Mind, body, insulated [Part 1]
Lessons in embodiment from a runner on asphalt, and on the trails
I am running on asphalt again. It isn’t my first pick, but with winter in the high desert comes many months of muddy and often icy trails. I am okay with mud, and I can slow down for ice; but I am not okay destroying the paths through delicate landscapes with deep footprints. Asphalt it is.
As I run along the streets of town, there’s a regular accompanying thought that ripples through me: Damn, I understand why people hate running.
Running is painful. My legs and lungs readily speak up while my body closes in on itself in aversion to the winter elements. The slap of the rubber of my shoes down on the asphalt sends a ripple up through my body that isn’t pleasant. I get it. This kinda sucks.
Meanwhile, my mind is opening while my spirit begins to hum. The bullshit of the day is falling away as I move into a state of expansion; and, from within, a deep seed is sprouting bright tendrils of sheer bliss.
Yes, there is something tender that awakens whenever we get our bodies in motion; out of the stagnancy of modern life in front of screens and contained inside four walls. Outside, body in motion, asphalt or no asphalt, there is a beautiful song to sing here.
My foot touches down on asphalt once more, and in a moment I am drawn to the sensations alive in my body. After all, there isn’t much else I can place my attention on, and all these internal emotions, pains, and other forms of sensation are dancing quite fiercely with my thoughts to create quite the commotion.
I recall back to my early days of running (spent on the streets of Tempe, Arizona), where I would distract myself with music, podcasts, and audiobooks. Yes, in this flavor of running, it became important not to focus too much on what was going on inside; for, inside one finds that running can bring forth temporary pains and other unpleasantries. Best not get too focused in here!
Then everything changed….
It happened while running my second half marathon. While the first had brought with it a grand sense of achievement that blew open my self-perceived limitations, the second wasn’t bringing much fulfillment. In fact, by mile 3, I was kinda over it. By mile six, my body was growling with deep discomfort. At mile 10, I did my best to muster all I had within me to push through the last 3 miles. Where was that extra storage tank of fuel I experienced when I did this the first time? That extra boost to spring me forward and across the finish line to rejoice!
Instead, I was met with the sensations in my body. I hurt, and I could find no reason worth pushing through the pain to shave off a few more seconds. I made my way to the finish a few minutes slower than I had the first time around. I didn’t feel the great sense of accomplishment a second time.
Asphalt running had opened a door for me, but the pain and discomfort in my body made it clear that this wasn’t worth it. Something needed to shift.
That shift occurred when I found my feet on dirt and rock - trails cut through natural landscapes, bringing my feet in direct connection with the Earth as I move my body through spaces that fill my heart and speak to my soul. Here, breathing freely with the trees (or, mostly cacti, back in my early days in Arizona), I feel an expansion that ripples out from my core, continuing outward… outward into the vast expanse of Nature, herself.
All around me, nature offers endless opportunity to share in a moment of joy, of beauty; and, of the endless forms of expression that life brings forth through structures that vary from the smallest of sprouts to the grandest of pines covering a tall mountainside.
Yes - life, in all Her forms; here, just waiting for that moment of connection with another conscious being.
All around me, nature offers endless opportunity to share in a moment of joy. And, more than this, within me….
Yes, within me, that same flow of life just waiting for my conscious attention to shine light on all that is alive in a moment.
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Once I found trail running, the tendency to listen to the voice of other human recordings in my ears faded away. Out here, the limits of where I can place my attention and receive direct reward are endless! Tree after tree; rock after rock; birds, bunnies; cacti. The list goes on and on as each moment brings an opportunity to fill my internal world with the joy of connection with life on this Planet Earth.
Out here, senses open wide to the infinite expanse of life in all Her forms, is where I find the shift.
That shift happens as our own, internal worlds begin to open… opening… opening up to a world that spans from far out there, weaving its way through to your very own essence.
It’s in this moment that I feel the cells alive in my legs ignite with the joy of consciousness. Yes, there is some discomfort here as I request that my legs continue to move forward along the switchbacks that weave up a steep mountainside. Yes, I feel the work that is being put in arising as a fire within my cells. Still, here, feet rooting down into the dirt and the rock with each step, it all blends together with the spectacular flow of it all.
Here, on the trails, my world is open, and I step into the freedom to feel all that is alive.
Here, a coherent whole, dancing through each moment and fully able to feel it all, to be moved by it all, and to know it all as a most spectacular way to spend another moment in this rich human experience.
But it’s winter now, and with it brings a need to make my way onto man-made surfaces so as not to cause destruction to natural landscapes.
The streets are quite different. Rubber touching down on asphalt, I feel the insulation from the natural world. Here, my world is encased in boundaries: I know the limit that is me and my own self; here, fully in my own internal world.
I take a breath as I look up towards the sky. There are trees and mountains in the distance; and, as I extend my consciousness out to meet them, I allow their life force to fill me. For a moment, I am in my happy place: fully connected as my whole, embodied self; deepening even further into connection with the greater force of life around me.
The moment passes as my rubber-soled shoes meet asphalt once more. In a moment I am disconnected from her; enclosed fully in my own internal unfoldings. The contrast hits me like the brick walls and concrete paths we’ve put up all across our beautiful world.
There is a thread of wisdom being shared in our world that goes something like this: nature is healing. Get yourself into nature and it will make you happier.
These days, we are born into sterile hospitals and quickly moved into a world of climate-controlled rooms that keep us insulated within our human-made landscape. We look at screens, place our feet on concrete, look at more screens, place our feet on the metal floor of the automobile, look at more screens, place our feet on plastic floors… and the insulating list goes on and on.
All-the-while, we deepen more and more into the lie of what it is that human beings are: superior beings with oh-so-mighty minds that are required to deal with the painful and time-consuming needs of a body. Boo-fucking-hoo.
Today the snow has come down in full force. While resting inside in the warmth of a home with four walls, I feel grateful for the technology that keeps me safe and comfortable.
Then, as the snow falling from the sky begins to let up, I bundle up and step outside. I head immediately to my backyard paths through the high desert foliage. The pinon pine, the juniper, the chamisa, and an occasional ponderosa - all here to greet me.
I take a step. There’s no moving fast today - just tender, delicate steps placed down on the blanket of snow now covering the paths winding their way through this vast landscape.
Perhaps it’s not so bad to have insulation every once in a while - to close ourselves off from the grand expanse of it all; to keep ourselves safe and warm and comfortable as we wait out brutal elements.
But where, oh where, do we a draw a line between our human selves and nature, herself? Where do we say, enough is enough?
I can’t be sure of an exact line that need be drawn - a line in which it is most optimal to be contained within our own humanity and separate from the wildness of nature. In fact, I can be sure that no line exists, but rather lives as some broad spectrum that varies depending on the moment. Still, what I can say, with absolute certainty, is that we passed this threshold a long, long time ago, and since that time - holed up here in our insulated worlds - there is much we have forgotten.
We, as human beings as nature - had best get on to remembering this.
