20 minutes of contemplative writing,
recorded 2 days
after running farther
than I ever have
before
***
Equal. Even. Equal. Even.
Preparation does not equal success.
Effort in does not guarantee an even measure of reward.
These are very static statements. Black and white thinking. Not really any room for softer perspectives.
I’m thinking too hard. Or rather, I’m thinking, period.
Trying, pushing, forcing.
Flow is found when the effort to find it isn’t there at all.
Sometimes the conditions require effort, and flow never comes.
And that’s okay.
One of the most important take-aways
from running
63 miles
but not officially completing the race course
because
I missed a turn
and ended up lost
in the dark
was this:
Sometimes you do everything right.
Sometimes you find the flow
not by looking for it
but by running into it,
running with it
and on it
and through it
and part of it
because it’s part of you.
Sometimes the magic really is there.
And yet.
And yet.
And yet
you find yourself
miles from where you’re supposed to be.
Miles from where you’re supposed to be,
with only the pack on your back
that’s unfortunately empty of food
because you ate what you had
and you were supposed to be somewhere else
hours ago,
with all the provisions to choose from.
Miles from where you’re supposed to be
with only one of your oldest friends by your side.
I realize it sounds scary.
For a little bit there we were both really scared.
But of course, people knew where we should have been
and of course, people who know what they're doing
looked for and pretty quickly found us.
But still.
But still.
And yet.
And yet.
Not finishing does not equal failure.
Just like preparation does not equal success.
I don’t like the words failure and success.
I don’t
haven't
will not ever
consider this event a failure.
It was a
Multi-
Faceted
Experience.
Ugh. I wish I would have chosen to go a different direction with this writing.
Missed turn.
Darkness.
Headlamps flashing on signs
that pointed the right direction
for the wrong part of the course.
I don’t know where I hoped to get in this writing
but it doesn’t feel like anywhere.
And that’s okay.
There is no finish line.
There actually are no course markers.
Just one foot in front of the other.
Sometimes pain.
Sometimes elation.
Close and far.
Almost and not quite.
Time
and distance
and right here
right now.
A truck’s headlights break the night behind us.
