I sit on the porch in the early morning, watching the sky to the east get lighter. Like an electric shock, a star streaks across the sky. My breath is taken away for a minute; feeling so incredibly lucky to be way up high in the mountains, drinking my coffee, and seeing the cosmos in action. I wish the wish I always wish, and sit back in the rising sun.
I jog up the valley, the shadows of the mountains dimming the light. The tops of the peaks are still bathed in sunlight. The creek flows quietly beneath its frozen blanket.
The winter is off to a slow start. The south sides of the mountains are still hikeable in running shoes and the county roads packed enough to jog on. Talks of next summer’s wildfires instead of wildflowers have trickled through town. But today the snow is finally falling, a welcome respite from the dry weeks we’ve had.
Night closing in on the mountains. Photo: Hannah Green
Sometimes our lives are focused. Other times our brains feel foggy and numb, unsure of the feeling inside. I usually like to listen to music but lately my scattered mind gets too focused on the lyrics, so I’ve opted for silence. I feel like my brain is in overdrive searching for something, such that focusing on anything else feels impossible. I’ve been sleeping a lot — it’s the only way I can turn my brain off.
I do my little jogs up and down the snowy county roads. The monochrome colors of the winter fit the monotony of my days.
To be quite honest, I don’t feel like much of a runner these days. Nothing considered running far, and still feeling far from strong after my knee surgery. I got really excited about running again last month, but that initial rush of endorphins has worn off as I realize I still have a long way to go to get back in shape and keep my knee healthy. I can also tell I’ve lost a bit of my light since I can’t really plan anything that really scratches my itch for long days and big adventures when I can’t even run 10 miles yet.
Part of me recognizes the hibernation state of winter and the dulling of the senses as I spend more time inside than out during the long, cold days. I daydream of distant places and realize a change of scenery is long overdue. My mind floats to dry dirt, maybe a trail, instead of the icy roads I’ve been jogging. With skiing out of the question this season, my enthusiasm to be in the snow has waned.
I normally write pretty optimistically about being content where you are, but I can tell my heart and mind need something different, and my body could use it too. I watch friends frolicking everywhere on social media, but I feel like a stone stuck in the river. Not really going anywhere, occasionally tumbling downstream, but watching the world pass by.
I rack my brain for different ideas of where to go and what to do, and eventually an email out of curiosity turns into a new adventure. Suddenly, my mind feels like it can dream again — of new views and new experiences. Getting stuck in the muck is part of life, and finding ways out of the muck can be challenging, but worthwhile when you know you need it.
Change is funny. Sometimes we crave it and other times it is terrifying. But it happens everyday, regardless of whether we want it to or not.
A recent talk by a neurobiologist here in Silverton, Colorado, mentioned our window of tolerance. We all have different windows, and they grow or shrink depending on the situation, but building our ability to widen our windows is the goal. A wider window equals more tolerance for handling a situation.
Change is hard, but change is good — so long as we keep our mind open and willing to receive the experiences that come with it.
Call for Comments
- Have you struggled through a low patch like Hannah describes in her gradual return to running?
- If so, what helped you through it?
