run

I knew I was forgetting something (Yehawwww will be back after this post…)

/ Sloan / 1 Comment

 

Please feel free to comment back and add your own; maybe we could get a chain reaction of women adding onto this, because Lord knows many of us lady athletes suffer (suffer may not be the right word,) from small breasts.

You know you have small boobs when:

You walk out the front door and down the block for a run and realize you forgot to put on a bra. (this was this morning, I’m glad my roommates were still asleep and didn’t see me have to come back in and put one on…)

 

Post your own! Comment back!

Yeeeeehaw Parte Dos (because sometimes I speak Spanish)

/ Sloan / 3 Comments

I run. In the woods I feel like an animal. My kind of trail running isn’t a path with woods on either side, it isn’t a paved bike lane along some river—my kind of trail run is a narrow path that forces me to engage both my feet and my mind; and in turn my heart and my soul are engaged just as much.

West Virginia is known for some epic trails, hiking and mountain biking—from our camp site there was a small trail that was meant for a walk or a hike, measuring, according to the sign, 1.1 miles—not far at all. But if you remember, I’ve been out for 12ish weeks and any kind of run was going to satisfy my itch to ‘float’ over rock and root. I set out to run, I ended up running, walking and absorbing the woods for all they had to offer.

Imagine a field full of tents, music blasting from across the field and then enter the woods and there is literally a line you can cross that shuts all that off. Your senses shift and change as you approach a bridge that lets you cross a stream. You walk over  the wooden bridge and it’s like someone hit the ‘mute’ button on reality and turned the volume up on a nature—this is exactly what happened. The only sounds after I crossed the bridge were chipmunks leaping out of the way, a few birds and my labored breathing. The 1.1 mile loop had an ‘approach’ and the real loop was .8 miles—short but tough. Hills, mud that made me slip up and down hill, roots, branches and logs to leap over…this was the trail running you see in a The North Face advertisement. I vow to never stop exploring and press on through the loop 1, 2, 3, 4 times. Solid.

For the first time I was wearing a pair of shoes that are considered ‘barefoot’ for their intended purpose on the trail. I’d never worn them in the woods, these shoes connected me, forced me to feel the earth under my feet and allowed it to radiate up my body and pulse through my blood. As I finished my run I had nothing but a grin on my face and sweat dripping all over my body, (WV is hot and humid when it wants to be.) I emerged from the woods to see my new friends grinning back, Alan, Lauren, Josh, Adam and Steve—they could sense the joy I was feeling and were rearranging their cars, ready to go hike and climb and inviting me to do the same. Even if there had been time for a shower there wasn’t one available; this was the beginning of my showerless week. I washed my face, threw on some yoga pants and joined them to explore WV some more.

 

Yeeehaww!!

A Much Needed Breath

/ Sloan / Leave a comment

The morning came and I ran. The streets of Grand Rapids were damp from an early morning rain, the river black, only because it was not yet past sunrise, and fluid because the rapids have slowly been let loose. 5:26am the Tuesday of a long week was ahead of me and I ran to clear my head. I’ve yet to run any miles consistently since my injury, I’ve yet to feel good since my injury, but the feeling of familiar streets under my feet was comforting. A bit of rain fell to cool me.

 I ran passed the park, passed my old gym, along the dumpy streets I used to call my own in G-Rap. On my way back I passed the 6th Street Bridge, a bridge designed for many modes of transportation: train tracks embedded, a road for cars, a smooth sidewalk for bikes, and the whole thing is boardwalk. Two by fours pieced together with nails for my pleasure. If you know me at all, and you know my running at all, you know that I love to run across boardwalks. I dream of designing a 5k race all on boardwalk so that other runners could maybe experience the feeling of raw, grainy wood underfoot and appreciate the hallow sound it makes are you step step step across. Swiftly, quickly, fluidly over the bridge to cross a river beneath is blissful. That Tuesday morning I ran across the bridge in the dark, unsatisfied I ran back across to return to Monroe Avenue, there and back gave me my fill of boardwalks for the early morning.

My run was interrupted by needing to walk, stretch and hope that my bones hold and remain strong without re-injuring. Frustrating, but it was good to be outside and moving. I made my way back to the hotel and was out of the shower before my roommate even woke. It was a good start to long week that was then clouded by copious amounts of information, schmoozing and boozing, dancing and working.

Throughout the week I made it back to the bridge multiple times. Walks with co workers while on breaks were the breaths of fresh air needed to clear my head and bring myself back to the ‘now’. The two by fours underfoot were a destination and a turnaround point, always pausing to look over the railing at the never still water of the Grand River. Always on the move. Always pushing forward to find what’s next.