Lessons from the Woods
Over the last year, I’ve done a lot of work to make sure being physically healthy is a healthy pursuit and not a distraction from the harder work of being mentally and spiritually healthy. I have done things I said I’d never do and run distances I never thought possible. When my first ever marathon was delayed yet again, I decided to scare myself a bit and sign up for my first trail race — a 25k. I checked myself to make sure that I signed up for the right reasons, not because I wanted to delay a tough conversation or decision.
I’ve always loved trail running, in theory. When I lived in the Bay Area of California, long trail runs were my escape from personal baggage. I wasn’t a consistent exerciser, and I wasn’t fast. I was the type of person who pursued athletics in fits and starts — always as a reaction to something difficult in my life. That’s not a sustainable way to treat your body. It wasn’t a “lifestyle,” it was my way of clawing at anything that would make me feel good about myself. And believe me, I clawed at A LOT of things. Trail running was just another thing meant to fill a hole in my heart that couldn’t be filled.
I started using Betterhelp a couple of weeks ago. I was matched with a stellar therapist who instantly said that I have Compassion Fatigue. I felt that on the starting line of the race. I didn’t have good cell coverage. I was getting texts I couldn’t respond to from one of my kids about a school project and was concerned about whether my boyfriend could navigate back to the campsite. When I should have been focusing on the task ahead, I was still concerning myself with making everyone else’s life run smoothly.
The best part about a trail run is you can’t think about anything else but not falling. Or passing out from dehydration. Or getting up the next slope or sidestepping the next dead armadillo. For 16.2 miles, I had no cell service and no one else to take care of. Naturally, that gave me a lot of time with myself to have some chats, and I walked out of that race with some real gems. My goal was four hours, and I crossed that finish line with 15 minutes to spare. I was worried I’d embarrass myself, and there would be no free food and beer left for me. I’m happy to report, I was well-nourished.
I’m going to share five realizations I had out there in the woods. I know a recreational trail race isn’t the world’s best achievement… but for me, it’s something. It symbolizes a three-hour and 45-minute stretch where I showed myself what my body and mind are capable of, and I am blessed by that.
#1 You have to unbrand to rebrand
For the first four miles of the race, I just talked to God and tried not to fall. When I would get bored, I would count my steps or focus on my breathing. Eventually, I think God had enough of my inner dialogue, and I decided to talk with Matthew McConaughey instead. With one headphone in at a low volume (so I could hear runners who wanted to pass me), I finished the last 45 minutes of his memoir on Audible.
I have been on a social media cleanse for the last month or so. While it’s mostly good, it’s also been challenging not to feel irrelevant. I keep thinking about the things I want to do in the future and how important it will be to maintain a presence.
Matthew took 20 months away from the spotlight, then came back on his own terms. He said he had to unbrand himself as people knew him so he could reemerge the way he wanted to be known. We all have the opportunity, at any point in our life, to pause and take a breath, to remind ourselves who we are at the core, step away from how our past defines us, and come back out truer to ourselves. A few months of stepping back isn’t going to derail our big dreams. It might make our dreams even bigger.
#2 It’s gonna hurt
There is no way around it. At some point, hours of climbing and running is going to wear on your body. It’s what you do when pain happens that defines you.
I had a near-fall about mile nine. The Aid Station wasn’t where I thought it was going to be, and I was out of hydration. It was about 80 degrees with no breeze. Physical strain makes your brain do funny things. I thought sticks were snakes. I thought shadows were deer. At one point, when I was distracted, I hit an exposed root and tumbled.
Amazingly, in that moment, I caught myself in a sort of awkward downward dog. I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed this. I was unscathed and unscraped and humbled. I trotted away trying to deconstruct how I had managed not to roll off the trail in a ball of dust and blood. I realized that all my yoga training had clicked when I needed it. I realized that I was more prepared for the unexpected stumble than I gave myself credit for. What a gift.
The most painful part of the race was the last two miles. I was reduced to hobbling because my hip flexor was flaring up. I had been about the same pace as a really gorgeous woman who reminded me of someone I used to work alongside. Still, I figured that the likelihood it was her was really low. While I was putting pressure on my hip and doing a weird hopping jog, she came up next to me and called my name. It was her, and she had been wondering the same thing as me for the last 14 miles.
She was someone who also worked with a friend who I had just lost. So we reminisced about him and caught up, and suddenly I had this surge of energy to move faster. I told her I would lead us home, and I pretty much sprinted the last mile of the course. It felt like the faster I ran, the better I felt. How beautiful is it to realize that pain can be countered by leaning in and trying harder? As I pulled into the final half-mile, I spotted my guy and my dog driving toward the finish line — his hand waving me on and the dog’s tongue hanging out of her happy face in the open window. If I hadn’t stopped to reconnect to this old friend, or hadn’t felt this supernatural rush of energy, I would have missed them. People can be right where you need them when you need them if you pay attention.
#3 Run when you can, walk when you have to
This is the most obvious of all the lessons. Unlike a road race, where you are obsessed with the mathematics of pace, a trail race challenges you as a whole athlete. It’s strength and mobility and endurance — and more than anything it’s mindfulness about your own body. Enjoy the downhills and the flats. Run like you are having the most fun of your life. Enjoy the burn in your legs as you lunge slowly up a steep incline. Know what you need at the moment and do it. Listen to that small, still voice in your head that says, “slow down, look up, that bird is amazing” and take a minute in the most challenging seasons (of a race, of life) to be grateful.
#4 Overpreparing means you have more to give
I didn’t know if I’d ever have kids. I never saw myself as a mother. But NOTHING reminds me that I’m actually quite good at mothering more than preparing for a trip. In the days leading up to leaving for two days in the woods, I made an hour-by-hour to-do list of what needed to be pre-cooked, packed, and organized. I boiled pasta, I par-cooked potatoes, I seasoned steaks, I assembled a dog first-aid kit. I made sure everything was perfect, and my running vest was outfitted with more supplies than the survivalist store I bought my bear spray at.
I had Gu packs and salt pills, ibuprofen, hydration powder for my flasks, lip balm, baby wipes, anti-itch cream, bandaids, and body glide. I had the trail downloaded to my phone, as well as screenshots of maps. I got up to the starting line and immediately felt silly. The “elite” wave went first, and they all looked like Forrest Gump after running across the country. They had long hair and beards and held one lone water bottle. And here I was, a 40-year-old first-timer walking around like a damn Walgreens.
But wouldn’t you know it — my abundance saved some folks out there. When I came across a young woman feeling faint, I gave her a Gu. An elderly man was receiving aid at a checkpoint while waiting for medical attention. I passed him a salt pill. A bloody toe on a stranger from a vigorous downhill dance jumping on boulders? MAMA HAS A BANDAID.
We are here to serve others with what we have in our hands.
#5 Candy and coke and Usher
Some things in life are just sweet and joyful. I want more of this. This was the realization that made me cry multiple times on the course. I wasn’t crying out of sadness or pain but out of awe. I cried after the first aid station where they had candy laid out. I scarfed a Payday, and I was so grateful for this little nugget that I had tears streaking my face as I ran into the middle part of the race. I love Paydays, but I don’t eat them often. Maybe at Halloween when they are discarded by everyone else. But I’m admitting it today — I freaking LOVE Paydays.
At the second aid station, they had fruit snacks and pickle juice. I also love both of those things. I felt unashamed and brazen. I needed that sugar and salt, and I savored every single bit of them.
At the third station, they had small dixie cups of straight-up, unleaded Coca-Cola. I don’t remember the last time I drank a regular Coke. I sipped it like a fine wine.
My sister had sent me a series of uplifting text messages before the race started, and I purposefully waited until I really needed it to read them. When my mile-14 hip started acting up, I pulled them up on my watch. She had quoted Usher to me, and I burst into tears.
I love Paydays. I love Usher. There are sweet and beautiful things in the world, and there are sweet and beautiful people in the world. How amazing is it to exist in a universe where Paydays and Usher are a reality? I spend so much time justifying my tastes and distancing myself from loving things that others think are unrefined or unimportant. God made Paydays, and God made Usher, and so I’m gonna choose to celebrate them, because they were there when I needed them most.
