Today I was forced to take a good, hard look at some of my actions. It was gloriously autumnal here in New England. The air was cool, the leaves crisp, the sky blue. Something felt calm, almost soothing to me. I was confident, quick, and in control.
But even on such a serene day, it is amazing how quickly things can change. How one moment without direction can have such an impact.
And because of that fleeting moment I was later forced to ask myself critical questions –What was I thinking? What do I do next?
How did I get here – alone, lost, standing at the crossroads?
How did I get here – cold, scared, eager to get home?
No really, how the fuck did I get here – sweating, tired, dressed in running shorts and a t-shirt in 50 degrees in the middle of the woods?
And how the hell do I get back to my car? Shit. I have no idea.
Ok, think Melissa, think. Does that root look familiar? Do you remember that tree? That curve? Did you leave a trail of breadcrumbs? Reese’s Pieces?
Perhaps the worst and most embarrassing part of this journey is that I was on a marked trail. I was on the blue trail. After 25 minutes, I turned around on the blue trail to retrace my steps and head back. Yet, strangely, 20 minutes later I found myself on the blue trail headed in the original direction – away from my car, as if I had never turned around at all. What the hell? Did I do a 360 instead of a 180? What is this netherworld of trails? And why am I passing that old couple again?
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took... hmm... uh, that one? Or was it that one? Shit.
Fortunately, after much retracing, rerunning, and inquiring… er, I mean soul-searching, I was able to find my way. And eventually I was able to make my way home.
As for the bigger questions though, I still have no idea. I still don’t know what I was thinking. I honestly don’t know how I got there. But I suppose that’s the deeper, more meaningful element of running I have finally experienced.
