Smells Like Running

Autumn makes me want to run.

I smell the crisp, leafy air and suddenly I’m 15 years old, toeing up at the start line of state cross country. The straightaway is lined with spectators. Family members, teammates, coaches. Quiet for the start. The crowd falls silent, the gun cracks, my steps scramble to find their rhythm. The cheering begins, and I run through a roaring tunnel up a hill we call The Dragon. I’m flying, carried vicariously by the energy of people I don’t even know. One voice. Their breath becomes mine. My legs burn already, but in the flying of my feet I find freedom.

It’s been years since I ran with any kind of regularity. Over a decade. And yet, I still think of myself as a runner. Why?

Running has always carried me to myself. Revealed the things I try to hide from. My fears. My hurt. My yearnings. My power. And now, after all these years, a start gun went off somewhere in the ether and my body heard it. It’s time to run.

I’m easing in. I’m replacing my hikes with runs, picking up my feet again, opening up my stride. My goal for now is to run three miles every day. My pace doesn’t matter. Time is irrelevant. After this season of building, who knows? I’m waiting to see what running tells me next.