Squish.
My shoe hit the first of what would be many puddles that day. I knew it was fruitless to try to avoid them —
with all the rain we were getting, I might as well submit to soggy feet right up front. Anyway, that’s part of the fun.
After many years as a runner who primarily sticks to roads, I’ve decided to make a shift to more trails. I have some audacious goals this year that I will keep to myself, at least on these pages, but they will involve a lot fewer miles on sidewalks and streets and more tromping on dirt paths, ducking under tree branches and picking my way over boulders, strategically (or providentially?) placed to allow people to cross streams and creeks.
I’m part of a Facebook group in which women can post to find running buddies. Any pace, any location, any time — if someone puts out a “batcall,” it is usually answered. I needed six miles on a recent Saturday morning and was ready for a change of scenery, which is how I ended up running in a park I’d never visited with a person I’d never run with. She’s an experienced trail runner who knew this particular park and its labyrinth of trails. After I confessed my newbie status, she took the lead, and we had a delightful morning in the woods.
I watched (from behind) as my new friend would approach a fork in the trail and veer one direction or another, seemingly without thinking or calculating. She was graceful on her feet, constantly in motion, but responsive to the contours of the trail — slowing on inclines, hopping over tree roots. After about 30 minutes, I asked whether she was following a particular route or improvising. “Definitely improvising,” she said. This was made clear a few minutes later when we reached a creek so bloated with rainwater that it was unpassable. We doubled back, and my friend found an alternate route. Amazingly, she got us back to our cars within a few minutes of our intended ending time. I marveled at how many runs she must have done in that park in order to be so skilled — at navigation as well as running.
With the lens of a church leader, I wonder how well we equip people to traverse the tricky yet beautiful paths of their lives, when improvisation is required more often than not. Sam Wells, in an interview with Duke’s Faith & Leadership blog, said, “When people say, ‘Life isn’t a rehearsal,’ I say, ‘But it is, really, isn’t it?’ Life is a rehearsal … [and] the habits of rehearsal are everything we do in life. … Most of my life is preparation for crucial moments.” How do we discern the “still small voice” of God when there’s a fork in the road? What do we do when the path is washed out? How do we build resilience to go on when we stumble, or even fall?
I can attest that the runner’s high is a real thing, but that day I felt especially refreshed — and even inspired. I’m sure the fresh autumn air played a role. But as I followed my new friend through forests, along streams and over bluffs, it occurred to me that we were engaging in a form of play. Yes, it was work, as my quads could attest on each hilly incline or my sore toes as I occasionally stubbed them on random tree roots. (I told you I’m a beginner.) Perhaps one of the ways we equip people to improvise is to offer them opportunities to play, like I had that day. In play, as on the trails, we get back in touch with the wisdom of our own bodies: Step lightly here. Let’s take this part slow — as well as our own hearts — Hmm, the path diverges here. What happens if I go this way? Let’s step in trust and find out.
MARYANN MCKIBBEN DANA is a writer, pastor, speaker and coach living in Virginia. She is author of “God, Improv, and the Art of Living.”
