Not A Cheetah

    I know that I am a runner. I realized this a year ago, when, after years of telling myself and others, "I am just not a runner," I had the sudden epiphany of, "Why the hell not?!" This does not mean I suddenly woke with the grace of a cheetah, I was still in a body that had never really spent much time moving faster than a power walk pace. But I started running, on a treadmill and on the roads. It has been slow going, literally and physically, skirting the edge of injuring this 51 year old body. It is hard to build a decent running base going from zero to eventually completing a half or full marathon, but I know I can do it. And I am not a particularly fast runner, though I love the short, nimble sprints of speedplay. I have been trying to put in time on the road, but I am not enjoying it as much as I could wish. Because of this I have decided that for the next month or two I am going to return to trail running. I love trail running. Really. It feels natural, and is far more interesting, as well as seemingly easier on my body. This afternoon I will hit a trail on the edge of town on my way home. It is not a long trail, maybe half a mile, but I can run laps, and switch directions. I do know it is a beautiful path and well maintained. I am excited and eager to lace up my shoes and hit the dirt. On a trail I do not have to think of myself as cheetah, cheetahs are Savannah creatures, sprinting in the flat, wide open spaces. Instead I can think of myself as a wolf padding along under the canopy of fir trees, with the scent of wet leaves in my nostrils. A wolf runs for distance with an energy conserving lope, that is my goal. Not to be the cheetah, but to be the wolf.