No, this is not a running log – that’s what my Flotrack is for.
Do they make Clif bars with fruit in them? Because Apple/Cinnamon would be really a good idea.
“I guess I can cross that off of my bucket list. Wait, was it ever on there in the first place? Well, I guess I’m a true runner now regardless.” – after a “nature break. I’ll leave what that break involved up to your imagination.
Yes, this is a running blog. There’s a difference, even if I’ve often used this blog as a personal journal to track the various events in my life.
“Either I’m having deja vu of another run, or it’s been longer than I thought since I ran this loop. How many yellow gates can there be?!”
I’m more likely to cry, cuss, or have some mental epiphany while running.
“I don’t know where I am – all I can see is trees, mountains, and more trees in whatever direction I’m looking towards. There are even trees where I thought the lake should be. I don’t know if this is a good or bad thing. At least I don’t feel super tired so I still have a chance of escaping some wild animal or random creepy hiker/biker.”
Oh, wow. *presses stop on watch to enjoy the view for a few minutes* Well, I know where I’m at now, time to head back! Definitely worth the trek for this view! The Pacific Northwest is beyond beautiful. *presses start on watch*
Above are a few thoughts that passes through my head as I did my long run at our local state park along the logging roads. The last little event at the bottom? Where I mention stopping my watch? Funny story about that actually. My watch never re-started. This means that upon poking down again, after another few miles, my watch still sat at 6.72 miles – the exact mileage I saw as I stopped for the view point.
My gal for the run was to 1) run 10 miles, and 2) measure the distance of a logging road loop from my house that I hadn’t run in a year or so. So much for that!
Once I realized that my watch hadn’t been keeping track of the mileage, I laughed a somewhat desperate laugh, and turned it off – realizing that the hills I’d just run, view I’d seen, and time running were enough. More than that, my endorphin-rich self took the event to a whole other level – that the button was imaginary. (Crazy, right? Believe me when I say that endorphins are a drug. Best part about running! ;-)
It didn’t matter whether my watch was stopped or started because, as I mentioned, I still ran the miles. Just because it wasn’t tracked by my fancy Garmin foot pod doesn’t mean that the run didn’t count towards my mileage for the week, or that I didn’t have the memories of that day. That has been one of my favorite runs in a long time. It was a beautiful day, I felt strong and was working hard, I was able to enjoy the beauty of nature, and relax in the moment – more confident in myself as an individual, and my running abilities.
The start/stop button on my watch isn’t what makes me a runner – the miles I post online, or even this blog post. They don’t brand me either. The miles I run, the way I feel, the simple action of putting one foot in front of the other – that’s what makes me a runner. That I commit to the run – no matter the possibility of getting lost, having to go to the bathroom, running more miles than necessary, or whatever else could happen out on the road or trails.
I love running for the simplicity. I love running for all of the beautiful moments I’ve been able to experience. I love running because of the discipline, commitment, and desire it demands.
One last thought before I post this stream of thoughts and wild theories.
“When I’m old, I’m going to have the best stories. I’ll be able to say, ‘Back when I was training for college I would run for up to two hours at a time in the woods near my house. I didn’t always know where I was going, or how far I had gone, but believe me when I say that I gave it my best effort. Those were some of the best times – challenging myself on the forever hills, putting in the work … even if that meant walking breaks, peeing in the woods, scaring random bikers, falling flat on my face over a tree root, stopping to soak my feet in the water, crying over how tired I was, or simply talking to myself to break the silence.'”
Until next time,