell in love with water skiing. Not something you would imagine Cary doing, which reveals her sense of adventure and mental strength to push boundaries.

After running her first marathon in Austin, in 1996 at the age of 23, with a drive to achieve, the natural progression seems to be the Triathlon. But what about the bike? AHA but this gritty, I will have a go human, is also mountain biking, thanks to an old boyfriend. Although, she had a habit of flying off her bike.

It is around 1998, Cary is in her mid-20s, she enters her first Tri, Olympic distance, to help a friend in Denver, CO. In her own words “WORST RACE EVER!?!?” On her old mountain bike, with no bike training, no wetsuit; the water was freezing, no bike shorts or water bottle cage, I mean what could go wrong? She finishes the race, thirsty, sore, and freezing and that was it for the triathlon until she met her current coach, Aubrey Aldy from All Day Endurance. Where she went on to do a ½ Ironman in 2018, driven by a back injury and the need to do cross training.

I could sit here and run through everything Cary has run, jumped, swam, and biked. I mean she has run around eight marathons, run 5Ks, 10Ks, ½ marathons, a fifty miler, she has run Boston, which is no mean feat. But WHY does she do this and after 34 years, why does she keep striving to achieve. What is running to her?

The thing that has always struck me about Cary is her heart and her capacity to care for others, I mean she is a Nurse Practitioner after all. Her ability to run in any situation and still manage to make time for others. For example, in her fastest marathon (which was a Boston Qualifier) she stopped to give a lady who was struggling some of her base salt; can you imagine what her time would have been? One year in the Naples half marathon, she assisted in helping a man who was having a heart attack; he survived. Whenever she runs, she comes back with a friend, but as much as she gives herself to others, what does running give back to her?

“I run for myself, it helps with my anxiety, it creates time for ME. It gives me a forum to feel balanced, physically, and mentally. It is my natural Prozac. It puts my problems into digestible bites and at the end of every run, it is like being given a fresh start to my day. I love the process, I love training, the accountability it gives, the sociability of the run”. The “process” of the run, over the years has guided Cary to figure out who she is. Morphing from the little girl running to the highway, with a goat by her side, to the woman who continues to drive and strive forward and be the best she can. Like us all, Cary feels unsettled if she has no race to train for. It helps us to dial in our training and to justify having a coach. Cary runs with Aubrey Aldy and he is an especially important element in her life. He is a person she can check in with and be accountable to. He keeps her injury free. “Aubrey helps to keep me running as I grow older and my family likes it because happy momma, happy family”.

Cary’s 5-year plan in running and life.

When a person has already accomplished so much, what is next? As we get older, we do slow down, we can get injured and we have lived many dreams. But it is OK to have new ones, to reach for new goals and to power onward and upward. So, what is next for Cary? She reveals that she would still love to try and PR in the marathon, ½ marathon and maybe a 10K. Additionally, run more interesting races like the Leadville Marathon, to experience something challenging and new. “Life” she says, “is best lived one race at a time”. Maybe she will go back and do another triathlon, as she did love that process, take up trail running, maybe biking. Who knows?

In life she is studying and working on opening her own functional medicine practice, maybe move to a cooler climate, like Montana, Idaho, or Colorado.

What I do know about Cary is, whatever she does next, it will be pursued with her heart open, ready to receive what nature throws at her. She will strive to do better, be better, love harder, work harder, run strong, run with abandonment, run as fast as she can. Just like the little girl and her pet goat Pinto Bean, with the wind in her hair and letting the freedom her legs provide wash over her and drive her demons into the dust. Keep running, keep loving and keep caring, as Cary, after all, is her name.

Cary Stats

Favorite race – Leadville Marathon – Why? Because it was beautiful, scenic, new, and different. No pressure to perform as all ran at altitude.
Fueling – Honey Stingers, Tailwind. “However I am still searching for the perfect nutrition”.
Favorite Sneaker – A combination of the New Balance 1080 Fresh foam, mixed with the Altra Torin 4.0 plush.
Runner Quirks – I get up 3 hours before a race to have my coffee and pre – race meal and I always pray.
Runner Superstitions – I visualize an ugly thing on my shoulder (this is my negative thought) and I flick it away. I also like to Sharpie 413 on my arm to remind myself I am not fragile. 4:13, Philippians “I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.”
Inspiration – “My Kids, if they can get up to swim in cold water super early every day, I can get my ass out of bed to run. Also, my friend Bob, who has been through so much and still gets out to run and that helps me to want to keep going”.
Things people do not know about me – Cary can speak Spanish. She was taught some Spanish by her Grandmother who helped raise her. Which she leant from her Mexican husband, Cary’s grandfather, whom sadly she never met. I am her friend and I never knew that.

Dreaming to the Edge.

I was in an expansive mood as my feet hit the path and I started my run this morning. Where I run, it is very beautiful and the path stretches out, twisting, undulating into the canyon with its thicket of trees and cascade of rocks. At this precise moment the sun was grazing the horizon, a red wash was tinting the clouds and illuminating the path.

The path, it was the path. Follow the path.

I had dreams as a child of going to the moon, becoming a brain surgeon, running in the Olympics and being an explorer. As a young adult, I was a travel writer, a famous fashion model an international fabric buyer. I dreamed big, I speculated and formulated with abandon, there was no reason why not and there were absolutely no boundaries. Today, I am still a whimsical, go big or go home fantasizer. I am a fairy dreamer, a dance in the moonlight dreamer, a stand on a mountain with my arms spread wide romantic. I truly daydream hard on a daily basis, it is my favorite thing to do.

But, that path. Follow the path.

As a child my path was long, narrow and winding. As a young adult, I became lost on my path and decided to wander, choosing to experience and feel new things. As a semi grown up it gained many mountains to climb. Now, as I languish in middle age, my path has suddenly become short. Over the next horizon I can sense the end is there and in a few more years I will see the very place, where my essence, dreams and wishes will cascade off. Tumbling into the energy filled ether of nothingness. Crashing into a land I cannot quite see, but can always feel its presence.

My dreams loom ominously and they now have less time to become real. I know many of my “what I believe I am here for” beliefs or my “what I came to accomplish” ideas, will fizzle away. Lost to the air, when in the not so distance future I will close my eyes and they will stay sealed together, under a star filled sky, never to reopen. It was in a moment, mid stride, sighed out with each exhaled breath, that I knew I must keep striving for the magic, reaching for those carbon filled sparkles in the night sky. Because, just like my dreams those stars even though now dead in their universe, still light mine. My dreams will not die, they will shine to the next small child, who reaches up, curls their small fingers around my desires of the phantasmagorical and believes that dreams can come true.

Go little one, go and do great things. Follow your path and become the star light you were created to be. Now shine and shine brighter than I.

Love K. K Dreamer Joy

Running the Flat Stanley

I have just moved to Boulder, Colorado, a running mecca (so many awesome runners here, it is overwhelming), a world of stunning beauty. So much so I have to pinch myself daily that I Kelly ACTUALLY live here – sigh, double sigh. I feel like I have died and woken up in my heaven.

In Naples, Florida, where I have transplanted from I was a decent runner, I was a toppish middle packer and placed in local races. Here in Boulder, I am pretty much scraping the bottom of the barrel with my ability. First up I am old here, in Naples at 43 years I was a spring chicken, squawk, squawk!

People run trail, some people do road, but the passion is trail. I have started to take up trail running seriously and it is fabulous and challenging. I mean my legs actually have to go UP and my body has to scramble up from sea level to a mile high. Plus, I pant like a porn star on most of these runs, how to make friends and lose them – RAPIDLY. I have managed to meet some great women already in the mere 4 weeks I have been here and they are true trail sisters, sassy, cool and bad ass, gliding up and flying down, like the pros they are. I truly have had so much fun and I adore the change in pace, but my current training is to run a sub 3hr 20 minute marathon and then one day a sub 3 hr. , my blue sky 43 year old dreams… Call me crazy, but I truly think that after lacing back up at 40, these old bones can do it.

Since moving here, I cannot lie, I have relished the hills, but it has also made me realize how much I love road and flattish road at that. Where I can hit pace and sit there in comfort or edging pain as I chase it, maintain it, sit in it, man I love it. The rhymical, steady pounding of my feet, my breath in, and out, over and over again, no stopping, or scrambling, no worrying where my feet place, all I have to do is maintain pace or pick it up. I can relax in my flow, I can hum to nature, floating through, or dragging as my heart rate kicks up and my muscles become deprived of oxygen. Pain kicks in, I dig in, I struggle, I hurt, I embrace, I recover, I continue, I cycle through again and again. Ease, struggle, pain, recover. Nothing falters, nothing stops the movement, no rock to pick over, no gradient to navigate, just a forward ,steady continuum.

Tick tick tick, my brain falls quiet, muscles and breath engage and I fall in love all over again with running on the road. Trail running is cool and technical, road running is smooth, solitary, standoffish and sometimes, most of the time where my heart, mind and sanity feels at home.

I love the mountain – I need the road.

Love Flat Kelly