When I went walking with Bard on Thursday morning, I remembered why I would much rather brave the cold, icy morning on the trail than stand on a treadmill in the warm, televisioncentric club.Bluebirds.
Bard and I only had a short time to walk on Thursday morning, but I really felt that I needed to take that time. We bundled up and rushed to the trail, leaving behind us the fury that was a family preparing for debate class.
It was crisp and delicious on the trail. Trees creaked ominously above us while the occasional Northern Flicker or Downy Woodpecker laughed at the sillyness of our feet on the pavement. Up ahead, two male cardinals picked through the debris of a road apple, left there by one of the many horses that pull one of the many Amish buggies from the little Amish districts up North to the Stuf*Mart down south. That's one of the reasons this trail is so successful; it gives the Amish a way to travel off of the dangerous, speed-driven main roads from their simple homes to town--to join the bustle of the big town; the doctors' offices, the grocery store, the thrift store, Stuf*Mart, Burger King and Subway.
Shortly into our walk, a dart of blue flitted by, followed by another. And another. I pointed them out to Bard.
"The bluebird of happiness," she said.
It's not likely that's something you'll see in the club.
Yesterday morning, Kim kicked my butt with a little running-program-boost. For the first time, we did 90 second jogging and walking intervals. 90 seconds. No waiting until I was "ready." No prescribed 2 minute walking intervals. 90 seconds of jogging, ninety seconds of walking, and ninety seconds of jogging. We did this for twenty minutes, and then continued our regular walk for the remainder of the hour.
I have to admit that I absolutely dread getting up to run in the morning. When I awake and realize it's a running day, I literally get nauseated and I worry all the way until my very last joggy step. I'm sure I'm going to fail. I'm sure I'll never actually do this. I'll give up. I'm not even remotely able to think positive. I know, when I awake on running mornings, that I am going to die.
But when I'm out there, and I'm doing it, I know it's the right thing.
My feet hit the path in time with Kim's. All I can hear is my breathing and hers, and the crunch of our feet on the snow. Whatever I can do to occupy my mind until that interval is over takes over my whole existence--watching the trail move beneath my feet, picking a distant spot that will likely be our ending place (I often call it right. And I thought I had depth-perception problems.), counting very, very long seconds, coming up with a theme song for the run (yesterday, it was Run to the End of the Highway by Keith Green. How appropriate.), or concentrating on my breathing. Sometimes, I just try to let my body fly away and encourage my brain to do the same. I want to get to the place where this is easy, where it actually feels good to run. I'm trying to think positive, see?
The last leg of yesterdays run, we turned around and covered our previous path to make our way back to the trailhead. There was something incredibly comforting and encouraging about jogging over our lone footprints on the snow, the prints we'd made on on our seventh, sixth, fifth intervals. Our steps were even--our pace had been the same. No other prints disturbed the thin layer of snow, just ours. And as we ended our last jogging interval, we high-fived it. Yes. We'd done it. Another, higher goal had been met.
We walked the rest of the way back. I was even tempted to run a couple of times, but I decided to keep with the CPto5K program instead. Pace myself. Enjoy my victory. The snow danced so delicately around us. We talked about the wonder if them, the incredible uniqueness that proves there is a God who loves beauty. Who loves us.
And there were the bluebirds. I mentioned them to Kim.
"The bluebird of happiness," she said.
This is why I'll leave the treadmill where it belongs and take myself to the place where I belong--braving the weather and embracing the beauty of bluebirds.
