I am running with the demons.
Too cold. Too slow. Too sore. Too weak.
On the new trail that DORBA has cut, I am fighting with a slant, expecting to hear the pressure in my head at any moment. Lisetning to the negative self talk instead. Familiar voices. Loud and unwelcome. I cannot keep a rhythm. My left abductor's strained. The song in my head is from Les Miz, "Lovely Ladies, blah, blah, blah, blah whore."
It is 30 degrees and I run anyway. Content with the knowledge that I did not stand anyone up. I have made these plans to avoid feeling lonely on Valentine's Day, only to have lost my mind this morning and made my own neurotic little hell in which to pout. Those are just different demons.
Uphill. And up again; I am getting really sick of Schonberg's audacity. Victor Hugo is spinning in his grave. Trails cross and I am forced to make a decision. Go the long way, I decide. It's new. And you'll find The Morelock.
I reflect on the morning. My selfish emotions. My self-inflicted pain. You have a choice, they tell me. I have voices in my head. I am matter-of-factly aware that I can change the song in my mind. I randomly choose country. Today I choose to dance...
"I hope you never lose that sense of wonder," I hear.
The trail snakes in new directions. I am consciously assessing the trail builders' choices. Where did this hill come from? Why put switchbacks now?
Why are the birds out today? It's so cold.
I can hear the swish as my arms move back and forth over the Gore-tex shell that keeps out the wind.
"Get your fill to eat, but never lose that hunger."
That tree would make great firewood. Sushi is the perfect thing to eat before a run. Hey, I'm not walking.
I am warm and the earth is soft and moist. The air fills my lungs, but there is no sting. Maybe it's the wool hat I've pulled tight around my ears, but I do not hear the demons.
"May you never take one single step for granted."
I am moving into familiar territory now. Upright and erect, legs and loam working together to absorb my every step. The trail is flat and I notice that my rhythm is exact. Each step follows the next with almost no effort. The coat makes the music that accompanies my mood.
I love the cold. I am a cold-weather runner. Why did I suffer so badly in Tyler? How could I have made that mistake? Why is my health so fragile? Why can't I just stay with a work-out plan? Why am I afraid to work that hard? Why can't I get in shape? Why aren't all my runs this effortless? Why is it so much harder in the heat? Why can't I maintain a lower body weight? What's wrong with me anyway? How come I'm so fat?
I listen intently, conscious of every thought. I am working behind the questions to analyze where I learned these beliefs, how come I am incapable and, since I'm clearly not, why I only break through to the glory of myself on such rare and odd occassions.
I assess my running career. I have run well and I have run poorly. To me, they are mountains of difference. To you, I have never gotten past the middle of the back of the pack. I am running with Betty. I am running with Brad. I am listening to Brittzter and then I laugh.
The drill sargeant in my head, the voice that drives me and calls me a fake, that man sounds just like Britt.
I am running now at a pace I haven't seen in years. Fluid, Scott-like, the running easier than walking, the feet barely touching the ground.
I'm not ready.
It's time to turn around now. The sun will give me only so many minutes today. But I am afraid that if I change directions the marvelous flow will stop. The magic that is carrying me runs in front of me like a deer. My muscles do not want to go the other way.
I turn around.
"God forbid love ever leave you empty handed."
Oh right, it's Valentine's day. I am jealous and I am full of hate. This morning I was....
Wait. I am still running. I am running uphill. I do not see the trail, but rather feel it rise to meet my fall after fall after fall after foot fall.
The rhythm continues.
I am really running. I've been out here for over an hour and I'm all alone and the world seems right. Maybe I am someone else? An actor from a running movie. Lisa? Ann Trason?
I am back on the newly cut trails. The earth is darker now. And I think again of The Morelock. I have taken to calling him this because he is ellusive, like the warlock. Not quite here.
The world seems coastal somehow. Damp and deep. Dark and quiet. Like The Morelock's western home.
I am back at the cars.
Only no one is there.
1 hour and 25 minutes. An 11 minute pace.
"And when you get the chance to sit it out or dance.... I hope you dance."
I am a runner.



With special thanks to LeeAnn Womack.