Most of the time, when I begin a run, I already have a route in mind. I usually know about how long it is, how long it will take to complete, and exactly where I will be at any given moment. I'm prepared for traffic, picking routes that will keep me away from crowded roads, or well-lit areas if I'm running at night.
Today's run began that way. Kat and I picked a road we are familiar with, one on which we ran often during our cross country days. After fifteen minutes, we decided not to turn around like usual, instead opting to discover where this road eventually leads. By the time we realized where we were headed, an out-and-back was out of the question. So we pressed on. Our next turn took us to another familiar road with another chance for discovery.
What most interests me is how much detail I can remember from this run: the blue-gray sky marked with thick, puffy clouds; the dead armadillo with its blood splattered on the ground and flies enjoying its flesh; the rich green grass that surrounded us on all sides; the horses--some roaming free in their fields, one tied to a pole; the dust and dirt blown into our faces as cars and trucks zoomed by at ungodly speeds.
We ran. We counted sixteen dogs who greeted us as we passed their residence (note: that's 16 dogs, one residence). We ran. We disturbed a chicken/kitten and its neighborly rooster friend. We ran. We invaded a church hosting a Boy Scouts event. We ran.
After a brief break to catch our breaths, we ran some more. I am amazed at how great I felt, considering I hadn't run in six days. Not knowing where I was headed or what I would encounter each moment left me feeling free and exhilarated. This was the most beautiful and relieving run I've been fortunate enough to experience in months, possibly years, though tomorrow morning's run will likely not treat us with as much hospitality.
The road continued.
An encounter with friendly passers-by revealed to us the realization we anticipated: this road will not lead us back to Kat's car. A decision had to be made. By phoning a friend, my beloved Kat and I were blessed with a ride back to our starting line, not the exciting ending a reader would hope for, but certainly pleasant for two runners with miles behind them.
As I reflect on the afternoon's run, I realize this: routes are like routines. We learn to depend on them, thinking they are stone and safe to build on. But it's okay to reroute, to change directions and even your destination. There are so many roads out there, and each holds its own sense of beauty. When you restrict yourself to the familiar, you become blind to the beauty around you. It becomes necessary to seek it out on other roads, if only to remember what beauty really is.
Wow its been awhile since I read something you wrote but I like everybit of it :) the beginning reminded me of our first run together I thought you were trying to kill me lol I should try something like that I think it would be good for me you know me though staying in one place sticking to the same routes and routines so to speak because I'm affraid of losing my way.
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