November 14, 7:15
I think I can say, without much dispute, that the majority this blogs audience are runners, or other athletic types of some nature. Anyone who has been way-laid from their sport of choice, has an idea of what happens when we aren’t able to walk outside, close the door behind us, and disappear for an hour, two, three, or even more. I don’t think there is any one single reason we need to venture off for fractions of our day, but for me, it has something to do with exploring.
Zipping around in cars, on the same roads every day, we forget to see things. We stop looking. We might see the oncoming cars, or the roadkill that wasn’t there last night, we might even notice a field slowly turning colors as the seasons plod on. But on foot, we see more. We have more time to admire the little flourishes of God’s paintbrush all around. We can truly examine the natural world; see colors once thought unnatural outside of a Crayola box, witness purples melding into creams, greens turning to orange without border – we can see things we can’t see from the comfort of our bucket seat or the swivel of our desk chair. On foot we see things few others do. We are privy to a world that only a select few take the time to admire.
Not running, I started noticing that I was missing these things. I was focusing on how not being able to cruise for 15 miles at a clip was forcing me to stay in a tiny sphere (there are only so many routes to go when you’re running a mile at a time.) I began noticing how much noise there was in my head and how impossible it seemed for me to escape them. All these things started adding up, and driving me nuts.
It’s taken a while, but I’m starting to get over all of the missing. I’m starting to realize that while I can’t get out and cover 20+ miles at a time, I can still explore. That there are smaller things to see. That walking lets me see things I might not on a run. That sometimes a walk with the family can be just as enjoyable and mentally quieting as a 60 minute jog in silence. Sure, these sunrises would be better seen from the road with miles behind me, but they can be just as awe inspiring from the comfort of my porch, coffee in hand, dog at my feet, child on my lap.
I’m not done. I will continue to plug along, and hopefully someday – soon – I’ll be back on the road, putting down some miles. And if not, it’s the little things that will have to suffice.