Untangled.

I’ve run in the most normal of places and the most unusual of places.

Running is how I understand; a town, a mountain, my self.

It’s how I get the feel of things, or of me.

I’ve run on roads, treadmills, mountains, and in pools.

I’ve jogged, raced, and crawled.

 

I’ve run in airports, at welcome centers along the highway, around Swan Lake (Melrose, Fl), on Venice Beach, through the Petrified Forrest, and raced on the Indy 500 track.

I’ve run dirt trails, sandy beaches, concrete jungles of NYC and LA,

over oceans on a boat and while crossing rivers on a bridge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve run in a pack of several thousand runners, with my kids, my Dad, my Weimeraners, on a date, and completely alone.

I’ve run at sunrise, praying blessings over a new day~ and by moonlight, kissing another one goodbye.

 

 

I’ve run through full out belly laughs and while sobbing buckets of tears.

I’ve gone on a run when I needed to make some sense,

and when I had no sense

(a marathon with the flu?? duh)!

  

I’ve run in the scorching heat of the south, the frozen and snowy winters of the north,

and through hurricane rains/tropical storms on the beach.

 

I ran before kids, pregnant with kids, and while pushing kids (often times 2).

 I’ve run strong and surefooted, and I’ve busted and kissed the dirt.

I’ve run TO things, AROUND things, and AWAY from things.

I’ve run to heal and to be healed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve run to chase down, and unfortunately I’ve been chased down.

I’ve been lost, and I’ve been found.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But regardless of where I’ve run, how crazy or simple~

I love the runs that leave me stronger.

Over the years (and miles) I’ve come to realize that stronger is the byproduct of being emptied.

Of my self. My plans. My way. My death grip. My trying so hard.

My knots.

And so maybe this is why I run too.

 

To be emptied.

To be untangled.

To be stronger.

 

“It is God who arms me with strength” Psalms 18:32a