As I did at about this time last week, I find myself again with several undocumented days in my wake. I did have several runs over the last few days and drank several different beers in different contexts--Fat Tire on tap at the timeos for my friend Brandon Saturday evening, multiple Sierra Nevada Pale Ales before and during my band's show Sunday night at the Full Moon Club, a Saranac Pale Ale (an English-style pale ale with a different hop profile from the Saranac IPA) last night with tasty chicken fajitas, and Lazy Magnolia Southern Pecan ale on tap tonight at the P&H with my friends for trivia (we did not win, alas).
It was my run on the Wolf River Blue (out) and Yellow (back) trails yesterday, though, that seemed an abstract of my greater life experience lately.
Knowing how muddy the Blue trail surely was, I nonetheless started my run with the enthusiasm that accompanies an adventure. "It'll be fun because it's hard!" I told myself as I dodged the first puddle merely a few yards in.
And, sure enough, it was a hard run. But the difficulty lay less in the condition of the trail (I was prepared for that) and more in my own fatigue. A mile or so in, I felt the familiar sluggishness that often descends at just about that point in a run; I became a little lightheaded, even dizzy; my peripheral vision began to dull, so that I seemed to be running through a green and brown tunnel.
Experience has shown that, if I can just muddle through the sluggish spell, I'll eventually reach a point at which I'll get a second wind. But that boost seemed slower than usual in coming; my favorite trail was reduced to an endurance test.
Finally, at about mile marker 3, I did feel a little less tired. The renewed energy I sensed, however, was not like the rush and excitement that I experienced at the outset of my run; it was, if I may say so, a "humble" energy, an energy that did not allow for or reward quick sprints but that, nonetheless, seemed sufficient at each moment. It was as if my body was saying, "I may not get you there quickly, but trust me--I'll get you there."
Because the rush was gone, trusting this humble energy was really an act of faith, step following step, not looking ahead except just a few feet at a time. Breathe in, breathe out. Wipe the eyes, wipe the brow, wipe the mouth.
I finally did make it back to the trailhead--exhausted.
But I got there.
Saturday: 5 miles on the treadmill (Nuber Y)
Monday: 7.25 miles on the Blue and Yellow trails
Today (Tuesday): 6.25 miles on neighborhood streets