Running Into Myself

When I moved to Honduras in 2002, I ostensibly did so in the guise of a first-year teacher who was simply following her dream to live overseas.  Moving from the U.S. to England in 2007, I changed my costume to that of an Americanized Brit craving an opportunity to once again live in her home country.  In both cases, however, the surface only reflected part of the truth, obscuring much that lurked in the murky depths below.

Part of me was running toward myself as I sought my own identity away from the familiarity of all that my years in Michigan had provided.

Part of me was running away from the self I knew, grasping the opportunity to create a brand new version of Katie.

Of course, I couldn`t escape every part of me.  I couldn`t leave behind the pressure I put on myself to succeed, nor the blues that have always managed to find me in times of loneliness.  I couldn`t hide from a desire to belong.

Last summer, I began running again.  This time, however, there was no metaphor involved.  I ran to run.  I undertook a 12-week training schedule in preparation for my first half marathon.  I had never enjoyed running.  It was something I`d vaguely included in my sporadic exercise routine because it was free and could be done anywhere.  I`d always enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment following a run, but never the process of running itself.

Something interesting happened last summer around the time I worked up to five miles: I became a runner.  I enjoyed the process.  I enjoyed the rhythm that my feet made each time they struck the pavement.  I enjoyed the ever-changing scenery as I navigated new routes around West Seattle, routes that revealed a rainbow over Puget Sound and a seal swimming in the water.  These were sights that would have escaped me had I never ventured out.

Above all, I enjoyed the rhythm that my ever-changing thoughts made.  Instead of listening to music while I ran, I listened to those thoughts.  They took me to as many places as my feet did.  I noticed my surroundings and thought about them.  I noticed my reflections on family and friends, on where life has led me and where I may lead it next.  Running became my sacred time for me and me alone.

After the half-marathon, I went for a run that didn`t fit into a training schedule.  I set out with no particular route or distance in mind.  My feet led the way, taking me north up California Avenue before turning into the North Admiral neighborhood.  The air had the crispness of autumn, but the sky was bright and clear. Somewhere among the mix of Victorian and Craftsman homes, a rose bush leaned over into the path, presenting a few perfect flowers to me.  With no agenda, I thought, Why not? I slowed to a stop and took a moment to smell the roses, sharing a secret smile with the flowers that I was simultaneously doing so literally and metaphorically.  Picking up the pace again, my feet led me over the crest of a hill, revealing the snow-capped Olympic Mountain Range in the distance.  I stopped again, taking in the sight, contemplating the beauty of where my life was in that moment, and amazed by the stillness that running had brought me.

I haven`t escaped parts of myself with each move I`ve made. Instead, I`ve added to my identity with each step I`ve taken. Somewhere along the twists and turns of the neighborhoods, I realized this.

I ran into myself.