I started running again the past week. My usual route, 3 miles around the lake a few minutes from my house, and the neighborhood I grew up in. This has been my usual nightly running route on and off for the past 15+ years, though it’s a trail I have been traversing since I was probably only a few years old (I’m 49 years old now). When I run it regularly, I’m on that trail nearly 7 nights a week. When I am not running it regularly, I might be off that trail for weeks at a time. This “time off” has been since November (gasp!). Life and family and winter and such… regardless, this has been the longest time I’ve been off this trail. And damnnnn it feels nice. But, like much in life, it’s mixed feelings, bittersweetness, joy, nostalgia, memories, all the things. I realized, my relationship with this trail has been evolving all my life, and in some ways, can act as a gauge for how I’m doing at any given moment.
The park surrounding this lake was where my large, Filipino family would picnic nearly every weekend, celebrating birthdays, BBQing mussels we collected, and generally always being together. I have numerous memories of groups of us walking around the lake together. When roller blading came about, my siblings, cousins, and I got some, and I remember my mom trying to stop me when I was rolling downhill with very little control, lol. Memories of catching crawdads with chicken bones, my brother falling out of a tree he had climbed, getting mosquito bites, pretending I could swim in the small swimming lagoon, and the tired, caravan of our cars leaving at the end of the day, tired, hot, and happy.
In 2012, when Lynn and I bought a house, we chose to buy a home in my childhood neighborhood. It was 8 blocks from my parents house, which meant they constantly dropped food off on our doorstop and dropped by unexpectedly often. We knew what time of day to start looking out the window, in anticipation of seeing them pull up. We and our dog, Bailey, would walk to their house several times a week, and my dad installed a dog hitch to their fence for Bailey. Once again, I was living a few minutes away from the lake and park, and Lynn, Bailey, and I often ended our summer days with a walk around the lake. I don’t have a name for the feeling when you introduce your loved ones to the spaces that mean so much to you… open to suggestions 🙂
This park is actually one of three parks that lead into one another – a city park, county park, and national park. Amazing! Together, it is a massive 5500 acres, and I have always called it my Church. While the west side is tamer, has tennis courts, pony rides, paved trails, the east side is rugged and mountainous, and is where is had my one and only up close and personal solo encounter with a mountain lion (big gasp). When I am feeling strong – mentally, emotionally, and physically, my “regular” (several times per week) running trail is a hilly, rocky, 7 mile route to an upper lake. Just looked back in old pictures, and realized my last run there was in March 2024! Sigh… it’s been a tough couple years, primarily with my Mom passing away unexpectedly Summer 2023.
When Lynn passed in December 2014, I would take Bailey for a walk, and I could not make it all the way around the lake for weeks. Poor Bailey would be confused as to why we kept stopping to sit on every bench to cry, before I would give up and take us home. It was the lack of energy, as well as the grief of being there without Lynn. Eventually, and over many months, I got back into a routine of running the lake. To be honest, it was because I needed to train for a half marathon that was in April that I forced myself to start running again. I started going deeper and higher into the hills, on familiar trails but as a different-but-similar person. It was frustrating, sad, and I would frequently have crying bouts during the run. One of the MOST painful things from running again, was NOT telling Lynn where I was going, what my route was, and texting her from various, precarious points along the way, so that I could text her again to let her know I had traversed the route safely. And I would return home to no Lynn. It was one of the “rollover” activities that sustained from my old life into the new chapter, that made life both confusing and comforting.
I’ve walked or run this same trail hundreds of time in my life. I have never taken it for granted that I live so close to this beautiful piece of land, and a sacred land that I (and many others) consider my church. But, it was not until Lynn passed, that I began to realize the visceral relationship I have with this space. It has always felt familiar and like home. When Lynn passed, I felt it hold and envelope me with love and quiet patience. I would also feel like the occasional guilt from it, when I was unmotivated to drive the few minutes to get onto the trails, but I could feel it’s “availability” reminding me how lucky I was to have such easy access to it, and how I would feel satisfied after even the crappiest run or shortest hike.
When I started running / walking the lake after my Mom passed 1.5 years ago, I experienced deep pain from the numerous memories of being there with her. Every single run since she has passed, there are points along the way when I automatically replay specific memories. From experience when Lynn passed, I anticipate these moments will shift overall from more-bitter-than-sweet to more-sweet-than-bitter… nothing I can do but be patient and ride out journey until then…
Sooo, yay, after 6ish months of nearly no running, I have run 5 of the past 6 days, on the “short” 3 mile lake run. In this time of “my-sabbatical-from-running,” my Dad moved from my childhood home to the Philippines, and we sold aforementioned childhood home… you know – the one Lynn and I purposely bought our home to be near. (Also in the past 1.5 years since my Mom passed, an Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin who also lived in our neighborhood for decades have also moved away.) CHANGES!!! Running (sometimes angrily stomping, often sluggishly walking) these trails gives me a chance to reflect, process, vent, or stabilize. It is most definitely my therapy. I don’t always – or even often – come up with answers to my questions, or solutions to my problems. But, I do often feel a salve for my pain, sometimes it lasts awhile, sometimes only the duration of the run. As hard as it is to start a run, I often don’t want to leave by the end of it. Those trails are my pause in life. It’s possibly the only place when I don’t think I should be doing something else. So, I’ll keep pulling up my compression socks (cuz I’m feeling my age), keep shoving my feet into my dusty shoes, keep not stretching enough before or after, and I know that every run consists of steps of healing. Every thankful for that red dirt under my feet, that stretches for as long as I need.
