"trust"

In life and running, the past six months have been profoundly challenging and changing.

I've not been able to run nearly enough during this period, and when the space has opened to run with heart, it's been a profound exercise in aligning inner and outer, light and dark, fearless and hesitant.

Running alchemizes. It empties out all the noise so that I can hear my own voice, the voice of intuition, the one voice I trust.

Tonight, I headed into the woods just before dusk, a short run I told myself. I began and everything fell into place - time disappeared; form, breathing, cadence, the density of the air I was breathing, it all just clicked. I shot off 2 miles past my turnaround plan. Heading back; however, dusk was descending, shadows clinging to my vision's periphery, and I noticed the tension in my body - the spacious mental space I'd been basking-in had tunneled into fear. I was not familiar with this particular trail. It runs along sewer easements, rutted out mountain bike single track paths, and the terrain is what runners call technical (i.e. roots & rocks, not pebbles but large rocks you have to pick your way through or twist an ankle), not to mention isolated.

For a quarter of a mile I entertained vivid narratives of what running back across a rocky 2 miler in descending twilight could produce; tripping, falling and breaking a limb; tripping, falling and being eaten by coyotes; tripping, maiming my body and crawling for hours and hours to reach my car; being tripped and abducted by someone in the woods for dubious reasons, or simply banging up my knees, palms and face. 

Adrenaline propelled my pace 30 seconds lower, meaning I was running faster in the dark across rocks I couldn't see; rocks I'd known better than to run that fast over when I could keep my eyes a few feet in front of each foot fall.

Somehow the "I'm going to die a slow painful death in the woods" narrative vanished, and my body reminded me that my feet would know where to land, if I could trust them to be my eyes.

Every time I felt my shoulders tense, and my eyes strain in the dark, I heard that message, trust your feet, they are your eyes.

I ran the next 1.75 miles in the dark, feet skimming the ground, landing in light foot falls that could compensate for the shift of landing on an unstable surface.

I did not fall. I'm not sure why I didn't, but I want to believe that this wasn't about falling, or adjusting to the quicker night-falls of Autumn, but possibly learning to trust what I cannot see.

The dies (dog) caniculares (days) of Summer

Ancient Romans associated the sultry heat of summer with the dog star Sirius. Sirius holds a prominent position in the constellations late July through late August.
Here in the Piedmont region, we are still in the grip of summer heat, but slowly the flora & fauna is beginning to suggest we're moving closer to the days of Autumn.
Today, I ran one of my favorite forest trails that begins behind the Botanical Gardens & winds up a ridge, and down into the bottomlands along Morgan Creek.
Almost overnight the hardwood forest floor has been carpeted by startling & magically colored mushrooms. I planned to run a good 10 miles, but quickly became distracted by pausing to examine and snap shots of mushrooms I could not readily identify.

The other-worldly fluorescent-tinged Hygrocybe punicea also known as the Scarlet Waxy Cap, was sprinkled along the forest floor adding a splash of color.

The Amanita flavoconia is highly toxic; its common name is Yellow Wart, and can be  found under hardwood trees particularly oaks. (This is a favorite trail for its generous hardwoods.)

The Amanita virosa/bisporigera also known as Destroying Angel or Death Angel, is just as ominous as it sounds. It's highly toxic. The stem of this mushroom looks like a palm tree's bark pattern - exquisite.

The Naematoloma fasiculare common name Sulfur Tuft is considered a fungus; also highly toxic if consumed. I think it looks a bit alien-like ensemble!

The Amanita caesarea commonly known as Caesar's mushroom is considered edible, but I'd think twice myself. The edges of the cap are delicately crimped like a beautiful fan.

I'm not sure, but this may be a Stropharia rugosannulata?

And more wax cap mushrooms, these are the yellow variety!

Another mystery mushroom - anyone know what this species is called? The stem texture and cap dots are fascinating...just not sure what I'm looking at!

I've saved my best shot for last! A Limenitis arthemis - Red-spotted Purple butterfly paused to drink nectar, and unfold her glorious wings; showing me how she fools would be predators with the power of illusion.

And along Morgan Creek's banks I found a brick outdoor oven, most likely indicative of a homestead since vanished or what could have been a mill along the banks of the waters. Possibly part of the Mason Farm bottomland bequeathed to UNC by the Mason family in 1894? Will be researching that!

"Not what it seems..."

I suppose some folks think I'm exercising - by god, look at all that sweat you're dripping! - when I pass them at their moderate stroll, while flinging sweat in my wake like a draft horse in his traces.
Truthfully, running is my excuse to play...soaking in the same southern summer sights of my childhood days. A time when we played outside until the fireflies flickered, ran barefoot from May to September; toughening our soft little feet that rarely went to bed entirely clean. Summer with its never-ending optimism...waking with the first robin stalking his worm, and gleefully gloating about it to the rest of the world.
I suppose it was a kind of optimism that the day's would always be that long, that playful, that full of life; summer always seemed to last a year itself...
Running is my excuse to play in, and explore the outdoor world; a world that shaped me as a child, rooted me in soil, flora & fauna and a sense of who I am that comes alive each summer when I hear the cicada's chirring or feel that dusk-time release when the sun begins to slide away, and the heat's grip, like a sigh lifts a little...Running keeps me from getting lost. Otherwise all the 'grown-up' duties - jobs & bills and every hour of the day packed from dawn to dusk, would fossilize a soul that needs to play - aired out and given time to to contemplate the tracks of ants, and patterns of wildflowers. I may wear shoes, but I'm still a barefoot girl hunting salamanders along a stream bank.

Keep an eye out for brother red-tailed hawk!

A clutch of black-eyed susans, thriving in an unexpected place.

Elaphe obsoleta - a.k.a. Black Rat Snake
http://www.herpsofnc.org/herps_of_NC/snakes/Elaobs/Ela_obs.html

After the ascent...

...the sky opens...

"Simple Gifts"

Each day the thermometer's mercury has crept higher: 95, 97, 101.
In this crucible of heat and languor nature ripens; a lush unfolding - the marriage of fecundity and decay - climaxing to an equinoctial solstice.

I take to the woods with anticipation; never has the forest been so alive. 

Yesterday I chanced upon a Oxydendrum arboreum / known as a Sourwood, Lilly-of-the-Valley or Sorrel Tree. Exquisite creamy, bell-like flowers, dripping decadence at the end of each branch. If a sourwood tree's branches are arms, her sleeves of green are edged with ivory tassels.

Going a little deeper into the woods, I scrambled off the path and into a brambled mess for I'd seen the winking black-eyed berry.

***

Picking blackberries must be a tactful conversation

of gloved hands. Otherwise your fingers will bleed

the berries' purple tongue; otherwise the thorns

will pierce your own blank skin. Best to be on the safe side,

the outside of the bush. Inside might lurk

nests of yellowjackets; rabid bats; other,

larger hands on the same search.

The flavour is its own reward, like kissing the whole world

at once, rivers, willows, bugs and all, until your swollen

lips tingle. It's like waking up

to discover the language you used to speak

is gibberish, and you have never really

loved. But this does not matter because you have

married this fruit, mellifluous, brutal, and ripe.

-Stephanie Bolster

***

Later driving, I pull over on the shoulder of the highway to pick a bouquet of Daucus Carota / Queen Anne's lace with my daughter. This 'wildflower/weed' is not particular to cultivated gardens alone; she can be found holding her lacy head high along the fringes of ditches, if not, coyly weaving around & softening the metallic guardrail's glare.

I've read of jams made with Queen Anne's lace - translucent jars revealing kaleidoscope blossoms sealed in time. 

***

In three day's time, we'll reach the summer solstice. In this peak season of simple gifts, running becomes a treasure hunt - my pace has slowed down as the temperature's risen, and perhaps that really is just as nature intends. 

"Like a Thunderbolt She Falls"

I was 12, and something grabbed me in Lord Alfred Tennyson's Eagle poem; the language is sensory food: crooked hands, azure world, wrinkled sea - delicious!

***

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls.

***

Yesterday, the last line ran through my mind while I brushed off grit & leaves sticking to sweaty skin, and tried to stanch the blood running into my sock. Two scraped knees, an abraded thigh, and banged up forearms. But no broken bones; grateful!

Friends note I'd be safer running with an air-bag, or at least on sidewalks. 

Hard to assure them that the terrain doesn't trip me; okay, it was a branch that hooked my right foot mid-flight - but mostly it's a simple matter of forgetting I cannot fly, forgetting that my feet are earth bound. 

So for a time I will be more cautious when running steep trails, I'll keep my eyes locked on the terrain within a couple of yards, I'll slow down on a steep descent, I'll even stop skipping over rocks, and actually ensure I can set my foot down without twisting an ankle - I will. But I can't promise that it won't happen again, because when I'm in that moment of flight - somewhere between heaven & earth - running without any thought or care - movement, breath, sky, trees, grass - legs becoming inhales & exhales, soaring in my mind's eye - well, I can't promise I'll remember there's ground below.

I'll heal these scraped knees & watch where my feet land because my mind will remind me of what it feels like to fall when you're all grown up - ouch; however, the next time I forget I've no wings - except those in my heart - the skin will be a little tougher, and I'll laugh at the exhilaration of flying - if only in that split second before like a thunderbolt I fall.

"The Work of the World"

This is the second year I've joined Police Officers from Carrboro, UNC Campus, and Chapel Hill in carrying the "torch" from Orange County to Durham County, NC. 

North Carolina's Law Enforcement Torch Run for Special Olympics is now in its 33rd year, and more than $17 million have been raised for Special Olympics.

These torch runs are a unique experience bringing together men & women who put their lives on the line every day, and also symbolically unifies communities across the state, as the torch is passed & carried on.
For me, it's an opportunity to support the local police department I work for. And it's an honor to run with this fierce group of officers who have taught me what service is.
I work behind the scenes at a desk, supporting their work. I witness the human condition at its lowest from a distance; the officers witness it hands-on daily - they are asked to fix it, help it, mitigate it.
The torch run is a respite, a bit of hope in the common rhythm.

This past Wednesday morning just after 9am, with the temperature creeping up towards the 90's, we gathered, the flame was lit and raised - thus began our 7.1 miles run from the Carrboro Plaza Shopping Center on Hwy 54, through downtown Carrboro & Chapel Hill, up 15-501 and across I-40 to where I job would end with the passing of the pass torch to the Durham Police Department.

Flanked by NC State Troopers, and Police Cars, we ran in formation; some people waved from the sidewalk & curbs, others gaped, but we just kept running; we had a job to do.

***

I want to be with people who submerge

in the task, who go into the fields to harvest

and work in a row and pass the bags along,

who stand in the line and haul in their places,

who are not parlor generals and field deserters

but move in a common rhythm

when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.

Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.

But the thing worth doing well done

has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.

Greek amphoras for wine or oil,

Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums

but you know they were made to be used.

The pitcher cries for water to carry

and a person for work that is real.

-Marge Piercy

"Wherever you go, There you are"

"The cosmic humor is that if you desire to move mountains and you continue to purify yourself, ultimately you will arrive at the place where you are able to move mountains.

But in order to arrive at this position of power you will have had to give up being he-who-wanted-to-move-mountains so that you can be he-who-put-the-mountains-there-in-the-first-place.

The humor is that finally when you have the power to move mountains, you are the person who placed it there --- so the mountain stays."

-Ram Dass

'Arachnids'

Lone Star Tick

I picked up an ectoparasite on today's run; this tick's distinctive white dot on the back classifies her as a female Lone Star Tick. 

Fortunately, the Lone Star is not considered a carrier of Lyme Disease; however, you can develop a rash (called STARI) from the Lone Star's bite which appears as a bull's eye rash similar to what one gets with a vector carrying Lyme Disease.

I found this cling-on behind my knee; already settling in for a nice warm meal. 

This is my first tick in a year. Considering all the trail running I do, that may sound impressive, but it's less about the fact I'm running in the woods constantly, and more about whether or not I'm running through tall grass or overgrown paths, and I did venture onto an OWASA path today that needed mowing and was brushing my calves.

Lesson learned!

'A Golden Substance'

Lonicera japonica

The Japanese Honeysuckle is considered an 'invasive' species in the United States; regardless of its unpopularity with the horticulture crowd, each year when the honeysuckle blossoms begin to unfurl late spring, and the woods become corridors of scent & memory, nostalgia wells up inside of me, and I am grateful for this simple little gift from nature.

While the flowers continue to bloom, I find delight in each trail that has an avenue draped with white & gold vines. I breathe the cloying sweetness deep into my lungs, immediately transported to childhood games when my sister's and I would would pluck the flower at the stem and gently suck the honeyed nectar at the base of the stamen. The vanilla scent is intoxicating and wild.

Honeysuckle is used in Chinese medicine, and called jin yin hua which translates to gold silver flower. Elegantly so.

Ram Dass offers a guided visual meditation where one visualizes the universe's spiritual substance "as a golden mist that fills the air."

"With every breath, don't just breathe in air; imagine you are pulling into yourself this golden substance...Breathe in the energy of the universe, the shakti of the universe...Each time you breathe out, breathe out all of the things in you that keep you from knowing your true Self...Let the breathe be the transformation."

When I read those lines I am reminded of the honeysuckle's scent. I hope that if you find a trail blessed with lonicera japonica, you will breathe deeply of that golden silver flowered substance, and feel the shakti of the universe.

"Here it is"

"If you fall in love 

with the road, you will forget the 

destination."

-Zen Saying

Where is your destination?

“Spiritual practice is 

searching for what has not been discarded and then 

discarding it.”

-Nisargadatta Maharaj

What needs discarding?

"Everything supports everything else

Everything is everything else

Everything is interdependent with everything else

Love, hate, fear courage holds the universe 

together

They all must be as they are for the universe to be 

as it is

A particle of dust

Interdependent

A grain of sand is as significant as “I”

-Stephen Wolinsky

'If earth was heaven and now was hence'

The Latin for Cicada

By C.I.M. Jones

If only I spoke a dead language,

poetry for instance:

The wind - leaf against leaf,

a sound you'd hear bobbing in a pool

of furious pencils. Something like the song

of the cicadas, who, were it not for the singing,

would write such meticulous records: how to find 

a lifelong mate, keep a perfect exoskeleton,

prepare a succulent meal for digestion.

Once in a while, some well-meaning cicada

might say: Don't you see? All this singing we do

means nothing. But lying in the dried summer grass 

they chirr, Our song is the thing.

Sometimes in a field of a splinter of wood

takes flame (flammula in Latin) -

poetic only when the music stops.

Running headlong into another season - the longest for our region, summer. The heat & humidity takes acclimation & caution; demands you slow down, take your pace a little slower, your long runs a little shorter.

Trails are a favorite of mine - the asphalt is unforgiving in the heat, and when I head for the woods where a green canopy overhead blocks the sun's intensity, I escape into a lush dense world busy with the lives of many living things. There's the racket in my ears of frogs & cicadas, and bluejays & catbirds. There's the dense sweetness of honeysuckle on the vine - a memory that hits me every summer with nostalgia that's sad & happy. There's the wisteria's choking floral scent, the growth of weeds, and ivy - 'leaves of three leave it be' - trails once empty & bare in winter, now closed & intimate. Behind every branch decked in flecks of green, there's a home for something that moves or crawls. I swallow gnats, swat away blowflies, dodge spider webs, and don't dare step into the brush - the forest has come alive.

According to the herpetologist, it's breeding season for copperheads.

Today, I met a copperhead in no hurry at all; his diamond shaped head, and distinctive pattern warned me, reminded me to stay off the trails too dense to see where my feet are landing.

Be safe, tread softly, and relish the cicadas ancient song.

Spring; movement & stillness

"Stillness is what creates love. Movement is what creates life. To be still and still moving, this is everything."

- Do Hyun Choe

Dogwoods a'blossom.

 



Signs; deep in the woods of Carolina North.

Found poetry...

 

 

Reconciling

“The distance runner is mysteriously reconciling the separations of body and mind, of pain and pleasure, of the conscious and the unconscious. He is repairing the rent, and healing the wound in his divided self. He has found a way to make the ordinary extraordinary; the commonplace unique; the everyday eternal.”

- George Sheehan

 

 

Burning up what is false

“‎As I get older I see that running has changed for me. What used to be about burning calories is now more about burning up what is false. Lies I used to tell myself about who I was and what I could do, friendships that cannot withstand hills or miles, the approval I no longer need to seek, and solidarity that cannot bear silence. I run to burn up what I don't need and ignite what I do.”

- Kristin Armstrong

 

Loneliness & Motivation

Running and meditation are very personal activities. Therefore they are lonely. This loneliness is one of their best qualities because it strengthens our incentive to motivate ourselves.”

- Sakyong Mipham



Choose to stay

"38 degree race time temperature, 30 mph winds, mud.... but The Cary Rockin Marathon Relay roles on! These athletes are tough as nails!" - Trivium Racing (9am this morning)

According to the warm forecast ahead, this morning is going to be my last of the winter race season. I am looking forward to running without having tears roll down my cheeks & snot dripping down my chin from the winds & bitter cold. Bring on the shorts!

It was a great last race of the season; the WakeMed Soccer Park for the Rockin' Marathon Relay. I teamed up with my running pal, Jon Hunter, who's training for a marathon 2 weeks from today.

We ran 8 1.65 mile laps apiece around the Soccer Park - passing the baton between each set. We went with a breakdown of laps per person: 1, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1 - the last 2 consecutive laps hardest of all!

The weather gods had the wind pushing us back on the last monster hill of each lap - running uphill into 30 mph winds equals double the amount of exertion and doubles your usual pace.

We ran under the team name of the Hawk Clan Runners - in Native American tradition, you receive an Animal Totem at birth - comparable to Astrology - I am an Aries / Falcon (Animal Totem) and Jon is a Libra / Raven - both the Falcon and Raven are members of the Hawk Clan. 

Reflecting upon today's experience, I've thought a good deal about community - the Falcon is a solitary creature, the Raven more communal. The Falcon can learn from the Raven.

A running pal who supports your journey, and teams up with you to accomplish a shared goal, is a good friend.

(Almost 3/4 of the way through, lap results)

On my drive to the race, just after 6am this morning, I came across the public radio program On Being, and today's guest was author & poet Jennifer Michael Hecht - no chance of fate that that was the interview I heard while mentally preparing for this race. 

"We have secret web-like connection to each other," says Hecht. "Sometime when you can't see what important about you other people can."

It may seem odd to have been inspired by an interview focusing on Hecht's new book; Stay: A History of Suicide and the Philosophies Against. However, it was Hecht's words on community that resonated. 

There was a time in my own life 10 years ago, before I severed my biological family's toxic grip, that I chose to leave. Yet my spirit refused to succumb, and I was given the opportunity to live the life I was always meant to live.

Today I was renewed by the secret web-like connections of friendship, and community, and gently reminded of how wonderful it is to choose to stay, persevere and keep going - in life, and in a relay with 30 mph winds!

“None of us can truly know what we mean to other people and none of us can now what our future self will experience. History and philosophy ask us to remember these mysteries, to look around at friends, family, humanity, at the surprises life brings — the endless possibilities that living offers — and to persevere." - Jennifer Michael Hecht 

A Runners Mind: Empty & One with the Mountain

“The Great Way is not difficult if you don’t make distinctions. Only throw away likes and dislikes and everything will be perfectly clear. So throw away all opinions, all likes and dislikes, and only keep the mind that doesn’t know. This is very important. Don’t know mind is the mind that cuts off all thinking. When all thinking has been cut off, you become empty mind. This is before thinking. Your before-thinking-mind, my before-thinking-mind, all people’s before-thinking-minds are the same. This is your substance. Your substance, my substance, and the substance of the whole universe become one. So the tree, the mountain, the cloud and you become one. Then I ask you: Are the mountain and you the same or different? “ -Seung Sahn

Back to Basics

Last week, post half-marathon, my mind & body needed a break. A goal behind me and somewhere in limbo, I kept my runs between 6-8 miles in the woods / following uncharted trails to heal and unwind my mind.

For the past three months, I've focused on distance primarily running fifty plus miles a week in preparation for the race.

That race has come and gone, and it taught me much. 

The beauty of running and becoming, is that each day, each race, each experience provides useful instruction on one's self, and one's potential, and does not define us, but informs us, and offers clues on what we need to bring our attention back to.

Yesterday, I did 9.5 miles in a steady rain. It banished the lingering doubts still with me after the challenging and unforgiving race, and inspired me to set new goals.

Today, after 4.5 miles of warm-up, I tackled the track at a local middle school, and did 4 x 200 intervals. 

I'm neither coach nor expert, but I do think that to become better, you have to work harder, and have a specific goal that informs your training & visualizations.

I relished my intervals today; the rush of adrenaline when sprinting and running down the clock - those precious seconds of harmony & rhythm w/ breath, legs, arms, mind.

I may have bombed any PR goals on race day, but I didn't leave without having learned something about myself, and about who I want to become..it inspired me to get back to basics, and that is a very good thing.

Who will you become tomorrow?

"...Excellence is not something attained and put in a trophy case. It is not sought after, achieved and, thereafter, a steady state. It is a momentary phenomenon, a rare conjunction of body, mind, and spirit at one's peak. Should I come to that peak I cannot stay there. I must start each day at the bottom and climb to the top...I run so I do not lose the me I was yesterday and the me I might become tomorrow..."

-George Sheehan

Limitlessness

"When a fish swims, it swims on and on, and there is no end to the water. 

When a bird flies, it flies on and on, and there is no end to the sky.

There was never a fish that swam out of the water, or a bird that flew out of the sky.

When they need a little water or sky, they use just a little; when they need a lot, they use a lot.

Thus, they use all of it at every moment, and in every place they have perfect freedom.

But if there were a bird that first wanted to examine the size of the sky, or a fish that first wanted to examine the extent of the water, and then try to fly or swim, it would never find its way.

...

For the place, the way, is neither large nor small, neither self nor other."

-Dogen

Running and living; when weary, soul sore, and prone to seeing gray instead of lilac, have faith that your path equals that of the bird who never flew out of sky.

"Footfalls echo in the memory"

To describe this past Sunday's running-learning-curve, I must dip into T.S. Eliot's Four-Quartets.

What might have been is an abstraction

Remaining a perpetual possibility

Only in a world of speculation.

What might have been, what was, perpetual possibilities...

Over one thousand runners assembled, dropped off by shuttle, just before dawn at the Biltmore Estate grounds. 

The weather not at all optimistic: 40 degrees, and beginning to drizzle. 

I found a bathroom, checked my bag, and huddled in the one warm place near the startling line - former horse stables of the Estate.

There's always that moment before a race - jockeying at the start, stretching, tying shoe laces one last time, that I begin to feel a buzz of perpetual possibility - everything begins at that moment the gun's shot, the horn's blown, the buzzer sounds.

I started strong; legs felt light, and lungs opened up. 

The drizzle turned to heavy rains by the 3rd Mile, and did not relent for the next 10. 

I made several tactical errors in this half-marathon. 1. Not accounting for altitude changes (no training in Western, NC, and coming from Piedmont region), & 2. Not grasping the course elevation gains or what the course actually looked like.

Miles 3 through 5 were a steady incline - envision a spiral staircase, except a road wrapped around the mountain in a unrelenting ascension.

I held onto my pace and personal goals until about the 4th Mile. I faced the reality of either gutting it out, and painfully hitting a wall hard enough to keep me from finishing all 13.10, or surrendering to the terrain and mountain, and taking it at much slower tempos to adjust to altitude & elevation gains.

There were portions of beautiful downhills, and flat straightaways, but the majority of the race was hilly & steep.

I was on the course for over 2 hours, and by the 8th Mile my feet were numb inside my wet/cold trainers. Numb feet aren't quite so responsive on rougher surfaces, and miles 9 & 12 were along the French Broad River on a rough pebble/gravel surface.

I'd be hard pressed to think of one mile that was easy. It was one of the hardest races/long runs I've done; however, all the weeks of training, working with form and focused mind/body alignment did - I believe, give me the single mindedness to keep going, one small footfall at a time despite the rain, wind & lingering bronchitis. There was no option to quit, only to conserve energy at the cost of pace and personal record, and keep moving towards that still point:

Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point

As I rounded the final hill's crest, and saw the blue and white Finish arch beckoning, tears filled my eyes. 

I had learned what it takes, and how I could get through it.

"Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go." 

- T.S. Eliot

Running Meditations

The Circle of Kindness Continues

I contacted Amy L. Smith - creator of the Tangled Kindness Project, after finding my serendipitous note in the woods, and Amy offered to send me four more cards to place on local trails. 

Last week, I finally found the perfect spot to leave my first card - a knoll beneath a magnificent oak - the circle must continue. It stays with me, even now...swollen from the rainstorm and streaked with mud, and that moment in the woods when I noticed it lying in the leaves...clearly Amy's project has touched lives.

I have the four new cards in my running bag, waiting for that special trail to place them on.

Amy also mentioned our connection across many states in her blog (Thank you, Amy.):

http://tangledkindnessproject.blogspot.com/2014/03/running-meditations.html

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Running Meditations

It is responses like this that make my heart sing!!!

I received an email from Rebekah; stating she wrote about her encounter with human kindness here...

Her blog is called Running Meditations. She eloquently shares her story of finding a Tangled Little Card.  I certainly don't know how the card got from Ohio to North Carolina but it is bound to have a wonderful story!  Rebekah and I don't know each other, not when she found the card anyway, but are certainly bonded by kindness. It is so heartfelt that she is leaving it for another to find and enjoy. 

"A tree that fills the span of a man's arms grows from a downy tip; A terrace nine stories high from handfuls of earth; A journey of a thousand miles from beneath ones feet."

-Lao-Tzu

After three months of training and anticipation, tomorrow morning I race. This past week has been challenging due to a lingering bronchitis virus. Breathing compromised, I've had to take it one day at a time all week...I am a little worried about how well this half-marathon will go, but I know that if I let go, surrender and accept - tomorrow's run will provide / instruct / and inspire me with what I need for that moment /this moment now.

Today, I ran 5.6 miles along the Mountain to Sea Trail on the Blue Ridge Parkway; just a leg stretcher.

I'm fascinated by the variety in native plants just 3.5 hours away from my usual running habitats.

Came across the Downy Rattlesnake Plantain, not a plant but an orchid. 

The only "rattlesnake" I don't mind crossing my trail path!

I cut my running teeth on the trails that border, and cross the Botanical Gardens in Chapel Hill. I thought I knew every inch of trail, but today I took an unmarked turn -  down the ridge - along Morgan Creek, and deep into the woods to find a breathtaking detour...the lighting was soft, the sun gentle, and a breeze stirred the leaves. All along the way signs of spring unfurling, waking, being reborn. I chanced upon a field of daffodils off the main path.

The trail abruptly ended at Morgan Creek, but an irrigation pipe was broad enough to do a bit of tight-rope walking, and on the other side another mile of forest magic.

It's rained most of the past week, and the low lying trails are still a mushy quagmire...not that mud every deterred this runner! Can't help but pull out e.e. cummings' poem this time of year..next time you land in a mud puddle up to your laces embrace your "mud-luscious" runner self, and bask in this "puddle-wonderful" springtime.

*****

in Just-

spring          

when the world is mud-

luscious

...it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

-e.e. cummings

Printing Peace

When you run, do you think about the ground beneath your feet? Really think about the earth...not just watching for a curb, rock, root, pile of slippery leaves, or pothole, but the earth as a living organism sending up energy as your feet touch down.

In Thich Nhat Hanh's book Being Peace, he writes, 

"We have to walk in a way that we only print peace and serenity on Earth."

Run in a way so that each step prints peace and serenity ... 

Getting excited...

Small Things with Great Love

Thursday night, winter gave one last gasp and sleet and ice fell; in the morning, the trees were bent under a burden of millions of icy crystals.

All day Friday, the rain fell hard, and the skies remained leaden and heavy.

I determined I would run in the forest as long as I could endure the rain and cold, and promised myself, that the initial discomfort would be worth the effort.

It's challenging to run on trails that are slick with rain, but the forest canopy filters the heavy raindrops, and buffers against the wind. 

I chose the trails in Briar Chapel, close to home, and the hot shower I would need after I ran. I noticed Briar Creek was swollen and had flooded its banks, and carefully chose my route around the high waters encroaching upon the low-land trails.

I witnessed a heron, close to five feet high, standing as a sentry at the edge of the flooded marshland. Keenly he watched me, as I ran by. I ran along the roads, then threw caution to the wind, and chose the trails into the woods, I needed to commune with the trees. The narrow hiking path was ankle deep in rushing puddles most of the way, and my shoes filled with rain and mud splattered up to my thighs. Around a bend, I heard the twittering of a Tufted Tit Mouse, busily winging his way through the foliage. A small Golden Finch, was resting near the trail, his wings sopping wet, and I worried for him, but when I approached, he took wing, and I wished him well, as I ran on. Deeper into the woods I traveled where the hard woods bent by wind, rustled their branches and creaked as limbs rubbed against neighboring trees. A sound that sounds like ice cracking.

A beautiful hickory lay toppled across the path, roots exposed and naked, as it leaned into the arms of an oak that had stood against its falling. A pine blocked the path, anothre great tree, now uprooted and vulnerable.

Slivers of ice clung to the leaves, and rocks, and as I left the trail head and returned back to my car, I found a little square of thick card stock with writing nestled in the sopping pile of leaves. I put it in my pocket, and kept going, relishing my wild and beautiful run. I'd witnessed the forest bruised and resilient, I had communed with it, shared its story, and celebrated its strength and continual growth and losses.

Once home, I took out the soggy tile I'd found and discovered it unfolded to reveal a poem and drawing in ink. 

"Not all of us can do great things, but we can do small things with great love." - Mother Teresa

The artists signature gave me a clue for finding out more; Angela Gage resides in Ohio. The back of the card states: "You have found an artistic piece of human kindness...Enjoy!" crediting The Tangled Kindness Project: http://tangledkindnessproject.blogspot.com/

I will find another trail to leave this tile of human kindness on for a runner or hiker to discover and marvel at the serendipity of being at the right place, at the right time.

How this tile made it to Pittsboro, North Carolina, from Ohio, I'm not sure. But it's a simple reminder of our interconnectedness and what is possible when we step out of our comfort zone, and embrace the storm.