Getting lost. It's a good thing.

This print hangs in our kitchen.  By Shaun Sundholm.

Every day I think about a few permanent things in my life. Family, work, relationships, faith, health, etc. Typically these areas of thought manifest themselves in really annoying and distracting ways. For instance, in the work category I find myself waking up at 2 a.m. worried about some detail of a project that really could have waited until morning. In relationships I often wonder about how I handled something; the way I said something, for instance. Was I hurtful? Proud? Obnoxious?



My money says that I'm the only one thinking about whatever it is that is bothering me at the time and the other person never even noticed. After all, I say boneheaded things all the time so people are probably well adjusted. Everyone that knows me also knows I talk too much. I'm working on that, people. I promise. I do find, though, that my racing mind tires me out as much as it probably tires my audience out. To that end, I make sure to get lost regularly.

For me, getting "lost" in the way I am about to describe happens only one way...lacing up my trail shoes and running in the woods. I love running in all its forms and I am grateful to be able to run at all after the way I've let my health go in the past, but trails offer something that roads and paved pathways, that group runs and road races do not, can not, offer me. When I escape to the trails, I feel like I am moving smoothly through the landscape. I may not be an elegant athlete, but I am proud of my form and my flow when I run trails.  I try and stay light on my feet, moving efficiently. If I hear my footprints I am doing it wrong. The quiet of the woods with only my breath and the trees drifting above the peace allow me to settle in and escape my own frantic mind.

Traditional meditation, yoga, and even daily prayer in a quiet room do not give me this same sense of connection and calm. It is ironic to me that getting my heart rate screaming on a Saturday morning in the woods is the best way I know to settle down. My guess is that the terrain, which requires a sort of unconscious focus, and the actual physical effort up and down the hills and rocks and stumps, conspire to shut down those parts of my brain that can't contribute to the task at hand. I literally can't concentrate on everyday stuff or I end up on my face. A good example? Two weeks in a row on the Thursday night P.R. Fitness trail run I lead I bit it hard while I was chatting away with my running partners...but then I ran almost 8 hours straight in the Tennessee mountains on the most difficult landscape I've ever been on without even tripping once. That day I was running my first trail ultramarathon. I had no idea where the course would go, I just blindly followed the trail ahead. I was technically on course, so I wasn't truly "lost," but I sure as hell had no idea where I was or where I was going.

This is what trail running, and in particular long-distance trail running, are for me. A chance to challenge my body, challenge my mind, and get lost. Not lost on a map, but lost from myself. Away from the bills, away from the dripping sink, away from the grocery shopping, away from the office. The longer and deeper and further afield the better. To me, trail running is more than a workout, it's a therapy session, religious experience, physical challenge, and way to witness nature all in one.