Running with Eagles

I feel painfully sluggish today. Physically, I actually feel great. Emotionally, everything is dragging. I was hoping a good run up the canyon would kick my brain into gear but it looks like it's going to take more work than that. Bummer. I really didn’t feel like having to wrangle my own brain today.

On my run I crossed paths with a group of women while I was out. They looked fast. I used to race against one of them in high school. She was fast then too. She was kind, said that she recognized me, and reintroduced herself. Another recognized me as well from having worked together a few years ago. The whole exchange was brief but pleasant, then we all went on our respective ways. And instead of my mind going where I wanted it to go—celebrating women running and their successes, enjoying the surprise encounter with kind acquaintances—I fell flat into the mind trap of comparison and inadequacy. Something inside me believed that I would never belong.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen people online talking about how hard it can be mentally to come back to a sport that you did as a teenager. I can’t possibly be the only one trying to navigate this. Sometimes it's such a joy to rekindle a connection with an activity that I loved, other times it feels very, very fraught.

In my experience, coming into running during those formative years meant that I built my entire identity around the sport—and around my excellence in it. And though I burned out and stopped running for over a decade, I never stopped identifying as a runner. I added other elements to my sense of self—an important step for both my physical and mental health—but running has always called. I’ve just been scared to answer. It’s terrifying to feel like I have to claw my way back to something that makes me feel so me. How could I have ever gotten this far away from myself? In a lot of ways, it seemed easier to start over with something new. That would have been fine if that’s what I really wanted, but the truth is that I wanted to run. I was scared, but I knew I wanted to run.

One of the things I love most about Women of the Wasatch is that they make it abundantly clear that belonging does not have to be earned. For almost a year now, I’ve been running with a group of women that I knew I’d never have to watch pull away from me on the trail. It gave me a reason to keep returning to running, and with that consistency came the confidence to try my most recent project of running every day.

I’m stronger than I was when I began. I ran a five-miler last week! Most days I don’t feel sore or achey at all. Today was a harder mental day. I had to wrangle myself up some unexpected hills, and I came home mentally sore. But I’m stretching things out (thank you, writing). I’m recovering. And I’m coming back stronger.

It was a gift to run into those women today, no matter what my inner critic had to say. It was a gift to see them thriving, to see them fast, to see a world of joy in women running the trails that we all love. And it’s a gift to be on my own journey, exactly where I am.

One thing that Rachel Drake said in her presentation this week is that competition is collaboration. That as we compete, we make each other better. Regardless of who finishes in what place, our efforts are made better by the presence and influence of others. We create something more beautiful through the collaboration of competition than we do on our own.

I wasn’t in competition with those women today—we weren’t even running in the same direction. But even through that brief exchange, we were in collaboration. They made me a better runner, just by being there.

If you look very closely in the second picture, you’ll see a bald eagle in the sky. That was at least the fourth, maybe even the fifth one I’ve seen in the last two days alone. I love seeing these birds. Something about them makes me feel seen, remembered. Like they specifically chose me to witness them. Like they’re messengers, sent to remind me how strong and capable I am.

My high school cross country coach once told me, “Your strength is in your strength. You are a strong runner.” It stuck with me, all these years. What a gift, that the message I internalized about my body as a teenage girl was that I’m strong. What a gift to tap into that today.

I wouldn’t have even noticed the bald eagles today if they hadn’t called. I ran as they circled overhead, taking in the moment. They stayed with me for a long time.

There will be no runner’s high to carry me through the day today, I’m afraid. I’ll have to get myself through this slump with a whole lot of effort and intention. But today I ran with eagles. I’m choosing to count that as flight.