Snow run

I hope this turns into an annual pilgrimage of sorts. Almost exactly a year ago I did this on a different trail.

December-January usually brings some snow to this area. Not enough to cause major disruptions, just to make it feel wintery.

Last year, my running group had planned a 15 mile run on one of the trails. They had to cancel at the last minute, but by then I was already one hour into the run because I'd started earlier. So I continued by myself.

And it turned out to be a beautiful experience. The snow covered path, trees and branches, the river frozen in patches, the footprints left by the few people and animals before me, the silence disturbed only by my steps and the occasional call of an animal or bird and the gurgling of the river where it hadn't frozen over. The weather was overcast but there was adequate light. I would come across a person after running for several miles, no one else was around most of the time. Even saw a big deer a couple of times who'd pause and look at me from a distance and then bound away. The only evidence of modern technology were the occasional caution signs and markings.

When someone says the word solitude, it evokes abstract images in my mind. There is a lot of overlap of that concept with silence, peace, aloneness and tranquility. But in those miles of running, I guess I found a very tangible sense of what solitude looks and feels like.

This weekend, an 11 mile run brought back that feeling. Some photos from the trail:

Some people think of it as unnecessary torture - running in minus 15 degree temperatures in distant areas early on a saturday morning when you could be in your warm bed under a quilt or perhaps having a hot cup of coffee. But I guess this is one of those things you understand and perhaps start liking, only if you do it. Sort of an acquired taste. 

The first few miles of the run make you feel really good (hey, you made it there overcoming the huge internal  resistance of waking up on a cold morning and reaching the trail with running gear and supplies.That itself makes you pat yourself on the back). As your body slowly warms up and your feet get used to stepping a certain way to avoid slipping, you start noticing your surroundings better - especially the quiet, mixed with sounds you miss otherwise. A breaking twig here, snow slipping from overladen leaves there. 

Occasionally, a patch of motionless dry grass and leaves suddenly erupts with dozens of little birds flying out of their well-camouflaged spots as you run by.

I let the environment sink in for the first half of the run. Then it's time for some music since it can get pretty lonely out there. Luckily for me, this came up in my iPod to perfectly complement the surroundings.

Of course, this was followed by Chayya Chayya from Dil Se and some other dhinchak songs that I have no idea how they landed in my playlist.

The mood-elevating effect of the run goes on increasing till you are well past the halfway mark. That's the point, the part where 3/4 of the run is over, at which your body starts protesting. For me, it's mostly the thighs and knees that scream. When I started running seriously more than a year ago, it used to be the shins and side-stitches. Good to know that different parts of my body co-operate in the protest.

That is the part of the run where you have to talk yourself into not stopping. It is so very tempting to take a walking break then. 'Just a few minutes of walking and I'll run better after that'. But it's a mind trap. It reduces your efficiency immensely and it becomes harder to get back into the flow of running with every such break. This is the part which shows you what you are made of, whether you can push yourself enough. I try to make things easier by pampering myself a bit- a chocolate gel pack even if I'm not feeling very tired, some music..whatever it takes to keep going.

The last mile or so is mostly a blur.

In a sense, I give up hope of ever making it back, give up plans about things I'll do when I'm done. Self doubt and a dark foreboding fill up the mind - 'why am I doing this, I'm no good at this, there are so many mistakes I've done in life, this isn't helping any of that, this is so stupid, just stop!'.

And I have stopped at this point on some previous runs. It doesn't help, only makes you feel worse. So now,  when this happens I just keep placing one foot after the other. There's no other goal left in life for those last ten minutes but to keep the back straight, arms up and not stop.

And then there's the rush of joy and relief as you recognize the familiar landmark which tells you - you are done. All the pain and sweat and discomfort and doubt - all of it goes away in that one instant. You slow down and stretch and your body hurts. But it feels so good. You sit down and slowly bite into a juicy pear.

If that moment doesn't count as one that makes you 'feel alive', I don't know what does.

There is something cathartic, something purifying about your mind and body going through a painful process like that and emerging from the other side. It's kind of a safe way to squeeze unnecessary negativity out of your mind and body.

Why shouldn't feeling alive like that count as a spiritual experience? For me, it does and hence I want to do this pilgrimage every year.