Outrunning Memories and the Color of New Beginnings

  I wake up Christmas morning with new snow on the ground.  Disgusted, I immediately gather my running things to head off the PTSD.  When I walk out the door there's more snow fluttering down, so I start my Garmin and get to work.  It is the first day of my plan for Boston and … Continue reading Outrunning Memories and the Color of New Beginnings

Comfortable With Uncertainty; The Grace I Give Myself

I run and I miss him.  I notice that I'm running when I've already been at it a couple miles; I'm neither enjoying nor struggling with it.  I'm merely hurtling my body through space in an accustomed way while my brain runs and runs; attachment theory, core wounds, one-sided conversations and conversations we've had already. … Continue reading Comfortable With Uncertainty; The Grace I Give Myself

Fear and Attachment, Signaling a Lane Change

I remember vividly how it felt after my car accident when I was finally cleared to drive.  I got in my new car, turned the key in the ignition, and shook violently with fear.  There was no choice but to drive on busy roadways.  I was terrified, but drove myself to my friend's house. Since … Continue reading Fear and Attachment, Signaling a Lane Change

A Brutal Catharsis, and the Victory of Whipping Cream

I take a deep breath and direct myself onto highway 40 going West.  I carefully manage the space cushion around me the whole drive, except for once when a big Jeep speeds up too close behind me.  I begin to hyperventilate, my heart racing, and as it pulls into the next lane I see spots. … Continue reading A Brutal Catharsis, and the Victory of Whipping Cream

Approaching peril, do I trust my feet?

As I prepare to leave in the semi-dark, my friend continues to sleep in the other room.  I strap on my running watch and consider whether to conceal my stun gun, just in case.  He doesn't even wake up this early, I remind myself.  He doesn't know where I'm staying now or which trail I'm … Continue reading Approaching peril, do I trust my feet?

Five Minutes

I hit the trail as the sun is setting; with the entire wood seemingly to myself, I push my toes aggressively into the dirt as I walk.  I do not limp.  I pick up pace.  I feel the toes of my right foot a little tighter, a little weaker, but they comply.  The remaining sunlight...