The moment my left sneaker strikes the asphalt, I feel free. Though I’m in perpetual motion, my typically racing mind begins to slow down––reaching that precise level of stillness in which I am only focused on the environment around me.
It has been difficult for me to get out of my own head lately. Constantly consumed by my thoughts and apprehensions, my multitrack brain is filled with off-ramps, exits and overpasses that distract me and leave me feeling displaced. Juggling schoolwork, projects, and two jobs while simultaneously overstimulated by far too much espresso, I oftentimes feel in a haze, never sure where to go or what to focus my energy on.
When I run, all of those preoccupations melts away. With the last bit of crisp winter air lingering, my lungs begin to contract the further I run, forcing me to focus on breathing. In and out, I notice how I breathe in the crisp air, only to release it with every step. The combination of snowfall and the fleeting moments of warmer spring weather have left puddles of water scattered throughout White Clay. I deliberately dash straight into the puddles, just to feel the cool splash of rain water on my shins. Used to treadmill season, my running shoes are reacquainted with the natural elements, having missed the mud.
White Clay Creek––filled with running trails I have come to admire––is my refuge. Noticing the slightly warmer weather, I decided to take full advantage of a day I am sure will be a tease among many more chilly, bleak days to come. Others have noticed the weather too, as the trails are filled with other runners who also consider White Clay to be a sort of refuge. As I reach the bridge, I see a mother and her young son walking along with their husky puppy. The boy, his cheeks tinted red from the slight winter chill, gives me a cursory wave. As I wave back, he bashfully hides behind his mother, still managing to hold a slight grin. I come to a halt at my typical spot which is at the end of the bridge that runs over the creek. Exhausted, I plop down, immediately reaching to my toes with my hands to bring relief to my still-tense body. Finally, I reach the ultimate endorphin-induced euphoria that all runners know and crave. Below, I gaze at the creek, noticing how dihcotomic it is in how it flows. To the right, the creek stagnant and calm. Then, near a cluster of rocks, the water breaks and so begins its frenetic state as it rapidly flows downstream.
Like the creek below, I find myself moving a contradicting paces throughout the day. While running––physically in the most motion––I feel that stagnant calmness similar to the creek before it breaks. However, throughout the day, my mind is pouring out in all directions. I ask myself which state I prefer being in. Do I enjoy the calmness, the feelings of peace and stillness? Or is there something to gain from the frenzy?
“Dreams” by Mary Oliver has resonated with me throughout the past couple of days. In the poem, Oliver talks of her two great uncles who moved to Colorado “looking for the good life.” “I think with pride of my uncles who went out west/Full of hope and vision/I think they became healthy as animals, and rich as their dreams/Before they turned some corner and became/Two graves under the leaves.”
In pursuit of my dream of being a journalist, I have taken a lot of risks, taking on projects that contain a lot of uncertainty. The uncertainty leaves me feeling anxious, as I worry what the future will hold. Applying for internships, taking on stories and buying plane tickets to take the enormous risk of freelancing abroad is overwhelming. Sometimes, I wish I could slow down, and be permanently stagnant, never having to feel this busy. Yet, perhaps the coexistence of calmness and frenzy––and striking the balance between the two––is what is needed after all.