Last week's 'noisy' boiler turned into this week's 'quiet' boiler... it was 'quiet' because it was no longer working. And then upon deciding to run again, a pipe burst and began spraying glycol water throughout our crawl space. Okay, it's not just me...I think this would throw a lot of people into a spin for a few hours...or so. Therefore I give myself some credit; I am not alone on this one. However, I will postpone my investigation of the Christmas boxes that are stored in this same space--until I have both feet on the ground again. Before this exciting event took place, I had been diligently running every day, trying to get in the groove I need to have for marathon training. In navigating snow drifts, unplowed sidewalks and streets, and the stinging wind on my cheeks over the past 10 days, I could not help but think around these facts: 1. Training in the winter, in the mountains, is a little crazy during any year. Training in the mountains during a year of record snowfall is off of the crazy scale, and thus immeasurable. Therefore I think
I could not be officially declared as loony as I feel as I spend these snowy days running instead of skiing. 2. Even though it's not the same as trail running, winter running on roadways and sidewalks is really not that bad when you consider the view and the time of day your choose to run. Regarding number 1: I don't think I need to elaborate; it is hard to give up the ski time. Memories of skiing and working through seasons like this (pre-kids, pre-husband) flood my mind: Ski. Work away the night. Sleep, but not long. Ski. Take a nap. Go back to work and talk about the skiing. Go to bed so excited for the next day of skiing you can't sleep. Regarding number 2: There was no way I would have been running on a roads during the summer because I love our trails. There are times I am so excited about the views, meadows and wildflowers I'll encounter during my run the next day that I can't sleep. But now, running in the winter...those meadows and those wildflowers are deep, deep under their white fluffy blanket. What I've been watching instead is the light right now: Winter brings such amazing color to the sunrise and the morning glow, and then at the end of the day the sunsets seem to go on forever. While contemplating number 2, I remembered that I had some blogs tucked away on my laptop. One of them in particular really fits for me right now.
Today (Oct 16) I ran up the North Ten Mile Trail. Fall running in the Rockies is really just like any summer month in that you still have to have the right clothes with you, and you may change into all or none of them and stop at least twice to figure it all out. For the first three miles this trail is so close to Ten Mile Creek that you stay very cool—today cool enough that I keep my wool hat and gloves on and am thankful I chose to bring them. A few of the beaver ponds have that delicate icy glaze over them as they rehearse for the frozen look they will wear for the many months of winter. Rex-the-dog is running in front of me and I can actually see his breath. Wow...winter could truly be here any day. As the trail winds through yet another dense clump of pines, I notice all of the wild asters that have gone to seed. They look the same as a seeding dandelion, with a white, fuzzy hairdo. For the one-millionth time since the beginning of June, Rex pulls a fuzzy head right off its stem. He doesn't miss a step, he just turns his head, chomps down and keeps running, as if this might be the 'one' that tastes better than the other million he's attacked. Nope...within thirty seconds he is coughing and fuzz is flying through the air, spraying in all directions, but he still won't stop running on up the trail, won't miss a step. True entertainment as far as I am concerned. Hundreds of fluffy ‘heads’ everywhere I look in the forest, now that I have taken the time to notice. Everything is on its way to winter. "I am not ready!" I say to myself, knowing how much I will miss my time seeing the wildflowers on the trails. I run further and notice the bright purple color of a lone aster flower, still blooming--no fuzzy hair! "I am not ready!" it seems to say as it stretches its slender neck far, far away from the shade, and away from the fluffy heads that are part of the same plant. This single stem realizes that if it can lean into the light just enough, it will continue blooming while every flower friend around it has already begun to nap. It's no secret that I'm a flower fanatic and constantly on the verge of tripping myself because I pay more attention to the flowers than the trail. Full disclosure: I talk WAY too much about flowers. But truly, as cold as it has been, and how close winter is —this is pretty amazing. This small surprise completely changes my mood and magically alters the worries I have with me right now. Everything shifts to a better place, and I love the distraction from all the other 'stuff' I'd been contemplating. So am I actually feeling ‘present’ in a moment? and is this feeling actually helping me feel a bit of 'balance'? I think about the little lone aster, and how that October morning trail run put me on the path of my determination to 'being present in a moment'. I see myself in the past few months grabbing at those
moments that distract me from the worries or the list of things to do. The worries don't let up. The list is finished and then overnight writes itself out again. 'Fix boiler' ?? I may not have my 'balanced' moment exactly when I need it... but I can stretch for the winter sun and the winter light, and pause for a moment in that warmth.
